SWF Lockdown!! June 11, 2003

June 12, 2003

The SWF logo flashes on the screen, behind it are some of the greatest moments in Fed history. As the pounding beat builds to a climax, the word "Destiny" flashes on the screen and both it and the logo fade away...

The Lockdown Logo blasts onto screen worldwide accompanied by custom written, pounding heavy-metal music. As images from the current SWF superstars flow across the screen, a giant metal gate slams down over everything...

Flash cut to the darkened arena as pyro goes off everywhere!! The cameras pan around showing off the capacity crowd in the Cajundome!!

GSMS: Welcome friends to another edition of SWF Lockdown!!! We are but a week and a half away from 13th Hour on Pay-Per-View and we are sold-out in Louisiana!!

The camera finishes panning and zooms in on Grand Slam and Bobby Riley sitting ringside.

GSMS: Hello again everyone! I'm "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens and this is my partner in crime Bobby Riley. Bobby, what do you think of the card tonight?

BR: Well Mark, I've seen better, but not many. Tonight we get to see a battle for the number one contendership to the Tag Titles!

GSMS: We do indeed, along with the number one contender, The Boston Strangler, taking on the Champion's teammate, The Judge William Hearford!

BR: This should be a night to remember! I heard some rumors backstage...

GSMS: Let's keep the suspense Bobby. Right now it is time to kick things off with a freshly returned Tod deKindes taking on Mike Van Siclen!!

June 12, 2003

He stands there, not moving.

Intensely staring forward.

The crowd registers hatred and disgust at the sight of him.

Ben Hardy stands next to a more focused looking Tod deKindes at the interview set. Clad in his trench coat and wrestling gear, his hair is wildly hanging in front of his face, as he's set to compete in just a few minutes.

Ben: Tod deKindes … (boos from the crowd) … You've challenged TNT to a career match at 13th Hour. But for now you're set to go against Mike Van Siclen in a couple minutes. -- …(cuts himself short, as Tod replies)

Tod: Mike Van Siclen is nothing to me … I will go to that ring and I will not see Mike Van Siclen … I may be here standing right next to you right now … but my mind is already at 13th Hour … I don't even care what happens with (pronouncing the name as if it were a mere afterthought) "Mike Van Siclen" … Like everyone else, up until 13th Hour, he means ... nothing. Thank you … very much.

He throws a brief glance towards the interviewer before walking off towards the gorilla position.

...

As the lights go off, the first opening bars from O Fortuna - Carmina Burana triumphantly flow into the arena, quickly segueing into Marilyn Manson's "Antichrist Superstar".

Funyon: Ladies and gentlemen, Lockdown begins with tonight's opening contest, set for one fall. First, making his way to the ring. From Toronto, Ontario, Canada; weighing in at 225 lbs: Tod - deeeeeeeeeeee - Kin - deeeeeeeeeessssss!!

As the crowd shows no love for the newly intense Torontonian, the young man himself paces out from behind the curtains with a confident step. Wasting no time, he skips onto the apron, crosses the ropes and power walks towards a second rope. With chest heaving up and down with hatred, he flips his hair back and flashes the old Spirit Breaker symbol to a crowd that's just about as resentful.

Stevens: Folks, if you're just joining us; WELCOME to SWF Lockdown! One more match has been confirmed for 13th Hour!!

The animated graphics don't lie. It's Career Vs Career at 13th Hour.

Riley: That's right, the challenge has been thrown out and answered! This place isn't big enough for two clashing souls, as Tod deKindes will take on and TOTALLY destroy and RETIRE one Taylor Nicholas Thompson!

Stevens: You heard right folks, the loser of that match will actually have to RETIRE! We all know of Taylor's current concussion problems, but you've all seen Tod's comments just a minute ago. He's looking PAST this match-up tonight against Mike Van Siclen!

Riley: Tod deKindes sees nothing but the demise of Taylor Nicholas Thompson at 13th Hour. In his mind, he's already THERE! He's wrestling Mikey tonight out of the goodness of his own heart so he can give the humanoids out there, y'know, a GOOD show!!

Manson's "Superstar" eventually fades out, which is replaced by Dark Tranquility's "Damage Done".

Funyon: And his opponent ... from Harrison, Illinois. Weighing in at 237 lbs, he is a member of Catch-22: "The Spectacle", Mike - Vaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan Sicleeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!!

MVS steps out onto the ramp, pausing briefly to throw his signature crucifix pose to the cheering crowd. After a few spins, he careens down the rampway all while grinning like a mad man. He slides into the ring, where Tod stands waiting in a corner eyeing him with a disdainful eye, not moving and still clad in his trench coat. MVS wrestles out of his jacket and sweeps it out to ringside with his boot, as his music fades out. MVS cracks his neck and does a few last minute stretching before walking up to the center of the ring.

Stevens: Tod deKindes has not taken his gaze off of his opponent ever since he got here, Bobby! He hasn't even moved!

Riley: Look at those focused eyes, Stevens. Those are the eyes of a victorious man! The eyes of the man that will be victorious on June 22nd!

Referee Billy Chioda beckons Tod to approach his opponent and get the match started, but Tod isn't eager to do so. Slowly he steps forward, while calmly removing his trench coat. He ruffles it into a ball … and throws it in Mike's face! He makes good on that one second of distraction and pounces on Mike with a series of solid forearms to the upper back! Bell chimes.

Riley: Was that not clever or WHAT!! Hey Mikey, I don't think he likes it!!

As Chioda grabs hold of the errant trench coat and tosses it outside, Tod sends Mike running to the ropes with an Irish whip, which is quickly reversed by Mike. Tod ducks under a fierce clothesline attempt and a just as fierce back elbow attempt, only to connect on the third bounce with a flawless flying forearm! Both men back up to their feet. Tod grabs another Irish whip on Mike and this time sends him to a corner with authority. He charges right away and nails a VICIOUS corner spear, driving the air out of Mike. Cross corner whip to the opposite side, ANOTHER nasty spear by Tod!

Stevens: Like him or not, Tod is taking an early lead in this match-up.

MVS staggers out of the corner, holding his ribs, as Tod wastes no time in picking him up in a vertical suplex position and maintaining him up there for a good five seconds.

Riley: Would you LOOK at that power!!

Tod paces around during that five-second span, opting to carelessly DROP Mike stomach first onto the top rope! He could allow Mike a couple seconds to recover and get down from his perch of pain, but Tod casually chooses to throw himself off into the far ropes and then SMACK Mike right on the head with a seated dropkick! Mikey moreless crumples down to the apron, resting on the middle rope. Tod walks right up to him, grabbing a firm hold of the ropes. He slingshots himself over the prone Mikey and SAILS over him with a sunset powerbomb attempt! Mike tries to hang on for dear life, but the force of Tod is too much, as he CRASHES to the ringside mats in a heap with a seated powerbomb!

Stevens: That can NOT feel too good, Bobby!

Riley: You gotta wonder, Stevens. Is Tod actually trying to WIN this match, or is he only there to send a message to TNT, as in "This is YOU on the 22nd, pal!!" ?

As Mike contorts his body in pain, Tod nonchalantly slithers back inside the ring and remains in there in a kneeling position, staring down at MVS, who's trying in vain to get back up to his feet. Meanwhile, Billy Chioda fires up the 10 count.

Stevens: We're (1) barely three minutes into this match and already Tod deKindes is busting out the (2) big moves, Bobby! He is on a mission!

Riley: I (3) couldn't agree more! And that mission is to finally rid himself (4) of the one black cloud that's been hovering above (5) him for God knows how long!

As Mikey is back up with one leg on the apron, Tod quickly rolls out and back in so that he can shove his opponent right back inside. He hovers over him with a lateral press, with added forearm grind to the face.

ONE!

TWO!!

TH--!!

Stevens: First kick out of the match by Mike Van Siclen! Say what you will, but you're not gonna beat him that easy.

Riley: Shyeah, for a guy who gets beat by someone who used to be called Ash Ketchum, he sure looks headed that way.

Tod picks up Mike by the hair, only to bring him right back down with a snapmare, leaving Mike in a seated position. Tod first implores anyone within eyesight to quiet down with the Shush motion, as he takes a few steps back only to NAIL Mikey on the back of the head with a vicious dropkick! As Mike crumples to the mat, Tod bounces himself off the ropes and nails a picture perfect knee drop right onto Mikey's forehead. Tod once again covers, with another forearm grind.

ONE!

TWO!!

TH--!!

Tod conceals a muttering swear word as Van Siclen gets the shoulder up. Tod lifts him up to his feet by the hair, shoving him into a corner. After hammering him with a series of solid kicks and knee lifts to the midsection, Tod Irish whips Mike with intention of driving him into the opposite corner, but Mike switches and reverses! He wraps up Tod in preparation for the Crossface Halo, but Tod manages to squirm out of it and lodge a boot in Mike's midsection. He grabs him in a vertical suplex position and lifts him up, only to DROP him head first to the mat with a nasty brainbuster! Heading over to a turnbuckle, he hops up to the second rope, taking a second to steady himself properly. He leaps off at moderate speed, connecting with a big time second rope elbow drop, right onto Mike's forehead. Another lateral press for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!!

TH--!!

Stevens: Another kick out from the Spectacular one. You can't help but admire his tenacity!

Tod: Come on, Billy!! That was three!!

Chioda: No no, only two!!

Tod wastes no time as he picks up Mike in a fireman's carry position, only to DRIVE him down hard to the mat with a Death Valley Driver! He stays there next to the prone Mike, contemplating a cover, but rather chooses to spring to his feet and heads to a corner. After a slow but confident ascension of the ropes, Tod readies himself for his big flying elbow drop. He dives off and then snaps into the picture perfect elbow position … but Mikey moves!! As Tod crashes hard onto the canvas, Mike is already making his way back up to his feet, as does Tod who eventually follows.

Stevens: A little overconfidence on the part of Tod there, which could allow Mike Van Siclen to get that break he'd been looking for!

Riley: Up until now, Tod was OWNING Mike Van Siclen! I think Mikey was just trying to remain conscious for about five more minutes.

Tod throws a wild clothesline, which Mike catches and turns into an arm twist. He turns Tod around, crosses both arms and FINALLY lands that elusive Crossface Halo on the Torontonian! He takes a few seconds to shake the cob webs loose, then finally hooks the leg for the pin attempt.

ONE!

TWO!!

TH--!

Kick out by Tod. Mikey maintains the offense on him as he hammers him with a few right hands, only to Irish whip him to the ropes after wards. He catches him right off the bat as he sends him flying high up in the air with a HUGE back body drop. Another Irish whip to the ropes by Mike. Tod ducks under a clothesline and a back elbow attempt, only to fall prey to a quick and dirty powerslam! Mikey once again hooks the leg for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!!

TH--!!

Another kick out by Tod. Mikey raises him back up to his feet, only to bring him back down with a sharp snap suplex. He looks left and right, contemplating his next move and decides on climbing up to the top rope, facing the crowd. He dives off gracefully and lands a neatly executed moonsault right on top of Tod. He takes a second to catch his breath, then hooks the leg for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!!

TH--!!

Yet another kick out by Tod. Mikey picks him up by the hair and Irish whips him to the ropes, but Tod switches and reverses with a whip of his own. He bends down for his own back body drop attempt, but Mikey counters it with a swift kick to the face! He grabs Tod's head and drives his chin down with a nasty sit out jawbreaker. Tod staggers off wildly, trying to readjust his jaw into place, allowing Mike to nail him with a gutshot and grab a front facelock. He swings his elbow around and drives Tod down hard and face first with his Code Red!

Stevens: Now THAT will rearrange a face! And now it looks like Mike Van Siclen is headed up top once again.

As the commentator utters that sentence, Mikey is already climbing his way up to the top rope. After steadying himself properly, he dives off and nails a BEAUTIFUL guillotine legdrop!

Stevens: Van Siclen Guillotine!! This could be it!!

Riley: I've always hated that name!

Mikey gets on top with a lateral press and hooks the leg for good measure.

ONE!

TWO!!

THR--!!

Stevens: No!! So close!

Riley: PLEASE, who in the HELL is gonna lose to a legdrop?!

Mikey picks up Tod once again and hooks him into an inverted face lock, no doubt readying himself for the Russian Roulette. Tod suddenly swings his forearm upwards, clocking Mike in the face and freeing himself from the move! He contorts his body around and has an inverted face lock of his own! He wastes no time as he DRIVES the back of Mikey's head hard into the mat with a Christian style reverse DDT! He bends his neck around to get some feeling back and puts on another lateral press for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!!

THR--!!

Stevens: Close, but no three count!

Riley: Matter of time, baby!

As Mikey tries to get back up to his feet, Tod stands there, almost begging him to do the same thing.

Tod: C'mon!! On your feet, bitch!!

Just as Mikey gets to one knee, Tod takes a step back and UNLOADS with a stiff boot to the head, as the crowd groans in sympathy. Once again, he orders him up to his feet …

Tod: C'mon! I'm not done kicking your ASS!!

Mike once again gets to a kneeling position, as Tod places himself right in front of him and unloads with another solid boot to the head!!

Riley: Hell, who needs Ring of Honor and their wimpy martial art kicks when you can just imprint your foot in a guy's FACE like Tod deKindes is doing right here?!

Both men end up back on their feet. Irish whip to the ropes by Tod. Mike has the wherewithall to duck under another combo of a clothesline and back elbow attempt, only to leap off with a crossbody attempt, but he's CAUGHT!

Tod: Aw HELL no!!

He spins Mikey around, RIGHT into the Formula For Failure!! Cover by Tod.

ONE!

TWO!!

THR--!!

Kick out by Mike. Tod nonchalantly tries to lift him back up to his feet, but Mike still has some life left in him! He buries a few right hands in Tod's bread basket, stunning him momentarily. With him doubled over, Mike quickly throws himself in the ropes and connects with a big time swinging neckbreaker! The leg is quickly hooked.

ONE!

