SWF STORM 7/11 - DEEZ NUTTZ

July 12, 2003

"All rise for the singing of our national anthem..."

"I want to ask you one question. If I had some nuts, hanging on the wall,

what would I have honey? I said, "Darlin, you'd have some walnuts!" She

said, "Well, Daddy, if I had some nuts on my chest would those be chestnuts?"

I said "Hell yeah." She said, "Well, Daddy, if I had some nuts on my chin

would those be chin nuts?" I said "Hell no bitch, you'd have a dick in your

mouth! mouth! mouth!"

Chiggie check

Microphone check one

Chiggie check

Microphone check two

Chiggie check

Microphone check three

Check game from the notorious Compton G

Back with some shit that gots to bump

As a pull up in the park you pops the trunk

Just to floss you like a motherfuker, clownin' their shit

Gots the Dana's on your hootie and your fly ass bitch

Throw off, go off, show off, I take that hoe

If she proper, I'ma pop her the hole hopper

It's back on the track

With big money, big nuts, and a big fat chronic sack

So Daz, step up on the ass

And give these motherfuckers a blast from the past

Diggidy Daz out of the cut with some shit that I wrote

With my nigga D-R-E, so you know I must be dope

But uh, rat-tat-tat-tat that ass

Startin' static with Dre, make way for the AK

That I bring as I slang like cavy

Not from Kris Kross but they call me Mackdaddy

Had he not known about the city I'm from

Long Beach, tic tac, grab your gatt, watch your back

Here I come, stompin' in my kahki suit

BG from the hood can fuck Eastwood

God damn, I ripped up, flipped up, and skipped up

On top of things as they swing towards my ding-a-ling

But did you raise up all this nuts?

Cause Dr. Drizzay's about to rizzip shit up

Chiggie check

[Microphone check one

Chiggie check

Microphone check two

Chiggie check

Microphone check three

You tuned to the sounds of the D-R-E

Now check me out, it's back to the old school

Where the niggaz get their strap on, don't nobody cap on

Slap on some D-R-E

Or some funky ass shit by the D-O-double G-Y D-O-double G

Real G'z who drop K's, protect these N-U-Ts, so nigga please

Peep out my manuscript

You'll see that it's a must I drop gangsta shit

(Beeyatch!!) So recognize game from the gangsta

Thangs will remain the same until I change 'em

It's real easy to see

So you can check sounds from Nate D-O-double G

I can't be faded

I'm a nigga from the motherfuckin street

I can't be faded

I'm a nigga from the motherfuckin street

I can't be faded

I'm a nigga from the motherfuckin street

I can't be faded

I'm a nigga from the motherfuckin street

I heard you wanna fuck with Dre

You picked the wrong, motherfuckin day

Here we go, toe to toe, flow for flow

Let me know if you think you can fade Death Row

I heard you wanna fuck with Dre

You picked the wrong, motherfuckin day

Here we go, toe to toe, flow for flow

Let me know if you think you can fade Death Row

I can't be faded

I'm a nigga from the motherfuckin street

I can't be faded

I'm a nigga from the motherfuckin street...

...and the hooooooooooooome of the braaaaaaaaaaave!"

SWF Storm for Friday, July 11th!

Live from the Ervin J. Nutter Center in beautiful Dayton, Ohio! It's been too long!

SINGLES MATCH

Nathaniel Kibagami vs. Xero

-- Kibagami has had a hard run of late, with a string of heartbreaking losses. Perhaps Thoth has broken his spirit after all? Well, the former Clanny has one chance to recpature the spark by facing perennial underdog Xero. If Silent's boots aren't laced tight enough tonight, well, maybe he should just go back to Japan...

Rules: normal rules apply.

NON-TITLE NO DQ MATCH

Janus vs. Michael Craven

--Both of these men have been rather brutal of late. Both have expressed interest in moving up the card. Well, only the most vicious, bloodthirsy, and sadistic individual will move into the ICTV division. King's gambling that one of these men will have the kiler instinct necessary to make it to the top of the mountain!

Rules: no DQ, no countout. falls only count in the ring.

SINGLES MATCH

Wildchild vs. ?

--Question mark man returns! Who can this strange competitor be? Is it a new face, or a returning veteran? And will he or she be able to get past the surging Wildchild, who has greatly impressed CC? A win here just might get the Bahama Bomber over the hump!

Rules: Normal rules apply.

TAG MATCH

The Boston Strangler and TNT vs. Stryke and Longdogger Pete

--One team showed what can only be called surpising team work at the last show's main event. The other consists of two men who absolutely hate each others' fucking guts. Can TBS and TNT (Team Ted Turner) continue their cohesive ways against a fragmented foe, or will Stryke and LDP miraculously put aside their enmity for one night? I for one don't think so...

Rules: Normal tag rules apply.

SINGLES MATCH

Frost vs. Renegade

--Frost's icy cool brain is still recovering from the last main event, and he requested an opponent he has never faced before, to help him get him back in the game. CC cross-tabulated every wrestler's horoscopes, and cameup with the very unfortunate Renegade. The stars are against him, but maybe, just maybe the Renegade can pull off a miracle!

Rules: Normal rules apply

TAG TEAM TITLES MATCH

Justice and Rule vs. the Unholy Trinity (Dace Night and Va'aiga)

-The tension has been building here for awhile now between the M7 and the UH (boy that isn't very dignified is it?). Well, after the splitting of singles matches on the previous show, King has decided that the enmity between these two teams should make for some stellar television! Let's watch those tempers spill out of the rings and into the living rooms across the country!

Rules: Normal tag rules apply.

ICTV TITLE LADDER MATCH

Beezel vs. "The Franchise" Mak Francis

--Beezel will have his first defense IMMEDIATELY. Sadly, Stryke is a little busy tonight, so King racked his brain long and hard and came up with... Mak Francis. What was King thinking? He undoubtedly has his reasons... hopefully he has them for the stipulation as well.

Rules: The ICTV belt will be suspended above the ring. First competitor to retrieve it from its lofty perch is the champion.

MAIN EVENT

WORLD TITLE SUBMISSIONS MATCH

Thoth vs. "The Superior One" Tom Flesher

--Flesher gets his rematch tonight, and it's clear that those months of toadying to the Suicide King have paid off as the stipulation grossly favors him! The accomplished mat wrestler should have no problem out-finessing the sadistic Thoth, right? Well, Thoth knows how to inflict pain like no one else in the federation... Flesher may be wishing he never agreed to this rematch by the end of the evening!

Rules: The only way to win is to make your opponent tap or pass out due to a submission move. The ropes will NOT break a hold, so pray you have your counters researched. No interference, although that isn't implicit to the match. Let's just say King has a shredder and your paychecks ready if anyone should interfere in a match between two of his favorite heels. By extension, the match is no DQ and no countout, but your opponent can only tap out in the ring. Have fun kids!

July 12, 2003

BOOM!

BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM!!

The camera swings wildly around the Ervin J. Nutter Center, through rows and rows of excited SWF fans, as a gigantic display of pyrotechnics kicks off another edition of SWF Storm! The camera slows down a little, allowing the viewer to read snippets of individual signs as they pass, and finally comes to a halt at the announcer’s table, where ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley sit waiting.

“Welcome to another edition of SWF Storm, ladies and gentlemen, and what a show we have lined up for you tonight! In the main event, Tom Flesher meets Thoth in a rematch for the World title. The challenger has a distinct advantage thanks to the stipulation – a submissions match – but Thoth has been nothing short of amazing since his return, winning the World title that has eluded him for almost three years!”

”You say that as though there’s any doubt who’s going to win that match, Mark,” sniffs Riley. “I’m sure Flesher will come out on top.”

”You’d like that, would you?”

”I would, yes. Thoth’s half-brother, on the other hand, has taken a different path. A path towards the undercard. A path towards the opening match. A path towards…what the hell are you laughing at?”

”Nothing, Bobby. Go ahead.”

”Anyway, Nathaniel Kibagami has spiraled downhill since losing to Janus at 13th Hour. He’s come to this – an opening match against Xero while his half-brother defends the World title. Pathetic spectacle he’s made of himself, don’t you think?”

White and red strobe lights flash through the arena as Megadeth’s “Trust” begins to play. The camera cuts to Funyon, who stands with his microphone in the center of the ring.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this contest is scheduled for one fall…introducing first, weighing in at two hundred and ten pounds, hailing from Port Colborne, Ontario, Canada...XERO!!”

Fire shoots up from the entrance ramp as Xero emerges through the curtains, ignoring the boos from the Ohio fans as he makes his way to ringside.

“Xero hasn’t had much of a chance to shine since his return, and he’s drawn a tough opponent in Kibagami,” notes Mark as the King of the DDT leaps onto the turnbuckles, both arms raised.

“Mark, I never thought I’d say this, but I really think Xero’s got a shot tonight. Nathaniel’s gotten worse and worse in the ring since 13th Hour and I don’t see him improving just because he’s in the opening match. If anything, I’d expect him to dog it a little, and that might just be enough for Xero to pick up a win.”

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.

“Introducing second, weighing in at two hundred and sixty-eight pounds…”

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…

”Hailing from Phoenix, Arizona….NATHANIEL KIBAAAAAAAAGAMI!”

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. He seems unaware of the crowd around him as he makes his way to ringside and slides into the ring. The lights come up and “Forty-Six and Two” fades away as Funyon exits the ring and Matthew Kivell explains the rules to both men.

“Kibagami looks focused tonight, Riley. I think you might be in for a surprise.”

”Focused? I think you mean scared.”

”No, I mean focused.”

“Oh yeah?...Well, I think you mean scaraed.”

Mark rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, Bobby. Whatever you say.”

Back in the ring, Kivell signals for the bell…

DING DING DING!

…and Kibagami casually brushes by the referee as he drives an elbow into his opponent’s nose!

BAM!

Xero recoils, blood spurting from his nose, but Nathan follows with a stiff kick to the ribs…

CRACK!

…doubling Xero over…

CRACK!

…and drives a knee into Xero’s jaw, sending the smaller man crashing to the mat! The crowd roars as Kivell checks on Xero, but Kibagami simply pushes the referee out of the way and drags the King of the DDT to his feet! The ex-Clannite picks his opponent up for a scoop slam…hesitates a moment…then drives Xero’s skull into the canvas with a bone-crunching Riot of the Blood!

“My God!” breathes Stevens. “Riley, you were saying something funny about Kibagami being scared a minute ago, weren’t you?”

”He’s…he’s…he’s cheating. There’s a chain…or something on his, on his boot.”

Nathaniel regards his opponent for a moment before hauling him to his feet once more and positioning him for the Rough Redemption. Kibagami lifts him up…

…takes hold of his arms…

…pauses for a moment…

…then, with a sudden jolt, sets the dazed Xero back down on his feet.

“What’s he doing, Mark? He’s practically got this match in the bag already! This is no time for –“

SLAM!!

”ENCORE CROSS! ENCORE CROSS!”

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!

DING DING DING!!

“Your winner by pinfall…NATHANIEL KIBAAAGAMI!”

”Forty-Six and Two” hits the speakers, and Kibagami steps over Xero and leaves the ring, shaking off Kivell’s halfhearted attempts at raising his arm in victory.

“That was…that was brutal, Mark.”

”It certainly was, Riley. I haven’t seen that sort of thing from Nathan since…for a very long time.” Mark grimaces, recalling a few unpleasant memories. “Be that as it may, we’ve got a show to do. Stay tuned for more fast-paced SWF action after this!”

July 12, 2003

We fade in from an advertisement about the newest SWF video game "SWF Smarkdown: Shaddup Your Face!", in stores now for the cheap price of $99.95! The Ervin J. Nutter Center in Dayton, Ohio is shown in all its glory before a familiar announcing voice greets us!

"This is...Ess...Dubbleyu...Eff...STOOOOOOOOORM~! I'm Mark Stevens, welcome back ladies and gents!"

The camera as always is panning the arena, scrolling over the cheering faces of fans and smarks. The crowd waves signs and scream inarticulately about various SWF superstars, and holding up signs such as "Unholy Trinity > Mag Seven" and "THOTH-WARE!!". Further scanning around by the camera produces more generic signs like "SWF > WWE" and "Bump The Grappler!" - pimping the latest legend of the SJL, of course. By far the best sign seen as the camera pirouettes in its journey is a seven foot tall sign of Janus, held up by a pair of fans, with words scribbled on it. "Hell > Nightmares!". Finally, we focus on the announce table, where 'Grand Slam' Mark Stevens and 'Ambigiously Gay' Bobby Riley sit!

"Welcome back again, folks, and we've just had an impressive opener tonight, Nathaniel Kibagami taking on Xero!"

"Pfft. Nathan's finished after what Thoth and Janus have done to him!" Riley snorts.

"Speaking of Janus, the Hell Machine came out last week and assaulted Crow...and in a few moments takes on the US champion Michael Craven!"

"Janus is my pick, Stevens. Can't argue with seven feet of man-meat."

Stevens doesn't dignify that with a response, as the familiar strains of Fear Factory's "Resurrection" ooze out of the speakers, bringing a chorus of boos from the crowd. Blue pyrotechnics fountain up on the sides of the ramp, and the familiar image of a white haired young man appears on the Smarktron. Burton C. Bell sings almost softly as cracks worm their way through the Smarktron's image.

"Consumed with memoriiiies...

That preceded todaaaaay...

Given a chance to bereaaaaave...

Life that's slipping A-WAAAAAAAAAAAY!"

As the heavy guitar riffs tear out of the speakers, a spotlight swivels to focus on the stage curtain moments before a coldly focused Hell Machine stalks out from behind them! Pausing only to crack his neck to both sides, Janus steps through the haze of blue pyrotechnics towards the ring as Funyon lifts his microphone to introduce the seven foot monster.

"The following contest is a no-disqualification match, and the US Title is NOT on the line! Introducing first, from Sydney Australia and weighing 350 pounds...an associate of Thoth, he is the Hell Machine....JAAAAAAAANUS!"