TWO!!

THR--!!

Shoulder up by Tod, who rolls to the safety of the ring apron. Or so he thinks.

MVS: C'MON!!

As Mikey tries to rally the crowd behind him, he sees Tod standing on the apron against the ropes … the perfect target, as he springboards up to the top rope next to the turnbuckles, vaults off and NAILS Tod in the head with a dropkick that sends the Torontonian crashing down to the mats! Feeling on a bit of a comeback, Mike crosses the ropes and stands ready on the apron, waiting for Tod to get back up to his feet. Just as Tod is fully upright, MVS takes a two-step leap off the apron with a double axhandle attempt … but that leaves his head wide open as Tod counters that with a resouning SMACK of a standing side kick.

Riley: Good bye, JAW!! Now THAT's a good way to block an aerial attack!

As MVS crumples to the mat, Tod rolls back inside the ring to catch his breath and break the 10 count, only to roll back outside to collect and toss in his opponent. Both men back up. Irish whip reversal sequence leads to Tod running the ropes. Mikey bends down for another attempt at a back body drop, but Tod does a Van Dam'esque backward roll to counter it, landing behind MVS. He spins Mike 180, buries a knee in the gut and thrusts his head into a standing head scissor position. He wastes no time as he lifts him upside down, holds him for visual effect … and DRIVES his head down hard with the Memphis godkiller, the good ol' jumping piledriver.

Stevens: That head just bounced RIGHT off the mat!

Riley: Move over, Paul Orndorff and siddown, Jerry Lawler, 'cuz THAT my friend was one HELL of a piledriver!!

Tod could cover him, but rather he slides Mike in the proper perpendicular position on the mat, so that he can once again climb up to the top rope. As he couldn't complete the move before, Tod finally leaps off from his perch of offense in a weird angle, snaps back into the picture perfect position of an elbow drop, FINALLY hitting that elusive move. He leans over for the cover and literally grinds his forearm into Mikey's nose.

ONE!

TWO!!

THRE--!!

Stevens: NO!! Kick out by Van Siclen!

Riley: What is WITH the officiating tonight?!!

Teeth clenched shut and almost pulling his hair out, Tod throws a disdainful glare directed at Billy Chioda.

Stevens: We've all seen what kind of punishment Tod deKindes can dish out and so far he's almost done nothing BUT that, but you have to admire Mike Van Siclen's tenacity thus far!!

Riley: Tenacity?! I call that LUCK!! I'm sure not a lot of people remember this, but way back when during their Junior League days, Mike Van Siclen and Tod deKindes met once before in a match. And just GUESS what happened, Stevens!

Stevens: If I recall it was Tod that beat Mike, Bobby. A little more than a year and a half ago.

Riley: That's right, not only he beat him, he OWNED him that night! What we're seeing here is simply a matter of history repeating itself!!

Tod is back up, with a handful of Mikey's hair in his grasp. Sweeping the crowd slowly with a hateful gaze, Tod flips his hair back, and flashes the Spirit Breaker symbol.

Riley: Aw, THERE you go!! You know what this means!!

Stevens: Tod deKindes is signaling for the Spirit Breaker, a most unforgiving maneuver! If he hits this one, it is OVER!!

Tod grabs Mike's arm and runs it through his legs and handily appropriates him into the pumphandle position. With a bit of effort, he lifts up Mikey on his shoulder … but the Spectacular one isn't ready to have his spirit broken just yet.

Stevens: Wait, Van Siclen seems to be fighthing the hold!

Bobby: Aw, come on, just take the move, ya dolt!! He'll be out like a light so fast, he won't know what hit him!!

MVS manages to slip out of the hold and land on his feet behind Tod. He hooks him from behind in an inverted face lock and DRIVES him down hard with the Russian Roulette!!

Stevens: Russian Roulette!! This could be the opening that Mike Van Siclen was looking for!! Can he capitalize?!

Riley: No way, he's too beat up! That'd be like saying Anaheim had a chance in HELL during Game 7 in New Jersey!!

The rejuvenated MVS drags Tod up to his feet, capturing him in another arm twist. He in turns traps his arm, driving him down hard to the mat with the Blackjack Neckbreaker! As Tod contorts himself on the mat, holding the back of his head, Mikey stands ready and waiting, screaming at Tod to get back up to his feet.

Stevens: Mike Van Siclen looks about ready to steal this one!

Still smarting, Tod staggers right into a gutshot as Mike thrusts his head in a standing headscissor.

MVS: RIOT AAAAACT!!

Stevens: There it is, he's going for it!!

Mikey tries to lift up Tod to deliver the move, but Tod is having a different opinion about it. He avoids certain doom as he slips free and nails a nasty low blow that sends Mike back to his knees. He grabs Mike's arm and places him back into the pumphandle position. He successfully lifts him up onto his shoulder and DRIVES him down hard to the mat, delivering the Spirit Breaker.

Riley: THERE ya go!! Match over! It's all but official, Spammer!

Rather than hooking the leg for the sure win, Tod … rolls outside?? After harassing Funyon to move out of the way, he retrieves a steel chair, which he takes back inside the ring with him.

Stevens: What's he doing with that? Hey ref, get him to lose the chair!!

Riley: What!! He's tired!! The man wants to sit down!!

Tod aims the chair in the general vicinity of Mikey's head under stern warnings from Billy Chioda. Tod swings … but Chioda grabs the chair to stop him!!

Stevens: Good move by the referee!!

Riley: Aw, that is SO immoral!!

After a brief back and forth tug of war, Tod gets the better of it as he shoves Chioda down on his ass. He sets his sights back on MVS, who's holding himself up by the ropes.

Stevens: He's gonna nail him!! Someone get that chair out of the ring!!

Riley: I don't think he cares now!!

As Mikey is desperatly scrambling to get to his feet, Tod has him in his crosshairs with a murderous look in his eyes. Mikey turns around to face Tod, but he barely has time to see Tod swinging some steel …

-WHACK!!-

Chioda: Ring the bell, dammit!!

"DINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDING!!"

Tod lays the chair flat down on the mat, as he muscles the lifeless MVS by the hair. He looks back and forth at the chair and Mike, giving everyone at home enough time to make the connection …

Stevens: My God, he's gonna give him the DVX on that chair!! Stop him, dammit!!

While Billy Chioda yells madly at Tod not to do it, Tod shoves him down as he hooks the prone Mike in an inverted facelock, hooks his near leg with his own and DRIVES him down hard with the DVX on the chair!!

"DINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDING!!"

Stevens: That's the same move that injured TNT and it just cost Tod deKindes this match!! But I guess he never really wanted to win this match, now did he?!

Riley: That, my friend, is Tod deKindes sending a VERY precise message to his good friend Taylor Nicholas Thompson!! This is what awaits him at 13th Hour!! He's gonna retire him for GOOD at 13th Hour!! Mike Van Siclen was in the wrong place at the wrong time, because Tod has just made an EXAMPLE out of him, and that is TOO DAMN BAD for Mike Van Siclen!!

As the boos rain down on the evil Torontonian, Billy Chioda insists that Funyon makes it official.

Funyon: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this bout as a result of a disqualification: Mike - Vaaaaaaaaaaaaaa - Sicleeeeeeeeeen !!

Stevens: Regardless, it's a win for Mike, but the bigger picture here is Tod deKindes sending one hell of a message to his opponent at 13th Hour!!

As referees and road agents swarm in to see over Mike, Tod rolls out of the ring, almost looking oblivious to what just happened. He walks back up the ramp, gazing down at the floor, not even paying attention to the hateful crowd's jeers. Once up onstage, he turns around and eyes the happenings in the ring.

Standing there, not moving.

Intensely staring forward.

June 12, 2003

Underneath the Cajundome, in the heart of Lafayette, the SmarksTron lights up with the SWF logo as the cameras return from the commercial break! A quick sweep of the arena captures a rabid Louisiana crowd, all of them on their feet and eagerly awaiting the next match. The camera returns to the announcer’s table, where ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley sit discussing the upcoming match.

Stevens: Both of these men need a win here, Riley. Kibagami picked up a decisive victory over Beezel on Storm, but one has to wonder how confident he is in his abilities heading into a no-DQ match with Janus at 13th Hour. Atlas has been almost unstoppable since his arrival in the SWF, but Mike Van Siclen seems to have gotten under the masked man’s skin as of late. A win here for either man means a little more momentum heading into 13th Hour. The question is, who wants it more?

Riley: Atlas, obviously. The man’s been on fire since he joined us here in the SWF, except for an unfortunate misstep against the US champion. Nathan, on the other hand, doesn’t want to be wrestling, period. He’s only here because our commissioner is forcing him to fulfill his contractual obligations to this company.

Stevens: He’s blackmailing Nathan, Riley.

Riley: The hell he is. He’s just been particularly creative in his presentation of Kibagami’s contractual obligations, that’s all.

Stevens: Did you have to write that down beforehand?

Riley: I wrote it myself, too. King only helped a little.

Stevens: You’re absolutely incorrigible sometimes, Riley.

Riley: I don’t have my thesaurus with me, Mark. I left it in the back when I was working on the note cards.

Stevens: I’ll explain it to you later, Riley. Let’s go to Funyon!

The camera cuts to the most popular ring announcer in wrestling history. A sign in the third row reads, “Funyon: Dance-Off Champion, Now and Forever”, drawing a pop from the Louisiana crowd as Funyon raises the mic to his lips.

Funyon: Ladies and gentlemen, this next matchup is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first…

The arena suddenly goes dark, just as the notes to "Heaven's a Lie" by Lacuna Coil play through the arena. Blinding white light shines through the grating on the ramp, illuminating the set. As the soft notes play on, the SmarksTron shows Sean Atlas' crucifix entrance: Atlas on a crucifix, rising through the stage. The camera rotates around the image, escalating with the intensity of the music…as the soft notes come to an end, just before the drums kick in, a gradually louder electric guitar brings the start of the song to a climax, and...

!*BOOM*!

A colossal explosion goes off onstage leaving behind a misty haze of smoke. As it dissipates, the silhouette of a man appears, and is soon revealed to be Sean Atlas. The SmarksTron depicts him breaking off the crucifix during the explosion and cuts to clips from Atlas’ old matches in time with the music. Sean walks down the ramp, staring out into the crowd with confidence while the fans show their apathy toward him.

Funyon: Currently making his way to the ring, from Chicago, Illinois, weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds... SEEEEAAAANNNN ATLAS!

Riley: Atlas looks very confident in there tonight, Mark. I’m sure he spent some time practicing with Tom Flesher before the match; Kibagami doesn’t have a prayer, if that’s the case.

The arena goes completely dark, save for the SmarksTron, where a red ankh, surrounded by flames, dominates the screen. For about five seconds, there is total silence – only the low buzz of the crowd can be heard. The entrance lights, now colored a dark red to match the ankh above them, slowly begin to rise as “Forty-Six and Two” begins:

I’ve been crawling on my belly,

Clearing out what could’ve been,

I’ve been wallowing in my own confusing

Insecure delusions

For a piece to cross me over,

Or a word to guide me in…

At this point, the entrance lights are fully up and focused on the curtains…

I want to feel the changes coming down,

I want to know what I’ve been hiding…

A brilliant explosion of white pyrotechnics momentarily blinds the audience and obscures the top of the ramp. As the pyrotechnics fade, Nathaniel Kibagami comes striding the through the smoke left in their wake.

Funyon: Introducing second…making his way to the ring, from Phoenix, Arizona, weighing in at two hundred and sixty-eight pounds…NATHANIEL KIBAGAAAAAAMI!

Nathaniel makes his way to ringside, nodding to a fan here and there as he passes by, and slides into the ring. He rolls to his feet and agilely springs onto the nearby second turnbuckle, where he assumes the familiar crucifix pose, illuminated eerily in red for a brief moment before the lights come up and “Forty-Six and Two” fades away. He hops off the turnbuckle, cracks his neck for dramatic effect, and turns towards the opposite corner to face his opponent. The two men meet each other in the center of the ring, staring daggers at each other, as Matthew Kivell reviews the rules.

Stevens: There’s no love lost here, obviously. Janus may be a bit of a loose cannon sometimes, but he’s still part of the Magnificent Seven, and we’ve seen all too often that if you have a problem with one of them, you have a problem with all of them.

DING DING DING!!

Kivell moves back, and the two men begin to circle each other, both looking for some sign of weakness, some advantage that can be gained over his opponent. After a long moment, Kibagami raises his hands for a test of strength, and Atlas starts to oblige, but as soon as Nathan’s hands are too far away from his body to block an incoming blow, the masked man throws a sharp kick at his opponent’s left thigh! Kibagami’s left leg buckles slightly at the impact…

CRACK!

…but the ex-Clannite returns fire with a gigantic roundhouse to the head of Sean Atlas! A loud “holy shit” chant breaks out as Atlas drops like a stone to the mat, his eyes slightly glazed as Kivell stoops to check on him!

Stevens: What a kick from Nathaniel! I think Atlas might be out, Riley!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

Riley: He’s not out, Mark. He’s just utilizing the ten-count.

Stevens: Like Flesher did on Storm?

Riley: Shut up!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

Riley: He’s…he’s just utilizing…utilizing the ten…count?

NINE! – Atlas rolls out underneath the nearby ropes and out of the ring, drawing the ire of the entire Cajundome as he does so. Kibagami leans back against one of the turnbuckle, seemingly unconcerned with the condition of the masked man as Kivell restarts the count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

Riley: Sean Atlas smartly taking a breather outside, using that ten-count once again!

Stevens: You were right, Riley. Flesher must’ve been working with Sean before the match.

Riley: Look, shut up.

SIX!

SEVEN!

Stevens: He’ll make for the ramp any moment now.

Riley: Shut up!

EIGHT!

Sean climbs back onto the apron and through the ring ropes, a wary eye on his opponent as he walks to the center of the ring once again. Kibagami charges out of the corner, looking for a lariat, but Atlas ducks behind the oncoming Nathaniel…and hooks the Katahajime choke!

Riley: Katahajime! This match might be over before it begins!

Stevens: I doubt it, Riley. Kibagami’s too fresh, and he’s too close to the ropes.

Sure enough, Nathan immediately reaches for the ropes just inches away from him. Atlas strains mightily, trying to keep his opponent from the ropes, but to no avail – Kibagami easily snags the top rope, and Kivell administers the five-count!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!...

Atlas relaxes his grip on Kibagami, and the ex-Clannite releases his grasp on the ropes…only to be pulled backwards by the masked man with a vicious Katahajime suplex! Kibagami tries to anticipate the fall by tucking his chin, but Atlas’ arms prevent him from doing so, and Nathan ends up taking a good deal of the impact on his neck and shoulders, landing face-down with a sickening thud!

Stevens: Katahajime suplex, right on the neck!

Riley: He broke the hold, though, Mark!...a little, at least.

Atlas rolls Kibagami onto his stomach and hooks the leg!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

NO!

Stevens: Kibagami gets the shoulder up!

Riley: If only Nathaniel was a little farther away from the ropes... Atlas could've held on with the choke!

Growing more irritated by the minute, Atlas gets to his feet and promptly proceeds to bring Kibagami to his as well. Maintaining control of his opponent, Sean gets behind him and locks a Half Nelson on Nathaniel’s left arm, then a Chickenwing on his right. Atlas pops his hips to lift Kibs off his feet... but it’s no use! Kibagami resists Sean’s attempt at the Tequila Sunrise, pushing his upper body forward and down.

But Kibagami’s defiance doesn’t faze Atlas, who lefts the right arm go in order to lock it in a Half Nelson, quickly snapping on a complete Full Nelson on Nathaniel. He slides his leg around K’s side, stepping over his feet, then uses Kibagami’s momentum against him and pushes down, sweeping his legs out from under him and driving him chest-first to the canvas with a Full Nelson Forward Russian Leg Sweep!

Riley: Great awareness by Atlas, quickly shifting to another maneuver when the first was countered.

Stevens: Atlas sure does adapt quickly to changing situations, but I like the fact that Kibagami read Atlas’ intentions with that Tequila Sunrise.

Building on his momentum, Atlas gets himself off the mat and bring Kibagami up by his arm. Continuing the motion, he whips Nathaniel towards the far ropes... but hold on to his hand, causing Kibagami to snap back! Atlas extends his arms to set up the belly-to-belly, but as Kibs approaches him, he knows what to expect and raises his arm near shoulder level...

*CRACK*

Stevens: Oh! Vicious elbow strike from Nathaniel Kibagami, aware that Atlas was about to go for the belly-to-belly suplex – a similar maneuver to the Railgun Suplex that Nathan himself uses.

Riley: Actually, I’d call it desperation.

Stevens: And I’d call you a fruit, but that doesn’t make it any different either.

Atlas recoils from the elbow shot, turning around and clutching his leather-wrapped face. Kibagami uses his position to sneak up behind Atlas, putting on a rear waistlock while Atlas recovers and quickly uses the moment to his advantage when he lifts Atlas up for a Dangerous German Suplex...!

Stevens: Released!

And Atlas CRASHES down onto the mat chest-first, flipping over after getting launched into the air from behind. He quickly gets his wits about him though, orienting himself while Kibagami stands to approach him... Atlas snaps, sprinting towards Nathan’s midsection...

Riley: Spear? Spinebuster?

Stevens: No! Nathan leapfrogs it!

Atlas misses his opponent entirely, heading towards a collision with the ropes. He turns his back to them just in time and springs right off, heading back towards Kibagami and his outstretched arm...

Wait, outstretched arm?

*TWHACK *

A MASSIVE clothesline stops Sean dead in his tracks, sending him rotating in three different directions!!

Stevens: Sweet leaping Jesus! What a Burning Lariat by Kibagami!!!

Riley: Atlas was taken inside out!!

Stevens: What an outburst of power from Nathan!

Riley: He’s going for the cover!

Kibagami plops down across Atlas, hooking the leg for the pinfall attempt...

...O...N...E...

...T...W...O...

...T...H...R......NO!

Riley: The indefatigable Atlas kicks out!

Stevens: Out of a clothesline! An impressive one, admittedly, but still.

Riley: Quiet bat boy, before I stuff a cork in you.

Stevens: Tell me that’s not one of your cute little expressions...

Riley: It’s... HEY!

An eager Kibagami picks himself up off the masked man and gets him to stand also. Using his forearm to strike Sean’s face, he forces him to back up into the corner, trapped with nothing but turnbuckle pads behind him. Kibagami takes his hand, then gives the opposite corner a quick glance before turning back around and whipping Atlas towards it.

Sean lopes into the new set of turnbuckle pads, hitting them with his back and bouncing off slightly, still a bit loopy from the clothesline. But as he evaluates his surroundings, a methodical pounding on the surface of the mat seems to get closer, and the moment it reaches him, Sean familiarizes himself with the sole of Nathan’s boot...

*SMACK*

...when it collides with his face!

Stevens: YEOW!! What a brutal Yakuza Kick from Kibagami!

Riley: Atlas’ head snapped as it hit the rubber sole of that boot, then snapped again when it hit the top turnbuckle. Whatever screw was loose in that head didn’t get any tighter after that impact.

Adulation from the crowd grows as Nathan’s offense continues. Putting on a front waist lock, Kibagami lifts Sean into the air and seats him on the top turnbuckle. Sensing the top rope action to follow, the fans come to their feet and whip out their cameras...

Riley: What’s Nathan planning here, Mark?

Stevens: How would I know?

Riley: No, moron, you’re supposed to say ‘Something high impact, my dear cohort in commentary.’

Stevens: ...Don’t quit your day job to write someone else’s lines, Riley.... On second thought, go right ahead and quit your day job.

Riley: Shut up, he’s about to hit it!

Meanwhile, Kibagami steps up onto the bottom rope, then onto the middle one as he locks his arm around Sean’s neck... And as the commotion grows, Kibagami kicks his feet out from the top rope and falls backwards, headed for the ring with Sean Atlas’ head clutched in his arm...

Riley: AAAAAAAHH!!!

*SLAM*

Stevens: TOP ROPE DDT!!!

Riley: Un-fucking-believable!

Rubbing his vulnerable neck, Kibagami sits up as the crowd gives him the approval he deserves after pulling off such a high impact move. Atlas, meanwhile, hasn’t moved since his head had an unfortunate meeting with the canvas.

Stevens: Does Sean Atlas even know where he is at this point?

Riley: Well, if you ask him, he’d probably tell you he’s playing mini-golf with Cyclone Comet somewhere in West Cambodia.

Stevens: West Cambodia?

Riley: Just a guess.

Nathaniel turns to face Atlas, flipping him over onto his back. Feeling as though he allowed too much time to pass between the DDT and the now, he quickly goes for the cover, draping an arm over Atlas’ chest for the win...!

...O.....N.....E...

...T.....W.....O...

.....

...NO! Atlas gets his foot on the bottom rope!

Stevens: Oh, that cheap little masked bastard!

Riley: Easy there, Markey. Didn’t you just say he’s adaptive to many situations?

Stevens: Yes, but I didn’t mean this... Just because the rope was conveniently by his foot.

Riley: Hey, Kibs’ mistake is Sean’s reward.

Enraged by Atlas’ tactics, Kibagami knocks Sean’s foot off the bottom rope and slides him farther away from the rubber-covered steel. With enough room between them and the ropes, Kibagami covers again, desperately trying to secure a victory...

...O.....N.....E...

...T.....W.....O...

...

..

.

NO!

Riley: Sean Atlas gets the shoulder up!!!

Stevens: What kind of padding must that mask have for him to be able to kick out of that??

Riley: No padding, Grand Slam, just a lot of vivacity and vigor in that man.

Stevens: Oh, just marry the guy already. You know you want to have his children.

Riley: And what children those would b... HEY!

Frustrated by Sean Atlas’ diligence, Kibagami gets up off the mat and stands above Sean, waiting as he slowly rises off the canvas. Nathan takes a step back while he recovers, planting his feet as if preparing to attack Atlas by surprise. Sean, meanwhile, gets to one knee, keeping his head down. Balancing himself, he finally plants his other foot just as the fans gasp in anticipation for Kibagami...

Stevens: Gamengiri!

Riley: Watch out, Sean!!!

ATLAS CATCHES THE LEG!!!

Stevens: What??

Riley: What is there an echo in here? Atlas catches the leg!!!

Holding Kibagami’s leg while he hops on his one standing foot, Atlas instinctively pulls Nathan closer to him, then hooks his neck and bends him over, putting on a better grip...

Stevens: You know what’s coming!

Riley: Leg...

...Atlas lifts Nathan off his foot...

Riley: Capture...!

...And SLAMS him onto the mat!

Riley: Suplex! Cover him, Sean!

But Atlas doesn’t go for the pin. Instead, he gets to his feet while Nathan rubs his neck, a permanent weak spot on his body. Staggering up, Sean chooses not to make the same mistake as Kibs and sacrifices rest for initiative, lifting Nathaniel off the mat. Standing to his side, Atlas keeps him doubled over as he maneuvers Kibagami’s arm between his legs, then grabs it form behind...

Moving to a position behind Nathaniel, Atlas wraps his arm around the side of his opponent, setting up the Pumphandle Suplex. Atlas lifts Kibagami off his feet, sending him over his head...

Stevens: Stretch Suplex, Riley, and here it comes...

But Nathan lands on his feet! He floated right over Atlas on the weak Stretch Suplex attempt and landed square on his boots! Using the moment to his advantage, Kibs slides around to the side of Atlas and places Sean’s arm on his shoulder, the reaches across his chest with one hand and hooks his leg with the other...

Riley: Oh no... Exploder Suplex!

Stevens: Damn right, that’s the Exploder Suplex... Atlas is about to plummet down onto his head again!

But as Kibagami goes to lift him, Atlas swings his arm, elbowing Nathan to the back of the head! He takes the arm that was draped over his chest and ducks under it, placing it around his head. He then seizes Nathan’s other hand and bends it down between his legs, gripping it with one hand while moving his other arm around Kibagami’s neck. Finally securing all the limbs involved, Atlas pops his hips, straightens his back, and lifts Nathan off his feet, high into the air...

AND STRAIGHT DOWN INTO THE RING!

Stevens: WHAT A MOVE!!!!

Riley: Exploder Suplex, Mark? Not really. Countered by Atlas’ Exploider ’98!!!

Stevens: That’s Kibagami’s neck taking all the impact! He could be done for!

Riley: Lateral Press from Atlas...!

Sean pins Kibagami’s shoulders to the mat as referee Kivell makes the count...

...O.....N.....E...

...T.....W.....O...

...

..

.

...T.....H.....R.....E.....E.....E.....N.....N.....N....NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

Stevens: HE KICKED OUT! HE KICKED OUT! KIBS IS STILL ALIVE AND KICKING IN THIS MATCH!

Riley: Not for long, Mark. You know what’s coming next...

The hammering of Sean’s fist against the surface of the mat is drowned by the cheers of encouragement for Nathaniel Kibagami. Weary and exhausted, Atlas slowly manages to find his footing and stand up, resenting all the adulation for his opponent. Quieting the fans down, Atlas does his trademark taunt: The middle finger drawn to his forehead, chest, left and right shoulders in the image of the cross.

Stevens: There he goes again with that damn insult to the holy cross.

Riley: Not that I support him, but since when were you a religion defender?

Stevens: When someone desecrates a holy icon like that, how can you not oppose him?!

Riley: Eh... apathy?

The gesture was missed entirely by Kibagami, who just now managed to roll over onto his belly and start to stand up. Losing patience, Atlas approaches Kibagami and takes him by the arm just as he tries to get up. Sean helps him up... but lifts him higher than Nathan intended as he lifts him onto his shoulders and across his back...

Stevens: No, not this. Not to Nathan. Not to his neck!

Riley: But it is THIS! It’s the SAINT’S DEMISE!

Stevens: This will surely finish him off. The Saint’s Demise has taken down people with much stronger necks than Nathan’s. Just imagine what it may do to his!

Riley: Nothing but a miracle could save this man now!

With sweat dripping from his chin and seeping through the eyeholes in his mask, Atlas balances the body of Nathaniel Kibagami across his back, cradling the neck with one arm while he hooks a leg with the other. As has become a tradition, Sean circles around the ring, turning to every side of the area to look at every fan in attendance, along with allowing them to see his dominance...

Stevens: What? Who is that?

Riley: Who, where?

Stevens: On the ramp... he looks like Atlas!!!

A man about 6’4, and 230-something pounds speeds down the ramp, dressed in dark blue tights and a mask identical to Sean Atlas’. He reaches the ringside area and hops up onto the apron... just as Sean Atlas leaves his feet and tips over to the side...

!*SLAM*!

Riley: SAINT’S DEMISE!!!

Stevens: BUT WHO IS THAT ATLAS LOOK-A-LIKE!

Riley: I DON’T KNOW!!

In a close shot of Sean’s covered face, his ferocious eyes stick out like dark nipples on an albino woman. He stands up heading for the man in a mask just like his, standing on the apron. He approaches him and notices the hair sticking out from underneath the mask - dark blue... Atlas takes a swing!

The man ducks, but doesn’t escape as Sean latches on to his head, pulling on the mask as this mystery man steps off the apron to try and get away...

But loses the mask!

Stevens: it’s Mike Van Siclen! He’s out to get revenge for Atlas’ shoddy officiating last week!

Riley: So he puts on an Atlas mask sold by SWF Gear?

Stevens: To distract him! That mask is possibly the one insecurity that Sean Atlas has! In fact, it looks like the distraction worked!