The seven foot monstrosity is ascending the apron as Funyon finishes speaking, and steps over the top rope to enter the ring. Stepping across the canvas, Janus cracks the faintest of cold smiles. Then he thrusts his hands into the air, bringing light back to the arena with a *BOOM* and a flash of blue fire from the turnbuckles! Swinging his arms to the sides, the giant loosens up as he stares up the entrance ramp, awaiting the entrance of his latest victim.

"Seven feet of pure focused rage, Stevens. He's destroyed all sorts of superstars, and while not a winner, Janus has KICKED ASS around the SWF!" Riley chortles.

"I have to agree there, Riley. While not sporting a fantastic winning streak, Janus has left a trail of bloody bodies through his career. Winning or losing doesn't seem to matter, it's all about causing pain..."

The giant continues to stare intently with his red eyes, locked onto the stage curtain. Without so much as a warning, the lights cut out, and the crowd begins to boo like crazy as they anticipate the next entrant. A cursor pops up on the SmarkTron, which looks as if it's become a monitor for a computer. A computer in DOS mode.

C:\>dir/SWF

The sound follows of the Enter key being hit, and the cursor flashes before the next words flicker up, listing a directory of SWF superstars. It scrolls down the executables, listing some nice ones like "TheSuperiorOne.exe", "CarniesRule.exe" and "TheHellMachine.exe" but one in particular seems to stand out for the user. More typing.

C:\>Run "KingOfNightmares.exe"

The typer hits Enter again, but the screen stays, instead, the little cursor beginning to flash very brightly and rapidly for several seconds. The Craven Section bursts into momentuous cheers moments before...

*BOOOOM!*

...a huge blast of blue and white pyro kicks up, smoke lingering in the air! As the first words of Saliva's "King Of My World" kick in, the strobes cut out. A blinding white light shines from the entryway, piercing the smoke with its sheer intensity. The light illuminates the figure of The King of Nightmares himself. He stops to look at the fans, and quickly, he spins around twice, finishing by pointing to himself as the crowd's boos increase in intensity.

"Here comes Michael Craven, Riley. I still can't believe how much he's changed since he stopped being the boy that fans loved, Ash Ketchum."

"The Pokefreak was getting wins...but now he's the King of Nightmares, he'll win even more than usual!"

"Pokemania is dead! Long live Cravenmania!" comes the response from the Craven Section upon hearing Stevens. The two announcers ignore the sheer ridiculousness of an entire section devoted to the King of Nightmares as the attention goes back to the man approaching the ring.

Holding his pose for a second, Craven stops posing as the chorus of the song ends, and commences walking down to the ring. The lights are now a deep blue, Craven focused solely on the match at hand as some of the Craven Section fans bow down to him, showing their idiocy considering the majority of the crowd's response to Michael Craven.

"Introducing his opponent, from Tampa Florida and weighing 280 pounds....accompanied by his 'Queens of Destruction'....The 'King of Nightmares'...MIIIIIIIICHAEL CRAAAAAAAVEN!"

Craven enters the ring by hopping over the top rope, the US Title shining around his waist as he lands on his feet. Before he can even soak up the crowd's response, his seven foot opponent is racing across the ring. The King of Nightmares meets the boot of the Hell Machine and goes down HARD, and Janus takes glee in stomping his boot into Mikey's ribcage as Eddy Long signals for the bell!

*DING DING DING*

"And we're underway! Janus with the advantage here, stomping a hole in Craven's chest..."

"Dammit, Janus is a hunk of meat, but Craven's good too! Who DO I root for?" Riley whines.

Janus reaches down and yanks Craven back to his feet, the US Title falling from Craven's waist to fall on the canvas, where it's seemingly ignored. Showing no compassion at all for his opponent, Janus throws Mike into the ropes again, but this time when Craven comes back...

...he finds himself hoisted into the air, but before he can be slammed down with the Chaos Theory, he swings his legs out! He drops down behind the giant, hooking the seven footer's head and taking him down with an inverted DDT onto the title belt. The crack of the Hell Machine's skull and his cry of pain cause the Craven Section to cheer as Mike gets up. His eyes widen when Janus promptly sits up as well.

"An inverted DDT onto the belt seems like a mere inconvience for the Hell Machine, Riley."

"That's it! He's my man! Gooo Janus!" Riley cheers.

As the seven footer shakes his head and begins to rise to his feet, Mike lines himself up behind the monster and cinches in a rear waistlock! Before he can heave back with his planned german suplex however, the Hell Machine drives a huge elbow into his temple and knocks him silly! Turning around when the waistlock is released, Janus wiggles his fingers before locking them around Craven's throat...

...but the King of Nightmares drives a kick into Janus' genitals to escape the blow and ducks out of the ring! Left stumbling, Janus looks around for his foe as Craven gets not one, but TWO chairs and slides back into the ring with them. He throws one at the Hell Machine, who looks up and catches it...

...but before Mike can do anything, Janus swings the chair like a baseball bat, knowing his opponent is nearby! With an alarmed expression, the King of Nightmares ducks the swing, and Janus brings the chair back to a more ready position...

...and Craven lunges up and CHAIRSHOTS it back into his face! The resounding SMACK makes the crowd winces in pain as Janus reels from the blow, blood oozing from his forehead. Mike follows up with a stiff kick to the dazed giant's stomach, then runs to the ropes and leaps into the air to nail a scintillating axe kick that drives Janus straight down into the chair he dropped!

"Michael Craven taking FULL license with the no disqualification rule here...demolishing Janus the best way he can! Brutally!" Stevens hollers.

"We've barely even started the match, Stevens! Craven just wants to pin and run before Janus kills him!"

Riley's words ring true as Craven hurriedly rolls Janus over and hooks a leg, and Eddy Long drops down to make the count!

ONE!

...

....

.....

TWO!

...

....

.....KICKOUT!

Craven boggles at the fact the giant is still conscious after that brutal and high-impact assault, and backs away as the monster of a man slowly begins to sit up. Blood streams down Janus' face, and his expression is one of contained fury as he begins to push himself up. The King of Nightmares cocks his arm back in preparation for an elbow smash to knock Janus silly.

Unfortunately for him, the Hell Machine is pissed off and not going to wait to get hit again! The elbow smash is stopped as a huge hand closes around Craven's arm and yanks him close, and the giant takes the so-called King down with a brutal short-range lariat! As Mike falls to the canvas, the Craven Section boos loudly, even moreso when Janus flings himself into the air to drop a huge leg across his opponent's chest!

"And the Hell Machine rallying after Craven's surprisingly harsh assault at the start of the match! He's got Mike down!" Stevens hollers.

"And what wouldn't I give to be in his place!" Riley sounds happy.

"Janus' or Craven's?"

"Either."

"....."

"...HEY!"

Luckily we're spared any more overt gayness from Riley as the attention comes back to the ring where Janus is trying to break Mike's ribs with a few more stomps. Lifting the former Pokemaniac to his feet, the Hell Machine slams a vicious chop into his opponent's chest!

*SMACK!* "WOOOOOOOO!"

Stunned back into life by the heavy-duty blows to his chest, the King of Nightmares rallies by reaching up to Janus' head and abruptly dropping with a sitout jawbreaker! As Janus stumbles and rubs his jaw, Craven cradles his chest before stepping forward and swinging another kick at the Hell Machine's family jewels, a kick that Janus catches...

...before Craven's other foot cracks into the back of his skull with an enzugiri! Having already had his skull pummelled severely in the opening moments of the match, the Hell Machine is stunned by the blow and reels drunkenly on his feet. These mere seconds are all that Michael Craven needs to get behind the giant and cinch one arm, then the other in a full nelson.

"Looks like Mike's breaking out the Red Fusion, and Janus may be in trouble!" Stevens hollers.

"Please. Not even Craven could lift someone of Janus' size for that move!" Riley snorts.

As he has been in the past, Riley seems to be speaking the truth as Craven attempts to lift Janus into the air for the full nelson front slam, but the seven foot monster is just too damn heavy. Straining to hold the full nelson together, Michael Craven heaves again...but with a sudden powerful heave of his arms, Janus breaks Mike's hold! Swinging around with an expression similar to an animal ready to slaughter, the Hell Machine keeps his grip on one of Mike's arms, twisting around behind his opponent and locking in a full nelson of his own!

Craven struggles and attempts to escape the hold, but Janus' thick arms are just too damn strong. The Hell Machine swings both his legs out from under himself...and slams Mike arse-first into the canvas with a full nelson drop! Rising and maintaining the hold, the seven foot monster prepares to hoist Mike straight over his head with a full nelson suplex...and Craven escapes with another shot to the groin!

"And another low blow sees Craven is still in the game!" Stevens calls.

"I thought you hated cheaters, Stevens" Riley murmurs. His co-announcer shrugs a little.

"You're rooting for Janus, so I have to try and sound enthusiastic about Craven, Riley."

Turning around, Mike heaves Janus off the ground and up onto his shoulders, trying to destroy him quickly with his back-up finisher, the Gulf Coast Crunch! Unfortunately for Mike, three hundred and fifty pounds of weight on his shoulders is bad, and he literally collapses under the weight!

Crawling out from under the giant's body and massaging his shoulders and back, he watches Janus stir on the mat. He climbs to his feet, staggering a little, and begins to quickly climb the turnbuckles. If he's quick enough, he reasons he'll be able to defeat Janus right now with the Kingdom Come.

Unfortunately for the ascending King of Nightmares, the Hell Machine is climbing back to his feet after the surprise collapse of his opponent, and sees Craven ascending the turnbuckles. Janus moves forward towards the turnbuckle with a smile on his face.

Mike climbs and turns around to face his opponent...but Janus is standing right in front of the turnbuckles now, smiling up at Craven almost pleasantly. Well, as pleasant as one can be when they're bloodied and want to murder you. One thick arm shoots up to lock around the throat of the King of Nightmares, and with a snarling sound, the Hell Machine pulls his opponent off the ropes...

...spins around...

...and CHOKESLAMS HIM ONTO ONE OF THE DISCARDED CHAIRS! He drops for the cover as the crowd winces in pain at the move, and Eddy Long makes the count.

ONE!

...

....

.....

TWO!

...

.....KICKOUT!

Janus merely snarls at the arm that's thrust off the canvas and rises to his feet, stalking away from Craven and across the ring. Here he crouches like a hunter watching its prey, as Michael Craven pushes himself up, holding his torso area. The cries of his belt girls get his attention, and he looks towards them. Janus, seeing his chance slipping away, tears across the ring!

"It could be GORE time, Stevens!" Riley cackles.

Stevens spots the belt girls yelling. "I don't think so, Riley!"

The belt girls point desperately behind him, and Craven turns around to see Janus coming at him! Rather than try to stop the charging giant, Mike leaps out of the way, but it costs him more than he notices...because the Hell Machine can't stop! Janus ends up diving between the top and middle ropes...and crushing both Craven's belt girls into the ground as he falls to the thin mat!

"HOLY SHIT!"

Janus shakes his head and looks down at the crumpled female forms beneath him, and just shrugs. Not showing any regard for their well being, the Hell Machine begins to rise and turn back towards the ring. Or at least, he would have completed this motion had Michael Craven not leapt off the apron and pulled the giant back down to the mat with a flipping neckbreaker!

"Both men are down! Craven dodged the Gore but his belt girls are dead weight! Janus just crushed them both!"

"Good for Craven! He's open to other offers now! And not to mention he scored on the Hell Machine with that flipping neckbreaker!

"Think about the match, Riley. Nothing else. Just the match."

The front row fans lean over the barrier, looking at the fallen tangle of limbs. The belt girls, Michael Craven, and Janus all sprawl in a heap, and it's the King of Nightmares who starts finding his bearings first. Using the barricade to pull himself up, Craven looks down at Janus, and stomps on the giant's skull a few times before mentally running through his repoitoire of moves.

A pause, and he stomps on Janus' head again before dragging the rather dazed seven footer to his feet. Looking up at his behemoth opponent, Mike Craven considers his options again. Then he just knees Janus in the stomach and takes the giant to the ground again with a DDT and kipping up. With the Hell Machine battered about the skull, Craven takes time to check on his belt girls, helping them up and motioning them away from the battlezone.

"Craven showing a little concern for his belt girls here. The match has been nasty despite being so short, Riley...all the weapons have come out and Craven's just been ASSAULTING Janus with them..."

"Janus is a resilient man, but Mikey's a MASTER of the Hardcore division...even though this is no-disqualification..." Riley almost sounds worried.

While Craven is helping his belt girls, Janus lifts his head up and puts his hands on the apron, beginning to push himself up. Blood stains his head, and his eyes seem glazed, but a permanent snarl is affixed across his face as he shakes his head to find his bearings. Turning back towards the matter at hand, Craven sees the Hell Machine is upright and immediatley races around the ring, leaping up onto the apron and coming off with a missile dropkick!

Janus stumbles back from the blow, shaking his head to clear it from the impact. Craven leaps back up to his feet, determined to keep the monster reeling. He cocks his arm back for a high-powered elbow smash, but the Hell Machine cocks his right hand back and sends it flying forward. At the same time, the King of Nightmares fires his elbow forward with all his strength.

"KNUCKLE BOMB ON CRAVEN!" Riley squeals.

"HIGH-POWERED ELBOW SMASH ON JANUS!" Stevens bellows.

Both superstars stagger and fall to the ground on the outside, twitching in obvious pain. Both clutch their jaws instinctively. Despite being a resilient superstar, the sheer power of the Knuckle Bomb appears to have floored Craven. Despite being a monster, Janus appears to have been put down by that Elbow Smash.

But the giant moves. Slowly, he rolls onto his belly and begins pushing himself up. Unbeknownest to him, Michael Craven has also rolled over and is pushing himself up! Eyes glazed from the Knuckle Bomb, the King of Nightmares doesn't seem to know where he is, but he turns around to see a seven-foot body before him..