Atlas and Van Siclen exchange words, with nothing but the ropes separating the two men. Sean examines the mask in his hands – SWF merchandise. He tosses it right back at Van Siclen, yelling more profanities that can’t even be lip-read properly. He slowly backs up, carefully turning around to keep an eye on Mike in case he tries to interfere in the match...

But gets caught by Kibagami!

Stevens: SMALL PACKAGE! SMALL PACKAGE!

Riley: HOW DID HE.....????

...O.....N.....E...

...Atlas fights it, thrashing his feet back and fourth...

...T.....W.....O...

...Kibagami doesn’t let up, holding the legs and neck with all the might left in him...

...

..

.

...THREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DING-DING-DING!

Stevens: NATHAN KIBAGAMI STEALS IT!

Riley: BULLSHIT! VAN SICLEN INTERFERED!!!

Stevens: Hey, a win’s a win, isn’t it, Riley?

Riley: Screw you, old man!

Kibagami rolls out of the ring, clutching his own neck. He lands at ringside, right near Mike Van Siclen, who helps him to his feet as Atlas jumps to his feet in the ring. The white leather on his mask seemingly turns red with fury as he heads for the two men that seem to have issues with him, but they backpedal up the ramp, Van Siclen helping Kibagami remain on his feet.

“The winner of this bout... NATHANIEL KIBAGAMI!”

Riley: What does Van Siclen want with Atlas? Damn that man for constantly harassing Sean, who showed unwavering dominance over MVS and his entire stable.

Stevens: But on top of that, Atlas cost Van Siclen the US title last week, which just adds up to the other false claims and atrocities that Sean has committed against Van Siclen. I guess costing Atlas this match makes things even.

At the top of the ramp, Van Siclen and Kibagami stand, one man laughing, the other just glad he won the match and got away safely. The image of Sean Atlas appears on the SmarksTron behind them, kicking the ringside steps and showing all sings of pure rage. Then, as if to taunt Sean even more, Nathan and Mike each grab on to the merchandise mask that MVS ran in with, pull it in opposite directions and rip its leather body in two!

Riley: Was that really necessary!?

Stevens: No, but damn it if it doesn’t make a great image for a highlight reel, eh?

Riley: Go eat a bag of dicks. Raw, uncooked, dicks.

Stevens: I’ll look through your fridge to find them. We’ll be right back, folks!

June 12, 2003

“Welcome back fans, and thank you for joining us for another exciting night of SWF action. We’ve had some great matchups so far, like…”

“The same standard crap you see on every one of our shows. Sure, mark, I can get excited when the bad guys win, take their rightful spot, but really, how has this show been different from any other in recent memory. Because Mike Van Siclen DIDN’T lose to Michael Craven so far tonight? Every night you shill for just how exciting and astounding the in ring action has been, but when are we really gonna see some exciting development? When’s there gonna be something new? I want something exciting to happen, right now. I’ll take ANYTHING.”

Just as Riley finishes speaking, the Smarktron crackles with static, filling up the entire screen. After a few moments, an image finally fades in, of Kevin Cole standing in the backstage area, microphone raised to his lips, clearly standing and addressing someone off camera. “Hello, fans, this is Kevin Cole, backstage, with a….. surprise guest. I’ve been asked to cut to a video package, and then I’ll have a few words with my guest, who has asked for an opportunity to speak to everyone in the arena tonight. Without Further ado, let’s see the package.”

Cole signals to someone else off camera, and the image fades away, turning instead into a long shot of an empty, broken down roller coaster, sitting in the middle of a park. A familiar voice cuts in, though it is somewhat hard to place it right off the bat, not helped by the music in the background, the song recognizable as the Red Hot Chili Pepper’s ‘Can’t stop’, just loud enough to be heard.

“The rollercoaster. Thrill ride. Adrenaline rush. Two words that always meant something to the fans of the SWF. It doesn’t run now. Empty, lifeless, it sits, and it waits. It waits for something, or someone, so it can go barreling down that track once more. The rollercaster rides no more. Until now.”

The camera zooms closer to the broken down carnival ride, and suddenly, colored lights flash on all over the ride, bars gleaming in the incandescence, a loud thunk filling the air as the safety bars slam down over the seats, a squeal ringing out as the cars slide forward along the track for what seems like the first time in a long while. The cars slide forward till they are positioned right at the beginning of the ride, seeming almost to eagerly await a line of thrill seekers to test it’s track. One man steps into the picture, facing away fromt eh camera as he marches through the emptiness where a line once stood, his face never revealed as he marches towards the empty cars.

“I rode this ride once. I took it for granted, I never did enough to keep it alive. But now I’ve got my ticket to ride again. I’m coming back. The rollercoaster will ride again. The thrills, the chills, the real excitement will once more be there for each and every SWF fan. I’m the first passenger, the operator, now, and the man who will show everyone he’s got what it takes to be called the dream. I’ve got my ticket to ride…..”

Slowly the figure turns around in line, head looking down towards the ground. The camera zooms in close to the top of his head, blond hair cascading back, parted by a sngle strap along the top of his head. Tilting his face upwards, the figure looks straight into the camera, revealing a mask, one side bright white, one side black, emblazoned on the front with a maple leaf, red coloring the leaf on the white side, white filling it’s outline on the black side of the mask. Two piercing, familiar eyes glare up at the camera, as CIA is revealed to all, a wide smirk cutting his features.

“…. Now it’s time for you to get a ticket, too.”

The video package fades away, and a loud cheer can be heard from the audience as Kevin Cole once more fades into view, still looking off screen. The camera slowly pans out as Kevin speaks, revealing the man he is addressing. “Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I give you…. CIA.”

“Oh, god, I take it back, I take it all back! Let’s book a Craven versus MVS match, right now! Can’t we please?”

“Well, well, Riley. Just like in a men’s bathhouse, you asked for it.”

On the Smarktron, CIA turns towards the camera, looking out from the screen as if he could see each fan in the audience, and feel the excitement rumbling through the arena. With a smile, and a sly wink, the Canadian turns back towards Kevin Cole, and waits.

Clearing his throat, Kevin raises his microphone, and asks of the man once known as the ‘Canadian Dream, “Well, CIA, you’re making your return to the SWF with little pre-amble, and no prior announcement. There are many questions to be asked, but perhaps the most obvious ones are about your one time stable, the…”

“Midnight Carnival.” CIA seems almost morose, for just a second as he says this, but he smiles, and continues on. “Right now, Kevin, I’m just one man, eh. The Carnival? Oh, it lives. It lives in here.” CIA pounds his fist against his chest as he say this, his smile becoming wider. “It lives in the heart of everyone who was a Carnie, and even more in the hearts of each fan who ever watched with an uncontrollable excitement as we put on the best show we could. I still represent the Carnival, and I will still defend it’s name, eh. But I don’t expect to single-handedly destroy the forces of evil. The Carnival will always be there for the fans. But right now, I’m gonna be CIA first, be the champion in that ring that I can really be, and a Carnie second.”

“Well, Carnival resurgence or no, I’m certainly sure that each and very fan is thrilled at your return, and perhaps just a bit curious. Now that you’ve come back, what are your goals?”

“Was I ever a title-holder in the SWF, Kevin? Was I ever the man you looked to to take down that mighty foe, to win the big matches? No, eh. I was a great wrestler, and I still am. I was a man who did EVERYTHING for the fans, and I still am. But I want to prove that I’m ready to step up and take what I deserve. And I’m going to prove it in the only way I know how. Hardcore. When I won the SJL title, I did it in one of the most brutal cage matches that league has ever seen. And the week before that? In a cage, showing that same brutality, that same will to win. And how about the week before that, eh? Hell in a swimming pool. I did some checking, and your hardcore champion is one Dace Night. A brutal competitor, and a man worthy of the name Horrorcore. And hey, Dace, it’s nothing personal, but you’re also on the top of my list. I’m coming for your title. I want a SHOT. Win lose, or draw, this Canadian’s gonna show everyone he’s got what it takes. And he’s gonna do it with a style and flair like noone else in the whole SWF. If you fans out there hear me, I want to feel that excitement again. I want to hear, one more time, all of you chanting for me. Cause I’m not gonna win this one for you all, but I’m gonna fight for you. Are you ready, SWF? Cause your favorite import from North of the Border is BACK! What do you say to that, eh!?”

The camera cuts back to the arena, to see fans on their feet, clapping, whistling, and cheering, a few ‘C-I-A!’ chants breaking out all over the stands. Finally, with one last shot of CIA’s face, leaning in close to the camera, smiling that familiar style, and a few final words, the Smarktron falls silent once more.

“LET’S GET READY TO RIDE! CAUSE THE ROLLERCOASTER IS BACK IN TOWN!”

This final cry brings a loud cheer from the audience, and the cameras return to our erstwhile announce team, Riley face down on the announce desk, Mark Stevens unabvle to contain a smile as he turns towards his partner in crime. “Bobby, are you… crying?”

“Why does it always have to happen to me?”

“Well, Suicidal despondence from my co-worker aside, I must say, fans, stay tuned, cause this night just keeps heating up!”

June 12, 2003

“Coming up next,” says Mark Stevens, “is a No-DQ match between Janus and the Wildchild, and Bobby, these two guys have a little bit of history! A few months ago, Janus put Wildchild on the shelf with an injury that cost him the Hardcore Title he had just won, and the Suicide King rewarded the Hell Machine with a shot at that very title! A few weeks later, Wildchild made his return and got a little revenge!”

<< The screen cuts to a quick flashback to: April 23rd Lockdown, where Wild and Dangerous jumped Janus following his four corners match >>

“I hope that Wildchild is happy with himself,” says Bobby Riley, “because, since then, Janus has been a force of nature! He’s gone through just about everybody King’s put in front of him, leaving a path of destruction in his wake! And I know that, somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s been looking forward for this match, and the opportunity to finish what he started back in April!

“You’ve got to believe that Janus feels confident about this match,” says Stevens, “but the last time these two actually faced off in the ring, it was Wildchild who got the victory!”

“Oh please,” scoffs Riley. “How can you give Wildchild any credit for that win? Van Siclen did all the work in that match; all Wildchild did was take advantage of an already worn-down Janus!”

“At any rate,” continues Stevens, “Janus, who came within an eyelash of upsetting Danny Williams for the ICTV Title last week on Storm, is looking to get back on track, and hopefully earn himself another shot. All he has to do is get past the Wildchild here tonight, and he’ll likely be considered for another title shot in the near future. Bobby, we’re about to see if that’s as easily done as said!”

At that point, the lights in the Cajundome cut off, and an anxious murmur goes through the Lafayette crowd as they wait in anticipation. The camera focuses in on the SmarkTron, which displays a photograph of a young man, with freshly dyed white hair. The photograph starts to slowly become overwrought with cracks and fissures, as Fear Factory’s “Resurrection” begins to play.

Consumed with memories…

That preceded today…

Given a chance to bereave…

Life that’s slipping AWAAAAAAAAAAY!!!

As the beat of “Resurrection” begins to increase in intensity, the crack-riddled image on the SmarkTron shatters, revealing the full-grown visage of the Hell Machine himself. In the ring, Funyon lifts the microphone to his lips and announces him. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a No-DQ Match, scheduled for one fall! Approaching the ring at this time, and representing the Magnificent Seven, from Sydney, Australia, weighing in at three hundred fifty pounds, JAAAAANUS!”

The azure flames illuminating the path to the ring begin to douse in succession as the Hell Machine draws nearer to the ring. He climbs the steel stairs at ringside and onto the apron, 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” comes to an abrupt end, and the anxious Louisiana crowd suddenly erupts in cheers as Smashing Pumpkins’ “The Everlasting Gaze” begins to pump through the speakers. Wildchild springs from the behind the curtain onto the stage, posing briefly for the fans and banging his head in time with his music.

“And his opponent,” continues Funyon, “from the Bahamas, weighing in at two hundred seventeen pounds, the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Funyon leaves the ring as the Bahama Bomber streaks down the ramp, slapping hands with his adoring fans as he approaches ringside, and diving into the ring, somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes. He rolls to his feet and looks across the ring, locking eyes with his arch-nemesis.

“Wildchild looks intense,” notes Stevens. “I don’t think there’s any question that he’s focused on winning this match!”

“Well, he may be focused,” replies Riley, “but that’s not going to amount to anything once the bell rings. He’s giving away too much size, and too much power to Janus!”

Referee Anthony Michael Hall holds his hand in the air, signaling to the audio technicians in the back to cut off Wildchild’s music, and then orders the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match.

DING! DING! DING!

“Bell’s gone,” says Stevens. “And we’re underway!”

Janus stands in the center of the ring, as Wildchild circles deftly about him. The Bahama Bomber settles in front of the Hell Machine, and the two engage in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, which Janus dominates with frightening ease, casually throwing Wildchild backwards into the ropes. Wildchild looks up at his nemesis with wide eyes as the Aussie Monster looks back down at him with a satisfied smirk. Wildchild approaches Janus again, meeting for a second collar-and-elbow tie-up, but the Hell Machine just hands out more of the same, this time throwing Wildchild into the turnbuckle. The Bahama Bomber again gazes upwards at the smirking Janus, this time with determination, as the Hell Machine taunts him, waving him on with his hands, as though inviting him to continue their little exchange.

“I told you,” says Riley confidently, “Wildchild is giving up way too much power here! I don’t think that he can even get Janus off his feet!”

Wildchild approaches Janus a third time, seemingly to try for a third tie-up, but instead grabs Janus’ left arm with both hands, and twists it into an arm wringer.

“Looks like Wildchild’s decided to try a different approach,” notes Stevens.

Janus turns his head to look at Wildchild with an amused expression, and then reaches across his body with his right arm, grabbing a hold of Wildchild and lifting his body straight into the air!

“Different approach,” crows Riley, “same result!”

The crowd gasps as Janus holds Wildchild overhead, walking towards the edge of the ring as he lifts him up and down with effortless repetition.

“He’s doing reps with Wildchild,” cries Stevens. “That’s two hundred and twenty pounds of live weight!”