...and when he sees the Hell Machine literally has his back turned, Craven swings his leg into the giant's lower spine!

"Incredible! Despite the Knuckle Bomb he received, Craven is still attacking! It must be pure instinct!" Stevens marvels.

"Janus! Nooo! Come on, you're tougher than he is! Retaliate!" Riley screams.

Janus arches back, and Craven reaches up, preparing to nail the Diamond Bullet! As he twists his body around however, the Hell Machine keeps the spin going around! After spinning around, Craven finds himself face-to-chest with the giant...and then a pair of vicelike limbs clamp his arms to his sides and compress his chest as the angry giant locks in the Hell Crush! Craven screams in pain and struggles in the giant's grasp, but the Hell Machine squeezes relentlessly.

"And Janus has his favoured submission hold...the Hell Crush...locked in on the body of Michael Craven!" hollers Stevens.

"He's squeezing the life out of the King of Nightmares! Goooo Janus!" Riley cheers.

The thrashing and squirming Craven in Janus' arms slowly begins to go limp as the Hell Machine continues to crush the life out of his foe. Since wins don't count outside the ring, the giant contemptuously drops the King of Nightmares to the floor before dragging him up again. He heaves his opponent into the air, and an almost negligent Chaos Theory follows, and Craven OVER the top rope and lands with a THWACK in the ring. Rolling in after his opponent, the Hell Machine stares down at his foe...

...and his eyes fall on the discarded steel chairs. Smiling viciously, the Hell Machine picks up one of the chairs and sets it up in the corner of the ring, against the turnbuckle. Hefting the groaning body of Michael Craven, the giant sets him down on the chair, then props the second chair against Craven's torso. Walking away across the ring, the giant inspects his handiwork.

"Craven in the corner...sitting on a chair..another chair against his torso...oh god, this isn't going to be pretty." Stevens looks almost ill.

"It's just taking advantage of the No-Disqualification stipulation, Stevens!"

Crouching on the opposite side of the ring, the Hell Machine locks his red eyes onto his target. With a derisive snort, Janus charges across the canvas with his shoulder lowered. Groaning in the corner and stirring, Michael Craven lifts his head...

...and lets out a gurgle as Janus CRUSHES him into the turnbuckles between the two chairs! The crowd is on their feet screaming incoherently at the sheer brutality of the move! Blood trickles from Craven's lips as he collapses in a limp heap to the mat, and Janus slumps against the destroyed chair, clutching his shoulder and catching his breath. A guttural sound is picked up by the camera...deep, and hoarse.

Janus is laughing.

The Hell Machine leans against the destroyed chairs, laughing with a deep and hoarse voice. The laughter tapers off into an almost maniacal grin as he attempts to push himself up, pausing only when fiery pain lances through his shoulder. Rolling onto his back, the giant continues to laugh maniacally before pushing himself up to a sitting position.

Rolling Craven onto his back, the giant puts himself between the King of Nightmares and the ropes, and applies a lateral press. He makes sure to hook the leg, and smiles at Eddy Long like he's gone completely mad as the referee drops down for the count.

ONE!

...

....

.....

TWO!

...

....

.....

THREE!!!

*DING DING DING*

The Craven Section boos, but the crowd is almost silent, in awe of the giant's brutality. Funyon rises to his feet with a quaver in his voice.

"The WINNER of this bout....the Hell Machine...JAAAAAAAAANUS!"

Still grinning maniacally, Janus rolls out of the ring as Fear Factory's "Resurrection" bursts out over the speakers. Eddy Long has to remind the seven foot monstrosity that it wasn't a title match, and the giant stares at the timekeeper's table for a long moment, before turning the other way and walking around the ring towards the ramp. He pauses for a moment...and thrusts his arms into the air.

*BOOM!*

Blue fire blazes from the turnbuckles, and the lights dim down to blue - but as Janus retreats up the ramp, the spotlight is on Michael Craven, unconscious and decimated in the ring.

"We'll be right back after the commercial break, folks." Stevens murmurs.

"Yeah...we have Wildchild against some mystery guy coming up next!" Riley tries to sound enthusiastic.

"It could be anyone, Riley. I wonder who..?"

The commentators banter over who it could be. EMTs begin to come down to ringside to check on the battered and unmoving form of Michael Craven as we cut to a commercial involving the High Priest of Horrorcore Dace Night and a RYOBI Weedwhacker.

July 12, 2003

The camera flicks on, as we see the image of an Unholy Trinity shirt and black, red and purple hair moving down the corridor.

Hardy: "Dace! Dace! Can I get a few words please?"

Dace stops and slowly turns around, his scared face glaring down the camera lens.

Dace: "Not really Ben, but I can say that tonight, win or lose, me and the Fucking Maori Badass are gonna fuck up Justice and Rule, and Satan willing we're gonna win those Tag Team Title Belts."

Hardy: "So, you're ready for this match then?"

Dace: "Of course I'm ready. Justice and Rule are the Tag Team Champions, but can their luck hold out once more against the Unholy Trinity? I don't think so."

Hardy: "Well, I'm sure it will be an exciting match for all the fans."

Dace: "Yes, of course. Now, I have things to before this match, I hear the call of the she wolf."

Swinging around on his heel, Dace Night strides off down the corridor..

Hardy: "She Wolf?"

Yelling back over his shoulder...

Dace: "My girlfriend you dumb ass!"

The camera fades out.

July 12, 2003

The commercial break finishes as we slowly fade in…

With two matches down, an SWF show would be just about finished for the evening a few months ago, but times have changed, and the fans are so very thankful for that. Stagehands haul away Michael Craven’s black pyro as the fans wait eagerly, conversing with their friends and making wild speculations as to who the mystery man in the next match could be. Before they come to any real conclusion, the sounds of The Everlasting Gaze fill the arena, delighting the capacity crowd who jump to their feet, arms waving wildly in the air and a mighty roar is unleashed as the Wildchild sprints out from behind the curtain. The bobbing of his head is infectious as the fans follow his lead with gusto, showing their overwhelming support for the Bahama Bomber.

“Wild! Child! “

“Wild! Child!”

More and more people begin to chant as they see Wildchild respond, flashing that famous smile of his for them.

“WILD! CHILD!“

“WILD! CHILD!”

From his position at the announce desk, Mark Stevens smiles broadly as he witnesses this amazing sight, his love for the business still ringing true in his words, “Absolutely wonderful. Wildchild must have felt apprehensive before coming out from behind the curtain in Dayton tonight, this last few weeks have been hard for the Tropical Tumbler, with the splitting up of his tag team, and a bitter loss to his heated rival, Ejiro Fasaki.”

“All nonsense,” a grinchy Bobby Riley mumbles, attempting to rain down on ‘Child’s parade with spiteful words “Fasaki is right, these fans care little for Wildchild, he’s like the newest and coolest boy band around, today everyone is swooning over them, and then tomorrow they’re never heard of again!”

Mark snickers, “Interesting that you brought up a boy band-“

“Cork it, Carnie! Let’s try and be professional, ok?” Mark nods, still chuckling under his breath. “Good, well, with all these goings on for Wildchild, one wonders wether he’s ready for tonight’s match, against an opponent no one knows anything about!”

“Time will tell Bobby, right now, he has to clear his mind and put all his focus and concentration into the present and score a win that may very well catapult him up the SWF ladder.”

Supporters close to the ramp hold their arms out wide in support, and Wildchild responds in kind with a broad, grateful smile, slapping hands with his adoring fans. The events of the past week behind him for now, he performs a somersault through the first and second rope, rolling through and leaping onto his feet. Pivoting around suddenly, ‘Child jumps up onto the second rope, holding his hands up high, showing that he is in fact ready, and the fire inside of him still burns brightly.

Making his way into the ring, sliding under the bottom rope and climbing to his weary feet, Funyon prepares his introductions.

“Ladies and Gentleman, the following match is scheduled for one fall with a fifteen minute time limit. Introducing first! From the Bahamas… weighing 217 pounds, he is… WILDCHILD!”

Riley is sceptical, “Appearances can be deceiving, Mark, but he is an experienced customer, so no doubt he realises the importance of this match, in terms of his position in the SWF, and for his own confidence most of all.”

“You’re keeping an open mind tonight Bobby, you starting to come around on the ‘ol Bahama Bomber?”

Riley seems insulted by Stevens remark, “What! No, no, no, in fact, I want to see Mr Question Mark make Wildchild his bitch and beat the snot out of him just to prove Ejiro Fasaki right!”

Stevens seems relieved to have the old Riley back, “Speaking of Mr Question Mark, rumours have been flying around as to his identity, but no real answer has been given. My spies tell me he is a veteran from way back, a former world champion in fact, BUT! No matter who it is, they’ll have the obvious disadvantage of ring rust hampering them.”

“Ring rust is all in the mind Mark, I bet I could get in that ring now and take Wildchild out no problem at all.”

“Shame about that bad knee of yours though.”

“Bad what now? Oh yeah, shame…”A slick Riley replies.

As the commentators go off on a tangent, the rumour mill continues to turn out wild speculation amongst the audience. Glancing every which way, Wildchild waits impatiently, as does Funyon, albeit with an all-knowing smile on his face as he listens to the crowd, looking at the name printed on the card held in the palm of his hand…

“Damnit, where is this guy!” Cries an impatient Riley on the edge of his seat.

“Calm down my friend, all in good tim-“ Stevens abruptly stops as the lights in the arena gradually dim, leaving people in the dark in more ways than one.

Under a veil of darkness, Funyon cries in his perfect announcer’s tongue…

“And… HIS OPPONENT…”

The darkness lingers for a little while longer, until a quiet, head bopping beat kicks up and over the P.A system comes…

“… Damn it feels good to be a gangsta…”

Several rooftop strobe lights begin to pulse with the rhythmic beat and out from behind the curtain walks…

Stuttering for a second, Riley finally blurts out, “I – It’s SACRED!”

An unbelievable roar strikes up throughout the Ervin J. Nutter Center as ‘Damn it Feels Good to be a Gangsta’ by the Ghetto Boys continues to play. Low and Behold, lit up by the several pulsating strobe lights is none other than Sacred, a focused and determined look on his brow, but evidence of a smile as he listens to the fans welcome him back in grand style. As soon as the smile appears however, it dissipates, not letting his overwhelming feelings over come him in the validity of the moment.

Completely and utterly in awe, Stevens mumbles out, “This can’t be! The last I heard… Sacred had taken his own life shortly after leaving the SWF! What happened that made him change his mind! Why is he back Bobby?”

Riley just smiles, watching a former foe make his triumphant return. “Don’t ask me Mark! Maybe he’s the living dead? If so, that’s one good freaking gimmick!”

Decked out in a smart blue dress shirt, black dress pants and black leather shoes, the Hall of Famer slides into the ring. Foregoing any pleasantries with the fans, Sacred calmly loosens his collar and stretches it out, beginning to warm up as Wildchild stands in the center of the ring in confusion. The last person he expected to make an entrance was certainly not the Sacred One, and the surprise has him slightly, only slightly, on the back foot.

Gleaming with pride, Funyon announces to the capacity crowd, “From Adelaide Australia! Weighing 228 pounds, please welcome BACK to the SWF, the one and only, The Sacred One, ANDREW BLACKWELL!”

Another deafening roar is heard as Funyon quickly leaves the ring, leaving Blackwell and the Wildchild watching each other intently, formulating a plan in their minds.

DING! DING! DING!

The ringing of the bell seems to bring them back to reality quite suddenly, and soon they begin to circle each other, the crowd kicks it up a notch in heightened anticipation of seeing these two men go at it.

“Not in that way Bobby.”

“…What?”

“Nothing. This is a puzzling situation we have here. ‘Child obviously has to be reeling as he saw Sacred make his return, but hopefully that hasn’t shaken him too much that he makes some severe mistakes when it comes to the crunch.”

“He has to watch Sacred more carefully than any average opponent,” Riley states. “The mind games, the unorthodox and unpredictable style, Sacred utilises it all as he attempts to control the match and keep that control.”

In the ring, the two men stop circling and approach each other, standing toe to toe in the centre of the squared circle. Thoughts of lasts weeks’ encounter still firmly planted in the back of his mind, Wildchild decides to not wait any longer than he has to.

THWACK!

Both commentators are shocked as ‘Child connects with a hard right hand that sends Blackwell back a step! Mark Stevens shouts, “And Wildchild has taken the offensive to begin this match! A great move on the part of the Caribbean Cruiser, showing Andrew Blackwell that he won’t be intimidated in the slightest!”

THWACK!

Another right hand and Sacred is knocked backward once more. Wildchild quickly backs into the ropes, getting a running start towards his foe. Thinking on his feet, Blackwell places his hands on ‘Child’s shoulders as he nears, leap frogging over his head. Hitting the opposite ropes, the Wildchild returns once more, but instinctively, Sacred drops to all fours to avoid his opponent. Hopping over Andrew and hitting the ropes once again, Wildchild puts on an extra burst of speed and, just as Blackwell is climbing back to his feet, catches him with a high angle, flipping Dropkick to the chin!

Riley seems flabbergasted, “And DOWN goes Sacred! I doubt he has ever mixed it up with a high-flying customer the likes of Wildchild before, and the Bahamas Bomber has already gained an early advantage with his dazzling speed! For god’s sakes, someone put a damn leash on this guy!”

As he falls to the canvas after that stinging blow, Wildchild scampers across the mat into a lateral press on Sacred.

O-N-Kickout!

“The kickout was certainly expected so early into the match,” remarks a very assured Mark Stevens. “But it has to play into both men’s mind psychologically. Wildchild has gotten Sacred down so easily to begin this match, and that will do nothing but fill him with confidence.”

“Choke! Choke!” Bobby Riley yells towards the ring, prompting an unfriendly look from Wildchild.

“Bobby, don’t hassle the talent.”

With a new desire to prove Riley wrong, ‘Child whips his opponent into the ropes. As Sacred returns, Wildchild attempts a Leg Lariat, missing Sacred by only inches as he ducks! Such is his agility that ‘Child lands back on two feet! The crowd pops in astonishment, but Blackwell is not impressed, pulling the Bahama Bomber into a rising knee lift! With ‘Child doubled over, Blackwell hooks his arm around his foes neck, wrenching down in a front face lock. With Wildchild held firmly in place, Sacred tries a few more knee lifts to take the wind out of Wildchild, but to no avail as the Cruiserweight spins out of the move in an instant and takes Sacred by the arm, flipping him over in an arm drag!

Coming to a stop after skidding across the mat, Sacred slams his fist on the mat. “This has to be frustrating for the former world champion. So far he has got little offence in, Wildchild just seems to quick!”

“Of course, Mark. I mean, Sacred wouldn’t have had a very strict training regime in his absence from the SWF, and no matter how much he’s prepared in the last week or so, nothing can prepare him for Wildchild’s freak like abilities such as his speed.”

Sacred has no time to think as a bolting Bahama Bomber comes charging at him at full speed, striking him across the lip with a flying forearm! Blackwell is infuriated too see the move he used so much and made renowned used against him. Have people no respect for their elders? Held up on all fours, Sacred beckons Wildchild to grab him, feigning injury by looking for blood below his lip. Wildchild, inspired by the fans, puts a hand on Blackwell’s shoulder, but that’s all he gets as Sacred spins himself around, locking his ankle’s around Wildchild and taking him down to the mat!

“What he lacks in speed…” Riley begins, mightily impressed. “He makes up for in quickness of mind!”

Reaching forward to grab ‘Child’s leg in a standard leg lock, Sacred is suddenly forced away as Wildchild rolls over on the mat and hits him with a kick upside the head! Sacred grunts as he and Wildchild get to their feet at the same time, but the former Junior League World Champion is first to act, leaping on top of Sacred’s shoulders, but is soon shaken off and falls behind his opponent. Wildchild strikes as quick as lighting, and Sacred responds slower than thunder, feeling Wildchild grab him by the waist. Andrew Blackwell suddenly runs forward, lunging towards the ropes and holding onto the top rope, sending Wildchild rolling backwards, tumbling hard. Determined to show he has speed as well, Sacred makes a beeline for Wildchild, but gets caught with two feet to the stomach as Wildchild reacts quickly! Doubled over and grasping his breadbasket, Sacred is unable to move out of the way as ‘Child performs a kick up from off the mat, in the process he clasps his thighs around Sacred’s head and rolls forward in a pinning predicament! The referee slides over in a hurry!

O-N-E!

T-W-NO! “WHOA!” Cries Stevens as Sacred continues to roll through, climbing back to his feet. “I have never seen that before, and it got Wildchild a surprise two count! I know Mr. Blackwell is known for unpredictable offensive moves, but Wildchild can match that unpredictability, and performs moves even faster and from absolutely nowhere!”

As Wildchild also climbs to his feet, he is met with, “Ooooohhh” from the fans and a round of applause. The warm but brief moment of adulation is broken as Sacred grabs him by the hand and pulls him into two stinging forearm blows, followed by a quick Irish whip across the ring. Sacred backs into the set of ropes behind him and builds up speed, preparing to give Wildchild everything he’s got in a flying forearm to teach the punk a lesson. His plans go awry as quickly as Wildchild jumps onto the middle rope, springs off and barrels into his chest like a cannonball!

THUD!

“Bitch! He’s crushed Blackwell’s lungs!” Riley yells in protest. “That move should be outlawed Mark.”

Stevens laughs, “There are many, many moves that are far, far worse my friend. But you wouldn’t know that, Mr. Armbar, DDT, BOOODDDYYYSSLAAAMMMMAAAAA!”

“I like my ice cream vanilla and my moves nice and simple, is there anything so wrong with that?”

Wildchild rolls backward into a lateral press!

O-N-E!

T-W-O!

THHNNOOOOOO!

The crowd’s groans soon turn into cheers for Wildchild as he gets back onto his feet, feeling that he could take this if he just continued the constant pressure he’s putting on now. Sacred gets back to his feet, with aid from Wildchild however, who whips Sacred into the corner, hitting with a thud. The Tropical Tumbler literally flies across the ring, performing a 360-degree spin towards his adversary…

“Wildchild nearly pulled out a freak three count!” shouts a very excited Mark Stevens. “You could forgive him for stopping to catch a breath. But he just keeps on keeping on, coming down on Sacred with the Blue Crush!”

He falls, arms extended for the big splash…

CRUNCH!

Sacred takes two quick steps, catching an unprepared Wildchild in the stomach with a short spear!

“He tried to do too much, too quickly, and now it will cost him as Sacred thinks smartly and drives him into the mat with a gut wrenching spear!” exclaims an enthused Riley, glad to finally see Wildchild writhing on the canvas.

Obviously, Wildchild is not glad at all, and in a considerable amount of pain as Sacred recovers quickly, propping Wildchild up on his side, driving his knee into his midsection and hooking his arm underneath ‘Child’s neck and arm, pulling backwards in a modified abdominal stretch. The ref gets on his knees, watching the submission move being applied, followed by Wildchild’s mouth gasp as Sacred’s two pronged attack does damage to his midsection.

Watching on, Stevens makes a note. “Intelligent thinking! Blackwell follows a spear with a submission that targets the midsection. Simple yet effective strategy in an attempt to somehow slow Wildchild down… but already, the Caribbean Cruiser is working away from the hold!”

Wildchild slowly turns, avoiding the pressure from Sacred’s knee. Suddenly, he counters which much more speed and confidence, flipping over in a reverse half somersault, catching Blackwell’s head between his legs and yanking him down onto the mat in another surprise pinning attempt!

O-N-E!

T-W-OOOOOOO! Not to be outdone on the mat, Sacred suddenly flips backward, mimicking Wildchild’s move from just a few seconds before, this time pinning Wildchild’s shoulders onto the mat!

“O-N…”

Just as the fans begin to count the fall, Sacred shifts his position, once again driving his knee into Wildchild’s side, and hooking his arm underneath his again. The only difference this time is that Blackwell grabs ‘Child’s nearest leg and holds on tight as he rolls onto his back, pulling Wildchild up in a version of a Mexican Surfboard stretch!

“I’ll admit, Wildchild is a slippery customer on the mat, actually gaining the upper hand on the mat, but Sacred soon puts him in his place, going right back to work on ‘Child’s midsection,” Riley informs us.

“But they are awfully close to the ropes after all that rolling around on the mat. Wildchild just has to stretch his free arm out and lungs for that middle rope!”

“He could try Mark, but at the same time, he’s just putting himself through more pain!”

“That’s the strength of his resolve though Bob, he’ll fight no matter what,” Stevens retorts, hearing the crowd begin to chant for their own Tropic Tumbler.

“WILD!”

“CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!”

“CHILD!”

“CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!”

“WILD!”

“CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!”

“CHILD!”

“CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!”

“Just listen to the fans! I just know Ejiro is wrong about them, they want to see Wildchild pull through, and believe in his abilities to do so!” Boasts a proud Stevens.

Gritting his teeth and clenching his fist in defiance, Wildchild bears through the strain that Blackwell is putting him through and desperately strives to grab the ropes. The clapping and chanting continue, and only gets louder as Wildchild comes so close, only to have Sacred dig his knee into ‘Child’s side further.

Just as Wildchild’s fingertips gently brush the strands, Sacred loosens his hold and throws ‘Child into the air, rolling to the side as the Bahama Bomber…

WHAM!

…Crashes to the mat!

“Wow!” Riley manages to blurt out. “Blackwell saw Wildchild was nearing the ropes, and decided to just toss him in the air to cause further injury!”

A slight smile crosses Sacred’s face as he leaps into the air, bringing a knee down across Wildchild’s stomach! “ARRHH!” Wildchild can be heard groaning as he brings his shoulders off of the mat and grabs his stomach, only to have Blackwell push him back down again in a lateral press!

O-N-E!

T-W-O!

THRRRRRSHOULDERUP!

The fans breathe a sigh of relief, but not for long as Andrew Blackwell scoops his opponent off from the mat and whips him into the ropes. As Wildchild returns, Sacred sends him for a ride, lifting him off the mat in a Tilt-a-Whirl, but can’t finish it off with a backbreaker as ‘Child wraps his arm around Sacred’s head in mid-air, spinning himself around, attempting to drive Blackwell’s head into the mat with a tornado DDT!

It’s blocked! Desperate to block the move, Sacred simply throws ‘Child from off his shoulders, but the athletic Cruiserweight lands on two feet! Backing into the ropes, Wildchild blocks a hasty lariat from the Sacred One, just managing to grab hold of his arm and spin the Australian around, whipping him into the ropes. Wildchild attempts the Freefall, jumping onto Blackwell with a Lou Thesz Press and hooking his hands behind his head! Scouting the move early, Sacred manages to counter, wrapping his arms tightly around ‘Child’s midsection, causing a whimper to escape from Wildchild, giving Sacred enough time to run towards the corner…

WHAM!

And slam Wildchild against the turnbuckles!

“Neither man was willing to give an INCH in that exchange!” The Carnie comments. “Back and forth went the action, and in the end all sacred had to do was put enough pressure on Wildchild’s ribs to give him the advantage!”

“Again, simple yet affective, and now Sacred is putting Wildchild onto the top rope! ANY move from here will destroy Wildchild’s chances in his condition!”

The crowd grows increasingly anxious as Sacred climbs every turnbuckle, wondering what the Aussie has in store for their hero from the Bahamas. Locking Wildchild in a front face lock position, Blackwell grabs ‘Child’s arm and throws it over his shoulder, taking another step to get more height in what looks like a Superplex attempt!

Stevens waits on baited breath, “It looks like Wildchild is going FOR THE RIIIIIDDDDEEEEE…”

CRASH!

“NOOO! REVERSAL!” Cries Riley!

Wildchild summons up enough strength to hoist Blackwell up in his own Suplex and throw him from the top rope! At this point, the entire arena is unsure wether to be pleased or not Sacred has lost the advantage, but the crowd roars to life for the Tropical Tumbler as he stands high on the top rope, no doubt ready for a massive tumble!

Climbing back to his feet but groggy as hell, Andrew Blackwell stumbles around in a short circle near the ropes, before finally casting his eyes on Wildchild, and they grow wide in surprise! Leaping off from the top rope and twisting in a horizontal Axis, Wildchild puts his arms in the T position before crashing down on top of Sacred with a Twisting Body Splash!

“ANDROS DROP!” Comes the cry from the announce desk.

“OOOOOHHHH!”

The fans come alive and sing Wildchild’s praises, as does Stevens who is out of his seat. “OH MY! He may be hurting, but does that boy know how to put up one hell of a fight! Being on that top rope seems to bring him alive and bring the best out of him, and it has this time!”

On his knees with one arm linked around his waist, the Bahama Bomber wastes no time in throwing his body on top of Blackwell as the fans count the pinfall!

“O-N-E!”

“T-W-O!”

“TTTHHHHRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…”

“NOOOOOO!”

At the last second, Sacred simply plants his foot on the bottom rope!

“ONLY TWOOOOOO!” Shouts a happy Riley. “What ring presence, even in such a dire situation! Wildchild must be distraught! Heartbrok-”

“Oh stop harping on! You don’t like Wildchild, we get it, ok! I can’t believe Andrew Blackwell, returning tonight after a five-month absence could survive the Andros Drop! Wildchild put as much into that move as he could, but still the match continues!”

Casting a glance toward the referee but seeing onto two fingers presented, Wildchild does his best to climb to his feet, the last move only further compounding on his midsection, and the pain increases ten fold. Grabbing Sacred and lifting him to his feet, Wildchild stares out amongst the audience, before turning away from Sacred…

And hooking his arms underneath the Aussie’s! Turning himself over, the strain can clearly be seen on ‘Child’s face as he attempts to lift Sacred onto his back.

“THE WILD RIDE!” Both announcers scream in unison.

As much as Wildchild tries though, the strain on his midsection delays his finisher. Seizing upon this opportunity, Blackwell frees his arms and flips out back onto his feet! The crowd rises to its feet as the Sacred One grabs Wildchild around the waist and hoists him into the air for a German Suplex! Knowing the fate of the match is on the line, Wildchild counters by moving his weight forward and rolling Blackwell up!

The Aussie pushes Wildchild away and the Bahamas Bomber rolls back onto his feet. As Sacred gets to his feet, Wildchild knows he has to try something quickly and stabs at him with a Shuffling Sidekick! The crafty Australian is able to grab Wildchild by the foot and spin him around, and as he does so, charges forward and drives his knee into his gut! Claiming ‘Child in a front face lock, Sacred grabs him over the left arm, lifts his leg…

THUD!

Swinging it back behind him and diving onto the mat in one swift motion, hitting the CRUEL FATE!

“A MOVE WE HAVE NOT SEEN IN SO LONG!” Yells Riley, jumping out of his seat.

Crawling over and hooking Wildchild by the leg, the referee slides over and counts with help from the fans!

“O-N-E!”

“T-W-O!”

“TTTTTHHHHRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYESSS!”

“That’s it! Ring the bell!” The referee cries.

DING! DING! DING!

The roof is blown off as the crowd roars. Rolling out of the ring, Sacred licks his wounds as Funyon announces…

“The winner of this match by pinfall at a time of 10 minutes and 52 seconds… ANDREW BLACKWELL!”

“In his first match in such a long time, Sacred pulls something out of his old bag of tricks and wins the pinfall over the Wildchild!” Stevens yells. “Both men fought valiantly, but ultimately, and unfortunately there can only be one winner, and tonight that is Sacred.”

“I don’t think you realise the monumental proportions of this win Mark,” complains Riley. “He wrestled in a shirt and pants the whole time, he has to be sweating it out right now!”

“Only you would bring that up at a time like this…”

As Sacred stumbles up the ramp way, lucky to leave the Ervin J. Nutter Center with the victory, Wildchild wonders what might have been as he watches Blackwell leave behind the curtain. The fans cheer anyway, knowing how much energy he put into the match, only to come up short by the slimmest of margins.