“Child’s play to the Hell Machine,” adds Riley.

Janus turns around as he reaches the ropes, so that his back is to the crowd, and releases Wildchild into the air behind him. The Bahama Bomber begins to plummet towards the arena floor, but grabs onto the top rope at the last second, and steers himself to the apron. Unseen by Janus, Wildchild leaps onto the top rope, and spits onto the Aussie Monster’s back! Whipping around furiously, the Hell Machine spies the Wildchild standing balanced on the top rope, flipping him a double bird to the crowds’ amusement!

“Wildchild has no fear of Janus,” shouts Stevens. “He’s openly defying the Hell Machine!”

“Wildchild is flirting with permanent disfigurement here,” replies Riley. “The LAST thing he needs is to piss the Aussie off!”

Enraged, Janus charges towards the ropes, arms extended and prepared to rend Wildchild into hundreds of tiny pieces, but the Caribbean Cruiserweight leaps high into the air, escaping Janus’ grasp, and locks his hands behind the Aussie Monster’s head as he descends, forcing the giant’s throat across the solid steel cable as he drops down to the arena floor with a high-velocity guillotine!

“That’s solid steel cable underneath that protective covering,” cries Stevens. “A shot like that will cut off ANY man’s oxygen, and I don’t care HOW big you are, if you can’t breathe, you can’t fight!”

Without hesitation, Wildchild scrambles back onto the ring apron and propels himself back onto the top rope as Janus staggers backwards, clutching his throat. The Bahama Bomber leaps off the top rope and into the ring, flipping forward as he plants his feet directly underneath the Aussie’s chin with a Shooting Star Missile Dropkick that sends him crashing to the mat!

“Janus is down,” shouts Stevens. “Wildchild got the big monster off his feet!”

“Consider it a temporary condition,” replies Riley.

Wildchild pounces onto Janus’ massive chest as referee Anthony Michael Hall slides into position to count the pinfall…

ONE!

TWO!

No sooner than the referee’s hand slaps the mat a second time, than Janus presses both hands upwards, launching Wildchild off his body with alarming simplicity!

“How about that power,” asks Riley. “Now THAT’S an authoritative kickout!”

The disgruntled Hell Machine rolls over onto his knees, and Wildchild takes the opportunity to run towards him and apply a side headlock. The Bahama Bomber squeezes for all he’s worth, trying to apply as much pressure to the headlock as he can, but that proves to be fruitless, as Janus begins to stand up, casually lifting Wildchild off the mat!

“Unbelievable power by Janus,” remarks Stevens. “Wildchild digs in with a side headlock, and he doesn’t even care! He just stands straight up like Wildchild isn’t even there!”

“I’m telling you, Wildchild can’t deal with this over the course of the match,” quips Riley. “That lucky dropkick may have been the only shot he gets the whole match!”

Janus slips his left arm underneath Wildchild and lifts him overhead as begins to fall backwards, but Wildchild rotates over the top of his shoulder and lands behind him, where he capitalizes on the Hell Machine’s suddenly impaired balance to spin him around, and raises his arm up swiftly to smash Janus under his chin with a fierce uppercut to the chin… but the Aussie Monster doesn’t even flinch!

“No effect,” shouts Riley. “Wildchild just popped Janus in the mouth, and he didn’t even feel it!”

Somewhat dismayed, Wildchild punches upwards at Janus’ face again, who doesn’t even bother to block, and scores with a lunging right cross to the giant’s nose… but looks on in shock as his punch again has no effect!

“Oh this match is SOOO over,” says Riley haughtily. “Wildchild’s only prayer was to use his speed to hit and run on Janus. Well, he can hit and run on Janus all night, but his hits don’t even have any effect on the big Aussie Monster. His only hope now is to lay down right now, and hope Janus lets him off with a quick pinfall loss!”

“This match is far from over, Bobby,” argues Stevens. “Wildchild might not have the strength to compete with Janus, but I’m not going to count him out just yet; this kid has a lot of heart!”

“If he doesn’t do the smart thing and lay down,” retorts Riley, “he’s going to have a lot of heart splattered across the ring!”

Wildchild twists his body back, throwing all of his strength into one mega-punch, in the desperate hope of cracking the Aussie Giant’s armor, but Janus raises his massive left hand, engulfing Wildchild’s fist as he blocks the punch. He flings Wildchild heedlessly behind him, sending him rocketing into the ropes, and raises his arm as the Bahama Bomber rebounds to floor him with a big clothesline… but Wildchild ducks underneath his massive arm and runs behind him to the other side, leaping onto the top rope as Janus begins to turn around, and curling into a ball as he springs off, propelling himself towards the Hell Machine with a Pinball attack before he even has time to react…

SMACK!

… But the giant doesn’t fall, barely even moving! Wildchild looks up with astonishment, and races back to the ropes, leaping onto the top rope again, and bouncing off with another lightning-fast Pinball attack!

SMACK!

Janus staggers backwards, but remains on his feet! Wildchild can only gape in wide-eyed shock.

“You still think your boy has a chance,” asks Riley gloatingly. “That’s the strongest of the moves he has that he has any hope of hitting Janus with, and he can’t even knock him off his feet with it!”

Still desperate to find an advantage, Wildchild races to the corner, where he leaps onto the top turnbuckle and flings himself off in one fluid motion, twisting through the air and stretching his body out as he dives towards Janus with a cross-body block!

THWACK!

The Aussie Giant snatches Wildchild out of the air as if he were a football, and slings him onto his shoulder, grinning evilly to the crowd as he drops to one knee, driving the Bahama Bomber’s left shoulder into it!

“What the hell was he thinking,” asks Riley. “Hasn’t he studies Janus’ laws of Physics?”

Janus dumps Wildchild unceremoniously onto the canvas and makes his way to the edge of the ring, where he steps over the top rope and drops down to the arena floor, where he reaches underneath the ring and pulls out a steel chair and two tables.

“Oh man,” says Riley gleefully, “I told you that Wildchild should have been smart and laid down! Now, Janus is going to kill him!”

“This isn’t over until the referee counts three,” replies Stevens. “Many men here in the SWF have tasted defeat by taking this kid lightly!”

Janus slides the tables underneath the bottom rope, and holds the chair in his hand as he climbs back onto the apron, stepping over top rope back into the ring. He walks over to where Wildchild remains lying on the canvas, and lifts the chair high above his head, bringing it down mightily!

CLANG!

… But Wildchild rolls to safety as the chair smashes into the mat! Wildchild rolls to knees in front of Janus as the Hell Machine brings the chair back above his head, charging towards the Bahama Bomber and swinging for his head… but Wildchild dives behind him, just narrowly avoiding the crushing blow, and somersaults to his feet, running to the ropes and leaping over the top, to land on the ring apron.

“Wildchild’s using his speed to his fullest advantage, to stay a step ahead of the monster Janus,” says Stevens.

“Don’t sugar-coat it,” retorts Riley. “He’s running for his life in there!”

Showing signs of frustration, Janus dashes towards the ropes, determined to knock Wildchild into next week, but the Tropical Tumbler drops down to a low crouch and grabs onto the bottom rope, using it to propel himself back into the ring, sliding underneath the bottom rope and through Janus’ legs!

CLANG!

Wildchild rolls to his feet and leaps into the air as Janus spins around, surprising the Hell Machine with a dropkick that sends the chair smashing into his face! As Janus stumbles backwards into the ropes, Wildchild races to the opposite end of the ring to build up speed, blazing back towards Janus and leaping into the air before the Aussie Giant can react, or even regain his balance, and crashing into him with a cross-body block that sends them both falling over the top rope and to the arena floor!

“What a daring maneuver by the Wildchild,” exclaims Stevens, “and it looks as if he may have finally taken a little bit of the starch out of the Hell Machine!”

“A lucky shot,” replies Riley. “That’s all it was; he’s going to need a lot more than that to stand a chance against Janus!”

Wildchild recovers quickly, scrambling to his feet and sliding inside the ring. He gets back to his feet and dashes to the opposite end of the ring, bouncing off the ropes as Janus gets to his feet, and dives towards the Aussie Monster, planting both feet into his face and sending him stumbling backwards into the ring barricade with a baseball slide, causing fans around the ring to scatter for their own safety!

“Wildchild’s got the big man reeling,” shouts Stevens. “I believe you were saying something about the hit and run not being effective, Bobby?”

“I believe YOU were saying something about the match not being over yet,” replies Riley.

Wildchild rolls onto his feet and races to the corner, leaping onto the top turnbuckle, and looking down to the arena floor at Janus before he leaps off, diving towards the Hell Machine feet first, and landing in a seated position on his shoulders.

WHAM!

In an act of pure reflex, Janus swings his feet out in front of him the second he feels Wildchild’s legs on his shoulders, and reaches up to grab Wildchild’s waist as he drops down, driving him into the padded concrete floor with a horrifying sit-down powerbomb!

“Hey Mark,” goads Riley, “what happened to that great hit and run attack you were just talking about?”

“Fortunately for Wildchild,” says Stevens, “he appears to have hurt Janus enough to slow him down. If Janus were still at a hundred percent, he could probably put Wildchild away right now!”

Sure enough, Janus takes a few seconds to recover from the speedster’s attack before getting back to his feet. He takes a few seconds to reconsider his plan before pulling Wildchild to his feet and whipping him towards the corner of the ring, slamming his left shoulder into the ringpost! Wildchild leans into the ringpost to remain upright, clutching his shoulder in pain as Janus walks up behind him, lacing his fingers together as he raises his hands above his head, and slamming them down onto Wildchild’s shoulder with a clubbing double axe-handle!

“I see where Janus is going with this,” says Riley with a smirk. “He’s softening him up for the Hell Crush, the same move he used to put Jay Dawg away with a few weeks ago!”

Janus scoops Wildchild up and rolls him into the ring, and tosses the chair back into the ring before climbing back in himself. He walks over to Wildchild, chair in hand, and lifts it above his head, driving it down into Wildchild’s shoulder!

WHAM!

The Bahama Bomber screams in agony as the Hell Machine drives the edge of the steel chair down into his shoulder, determined to separate it from the rest of his body.

“Janus is going to rip Wildchild’s left arm clean off, if he doesn’t let up,” crows Riley.

Janus eventually relents in his assault, standing over his opponent with a malevolent scowl on his face.

“This match is all Janus,” remarks Riley. “No way Wildchild can stage a comeback after that beating!”

The Hell Machine flexes his massive arms and signals to the crowd for his devastating Hell Crush. He pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him to the ropes, waiting to scoop him up as he bounces off the ropes.

THWACK!

But Wildchild digs deep inside himself, and leaps high into the air as he rebounds, swinging his leg high into the air and stunning the Aussie Giant with a leg lariat that snaps his head back!

“Leg Lariat,” cries Stevens. “Come on, kid! You can do it!”

Quickly realizing that the Hell Machine is still on his feet, Wildchild scrambles back to his feet and runs to the ropes again, leaping high into the air as he bounces off.

THWACK!

Wildchild blasts Janus with a second leg lariat, this time knocking him a few steps backwards, but not off his feet. With an unexpected second wind, Wildchild bounces back to his feet, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he runs back to the ropes, pressing his advantage.

THWACK!

A third leg lariat sends the Aussie Monster a few more steps backwards, though not yet off his feet, but Wildchild looks up and realizes that his nemesis is ripe to be toppled. Daring to try one more leg lariat, the Bahama Bomber races to the ropes a fourth time.

THWACK!

Upon impact from the fourth leg lariat, Janus falls backwards into the ropes, which propel him back forward into the ring, where he drops groggily to one knee.

“He’s down to one knee,” shouts Stevens. “Wildchild’s got him down. Finish him off, kid!”

Sensing a chance to steal victory, the Caribbean Cruiser springs to his feet, running once more to the ropes, and charging towards the fallen giant.

BANG!

“Shining Wizard,” screams Stevens. “Shining Wizard! Janus is down!”

Wildchild tries to raise his arms above his head to spin his hands around, but the pain in his left shoulder forces him to cease that activity. He decides to forgo his traditional posing and runs to the ropes, leaping onto the top rope and springing backwards as he flips forward, to crush Janus with the…

WHAM!

“Falling Star Press,” shouts Stevens. “That’s the move he used to beat Janus the last time!”

“No way,” screams Riley. “Janus CAN’T lose to this little twerp!”

Wildchild clutches his shoulder in pain, as he lay atop the massive Hell Machine, unable to hook the leg as the referee slides into position to count the pinfall.

“Looks like Wildchild landed awkwardly on his injured shoulder,” says Stevens, “but the ref’s going to count, anyway!”

ONE!

“Get up,” shouts Riley.

TWO!

“No!”

THREEEEEEE—

KICKOUT!

“He kicked out,” cries Stevens incredulously. “Dear God, Janus kicked out from the Falling Star Press! Nobody’s ever done that before!”

“Thank Christ,” sighs Riley.

“What was that?”

“Um,” stammers Riley, “I said, I KNEW he was going to kick out all along!”

Unsure of what else he can possibly do to put the big man away, Wildchild punches down at the top of Janus’ head with his good arm as the Aussie Giant rolls onto his knees, but Janus continues to rise. Wildchild backs into the ropes and runs back towards Janus leaping into the air… but the Hell Machine suddenly lurches up and snatches the Bahama Bomber out of the air, wrapping his massive arms around him, and squeezing for all he’s worth.

“Hell Crush,” crows Riley. “It’s over!”

“He doesn’t have good position,” says Stevens. “If he stands all the way up, this very well COULD be over!”

Janus, his knees still on the canvas, leans forward, increasing the pressure to his unforgiving bearhug, as he lifts his left knee off the mat, planting his foot on the canvas. Wildchild, screaming in excruciating pain, struggles to free himself to no avail, as the Hell Machine begins to stand upright.

“He’s almost upright,” shouts Riley triumphantly. “Stick a fork in your little Caribbean friend; he’s done!”