“God, it’s great to see Sacred again, and alive no less,” Riley says with a smile. ”It looks like hes back with a new determination to succeed. That’s right bitches, he’s back, and he’s lookin’ SWANK~!”

A groan escapes from Stevens before he continues with his job. “Stay tuned to Storm after the break ladies and gentleman as the SWF serves up some hot hoss tag team action! I know you’re as excited as I am, so don’t go away!”

The picture zooms in on Wildchild, climbing to his feet, cheers heard in the background as we…

Fade out…

July 12, 2003

“BOOM!” says the wall of white pyro as it cannons up from the stage, completely covering a 20-feet-tall “STRANGLER,” printed in white on the Smarktron.

“And here comes the big man himself!” Mark Stevens bellows over the Blue Oyster Cult’s “Godzilla.” “For those of you who are just joining us… we’ve reached the fourth match of the night, and still have four more to go… but first, we’re going to be treated to some tag team action, as The Boston Strangler and Taylor Nicholas Thompson team up to take on a reluctantly allied Longdogger Pete and Stryke!”

“The Dogger weighs 277 pounds… and that’s exactly how much weight there will be holding Stryke down from breaking through the glass ceiling,” Riley says, disgusted at Stryke being paired up with such a loser. “Of course, this just gives him an excuse to kick not two, but THREE men’s asses tonight… but still!”

“It would seem to me that Suicide King booked this matchup as sort of a practical joke, to mix things up a bit in this newly formed feud between Stryke and Pete… but a match is a match, and though they might hate eachother, these two guys will have to set aside their differences if they want to win this thing! Especially against the likes of TBS and TNT.”

“Aaaaaand his partner…” Funyon starts, referring to Taylor Thompson, who’s already doing a little light stretching in the ring in preparation for this match. “…tipping the scales at 303 pounds and wrestling out of Boston, Massachusetts… THE BOSTOOOOOONNNN STRAAAAAAAAAAANGLEEEEEEERRRRRR!!!!!!!”

The crowd goes absolutely crazy as Strangler himself emerges from the ashes of the white pyro that graced the entrance ramp just moments before, and their cheers only intensify as he throws a single arm up into the air, soaking in the fans’ support! Taylor watches his partner’s entrance from the ring, his face not consumed by any particular motion, except for admiration.

“And this team itself is a bit of an odd one…” Grand Slam – surprise, surprise – commentates. “These two evidentially had a little backstage confrontation on our last show, and seem to have hit it off, as here we are, one week later, and they’re tagging together!”

“Great… two big sweaty men with about 300 pounds of muscle between them teaming up to take on other evenly ripped sweaty men,” Bobby smirks… but then pauses, as his face lights up and he lets out a “…Hrm, doesn’t sound half bad to me!”

TBS steps over the top rope and into the ring as “Godzilla” rambles on, but his eyes remain locked on TNT the entire time. Usually not one to warm up to new allies right away, Strangler stands dead still, exchanging glances with Thompson for a moment… and then reaches out with his arm, looking for a handshake!

A smile forms across Taylor’s face…

…his eyes fill to the brim with a friendly, warm glow…

…and he reaches out his hand…

…just as “Mama Said Knock You Out” funks from the loudspeakers, and the houselights go out, leaving the inhabitants of the arena in utter darkness! The sense of sight is pretty much useless in the piercing blackness of the arena, but the sense of sound sure as hell isn’t, as by the five-second point of the song, the crowd is booing its collective head off! The blackness soon turns to the blue and white of spraying pyrotechnics and sporadic strobe lights, and when the house lights come back on, there’s Stryke, right smack dab in the middle of the entrance ramp, a cocky smirk cemented on his mug. The boos, the hisses, and the jeers are now in full swing, but Stryke pays them no heed, simply strutting down the aisle way, and hopping up the ring apron, raising his arms defiantly, still not seeming to care about the negative response he’s getting!

“Weighing in at a slim 219 pounds, and hailing from Sydney, Australia…” Funyon roars, looking quite silly in his purple polyester suit and matching tie. “STRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The boos can’t possibly get any louder, but they sure do maintain their current deafening volume, and the Heavy Hitter has to wail really quite loud just to be heard. “Stryke seems reluctant to enter the ring with these two big men, and I think that staying the hell away from them until his partner is down here is the best way to go!”

“But how can a respectable gentleman like Stryke possibly trust a mangy little rat like Longdogger Pete!?” Riley wonders aloud.

“I see your point, aside from the ‘respectable gentlemen’ part.”

“Mama Said Knock You Out” fades out, and the fans slowly shut the fuck up, as we wait…

…and wait…

… and wai—“OH MY GOD! INCREDIBLE SUPERSTAR!”

A thunderous burst of white pyro erupts from the stage, and before you know it, unless you skipped ahead and read it in advance or something, Longdogger Pete is out on the entrance ramp, marching down to the squared circle, his steps matching the beat of Quarashi’s “Baseline” all throughout!! The crowd gives an ear-splitting ovation for the Miami Menace, who – black leather jacket and all – quickly makes his way down the entrance ramp, slapping hands along the way!

“And his partner… weighing in at 277 pounds and wrestling out of Miami, Florida… the One Man Wrecking Crewwwww… LONGDOGGER PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETE!!!!!!!!”

Longdogger paces up to the ring, and shoots a weary glare at the seemingly innocent Stryke, who just politely smiles, and pushes down the middle ring rope for LDP with his foot, as if to say “Come on in, big boy.” Pete scowls at Stryke’s almost sarcastic civility, but enters the ring anyway, and upon stepping into the squared circle, he comes eye-to-eye with the Boston Strangler, who has evidentially decided to start this match out!

“And we’ve got two big men in the ring to get this thing going…” Stevens observes. “TNT and TBS, jokingly named ‘The Turner Empire’ by Suicide King, seem to have agreed on the larger of the two starting in the ring here, and as for Stryke and LDP… well, I don’t think Stryke wants any part of going up against EITHER of those monsters!”

“Nonsense Marky Mark!” Riley objects. “Stryke is just testing Pete against those two pussies, to see if he’s even worth a damn! It’s like… uh, Pete has to pay his dues if he wants to rest, or something.”

“Bobby, I admire how you manage to defy logic so effectively.”

Referee Ced Ordonez meticulously searches both combatant’s boots for any hidden foreign objects, and just as the crowd calms down, the two giants back into opposite corners of the ring, and Ordonez signals for the bell!

*** DING DING DING ***

“Here we go!”

“When the Two Fat Ladies COLLIDE~!”

The crowd formulates a low hum, adding just that much more intensity to the showdown about to ensue, and deciding to skip the whole circling-eachother thing, LDP and TBS both charge forward like angered boars, locking up HARD in a collar-and-elbow tie up! The crowd bursts with uncontainable excitement, watching on as the titans jockey for position, neither man gaining any clear advantage!

“And already we’re at a stand-off… as these two guys are just too strong for their own good!” Mark says, admiring the strength of the two grapplers, as Bobby tries desperately to initiate a “BOOOOOOOO-RING!” chant.

Strangler’s entire body tenses up and he presses forward with all of his might, but Pete somehow manages to plant a foot into the canvas and hold his ground! TNT starts clapping and cheering his partner on from the ring apron… and just when a determined TBS starts to get the upper hand… Pete lurches back out of the tie up, and then thrusts forward with a HARD right hand! The crowd nearly explodes with ecstatic cheers, but TBS simply snarls, and lashes out at his opponent with a right hand of his own! Pete’s ready though, and he takes the strike to the head, does his best to shrug it off, and then comes back with ANOTHER right hand! The two grapplers are now brawlers, and they fight back and forth, again coming to a standstill as neither man can quite outclass the other! Pete with a right hook, Strangler with a stiff forearm… Pete, Strangler, Pete, Strangler, Pete, Strangler, Pete, Strangler, Strangler, Strangler, Strangler…

“LDP and TBS have turned this match into a straight-up fight already, and Strangler looks to be getting the advantage with his extra muscle and leverage!” Mark declares enthusiastically.

Strangler backs Pete up against the ropes with his barrage of punches, and then, when the Doggah has nowhere left to go, TBS grips his hand around his wrist, and yanks him away from the ropes, sending him to the opposite set of cables with a forceful Irish whip! LDP lumbers across the ring and hits the multicolored bands, bouncing back towards his slightly larger opponent… who catches him on the rebound, lifting him high above his head with a gorilla press!

“HOLY COW!” Mark shouts in amazement. “STRANGLER JUST LIFTED ALL 277 POUNDS OF LONGDOGGER PETE UP INTO THE AIR, AND DOESN’T SEEM TO HAVE ANY TROUBLE HOLDING HIM THERE AT ALL!”

“Pbbth, remember when Stryke military pressed the H-Ville Thugg?? I don’t, but I’ve heard stories,” Bobby says, assured that the rumors are true.

The crowd pops big time as if to say “wow,” and Strangler gets ready to toss LDP away… but Pete has other plans, sliding right out of the Bostonian mammoth’s grasp, and landing on his feet like a cat, or perhaps a very agile manatee right behind him! The crowd “ooh’s” at Pete’s daring escape, but again goes into an uproar of cheers as LDP hastily latches his arms around Strangler’s tree-trunk-thick torso, and heaves back, somehow managing to get TBS all the way over his head for a German Suplex! The crowd marks out like they’ve never marked out before, Stryke watches on with a mocking-esque “oh hey, he’s pretty good” look on his face, and TNT visibly cringes, as LDP bridges for the pin, and Ced Ordonez dives in to make the count!

“Holy heck!” Mark screams with surprise. “The Boston Strangler is over 300 pounds, and Longdogger just got him all the way over his head for a bridging German suplex! Simply… simply amazing!”

“If these hosses don’t pick up the pace pretty soon, I’m going to fall asleep. And as much as I love that reoccurring Tom Flesher dream where I wake up all sticky… it’s kind of sad, really.”

”ONE!!”

“TWO!!”

“T—NO!!”

TNT has tagged before, so he does what any good partner should do—gets his ass into the ring and breaks up the pinfall with a diving elbow drop across Pete’s midsection! The crowd “ooooooh’s” at the closeness of the fall, and Strangler rolls away from the remains of LDP, using the ropes to help himself up to his feet. Ced goes to get rid of the wretched Taylor Thompson infestation that the ring has somehow acquired in the last few seconds, but he removes himself without any hesitation, stepping back out onto the ring apron.

“Taylor just barely breaks up the pinfall here, and that very well could’ve been it!” Mark scrutinizes. “It’s still very early in this match, and Strangler went for that power move before wearing his opponent down enough… but it cost him big time, as LDP almost got the pin himself!”

“And he would have too, if it weren’t for those meddling… uhm, Taylor-…-s.”

“Shhh, Strangler has recovered.”

TBS leans against the ring ropes, clutching the back of his throbbing skull. He looks down at Pete, who’s gradually getting back up to his feet as well, and over to his partner, who waits eagerly on the ring apron. TNT holds out his hand, obviously wanting to get in a little action for himself, and with only a moment of hesitation, TBS stalks over to the explosive one, reaches out with his hand, aaaaand…

*** SLAP ***

…tags Taylor into this match!! The crowd pops funky monkey on a stick!

“Taylor is much more experienced in tagging than his partner is, as TBS has always been a loner of sorts… but he knows that the key to keeping the advantage in this type of match is to constantly tag in and out of the ring, and that’s just what he’s doing, replacing an only slightly injured Strangler!”

“…Strangler? Loner? NEED I mention the Alley??”

Mark audibly shudders as Taylor sends a respectable glance TBS’s way and steps into the ring, hurriedly approaching his recovering opponent in the center of the ring, and helping him up to his feet! Taylor hooks on a front facelock right away, and before Longdogger can do much about it, he finds himself being snap suplexed right over TNT’s head! Taylor keeps the hold on however, and rises once again with LDP still in his grasp.

“Snap suplex by TNT, but it looks like he could be going for a chain move of some sort!”

“Like Tod deKindes’ Sarah Sequence, eh? Great, he takes the guy’s CAREER, and now he just HAS to take his moves too,” Bobby states bitterly.

The crowd lets out a collective “ooh” as TNT lifts LDP up above his head again, but this time, he holds the big man up in the air for a few seconds… takes a step or two towards the corner of the ring… and then drops him face-first onto the mat like a pancake with a front suplex!

“Ouch! TNT is the smaller of the Turner Empire team, but he sure as heck isn’t lacking in the strength department!” Mark obviously admires the physical specimen that is Taylor Thompson.

“I need nothing to do with strength!” Bobby interjects with his own opinions. “All a man needs is stamina, and enough speed to catch up with me, and he’s set to be my next Tom Flesher… but sadly, no one can quite match up to my Tommy, quite yet.”

Taylor spins up to his feet and lets out a “KABOOM!,” receiving cheers a-plenty for his efforts, but the crowd heat suddenly begins to swelter up to a boiling point, as they slowly but surely realize that where LDP landed was no accident—he’s face down, exactly perpendicular to the nearest turnbuckle… which Taylor begins to climb in the blink of an eye!

“And Taylor wants to hit a high-risk maneuver already.” Mark’s not so sure that this is the best decision. “No… wait… he’s stopped at the second turnbuckle, to ensure that if this is the stupid thing to do, he doesn’t pay for it too much… aaaaaaand there he goes!”

TNT soars off of the second turnbuckle pad, down onto Longdogger Pete, with what seems to be… well, it doesn’t quite matter what it “seems to be,” as LDP rolls out of the way just in time, rolling all the way up to his feet and turning to face his opponent… who landed right on his feet!

“What the hell!?” Bobby is a little perplexed at how the hell TNT worked this all out. “He seemed to KNOW that LDP wasn’t worn down enough to be hit with a high-risk maneuver… what, can this guy tell the future all of the sudden? I mean, Jesus, pretty soon he’ll be reading my palm… but right now, he’s got Pete in his crosshairs, and assuming that he doesn’t run into a wall – and that HAS happened before… he’s got him set up perfect for a…”

“LARIATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Mark Stevens-san howls!

“Not quite! The dunce missed!”

Pete ducks the stiff-as-fuck clothesline just in time, and in TNT’s moment of confusion, he runs at the ropes, bounces off, and comes at Taylor with a clothesline of his own! Taylor barely ducks that as well though, and sprints to the opposite of ropes in preparation for a move, but when – on the other side of the ring – LDP tries to rebound off of the ropes and come back with a second try at a clothesline… his slimy little partner, Stryke, pulls the top rope down, and Pete accidentally flips all the way over the ropes and down to the cement floor below! The crowd boos with anger, but Stryke simply stands and guffaws to himself, as the referee starts up the ten-count.

“TNT and LDP were starting up a little clothesline-attempting sequence there… but it was cut short by Pete’s smarmy, not-so-ally-ish ally, Stryke,” Mark says, perhaps even a little bit disappointed.

“I’m surprised that I can look up ‘smooth’ in the dictionary without seeing Stryke’s picture!” Bobby says, a little more admiring of the evil Aussie’s underhanded tactics.

“But he did it to his OWN partner!”

“Eh, sacrifices must be made if you want to make a big buffoon look like… well, a big buffoon.”

(1)Ced Ordonez begins the ten-count, but being the respectable competitor that he is, TNT chooses to wait inside the ring for LDP to get (2) back in. Stryke raises both of his arms cockily into the air (3), but the Doggah soon recovers, shaking the cobwebs out (4) of his head after that surprise topple that he took. (5) Pete slides back into the ring, breaking up the ten-count… and he looks like he’s going to stare a hole right into TNT, surprisingly not even glancing at his menacing partne—wait! In the flash of a moment, LDP breaks character, snapping around at the unexpecting Stryke and tagging him into the ring!

*** SLAP ***

“Longdogger pretended to not even pay attention to Stryke there for a second… but the moment he let his guard down, LDP got his revenge, which was tagging him right into this match!” Mark says, amazed at Pete’s clever little payback scheme.

“NO!!” Riley shouts at nobody in particular, before collecting himself. “I mean… uh… yehah! Go kick some ass, Stryke!”

Stryke’s eyes widen to the size of watermelons, and he looks completely flabbergasted at what just happened, but before he can attempt a dashing escape of any kind, Longdogger grabs a hold of the top rope that Stryke is holding onto, shoots him a defiant grin, and then yanks on the rope, whip lashing Stryke right over it and into the ring!

“And Stryke is officially IN this match!” Mark announces for those who haven’t figured it out yet, as LDP steps out onto the ring apron, the fans still cheering at his well-deserve vengeance. Stryke stalks over to LDP, with hatred in his eyes, as he starts to scream at Pete. Pete looks amused, and merely looks over Stryke’s shoulder. Stryke suddenly becomes alert, and whirls around to be met by a TNT clothesline. Taylor drills Stryke with one big punch after another, backing Stryke into Pete’s corner. Stryke cranes his neck backwards, looking for help from his “partner”, but Pete just leans back and watches as Stryke is taken apart by TNT’s fists.

Taylor finally backs off, giving Stryke a second to catch his breath. However, TNT goes right back on the attack as he grabs Stryke’s forearm and whips him across the ring into his own corner. Strangler reaches over and delivers a stiff forearm to the back of Stryke’s unsuspecting head. Stryke goes stumbling forward out of the corner, only to be obliterated by TNT, who crashes into Stryke with a flying elbow. Both men crumple in a huge mess on the canvas as Strangler extends his hand, looking to get back into the match. TNT unhooks his right arm from around Stryke’s thigh and tags in Strangler, drawing a pop from the crowd. “Time for Stryke to get into the ring with one of the biggest men ever to grace an SWF ring!” crows Stevens as Stryke starts to scramble away, still on his back, from the massive Bostonian. Strangler reaches down and grabs ahold of Stryke. He lifts the Aussie to his feet in one smooth motion, and applies a quick front facelock. Strangler lifts Stryke up, then sends him crashing into the mat with a vertical suplex.

“TBS is firmly in control of this matchup now, Riley,” adds Stevens. “Sure, but who was in control at 13th Hour? That’s right. TOM FLESHER!” retorts Riley as Strangler stomps away at Stryke with a series of big boots. Strangler lifts Stryke up to his feet again, and whips him hard into his own corner. TNT looks up as Strangler hoists Stryke up onto the top turnbuckle in a sitting position. Strangler starts to scale up to the second rope, but Stryke comes alive and drills Strangler in the face with a forearm. Strangler reels backwards, with his 300-pound frame coming precariously close to tipping over. Stryke sneaks his foot up and catches Strangler square in the groin with a sharp kick that sends TBS’ jaw gaping. Strangler releases his grip on the ropes and drops to the canvas as the crowd boos the cowardly actions taken by Stryke. Strangler shakes off the low blow and quickly picks himself up off the canvas. He turns back to Stryke, and finds him in midair. Stryke drills Strangler with his patented frogsplash cross-body block, sending Strangler tumbling to the canvas where he lands hard on his back. Stryke rolls through and ends up near his corner. He looks up and slaps LDP’s hand to let his partner back into the match.

“Look at this, Stevens! Despite LDP’s horrific display of teamwork earlier on when he assaulted his partner, Stryke is the bigger man, and allows his partner back into the match! Stryke is a real class act!”

Pete looks somewhat surprised at the gesture himself, and hesitantly gets into the ring, with one eye never leaving Stryke. However, Strangler gets back to his feet, which draws Pete’s full attention. Pete charges forward and catches TBS with his trademark hard right overhand punch. TBS reels backwards, and Pete follows up with a couple more. Strangler is on the retreat as Pete charges forward and takes Strangler to the canvas with a hard shoulder-block. Strangler crashes down hard to the mat, and Pete immediately drops down and makes the cover.

“ONE!!”

“TWO!!”

“THRE…”

“And Strangler BARELY kicked out of that one, Stevens!” says Riley. “Looks like the Turner Empire over there is more played out than Jaws IV!”

“That’s a quality film if I’ve ever seen one, Riley” counters Stevens as Riley scoffs at the notion. Meanwhile, LDP has Strangler back on his feet. Pete takes ahold of Strangler’s forearm and whips him across the ring. Strangler bounces off the ropes, which groan under Strangler’s massive frame, and heads back towards Pete. Strangler runs straight into a big boot from Pete, which drops Strangler back to the canvas. Pete goes down for the cover again, but Strangler throws a quick jab to Pete’s face. Pete shoots up to a kneeling position, caught off-guard by the punch. Strangler pulls himself up into a kneeling position as well, facing Pete. Pete shakes the cobwebs out of his head and goes to try the cover again, but instead gets LEVELED by a Strangler clothesline from his knees. Pete goes swinging backwards to the mat and falls onto his side. The crowd pops for the brutal-looking maneuver as Strangler rolls Pete onto his back and hooks the leg for the pin.

“ONE!!”

“TWO!!”

“THR…”

“And Strangler couldn’t quite get the pin there, Bobby!”

“Strangler couldn’t pin a tail on a donkey, Stevens.”

Strangler pushes himself up, with a frustrated expression on his face. He grabs Pete and starts throwing punches at the Longdogger, who is still on his back on the canvas. Finally, referee Ced Ordonez intervenes and tells Strangler to cease and desist. Strangler grudgingly stops the flurry of fists and pulls Pete into a standing position. Strangler locks a front facelock on LDP again, then twirls around, smashing Pete’s face right back down into the canvas. The crowd pops for the Lobotomy as Strangler drops down and makes Ordonez count once again.

“ONE!”

“TWO!!”

“THREE!”

“NO! Pete kicked out at JUST the last second there! Strangler was VERY close to picking up the win for his team there!”

“Stevens, LDP better not lose this match! Stryke wrestled too well to get a loss!” Riley’s distress is noted with a small sigh from Stevens as Strangler slams the mat with his massive fist in frustration against the canvas. He pulls Pete up once again as the crowd buzzes from the exciting match. Strangler goes to whip Pete to the ropes again, but Pete sets himself and reverses the whip, sending Strangler going towards the ropes. Strangler bounces off, and Pete is ready and waiting. He lifts Strangler up onto his shoulders before falling backwards, planting him with a Samoan Drop. Strangler rolls onto his side, and both men are down and out on the canvas as the crowd is going wild after Pete’s unexpected offense. Ordonez looks around, then begins the 10 count.

“Riley, these men need to make the tag ASAP! Both have taken punishment, and tagging in their fresher partners could be the turning point of this match!” (1) Strangler starts to stir on the canvas, while Pete remains motionless, as if the offensive maneuver took more out of him than it did out of TBS. (2) Strangler is still struggling to look around the ring, as TNT and Stryke start to extend their hands, waiting for the tag. Pete looks up, and spies Stryke stretching out, waiting for the tag. (3). Strangler is starting to move as he crawls, on his belly, towards TNT, who is slapping the turnbuckle, which triggers clapping from the crowd. (4) Pete is on the move as well, starting to pull himself into a half-standing position as he nears his corner. (5) Pete and Strangler reach their corners at the same time, and both men stretch out, looking to make the tag. Strangler leans over with his long, long arms and makes the tag to TNT, who is immediately entering the ring. At the same time, LDP reaches out and goes to tag Stryke, but comes up with nothing but air!

“What the hell is Stryke doing, Riley? He just jumped off the apron! It looks like….he is! He’s leaving ringside! He’s leaving LDP out to dry!”

“Good man, that Stryke! Pete dug himself his own grave here when he screwed with Stryke earlier!”

“Stryke deserved everything he got, and he’ll deserve everything he gets down the line from Longdogger Pete!”

“Too bad for Pete that he’s the one in trouble right now!”

TNT charges over and delivers a hard knee to the back of Pete’s neck. Pete falls forward into the corner, and TNT quickly bends over and picks him up. Ced Ordonez is looking out at Stryke, who is halfway up the ramp and making some…less-than-Christian…gestures towards Pete. As Ced screams out at Stryke to return to the ring, TNT drags Pete’s limp body back to his corner, and motions to Strangler. Strangler steps into the ring, and the two men lock their hands around LDP’s throat. They lift Pete high into the air and suspend him there momentarily before they both drop to their knees, smashing TNT into the canvas with a double chokeslam. The crowd explodes for the maneuver as Strangler slips out of the ring, and taps Ced on the shoulder. He points over to TNT, who has Pete’s leg hooked down on the ground. Ced loses interest in Stryke and drops to the canvas, beginning the three count.

“ONE!!”

“TWO!!”

“THREE!!”

* * * DING DING DING * * *

“YOUR WINNERS, VIA PINFALL, TEEEE-NNNNN-TEEEEEE AND THE BOSTON STRRRRRRRRRRANGLER!”

“Tough loss for LDP there, huh Mark?”

“As happy as I am for TNT and TBS winning this match, Bobby, I can’t help but be disappointed. Pete was doing a great job, and then Stryke, his partner, went and screwed him like that! I know they had disagreements, but you just don’t do that to people!”

“Well, maybe Pete’s learned a valuable lesson about not purposefully upsetting his tag team partner!”

“And maybe Stryke will learn a lesson down the road about what happens when you mess with Longdogger Pete! Anyways, we have a lot more show tonight, including a highly anticipated rematch for the SWF World Title, when Thoth defends his newly-won title against the former champion Tom Flesher! Who will leave the arena tonight as SWF Champion? Stay tuned, and find out folks!”

* fade to commercial *

July 12, 2003

The camera comes up on the smiling face of Mark Stevens. “Welcome back to SWF Storm! Coming to you live from the Ervin J. Nutter center in lovely Dayton, Ohio.”

Bobby Riley puts his hand up to guard his mouth and whispers secretly to the viewers. “That will mark the only time you will here ‘lovely’ and ‘Dayton’ in the same sentence.”

Mark slaps his hand and down looks miffed. Riley shrugs, “What if I point out that you just said ‘Nutter’ too?”

Stevens starts giggling, followed by Riley. They both snicker and say “Nutter!” in their best Beavis and BUTT-Head impression.

Mark finally gets control of himself and returns to the match at hand. “Coming up next we have Frost vs. Renegade, a match that has never taken place in an SWF ring before!”

“And probably for good reason.” Riley spits out. “If you need a piss break, take a newspaper and a sandwich with you, because you’ll have plenty of time before this plodding mess will be over.”

“I thought you would be bucking for Renegade in this one. He’s not quite the fan favorite he was during his X Force 9 days and he’s going up against Frost.” Stevens points out.

“Well, yeah, I’m giving Renegade the benefit of the doubt to start with. Against Frost, I would root for the Olsen Twins. Hey…” Riley beams “I bet that would sell tickets for Ground Zero.”

“I’m sure it would,” Mark admits. “However, rumbling has it that Frost and Tom Flesher are once again on a collision course for each other, title or no.”

Riley turns a bit more intense as he speaks, “Tom Flesher will take the belt back off of Thoth tonight. No doubt about it. And Frost is the LAST person who deserves a chance at the World Title or Flesher. He got decimated in a quadruple threat match on Smarkdown by The Boston Strangler, who couldn’t beat Flesher at the last ppv.”

“That was only because TNT choose not to break up the pin.” Stevens waves his finger at Riley in reminding him. “Frost might have been Thompson’s old tag team partner, but TBS appears to be his new one as they joined forces earlier tonight.”

“Hey, Frost went out and found a new running buddy in LDP, why can’t TNT do the same with TBS. You know…maybe that’s why Frost sucks so much, he doesn’t have three initials.” Bobby looks at Mark for an answer and he shakes his head no as the camera transitions to find Funyon standing in the ring with microphone to his lips.