Janus straightens his back out and begins to stand upright. In a desperate attempt to free himself before he blacks out from the pain, Wildchild rocks his legs back and forth, swinging them forward and slamming them into exposed side pf the Aussie Giant’s right knee, re-aggravating the injury he sustained in his brutal battle with Jay Dawg a few weeks ago. Still feeling the effect of the Wildchild’s earlier attack, the unexpected kick to his knee causes the Hell Machine to buckle, dropping him back into a crouch.

“That kick to the knee has stunned Janus,” exclaims Stevens. “He must still be feeling the effects of that JD’s Revenge back on Smarkdown!”

“Damn you, Drazon,” growls Riley. “If you cost Janus this match…”

“Come on, kid,” screams Stevens. “Fight back! You can do it!”

With one more desperate swing, Wildchild jams his feet into Janus’ right knee again, causing the Aussie Monster to release his crushing bearhug! The Tropical Tumbler falls to the mat and rolls over to the ropes as the giant clutches his knee in pain.

“He got loose,” cheers Stevens. “Wildchild got out of the Hell Crush!”

“Why,” demands Riley. “Doesn’t he realize that he’s just delaying the inevitable?”

Wildchild reaches up with his good arm to grab the ropes, pulling himself to a sitting position as Janus continues to nurse his sore knee. Turning his back to his opponent, the Bahama Bomber continues the seemingly arduous task of pulling himself back to his feet.

“Turn around kid,” pleads Stevens. “Even on one leg, Janus is too dangerous for you turn your back on him!”

Sure enough, Wildchild turns back towards the ring and sees the massive Janus bearing down on him!

“Gore,” shouts Riley.

WHACK!

The Hell Machine lumbers toward Wildchild with his shoulder lowered, but the Bahama Bomber dives towards his legs, toppling the charging giant with a dropkick to his tender knee! Janus falls forward and rolls onto his back, holding onto his knee, as Wildchild crawls across the ring, retrieving the forgotten chair. Pulling himself to his feet, Wildchild picks the chair off the mat and tucks it underneath his good arm. He draws his arm back as he approaches the fallen giant and thrusts it forward, driving the edge of the chair repeatedly into the Aussie’s knee!

“Somebody stop this,” cries Riley. “He could do permanent damage to Janus’ knee!”

“What’s the matter, Bobby,” asks Stevens. “Don’t like watching Janus get a taste of his own medicine?”

Holding the chair above his head as the crowd cheers, Wildchild walks purposefully over to the corner, ascending to the top turnbuckle as Janus rolls over onto his stomach.

Stevens begins pulling at is hair in exasperation. “What are you doing, kid? Finish him off, while you have the chance! Don’t give Janus a chance to get back into this match!”

Unable to hear Grand Slam’s frantic pleas, Wildchild positions himself on the top turnbuckle, chair in hand and calls out to the crowd before leaping back toward Janus, swinging the chair overhead…

BAAAAANG!!!!

… But, as Wildchild leaps off the turnbuckle, the Hell Machine lunges upwards desperately, drawing his arm back and swinging at the Bahama Bomber for all he’s worth, punching the chair and sending it crashing into Wildchild’s face!

“Knuckle Bomb,” crows Riley as Wildchild falls into the corner. “Knuckle Bomb through the chair! He must’ve broken Wildchild’s face in half!”

The momentary surge of adrenaline having passed, Janus collapses backwards to the mat, his knee no longer able to sustain him, as Wildchild lay quivering in the corner.

“Wildchild’s done,” concedes Stevens sadly. “He’s out! If Janus can ignore the pain in his knee just long enough to make his way over to Wildchild, he’ll have won this match!”

Janus rolls over onto his stomach and crawls over to the opposite corner, using the turnbuckles for support as he pulls himself to his feet. He starts to limp over towards Wildchild, but stops about halfway across the ring.

“What’s going on,” asks Stevens. “Why did he stop?”

“I know why he stopped,” says Riley with a grin. “He wants to put an exclamation point on this match!”

Surely enough, Janus limps over to the edge of the ring, using the top rope for support as he bends down to pick up the long forgotten table.

“My God,” pleads Stevens, “is he going to do what I think he’s going to do?”

“You bet your ass,” crows Riley as Janus unfolds the table and drags it over to the center of the ring. “He’s going to put Wildchild out of our misery!”

Once he has the table in place, Janus limps back towards Wildchild, still slumped over in the corner, and drags him out towards the center of the ring by his hair. He pulls him up to his feet in front of the table and traps him in a standing headscissors.

“He’s going to do it,” Riley shouts joyfully. “He’s going to put Wildchild through the table with a Dark Bomb!”

“Well,” says Stevens, “Last time Janus hit Wildchild with this move, he put him out of action for almost a month! There’s no telling how long he’ll be out after this one!”

The Hell Machine locks his arms around Wildchild’s waist and lifts him into the air, and onto his shoulders. He props his hands underneath Wildchild’s legs and lifts him above his head.

“Here it comes,” exclaims Riley. “Dark Bomb!”

CRAAAAAASH!!!!

But, as he turns to face the table, his knee gives out, giving Wildchild enough respite to squirm out of Janus’ hands and shift his body around, draping his leg around the Aussie Monster’s neck. Using his weight in conjunction with the lack of balance created by Janus’ hobbled knee, Wildchild drives the Hell Machine face-first through the table!

“Caribbean Cutter,” shrieks Stevens. “Wildchild reversed the Dark Bomb into the Caribbean Cutter!”

Rolling onto his stomach, Wildchild crawls over the top of Janus’ prone body, reaching forward and grabbing the Aussie Giant’s right leg with his good arm. He pulls back on it for all he’s worth as the referee slides into position to count the pinfall…

ONE!

“Get up,” pleads Riley. “You did it before, you can do it again!”

TWO!

Janus kicks forward with his right leg…

… But can’t power his battered knee out of Wildchild’s grip!

THREEEEEEEEE!!!!

DING! DING! DING!

The crowd erupts as “The Everlasting Gaze” begins to pump through the arena. Wildchild crawls away from Janus and underneath the bottom rope, slumping to the floor as the referee follows him out, raising his arm in victory as Funyon rises from his seat at ringside.

“Here is your winner, in thirteen minutes, twenty-six seconds, the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

“What and incredible battle between to two fierce competitors,” exclaims Stevens. “Wildchild goes through hell and back to exact some revenge against the man who cost him the Hardcore Title! We’ll be back with more SWF action, right after this!”

As We:

FADE OUT

Edited June 12, 2003 by realitycheck

June 12, 2003

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” begins Ben Hardy, “I am standing by right now with one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions, Ejiro Fasaki.”

Sauntering to the side of his interviewer comes the polo shirt clad member of The Magnificent Seven. With both of the tag team titles heaved up and onto his shoulder, Fasaki looks incredibly confident as he smiles directly at the SWF’s answer to Shawn Mooney.

“That’s right Ben, my partner in totally legal activities is still getting himself together for his eventual and total decimation of that overrated and overblown tub of Boston crème. Maybe once Judge William Hearford pins tubby one more time, the higher ups will figure out that our main man Tom Flesher would absolutely murder the old timer.”

“So what are your feelings about the upcoming number one contenders match between two thirds or The Unholy Trio and the team of Longdogger Pete and Frost? Is there a team you and Judge Hearford would prefer to face?”

Fasaki places a finger up against his temple in deep contemplation for a moment before he answers, “Hmmm… NOOOOOO! Face it Ben. Face it World. There isn’t a team in the history of man both foreign and domestic that can stop the freight train known as Justice and Rule. We’ve already beaten Danny and Dace. We’ve already beaten Frost with different partners. We’ve already beaten Longdogger Pete. Face it folks, Justice and Rule along with the rest of The Magnificent Seven: World Championship Edition is the mountain that no man can climb. We are the only bench mark for tag team wrestling.”

“So aren’t concerned at all with your opponents at 13th Hour no matter who they are?”

“Ben, I am not sure if I could be less concerned if Wild and Dangerous had the title shot. Face it Ben, Justice and Rule are the legends now. We’ve already beaten everyone there is to beat. What’s left? If somebody wants us to take their team seriously, they are going to have to do a hell of a lot more than growl. You have to earn our respect and ours is the only respect worth having.”

“Back to you, Mark Stevens!”

June 12, 2003

The Cajundome in Lafayette, Louisiana, lights up as SWF Lockdown fades back in! Fans are shown holding up signs including “Bake His Beans” and “Wipe The Judge’s Docket Clean,” as well as the ubiquitous “Beerhug.” The camera finally settles on the announcers’ table, where Bobby Riley and Mark Stevens sit.

“Fans,” says Stevens, “Welcome back to SWF Lockdown this fine Wednesday night! We’re going to see an interesting prelude to the World Title match at the 13th Hour pay-per-view where the Boston Strangler takes on Tom Flesher’s stablemate, the crafty veteran, Judge William Hearford.”

“I tell ya, Mark, the Judge has been putting away street trash like the Strangler for as long as he’s been on the bench,” says Riley. “I don’t see why tonight would be any different. I’ve gotta say William Hearford gets the fall in fifteen seconds or so. Twenty, tops.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little ridiculous?”

“I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous, Mark! Tom Flesher having to defend his title against this horrid piece of crap from the Armpit of the East Coast. The Boston Strangler is an insult to everything Tom Flesher stands for – he’s stupid, he’s got no technique and he probably can’t even spell ‘Strangler.’”

“To the contrary, the Boston Strangler’s been studying videos of Tom Flesher. As he showed a few weeks ago, he knows Tom’s offense well enough to utterly and completely frustrate him, to the point where Tom was willing to walk out of the match to save his skin.”

“He had the runs, Mark.”

“Oh, don’t give me that shit.”

Riley giggles.

“Well, with that in mind, let’s go to Funyon!”

Funyon announces, “The following contest is scheduled for one fall! The first competitor…”

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

"NOW TESTIFY!"

The song skips to midway through and continues on as three sets of red pyros shoot up all across the stage, and Judge William Hearford appears on the entrance ramp wearing his SWF Tag Team Title belt. He walks down to the ring in a very precise and deliberate step, stopping to taunt the crowd every few steps.

“From Royal Oak, Michigan, and weighing in tonight at 242 pounds, he is one half of the SWF Tag Team Champions, he is the Judge, William HEAAAAAAAARFORRRRRRRRRRD!”

Hearford climbs up the steps, a slight smirk on his face. He wipes his feet on the apron, then ducks into the ring to acknowledge the hot crowd. Finally, his music fades.

“What do you think that smirk is all about, Mark?”

“You know how the Magnificent Seven is. They’re always cocky.”

Mark is cut off as the arena goes dim. The opening chords of “Godzilla” by Blue Oyster Cult start to play. As the song launches into the opening guitar riff, the SmarkTron lights up with the name “STRANGLER” in big white letters, and a massive burst of white pyro explodes from the stage. As the pyro begins to die down…

“His opponent, from Boston, Massachusetts, and weighing 303 pounds, the number-one contender to the SWF World Title, THE BOSTON STRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGLERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!”

The fans cheer, but Strangler doesn’t walk out on cue. Funyon looks out to Mark Stevens, who holds his hand up to his ear and raises an eyebrow, then rolls his wrist at Funyon to try again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, THE BOSTON STRANGLER!!!!!!!!”

Once again, Strangler is nowhere to be found! Stevens says, “I can’t imagine where he could – wait! Wait, apparently we’ve got some cameras in the back!”

Riley giggles and says, “This is gonna be great!”

The SmarkTron flickers in on a backstage scene, where the Boston Strangler is staggering into one of the locker room doors! The camera pulls back, and Tom Flesher is behind him, raining down chairshots! He whacks Strangler in the back, neck and head over and over as the giant from Boston holds on to the door to keep his balance!

“What the hell is Flesher doing back there?” shouts Mark Stevens. “He’s not involved in this match!”

The shot cuts to William Hearford in the ring, smirking and nodding, even starting a golf-clap for Flesher!

“This was a set-up!” says Stevens, quickly getting very angry. “The whole match was nothing but a way to set up the Boston Strangler for a Pearl Harbor!”

“I’d say this is more like a Boston Tea Party, Mark.”

Flesher grabs the number-one contender by the head and leads him down a corridor, finally bringing him up to the black velvet curtain between the backstage area and the arena! As the Superior One guides the Strangler through the curtain, TBS shakes off the cobwebs and nails Flesher with a stiff right hand! Flesher staggers backwards through the curtain, and Strangler quickly follows! He continues battering Flesher, who simply stumbles toward the ring.

“This is what we’ve seen week in and week out,” says Stevens, a hint of pride in his voice. “The Boston Strangler has consistently gotten the upper hand on the World Champion, and now he’s winning the battle even though Flesher blindsided him in the back! You’ve gotta admire this!”

The Strangler gets Flesher almost all the way down the ramp and starts to lift him and roll him into the ring, when…

WHAM!

Flesher slams a stiff steel-toed kick into the Strangler’s groin! The monster doubles over in pain as Flesher wriggles free, then slides into the ring. He pulls TBS into the ring with him, with considerable help from William Hearford, and then whips him to the corner!

“Oh, come on! This is unnecessary!” shouts Stevens. “Can we get someone out here to break this up?!”

“Do YOU want to mess with two angry shooters, Mark?” asks Riley rhetorically. “Besides, this is the first time I’ve been entertained all night.”

Flesher steps into the corner, facing Strangler and unloading a kick into the Boston native’s left thigh! He repeats it, kicking Strangler’s left quadriceps over and over again as the crowd showers him with boos! Finally, Flesher steps back, and William Hearford moves in to continue the assault! The Judge lifts the Strangler’s leg and hooks the knee over the middle rope, exposing the hamstring for a vicious, relentless battery of kicks! TBS tries to stop the attacks, but he’s unable to get his leg free!

“Will someone PLEASE put an end to this?” Mark Stevens is pleading by this point. “This man has a pay-per-view match with Tom Flesher in ten days!”