“The following match is scheduled for one fall and will be held under standard SWF rules. Introducing first…”

Funyon is cutoff by the blaring of Static X’s “Get to the Gone.” The scene cuts to Renegade already at the top of the entrance ramp and staring at his feet. He lets the music and mixed crowd noise wash over him. Some cheers, some jeers, but he seems to care little for either. Renegade whips his head back and throws his arms in the air to administer a self-high five, then walks to the ring at a quick step.

Funyon picks up his introduction. “Hailing from New York City, New York and weighing in at 260 pounds, this…is…REEEEEEEEENEEEEEEEEEGAAAAAAADE!”

Renegade pulls himself to the apron by the second rope and enters the squared circle. Sexton Hardcastle quickly pats the man down and Renegade retreats to the lower right corner.

Stevens: “Renegade really hasn’t shown much since his recent return to active duty after a brief hiatus. Although, a win here could put him in line for bigger things.”

Riley: “Yeah, do the math. One loser beating another loser makes the first guy less of a loser.”

Silverish pyro explodes from the rafters and the capacity crowd pops to match the noise. A baby blue spotlight shines down on the entrance curtain, snowflakes flutter from on high and the voice of Ozzy Osbourne rings out singing “Snowblind.”

“And his opponent, tipping the scales at 296 pounds and hailing from Reykjavik, Iceland, the Velvet Hammer, FRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSST!”

Frost steps out from the behind the curtain as Funyon punches his name. He strolls down the aisle, puffing away on his trademark cigar, and shoots a fist into the air. The crowd cheers louder and a “Frost…is…Party!” chant starts up.

Riley: “This disgusts me. There was a time when Frost would have beaten Renegade to a pulp, raped his mother, shot his dog and ate his children.”

Stevens: “Renegade doesn’t have any children.”

Riley: “Don’t know, Amy Craven’s paternity test hasn’t come back yet.”

Frost grinds out his cigar on the ring post and flips the smoldering stogie to a whooping teen in the front row with a sign reading “Frost is Party!” Frost slides under the bottom rope and to his fee…NO! Renegade charges and smashes a forearm into his back! Hardcastle calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Riley: “There you go, Renegade! You said he needs to prove something here tonight, Stevens, and he’s proving it.”

Stevens: “Renegade continues to keep Frost down with overhand punches. That pre-match attack certainly didn’t endear him to these fans.”

Frost puts up his left arm to block the rain of fists to his body. He reaches out with his other arm to snatch Renegade’s near ankle and jerks mightily to topple him to the mat. The fans’ cheering is short lived as Frost pops to his feet to drop an elbow, but Renegade rolls out of the way and Frost splats empty canvas. Renegade pulls Frost up by the arm as he winces from the elbow shot and Irish whips him to the far ropes. Renegade plants himself to catch Frost as he comes off with a clothesline, but the Icelander ducks and rushes for the opposite side of the ring. Renegade turns and drops to his gut, allowing Frost to skip over him and go for the opposite strands once more. Renegade leaps up and stands to the side of the running Frost. He collars Frost by the arm as he nears for a hip toss, but Frost pulls up on the arm to block. Renegade doesn’t let that faze him and comes across his body with his free arm to smack Frost full in the nose!

Stevens: “Frost might be a former boxer, but Renegade is one of the top brawlers in wrestling today. His punches can do damage and they do so now in driving the Velvet Hammer to the corner.”

Riley: “Renegade is one of the few men who can stand toe to toe with Frost in a pure brawl and he might actually surprise Frost and get the win if he takes it there. What am I saying? Of course, Renegade is going to make this a brawl.”

Backed into the corner, Frost is rocked by a one-two combo from Renegade and slumps stunned in the turnbuckles. Renegade ascends the ropes to stand above Frost. He holds out a balled fist to the crowd. He receives a few cheers, but mostly boos. The look on the man’s face is clearly one of ‘screw you’ and he starts nailing Frost in the face with punches. Despite themselves, the audience counts along…

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

Renegade’s tirade is interrupted as Frost snaps too and works his hands up to block the punches. Hardcastle yells at Renegade to get down from his perch and Frost is more than happy to oblige the ref. He muscles his way out of the corner with Renegade held aloft by Frost’s arms wrapped around his waist. Frost juts out his leg and drops Renegade across his knee! Renegade flies away from Frost on wobbly legs with a look of pain plastered on his kisser. Frost sprints forward and nails his foe with a charging clothesline to the delight of the throng in attendance.

Riley: “That’s an illegal low blow! C’mon, Hardcastle, at least pretend you know what you’re doing out there.”

Stevens: “That was an inverted atomic drop. Technically the opponent is dropped on his tailbone.”

Riley: “Frost has never been the most ‘technical’ of wrestlers.”

Frost flexes his muscles for the fans once, then walks a half circle to stare at the downed Renegade working his way up. Frost swoops in from behind and wraps his hand twice around Renegade’s shoulder length hair. Renegade screams as Frost twists the balled up hair in his hand to force the tweener to look him in the face. Frost frowns at the man and plasters him in the nose with a straight jab! Frost lets go of the hair, Renegade stumbles back, the fans roar and Frost presses in with his hands of stone flying!

Stevens: “Frost returns as good as he gets, showing Renegade that he can punch just as well as he can.”

Riley: “Remember when closed fists were illegal in wrestling? Nah, me neither.”

Frost works two sharp, short jabs to the face and follows with a rising uppercut to the stomach. Renegade groans from the blow and doubles over. Frost pulls him into a front facelock and takes a couple steps back into the middle of the ring. He swings Renegade up and around to get the man back to back with the rear of his head on Frost’s shoulder. Frost plummets to the turf and Renegade’s head snaps off at a wicked angle!

Stevens: “Swinging neckbreaker! Renegade is dazed and Frost goes for the cover!”

ONE

TWO

Renegade gets the shoulder up and kicks his legs to break.

Riley: “Bah, I still like the Honky Tonk Man’s better.”

Frost wraps his arms around Renegade’s middle and dead lifts him off the canvas in an impressive display of strength. Frost swings him around and hoists him over his right shoulder.

Stevens: “Frost shows that Renegade is problem for him to pick up as he goes for the gut wrench suplex…wait…No!”

Frost pauses before dropping Renegade back and he is able to jam a thumb into the eye! Frost yelps and drops Renegade to land firm on his feet. Hardcastle was behind Frost to see the completion of the suplex and missed the cheap shot, but yells at Renegade, knowing something happened.

Stevens: “How about that for a cheap shot?”

Riley: “He was just using some of that ‘technical’ wrestling he picked up from Frost.”

Renegade leans into the near ropes for a little oomph and comes off with a big boot to the stomach. Frost folds in half as the air rushes out of his body. Renegade deftly steps into Frost for a facelock and cracks back in one crisp, clean motion for a DDT!

Riley: “There’s your momentum shifter, a good old fashioned DDT. Frost is about ready to taste some of his own medicine!”

Renegade pulls Frost up by a front facelock and grabs a handful of tights while throwing his near arm over his shoulder. Renegade swiftly falls back, dragging Frost with him and off his feet for a snap suplex! Renegade keeps the hold applied and rolls to his feet with Frost in tow. He throws his weight back and snaps Frost over again!

Riley: “Frost is always the guy tossing people around like rag dolls, but Renegade is perfectly capable of tossing that sack of fat flesh around himself.”

Renegade rolls to his feet once more, this time sneaking a look behind him to check on how close the corner is. He speedily whips Frost up and over for a final snap suplex, but this one ends with Frost smashing into the upper right corner and bashing his back into the turnbuckles! Frost hangs upside down with his feet loosely around the top turnbuckle. Renegade makes his feet and ties Frost up firm in the corner.

Stevens: “Renegade transitions beautifully from those rolling snap suplexes into hanging Frost in the Tree of Woe!”

Riley: “Or if he was ‘Hacksaw’ Jim Duggan, it would be the Tree of Hooooooooooooooooooooooooooo…eh…I’ve got nothing.”

Renegade secures Frost’s feet with his arms and stomps at his upturned face. Hardcastle barks at Renegade to lay off and starts a DQ count. That only serves to make Renegade pick up his flurry of stomps. Hardcastle hits four and Renegade breaks off to a chorus of boos.

Stevens: “There’s no call for that. Renegade has never needed cheap tactics like that in the past.”

Riley: “Some past, when you’re greatest accomplishment was being a bootlick for LDP in XF9. I grow to like Renegade a bit more each week, but he still has a way to go.”

Sexton steps in to try to undue Frost’s knotted legs, but doesn’t seem to be having much luck. Frost hangs red face and dazed from the kicks. Renegade strolls calmly across the ring and turns to measure the pair in the corner. He bolts and the crowd’s warning alerts Hardcastle to get out of the damn way! He catches Renegade just out of the corner of his eye and dives for cover. Renegade leaves his feet as he nears the corner and propels himself like a missile through the muggy Dayton summer night! His shoulder rams Frost in the gut and the impact shakes him loose from the corner!

Riley: “But I must say he’s closing the gap mighty fast tonight.”

Frost flops to his face and Renegade pushes himself up to all fours, then his feet. He whips his head back to get the hair out of his eyes and glares smugly at the hissing masses.

Stevens: “What a hellacious gore to the upturned Frost in the corner! I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone hit a gore like that before! Renegade is pulling out all the stops and is amazingly taking the power to one of wrestling’s premier power wrestlers.”

Renegade, breathing slightly harder than usual from the wear and tear of the match, nudges Frost over by the tip of his boot. He stares down at the man for a second then skips into the air and pulls back his left leg. He drives the knee into the face! Frost flops like a dying fish from the knee drop as Renegade rolls through the move. He turns to stretch Frost out flat and hooks the leg for the cover.

ONE

TWO

THR-

Stevens: “Kick out. Renegade gave Frost too much time to rest after that gore.”

Riley: “And after a move like that, a knee to the face is almost a cold shower. Yet, if it leaves to Frost taking a more severe beating, I’m all for it.”

Renegade jerks Frost up by the sides of his head and places him into a front facelock. He grabs the trunks and tucks his head under the near armpit. Renegade grits his teeth and grunts as he fights to lift the near 300-pound man off the mat! He gets him up and straightens him out in the suplex position. The audience marvels at the might and Renegade shakes and stumbles around to keep Frost up.

Stevens: “Good lord look at the strength! He’s just hanging him up there like clothes out to dry!”

Riley: “Now, if he can do that to TBS, we’ve got something.”

Renegade finally reaches his breaking point and allows gravity to rip Frost forward. Renegade guides Frost as he falls and maneuvers him with his face and chest down to take the brunt of impact! They hit the mat with a crash and ricochet into the air!

Stevens: “Renegade with that reverse brainbuster of his. Looks a lot like a face first suplex, but the upper part of the body takes most of the impact, instead of the whole front.”

Riley: “If they wanted this stuff explained to them in detail we would have Gordon Soley’s head frozen in a jar somewhere.”

Renegade sits up and turns over to all fours. He uses all his weight to get Frost on his back and covers while hooking the near leg.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-

Stevens: “Shoulder up! There’s that never say die attitude from the Icelandic Iceman!”

Riley: “He could have used that last week, or the week before against Va’aiga. Frost has died before and Renegade will be the one to put him out of his misery tonight.”

Renegade yanks Frost up by the shoulder and puts his other hand between his legs. He hoists Frost and spins him around to rest on his right shoulder. Renegade holds his hands out to the side and cuts loose a primal scream.

Stevens: “He’s resting a three hundred pound man on his shoulder! That’s insane!”

Riley: “No, that’s…uh…it’s…yeah, I’ll have to agree with you, that’s pretty insane.”

As Frost begins to slip off the broad shoulder of Renegade, he wraps his arms around his foe’s waist and drills him to the canvas with a crackling, swift powerslam! The ring shakes from impact and the fans groan, fearing this is it.

Stevens: “Shades of the late Davey Boy Smith there. The cover!”

ONE!

TWO!

THREE-

The crowd gasps at the right shoulder squeaking a millimeter off the mat!

Stevens: “Frost got the shoulder up! Not only can he dish out a beating, but he can absorb one too.”

Riley: “Stuff it, Mark, Frost is about ready to get Renebroken!”

Renegade pounds the mat once in frustration and shoots the referee the dirtiest of looks. Hardcastle gulps, but flashes two fingers and tells Renegade to keep going. Renegade brings Frost up by both hands on the sides of his head and twists to get his chin on his shoulder behind him to setup the Renebreak. Renegade drags Frost tripping to the ropes to gain extra momentum for the finisher. They hit the cords almost side by side, but Renegade advances with Frost trailing to…

Stevens: “FROST BLOCKED THE RENEBREAK!”

The audience roars! Frost has just enough presence of mind to grab the top rope and hold on tight, his knuckles turning white. Renegade runs and leaps forward, but Frost is planted firm and Renegade flies off, losing his grip on the man’s head. He splats to his rear and arches his back while howling, signaling that he hurt his tailbone.

Riley: “That’s an illegal use of the ropes!”

Stevens: “How? He simply held on to stop being destroyed by the Renebreak.”

Riley: “Yeah, but then Renegade hurt himself, so in essence Frost was using the ropes to assist with a move.”

Stevens: “The children are right, you really do have no soul.”

Frost drops to one knee; sweat dripping to form a puddle on the mat and his chest heaving for air. Renegade gingerly makes his feet with a hand on his spine and advances toward Frost. Frost jerks himself up by the ropes and stumbles into ‘Gade to land a sloppy, but effective diving punch to the gut! Renegade leans forward slightly and Frost seizes a side waistlock. He picks Renegade straight off his feet and flips him 180 degrees to stare at the lights. Frost pushes down and lets loose of his hold to send Renegade crashing to the mat! The ring shakes hard enough to knock the weary Frost down and he sits on the mat sucking wind. Renegade lies flat with his eyes closed.

Stevens: “Frost pushes himself for a desperation move to keep Renegade rocked, a jackknife powerbomb.”

Riley: “You have to be desperate if you’re stealing moves from Kevin Nash.”

The fans encourage Frost to make the pin. He shakes his head to clear some of the cobwebs and leans over to drape himself over Renegade.