“Gee, you’re a real mind,” says Riley with the verbal equivalent of an eye-roll. “Next will you tell me where babies come from?”

Hearford finally ends his attack on Strangler and moves out of the way…. Just as Tom Flesher runs in with a brutal Yakuza kick! The Boston Strangler collapses to the mat, his leg still hooked over the middle rope! Flesher grabs both his legs, drags him to the center, and dramatically crosses them at the knees!

“NO! NO! He can’t do this!” screams Stevens. “This is wrong!”

“Baby, then I don’t wanna be right!”

Flesher steps over, locking on the Superior Stretch! Strangler’s face is a mask of agony as Flesher cranks the deadly submission hold, with William Hearford standing guard at the edge of the ring! Despite Hearford’s best efforts, though, referees and road agents flood the ring and surround Flesher. John Trudel, Jim Stine and Ced Ordonez hold Hearford back as road agents Chris Belcourt and Dan Matteson peel Flesher’s arms off of Strangler’s tree-trunk legs. Flesher stands up, smirking and obviously satisfied.

“I hope you’re happy!” spits Mark Stevens. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, jumping him in the back like that!”

“Oh, he’s pretty clearly proud of himself,” replies Riley. “Just look at the look on his face.”

As the agents and referees escort Flesher from the ring, he pauses and applauds himself, with William Hearford joining in. The crowd, for its part, simply continues booing and bursts into a spontaneous “ASSSSHOLE! ASSSSSHOLE!” chant.

“I can’t believe that display!” says Stevens. “This is unbelievable. Hopefully, the Boston Strangler’s going to be alright in time for the 13th Hour pay-per-view in ten days. Otherwise…”

“Oh, we’d all be SO SAD,” says Riley. “Cry me a river.”

“That was despicable,” says Stevens. “Let’s just go to a damn commercial.”

June 12, 2003

The camera fades in from break with a wide, overhead shot of the jammed to the rafters Cajundome. A graphic in the lower right hand corner of the screen marks the festivities as:

“SWF Lockdown!

LIVE!

Lafayette, Louisiana

June 11th 2003”

“Welcome back to the sold out Cajundome!” Mark Stevens hypes on voiceover. The camera begins to slowly pan the arena and transitions to a shot of the commentators’ table at ringside.

Stevens smiles directly into the camera. “For those of you tuning in late, I’m ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens and with me as always is…”

“Big Crawdaddy Jackson!” Bobby Riley slurs in an atrocious Cajun accent.

Stevens looks at Riley sideways and continues, “And with me as always is Bobby ‘Slammin’ of Another Kind’ Riley. We are mere weeks away from 13th Hour with tensions heating up as we plow into summer. Tonight’s main event will have direct consequences on that pay-per-view as the winner of the following tag team match between Danny William and Dace Night vs. Longdogger Pete and Frost will face the World Tag Team Champions Justice and Rule for the belts on that coming fateful Sunday.”

Riley looks quite disinterested as he speaks. “It doesn’t matter who goes on to face Judge Hearford and Ejiro Fasaki at 13th Hour. Short of jumping in the Wayback Machine and getting the Moondogs, there isn’t a duo of duds in wrestling today that can take out the greatest tag team I’ve ever seen.”

Stevens blinks confused. “The Moondogs?”

“The Moondogs rock, shut up!”

The shot quickly switches to one of the backstage curtain, where smoke fills the stage, tinted red by a mishmash of red laser beams.

“LET FREEDOM RING WITH A SHOTGUN BLAST!”

A blast of pyro explodes from the rear of the stage on cue and shoots across the wide expanse of the Cajundome. “Davidian” by Machinehead roars over the loud speakers to herald the arrival of the first team to close out the night.

“Our main event this evening is scheduled for one fall and will be held under standard SWF tag team rules. Introducing first,” Funyon booms from the ring “ at a combined weight of 497 pounds, respectively residing currently in Tampa Bay, Florida and Louisville, Kentucky; representing the Unholy Trinity, DACE NIGHT and SWF ICTV Champion DANNY WILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLIAAAAAMMMS!”

“Williams and Night lost their first encounter with Justice and Rule, but did earn an impressive win in a six man tag that included Nathaniel Kibagami and Janus.” Mark recaps as Dace and Danny briskly walk down the ramp to the cheers of the crowd.

“A six man doesn’t mean anything. Night and Williams are just puro-wannabes, and I have no clue why anyone would want to be that, who don’t have the tag experience or skill to pull out the big win.”

Night and Williams reach ringside and turn to salute the fans for their support before climbing to the ring apron and entering the squared circle. Willaims unstraps his ICTV Title from around his waist and hands it off to a ring attendant as their music fades out and is replaced by…

“OH, MY GOD! INCREDIBLE SUPERSTAR!”

White pyrotechnics pop across the stage and more smoke is pumped in to compliment the left over from the entrance of Williams and Night. Longdogger Pete emerges from the smoke with a fist held high to the roaring crowd and deliberately stalks down the ramp in time to Quarashi’s “Baseline.”

“Now entering the arena,” Funyon continues “at a weight of 277 pounds and hailing from Miami, Florida. He is the One Man Wrecking Crew, LONG…DOGGER… PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETE!”

Pete reaches the bottom of the ramp and pauses. He looks over his shoulder at the entrance curtain where smoke still clings and is now mixed with faux snow wafting down from above. Silverish pyro erupts from the rafters and a blue spotlight cuts through the theatrics to shine on the curtain.

“And his partner,” Funyon finishes “from Reykjavik, Iceland at a weight of 296 pounds. He is the Velvet Hammer, FRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSST!”

Frost steps into the light, wisps of smoke clinging around his feet. He holds up a fist to the crowd, much like his partner did and chews on his trademark cigar as he struts down the ramp.

“Longdogger Pete and Frost have a title shot all sewn up, due to an agreement with King LDP made for helping Frost out of his recent emotional funk. However, whether they can cash in that chance at their hated Magnificent 7 rivals at 13th Hour will be determined here tonight.”

Riley scoffs at the pair on his monitor. “Pete and Frost lost to Justice and Rule in a six man tag last week with TBS and Tom Flesher. As I always say, six mans mean everything. LDP and Frost are just Road Warrior wannabes, and I have no clue why anyone would want to be that, who don’t have the tag experience or skill to pull out the big win.”

“You pretty much just cut and paste your commentary anymore don’t you, Bobby?”

“That’s no way to talk to Big Crawdaddy Jackson,” Riley says again in his bad fake accent.

Frost and LDP pull themselves to the apron by the second rope and step over the ropes to the ring proper. Frost throws his cigar to the outside floor mats while referee Mark Hebner finishes patting down both teams.

“While both teams are fairly inexperienced, they have shown decent chemistry and I think the team that can gel best and control the pace and style of the match will be able to get the win.” Stevens analyzes.

“So, it all comes down to what is mightier, the fist or the elbow?” Riley questions sarcastically.

Frost and Williams both step to the apron while LDP and Dace Night begin to circle each other. The audience crackles with tension as Hebner calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Pete pounces at the sound of the bell to fire three overhand rights down into Dace’s face. The King of Horrorcore shakes his head in absorbing the blows and returns fire with an elbow smash to the chest! The sound cracks throughout the building and LDP takes a step back, but no more as he sends another fist crashing into Night’s skull. Dace takes a step back and nails home another elbow to the chest! Punch, elbow, punch, elbow. PUNCH! ELBOW!

“These two are standing toe to toe and trading shots like grizzled prizefighters. This match will not be pretty.” Mark warns.

“Of course not, just look at the mugs of the guys in it.” Riley barks.

Seeing that he is getting nowhere, Dace spins around to drill a roaring elbow, but Pete sees it coming and takes a step back while delivering a boot to the gut as Night comes around. The air exhales from his lungs and Dace folds in half at the waist. LDP cinches a quick facelock and looks to snap back with a DDT, but Dace drives his shoulder into Pete and marches him into the far ropes. They spring off and Night twists behind LDP turning the move into a headlock and pushing out of it to send Pete to the opposite cords. Night plants himself firm and slices his arm forward with a slight crook at the elbow. LDP runs headlong into the blazing lariat! His feet sweep forward off the mat and he hits the ring with an echoing crash!

“A mighty lariat from Dace Night,” Stevens calls. “Although he’s smaller than both his opponents, they might be surprised of the power Dace packs into his frame.”

Dace eyes Pete down on the canvas for a second before skipping into the air and jutting his leg out for a knee drop. LDP rolls to his right to avoid the shot and glides to his feet. Night strikes the mat with a hollow thud and recoils to his feet, hunched over holding his knee. Pete leans into the ropes and comes off with building speed and his arm extended to the side. Night looks up as the Longdogger reaches him and takes the brunt of impact across the throat. Night flips over the arm and tumbles head over heels to crack the top of his skull into the turf!

“These two are going at it tit for tat, trading move for move in a gutsy display, wouldn’t you say Bobby?” Marks states breathlessly.

“Ha, you said ‘tit,’” is Riley’s expert analysis.

Pete kicks off the mat for an elbow drop, but Night knows to never stay still in a match and rolls out of the way. He goes to the ropes and climbs up them to his feet while LDP stands up with a hand to his sore elbow. The fans cheer at the two men exchanging a narrowed eyed stare and a nod of respect.

Mark views the situation in the ring knowingly. “It looks like these two will settle for their Mexican standoff for now and tag out to their partners. Frost and Williams have had some literal wars in the ring in their few meetings and were always at odds even while members of the same stable.”

“Ha, you said ‘Mexican.’” Riley snickers.

Frost and Williams slap hands with their respective partners and step into the ring through the ropes at the same time. Frost slyly spies on Danny as he enters and rushes at him out of the blue, hoping to catch him off guard. Danny’s keen mat sense alerts him to the charging behemoth with his arm out for a clothesline and sidesteps him. He pushes on Frost’s back as he moves behind him to make him slam into the lower right turnbuckles. Frost stumbles back into a rear waistlock. The Velvet Hammer sends back an elbow aimed at the temple, but Danny ducks. However, Frost rides the force of his swing to make a standing switch into a waistlock of his own. Williams puts his hands over Frost’s locked tight around his middle and throws all his weight down and forward. They drop to the canvas and Frost is bucked off of Danny to sprawl on his back.

“Some solid counter wrestling to start, showing that these two do indeed know each other. They race up, but Williams makes his feet first.” Mark says.

Williams walks over to Frost who has only risen to one knee and drops an elbow into the nape of his neck. He hammers down one more for good measure and claps on a facelock. Danny tries to pull Frost up with it, but he keeps his center of gravity low and grounded to the mat. He wraps both of his beefy arms around Danny’s left leg and works both of his legs underneath him as he stands. The fans gasp at the amazing display of strength! The man with a deathwish goes wide eyed as his feet leave the earth and he holds onto Frost’s head for dear life. Frost takes a couple stutter steps back from the load he has only by a single leg and falls backwards. Williams can do little as he plummets to crush his windpipe against the top rope!

“Wow!” Riley bleats, “check out that…uh…inverted single leg pick up…slingshot… catapult thingamajig…move thingie.”

“You know,” Mark starts matter-of-factly “that’s what I was going to call it.”

Frost reaches his feet to a monstrous pop while Williams rolls around on the mat clutching his throat. Frost sends a boot into Danny’s back as he flips over and he winces. Williams crawls to the ropes and puts his hand on the second rope to aide his way up. Hebner tries to warn Frost about touching a man on the ropes, but Frost swiftly grabs a half nelson with the left arm while barring his other arm over Williams’ throat and dragging him to the center of the ring.

“Frost makes with the Cobra Clutch, a good move to capitalize on his shot to the throat and possibly even earn an early submission,” Stevens points out.

“You know, I might think that Danny Williams is a tub of freeze dried monkey feces, but he’s a damn tough tub of freeze dried monkey feces. I don’t think Frost is going to take him out so soon.” Riley surprisingly analyzes.

Williams claws at Frost’s arm and tries to reach out for the ropes. Frost has him gripped firm and bears down hard on his favorite submission move, making sure to put extra pressure on the throat.

“Hmm…” Mark contemplates, “It’s not like you to choose sides when there’s two teams you don’t like in a match.”

“Meh!” Riley spits out, “I just want the match to go long and hopefully see some major injuries so the winners will be easy pickings for Justice and Rule. C’mon, Frost, break that neck!”

Danny’s squirming body becomes a little too hard to handle and Frost makes the wise choice in grapevining legs with Williams and kicking back to sweep the pair forward and down! The two stocky men bounce once from impact and then settle still on the canvas.

“Frost utilizes the Icelandic Legsweep to put Williams down. The Iceman from Iceland keeps the Cobra Clutch locked on and lays on Danny’s back for extra pressure. That’s near 300 pounds pinning Williams to the mat.” Stevens shakes his head, worrying for the leader of the Unholy Trinity.

“That’s probably closer to 325, Frost went to the Golden Corral for lunch.” Riley quips.

Danny arches his back to keep from eating a plateful of canvas and once again stretches out to the max, fingers twitching, in hopes of reaching the ropes. They are feet away and Williams can’t gain an inch with the behemoth from Iceland firmly on top of him. Williams shifts to the right in Frost’s clutches as much as he can and throws his right arm back to smack an elbow to the bridge of the nose. Frost’s head snaps back and Danny quickly nails a second. Frost loses his grip and falls to the side of Williams.

“A simple but effective maneuver to earn the break.” Stevens reasons. “An elbow from Danny Williams in any position could put your lights out for the night.”

“I don’t see any blood, but it looks the like the nose might be swelling already. C’MON,” Bobby yells with his hands cupped around his mouth “WE WANT BLOOD! WE WANT INJURY!”

Williams struggles to his feet, coughing and gagging with a raw throat. He walks in a half circle to gain is bearings and comes up to Frost on all fours working his way up. Williams doesn’t break stride as he raises his foot and walks into Frost with a stiff punt to the ribs. Frost grunts and slumps to his elbows. Danny fires a series of kicks into Frost’s ribs, each one gaining in force as Williams’ fury mounts.

“Old feelings certainly diehard between these two. Frost started out strong and now Williams is returning in kind. This isn’t so much a wrestling match between these two as just a good old fashioned slobberknocker!” Stevens hollers.

“WHOO! KNOCK THAT SLOBBER!” Riley pumps his fist in the air.

Frost flips over to his back, half in the ropes. Hebner calls Williams off as Frost works his way up. One can see Frost’s sternum strain with each breath from the hellacious kicks of the most dangerous striker in the SWF today. Williams hovers behind Frost as he pushes off the ropes and looks to his corner for the tag. Danny steps in front of Frost and puts his right leg between the man’s legs, hooking Frost’s own right leg. He pulls back to dump Frost on his rear and wraps his left arm across Frost’s chin for an inverted facelock. Williams torques the head to the left to fully stretch the right side that was kicked earlier. Williams takes his free hand and plunges it into the exposed flesh with his fingers gnarled. Danny yanks back on the facelock while he grinds the ribs with a claw hold.

“A stretch plum variation being expertly used by Danny Williams,” Stevens calls. “This not only works the kicked ribs, but gives Deathwish time to rest from the Cobra Clutch.”

“Oh, lord this is like watching paint dry,” Riley sighs. “Can I get someone to bring me a nacho hat or something to kill time?”

Frost attempts to reach back and grab Williams by the hair, but the man’s bur cut gives nothing to seize onto. Frost slaps and pokes at the nearly bald skull, encouraging Danny to work his multi-faceted hold even tighter. Frost’s arm shoots out and goes rigid from the pain racing through him. Hebner drops down to ask Frost if he wants to submit. He muffles a fierce ‘no’ with saliva flying from his head ripped back at a piercing angle.

“Five bucks says Frost powers out of this,” Riley whimpers to have something that piques his interest.

Stevens shrugs, “Deal.”

Frost balls his hand into a fist as the fans cheer him on to make the break. Frost arches his arm over his head for leverage and rolls Williams over onto his back. Now upside down, Williams finds his shoulder on the mat and the veteran ref counts the technical pin.

ONE

TWO

Williams readjusts his weight and rolls back over to a seated position. Frost looks to flip the pair over again, but Danny yanks back further on the head and mills the bruising side fiercer. LDP stands on the bottom rope and reaches over the strands, clapping his partner on. Hebner asks Frost once again if he wants to submit, but he squeaks out a ‘no’ and looks to change tactics.

“Frost used his POWER to make the roll over.” Riley points out.

“That wasn’t a break,” Mark states. “However, Frost is running out of time. He needs to find a way out of this stretch plum soon or he won’t have any choice but to submit.”

Frost puts his right hand on Danny’s knee draped over his leg and reaches over with his other arm, just enough to grab the leg as well. Frost clamps firmly and attempts to jerk the grapevined leg off through sheer muscle and force of will.

“Look at Frost POWER out of that move. Look at that POWER.” Riley laughs.

“It is impressive!” Stevens admits. “Frost is wrenching that leg with all muscles bulging. He might not be able to get that leg off, but he is loosening it.”

Williams continues to apply pressure with the facelock and claw, but it’s not shaking Frost off from the leg. Frost balls his right hand into a fist and starts pounding on Danny’s kneecap. Williams wails from the unexpected pain and kicks his leg out, trying to avoid the punches. Momentarily distracted and losing his grip on the stretch plum, Frost jackhammers his elbow back to nail a glancing blow to the side of Williams’ head! Danny pulls to the left from the blow and Frost uses the shift to roll over upside down again. Hebner slides in place to make the count, but Frost continues to roll through and they wind up in a pile in the ropes. Hebner barks at Williams to release his move and starts a dq count as Danny tries to untie himself.

“Frost used not only power, but his full wrestling knowledge to get the break there. Although technically, it was the ropes that saved his hide.” Stevens admits.

“Damn!” Riley curses. “Frost powers out of EVERYTHING. It’s all he ever does. I thought that was a good bet.”

Danny Williams manages to extricate himself from the maneuver by sliding through the ropes and out of the ring. Danny draws in a breath to compose himself as he leans against the ring apron. Suddenly LDP comes running around the corner from his side of the ring. Before anyone has a chance to stop him, Pete grabs Danny's head from behind and slams it into the canvas in a running bulldog. Danny's head bounces off the apron, and he drops backward to the floor below. Pete stands over the fallen Danny Williams, pointing and taunting at the Intercontinental Television champion. As this occurs, Danny's partner Dace Night runs back into the ring, despite not being the legal man, and lays in a standing knee drop on Frost, who was still leaning against the ropes recovering from Danny's submission. Dace stomps a foot down on Frost's chest, and then another one, and then a third, and then finally Dace is pulled away by Mark Hebner as the official tries to return some semblance of order to the match.

"Dace got a few good licks in while his partner was otherwise occupied," notes Stevens.

"'Occupied?'" Riley wonders. "Was he taking a crap or something?"

After ensuring that Dace Night returns to his corner, Hebner yells out to Longdogger Pete and Danny Williams, calling for Pete to stop interfering and for Danny to return to the match. Pete is all too happy to oblige, as he picks up the hapless Danny Williams, and quite literally tosses him back into the ring with a hearty shove. For a moment both legal men, Frost and Danny, are on the mat, struggling to get up so one team can get an advantage over the other. In the end Frost hesitates a moment too long and Danny dives over him, rolling him up into a shoulder pin school boy. The astute Hebner is ready with the count.

ONE

TWO

Frost rolls out of the cover, which irritates Danny Williams. Danny angrily lays in a stiff kick across Frost's head, and then backs away, arriving at his corner to tag in partner Dace Night. Frost makes it up to his feet, only to be steamrolled back to the mat as Dace and Danny rush toward him and score simultaneous elbow smashes onto opposite sides of his upper body. Hebner directs Danny out of the ring as Dace goes to work further on Frost.

"Good use of teamwork there by the Unholy Trinity members," says Stevens.

"They're going to need a lot more than a couple of lame ass elbows," Riley replies, "if they want to take on Justice and Rule!"

"Are you saying the Unholy Trinity can't function as a cohesive team?"

"Well, at least they're more organized than Frost and LDP," Riley mutters. "I bet they don't have a single double team move in their arsenal."

As Frost attempts to recover, Dace puts that idea to rest with a running knee strike directly to Frost's head. Frost's head slams back to the mat, hard, stunning the Icelandic native momentarily. Dace Night capitalizes by dropping in for a cover attempt, hooking Frost's leg as Hebner hits the mat to count.

ONE

TWO

Frost manages to get his shoulder in the air to break the count.

"And I couldn't help but notice," Riley continues, "how much time Frost has been spending on the floor."

"Are you implying something, Riley?" wonders Stevens aloud.

"Implying something? Moi?" Riley chortles innocently.

Frost gets back to his feet, and Dace tries to keep control of the match with an Irish whip. Frost reverses the whip, however, sending the High Priest of Horrorcore sailing toward the ropes. Dace ricochets off the ropes and runs back toward Frost, who snags Dace under the neck and drops him to the mat with an uncharacteristically speedy inverted DDT.

"Great reversal by Frost," says Stevens. "Looks like he's ready to take control of this contest once again."

Frost lifts Dace Night back up off the mat. Frost gives a quick signal to his partner, Longdogger Pete, by raising a free hand with thumb and forefinger in an 'L' shape. Frost heaves Dace into the air in a gorilla press, with only moderate difficulty. Frost holds Dace in the air for a long moment, then turns him onto his back and slams him hard into the mat, right near Pete's corner. Meanwhile, LDP climbs into the ring and ascends to the second rope. The Miami Menace imitates Frost's signal, raising his hand in the same 'L' position, and then dives off the second rope, landing a textbook leg drop atop the twice burned Dace.

"Looks like Frost and Pete have a double team strategy after all!" notes Stevens. "Frost's gorilla press slam is followed up with a second rope Longdogger Legdrop from LDP to create a devastating combination!"

"What do they call that move anyway?" asks Riley. "It's not in our notes."

"I haven't a clue. How about Insult to Injury?" Stevens suggests.

"How about Chilly Dog?" Riley guesses.

Longdogger Pete hot foots it out of the ring as Mark Hebner gets ticked off over the interference from the illegal man. Frost considers a cover, but with the referee momentarily distracted, he changes his tactics, lifting Dace back up, hands around his stomach, and throwing him violently backward into a gutwrench suplex. Frost rolls atop Dace and hooks his leg, and this time Hebner is watching well enough to make the count.

ONE

TWO

THR--

And the pinfall is thwarted as Dace lifts his shoulders into the air. Frost and Dace are back up to their feet. Frost tries for another Irish whip on Dace. Dace reverses the whip, sending Frost toward the ropes this time. Frost bounces off the ropes, but tries to capitalize anyway, holding his arm outward for a lariat attempt. Surprisingly, Dace ducks the lariat, and Frost hurtles toward the opposite ropes! Frost bounces toward Dace again, Dace runs toward Frost, and this time both men are ready. Unfortunately, both men choose this moment to try for a swinging neckbreaker. Each one makes a grab for the neck of the other. The result is a sickening collision which causes both men to drop to the mat in a heap.

"OH, MY GOD!" hollers Stevens. "These two men may have just broken each other's necks!"

"They couldn't have timed that better in a million years!" Riley taunts.

Both men start to get up, miraculously, but both Frost and Dace are obviously winded. They struggle to get to their feet and make their way back to their respective corners to make a tag. In the corners, Longdogger Pete and Danny Williams begin clapping their hands loudly to try to get their partners' attention. After several long excruciating moments, Frost manages to lift his arm high enough to make the tag! A half second later, Dace tags out as well! Both Danny and LDP come barreling into the ring, loaded for bear! Pete is ready with a hard right across Danny's cheek. Danny tries to shrug it off, and is met with another overhand punch, and another! Danny staggers back toward the ropes... and then, out of nowhere, leaps into the air and drives a jumping high kick into Pete's upper body! LDP is actually propelled off his feet and lands hard on the mat.

"Good save from Danny with that Dynamite Kick," says Stevens.

Danny tries to make good on the situation with a cover on Pete.

ONE

TWO

"HERE WE ARE!"

"BORN TO BE KINGS!"

"WE'RE THE PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE!"

"What the HELL?!" hollers Stevens.

Both Danny Williams and Mark Hebner are distracted, stopping the count as Danny glares at the entrance ramp in surprise. Sure enough, up on the ramp are none other than Ejiro Fasaki and Judge William Hearford, better known as SWF Tag Team Champions and Magnificent Seven members Justice and Rule.

"What the hell are Justice and Rule doing out here?" Stevens demands to know.

Riley shrugs. "Maybe they're here to scout out their competition."

The motives for Justice and Rule soon become clear, as the M7 tag team runs down the ramp, tag titles over their shoulders, and head toward the first person they can get their hands on -- which just happens to be Dace Night, who stands in his corner. Letting the titles drop from their shoulders, Ejiro and Judge each grab one of Dace's arms and pull him violently from the apron, slamming him backward in a double DDT to the floor below!

"Oh! That had to hurt," Riley notes.

As the Louisiana crowd looks on in horror, Justice and Rule proceed to utterly destroy Dace Night, picking him apart by slugging him over and over with the SWF Tag Team title belts. However, Danny Williams is powerless to help his partner, as he is still the legal man, in the ring with Longdogger Pete. Danny looks on, shouting at Ejiro and Judge, but he is suddenly spun violently around from behind by LDP. Pete kicks him in the gut, causing Danny to double forward, then Pete grabs Danny by the shoulders and drops him backward, driving his face into the mat!

"CLOGGER!" hollers Stevens. "Longdogger Clogger to Danny Williams!"

After hitting the big finisher, Pete is ready with the cover!

ONE

TWO

THREE----

NO!! Danny just manages to get his shoulder up! Danny kicks out of the Longdogger Clogger! This brings in a pissed off Frost, who has done his best to try to ignore the chaos outside the ring until this point. Frost climbs into the ring despite the referee's objections. Danny impresses yet again by not only surviving the Clogger, but kipping up to his feet like it were nothing. Danny smiles, looking rather pleased with himself -- then his look changes to one of horror as he spots over three hundred pounds of Icelandic monster charging toward him!

BOOM!

Frost's massive lariat bowls Danny over, launching him literally end over end until he lands hard on his back, unconscious.

"HELL FREEZES OVER!" cries Stevens. "GOD DAMN, WHAT A LARIAT!"

Pete smiles at Frost, silently thanking him for the big move, and then covers Danny Williams one more time. Mark Hebner sighs as he makes the count.

ONE

TWO

THREE!

DING DING DING

"Baseline" hits the speakers again as Funyon makes the announcement: "Here are your winners, FROST AND LONGDOGGER PETE!"

"They've done it!" shouts Stevens. "Frost and LDP will take on Justice and Rule at 13th Hour for the SWF Tag Team Championship!"

As soon as the match is over, Frost and LDP waste no time, not even bothering to celebrate. They slide out of the ring to go after Justice and Rule, but Ejiro and Judge are prepared for this eventuality. Leaving Dace behind, the M7 team quickly hightails it up the entrance ramp before Frost and LDP can get to them. But they can't resist taunting the winning team as they make their way to the exit. Frost and LDP respond in kind with a few choice insults, most of which aren't picked up by the arena microphones.

"This feud isn't over yet!" Riley says. "Frost and Longdogger Pete were victorious this time, but only because Justice and Rule interfered!"

"It raises the question," Stevens continues, "will this team have enough fire to defeat Justice and Rule at 13th Hour? We'll find out! Folks, that is our show for this evening! For Bobby Riley, I'm "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens. Have a good night!"

The camera fades out on this scene.

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SWF Lockdown!! June 11, 2003

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