ONE!

TWO!

TH-

Frost goes to hook the leg, but it’s too late as Renegade kicks out.

Riley: “Too much time to rest. Renegade is just as resilient as your snowman, Stevens. No craptastic third rate powerbomb is going to knock him out for the night.”

Both men struggle up. Frost reaches out to take Renegade’s wrist and whips him to the ropes. Renegade manages to reverse and sends Frost for the ride. He comes off and Renegade goes low to hook the legs around the thighs and pulls back. Frost rides the shift in momentum with a thump to the canvas!

Stevens: “Renegade makes with that pulling sidewalk slam/spinebuster of his to get Frost down. I think…yes…he’s going for The Rage.”

Renegade shimmies his hands down to the ankles and looks to turn Frost over for the sharpshooter type move, but Frost jerks his right leg out of Renegade’s hand and crams it into his stomach! Renegade stumbles back and slumps in the near corner. Frost gets his legs underneath him and barrel rolls across the mat and into a crouching position to deliver a shoulder block to the midsection. Frost presses the shoulder up through the body and lifts Renegade as he reaches his full height. Frost spins to be back first with the corner and locks his arms around the knees. He dumps Renegade off his back to smack the top turnbuckle face first! He pops into the air with his eyes rolling into the back of his skull and drops to smack the second turnbuckle! He bounces and slips down to whack the bottom turnbuckle! Finally, he slides to whump the canvas and lies still.

Stevens: “Nice chain of moves there by Frost, ending with the makeshift inverted snake eyes.”

Riley: “Frost is too gassed to capitalize. He needs to spend more time running in the park, not running to White Castle.”

The fans yell at him to keep going and he forces himself to press on, teeth gritted. He stalks over to his barely stirring opponent and drags him to the middle of the ring by the ankles. Frost steps between the legs folding them over each other, then crossing the ankles and tucking them under his right arm.

Stevens: “Frost goes for his rarely seen version of the sharpshooter, The Hammer Jammer.”

Riley: “I’ll admit this is a smart move. Frost needs time to rest and this is a low impact submission for him to utilize, in contrast to his usual Icelandic Backbreaker or Cobra Clutch that requires a lot of upper body strength.”

Frost twists the legs and cranks back on the move. Renegade comes around due to the blast of pain in his body and he screams to release the tension. Hardcastle asks if he wishes to submit, but he furiously shakes his head ‘no’ and reaches out for the ropes. He finds them too far away. Frost plays to the crowd with boastful yelling and they call back to him.

Stevens: “This is very much like Renegade’s favorite submission finisher, so you would think he knows a way out of it.”

Riley: “Oh he does…I’m sure…yeah…just wait…any minute now…yup.”

Frost’s feet slide a bit as he ratchets back on the hold as far as he can go. He arches his spine to get all the torque he can muster. Renegade puts his arms underneath him and pushes up to get his torso off the mat. He shoves down for some oomph and propels his body up as far as he can get it! He throws his arms back and gets the right around Frost’s waist and hooks his hand into the waistband of his tights. Renegade reaches back with his other arm to get it around Frost’s in a similar fashion. Renegade is folded up like a pretzel! His legs are knotted up by Frost, his arms bent backwards around his adversary’s wide waist and his back is arched at a wickedly demented angle!

Riley: “Wow! That’s beyond insane! That’s just f*cked up!”

Renegade throws his weight forward and tugs on Frost. He upends him to the canvas below! Renegade is fully pinned under Frost, but the Icelander’s shoulders are flat to the mat and Hardcastle dives for the count!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-

Frost lets go of the legs and rolls of Renegade to break the pin.

Stevens: “I have no idea what to call that.”

Riley: “How about a crab backslide. Beat that Nova!”

The crowd is stunned after that inventive counter. Frost lies on his side regrouping, while Renegade stretches out flat.

Stevens: “Renegade has not only shown power here tonight, but flexibility and agility as well.”

Riley: “He’s the total package! Uh…copyright pending on that, of course.”

Frost is to his feet first and looks to drop an elbow on the downed Renegade. Renegade sees it coming and moves! Frost hits empty mat, but sucks it up and stands fast. Renegade is there to greet him with a clubbing right hand to the forehead and whips Frost to the far turnbuckles. Frost hits them back first with an audible whump and slouches. Renegade takes off, picking up speed with every step. He launches himself with his shoulder jutted out………and Frost moves!

Stevens: “Frost was playing opossum and dodges the gore.”

Renegade flies through the turnbuckles and impales the ring post shoulder first! He hangs horizontally with his feet out. Frost takes him around the middle and wrenches him out of the corner! He spins him around like a human top and allows his hand to slip down to the knees. Frost stops his rotation and rides gravity to the turf!

Stevens: “Snowblind! Renegade is on the other end of that beating he was giving earlier! The cover!”

ONE!

TWO!

THREE-

Riley: “Kick out! There’s still a chance!”

Frost dead lifts Renegade into a body slam position, he holds him out to the side as he twirls him around, head down. Frost hops rearward to piledrive the crown of Renegade’s skull into the mat with a wet crunch of cartilage!

Stevens: “SNOWPLOW! Renegade is one tough S.O.B, but this has to do it!”

ONE!

TWO!

THREE-

Riley: “KICK OOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUT! THERE’S STILL A CHANCE!”

Frost doesn’t loose his cool. He pulls Renegade up as he stands and sticks his head between his legs. The fans pop……then gasp as Renegade looks to backdrop out! No! Frost smacks his legs against Renegade’s skull to silence him and double underhooks the arms. He spins the man against his chest and hammers him down!

WHAM!

Stevens: “THE EARLY WINTER!”

Riley: “THERE’S STILL A CHANCE!”

ONE!

TWO!

Renegade fidgets and fights under Frost! He might kick out!

THREE!

Riley: “There’s no chance.”

DING DING DING

Funyon: “Here is your winner by pinfall…FRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSST!”

Stevens: “Wow! It took the Snowblind, Snowplow and the Early Winter in rapid fire succession to put Renegade down!”

Riley: “And he almost kicked out of that! Renegade might be on to something. He showed me a lot of fire and sharp tactics here tonight. I don’t think a rematch would go the Velvet BUTT Slammer’s way at all.”

Hardcastle raises Frost’s arm in victory and the fans pop. Frost sits sweaty on the mat and nods his hand at the appreciative crowd. Renegade is stirring and the camera zooms in to find his cold, hard stare-beaten but not defeated-before fading to commercial.

July 12, 2003

Cutting to the back, we are once again presented with a view of the Magnificent Seven locker room door. As it opens, the tag team champions Ejiro Fasaki and William Hearford III step out, belts around their waists. Focused and confident, they walk out of view, heading towards the entrance stage for their upcoming title defense against Dace Night and Va'aiga. As the door begins to close, the camera pans forward and into the M7 locker room. Just as the past several weeks, Sean Atlas and Tom Flesher sit inside. This time, Sean is the one in street clothes, but a mask still adorns his face. Tom, on the other hand, looks prepared for his rematch against Thoth.

"That won't matter" says the man wearing a mask. "It's your match, Tom. Thoth hardly ever uses holds, and you constantly do... he can't luck out twice against you."

"I know that, but how can you be so confident? Especially when it's a no-DQ match. You really think he won't have Janus visit him at ringside? The guy had Craven of all people tonight. If there was one guy that couldn't weaken him, that'd be it."

"Don't worry about Janus, alright? Concentrate on the guy you'll make tap tonight. If push comes to shove, and Janus pays you a visit, I'll be right on his tail."

"That's nice, but not reassuring. And with that goddamn poem I got last week, I don't know what to expect from anyone."

"The poem again... Let it go, it's probably nothing. And if it is, I'm sure you'll be ready."

"Well thank you, moral support. What the hell are you even doing here tonight, Sean? You haven't had a match since Frost. Can't you be at home or something?"

"Home... I don't even know what my home is anymore... Besides, I have other business to take care of here."

"Like what?"

"Like setting my goals a bit higher." says Sean as his thoughts distract him for a moment. "You know what, I need to go take care of something. You just get prepared; I'll be back later on."

Leaving behind a befuddled Tom Flesher, Atlas steps out of the room, cameraman Gus following him from behind. He continues down the halls of the Ervin J. Nutter Center when suddenly, a man from around the corner bumps directly into him.

"My apologies." says the masked character as he tries to walk away.

"Whoa there Scorcho." Atlas says as he grabs on to Beezel's shoulder. Beezel instantly turns around in defense. "Just want a few words, buddy."

"What about?" The digitized voice behind the mask says. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Atlas pulls out a book.

"Well, I wanted to give you this" he says as he ands Beezel a copy of Catch 22 by Joseph Heller. "Thought you could use it after your little group fell apart at my whim."

"...Are you mocking me, Friend Atlas?"

"No, not just you. Johnny, Wildchild, Van Siclen... all you guys. You're running around on your own now, and it's all because of me."

"I warn you, Sean, do not embark on this path. You are speaking to the Intercontinental-Television Champion, and a man worth much more than you."

"Oh really... Well I have a bit of a penchant for beating guys like you. Last week I toppled Frost, a former ICTV Champ. And it wasn't too long ago that I defeated you too. What makes you think I can't do it again?"

"This..." Beezel says as he points to the belt around his waist. "And this..." as he points to his mask.

After a brief moment of hostile silence between the two, Atlas replies. Pointing to his own mask, Sean speaks.

"And -this- says you don't stand a chance."

Turning away and breaking up the staredown, Atlas walks away from the ICTV Champion. The camera focuses on Beezel for a brief moment until he too leaves the scene...

July 12, 2003

The picture of thousands and thousands of fans packed into every possible seat zooms back into the screens after the commercial break. Signs float around, picked out by the camera. "Flesher Got My Sister Pregnant!" "Judge of the Old Folks Home!" "Deathwish for Champion!"

Stevens: "Welcome back viewers across the world. It's now time for the Tag Team Title Match!"

Riley: "Where once again some foolish pair will challenge Justice and Rule and lose! Mainly because it's Dace and Va'aiga from the Unholy Trinity, what hope do they have?"

Stevens: "Well, Dace and Danny Williams have come close to beating Justice and Rule before. They are beat Judge and Flesher, and both men hold victories over Mag Seven members. Va'aiga isn't a stranger to tough battles either, having put his whole career on the line before."

Riley: "Yet you don't mention all the time Member of the Mag Seven have crusher any one of the Unholy Trinity. Not to mention that these two have held the Tag Titles for a record breaking amount of time? Can't you be god damn unbiased for once Mark? Just for once?"

Funyon: "Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, people somewhere in between ... The following One Fall Tag Team Match will be for the SWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP!"

YYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

Riley: "Now be quiet Stevens, here comes one of the best entrances in the whole world behind Tom Fleshers..."

Funyon: "Introducing firstly, at a total weight of four hundred and thirty pounds ... JUDGE MENTAL AND EJIRO FASAKI ... THE SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS ... JJJUUSSTTIICCCEE AANNDD RRUULLLEEE!"

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Sleep Now In The Fire kicks into life as the words "Justice" then "Rule" flash across the Smarktron. Clips of famous Justice and Rule clips follow as the pyro sets off.

POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOP!

The Tag Champs make their way out onto the stage, in matching Justice and Rule hoodies, the Tag Title Belts highly shined and firmly belted to their waists. Under the roaring booing of the crowds, they make their way slowly down the ring, ignoring the fans.

YOU SUCK! YOU FUCK AND SUCK! YOU FUCKIN' SUCK!

Sliding under the ropes, they climb the turnbuckles and hold their belts overhead, to even more booing and jeering. Nodding to each other, they slowly hand over their Title Belts. Pacing around the ring, the taunt the crowd.

Funyon: "And their opponents, at a combined weight of five hundred thirty nine pounds ... Representing the UNHOLY TRINITY ... DAACCEEE NNIIGGGHHHTTT AANNDDD VVAA'AAIIIGGGAAA!"

Smoke billows from the entrance way, obscuring it from view, as the ramp becomes a mesh or red laser lights, there's a hush and the faint hiss of distortion effects and ...

"LET FREEDOM RING WITH A SHOTGUN BLAST!"

Davidian roars into life with a huge blast of pyro. Under red strobe lights, Va'aiga and Dace Night make their way through the smoke and laser light mesh. Wearing Unholy Trinity t shirts, the pair stride down the ramp, totally focuses on the figures of Justice and Rule in the ring.

Climbing the apron, they stare a hole through the Tag Champs as they step through the ropes into the ring. Tattooed and scarred they raise their arms in the Horns and Maori sign to the chanting crowd.

TRIN-ITY! TRIN-ITY! TRIN-ITY!

Stevens: "Can you feel the heat from this crowd. This lot just can't wait for this match."

Riley: "Too bad we all know what the outcomes going to be already, but let the dumb fools dream."

Stevens: "I dunno, I hear the FDA just banned that HHHold Down Squash Justice and Rule love to drink so much."

Riley: "Please, The Mag Seven provide that roided up useless fool wit the 'squash' don't toy know anything?"

Hebner looks slowly across the ring at the two opposing teams as they swear and flip each other off. Dace taps his head and points to the floor while eye Judge up before flashing a twisted grin through his scars. Va'aiga just flexes his arms at the far smaller Ejiro.

Judge and Dace back out of the ring and into the corners, taking hold of the tags ropes as Hebner waves his arm in the air, calling for the bell.

DING, DING, DING!

YYYYYAAAAAAHHHHHH!

The Maori Badass and Rule edge towards each other in the centre of the ring. Va'aiga extends his arms for a test of strength, well above the reach of Ejiro Fasaki. A small ripple of laughter rolls around the fans before Ejiro snaps a boot into the gut of the Hardcore Champ.

OOOHHHHH!

Ejiro tries to whip him into the ropes, but Va'aiga slams on the breaks and sends the smaller man hurtling across the ring instead. Fasaki throws himself off the ropes and charging back across the ring, leaps into the air and plants both feet into Va'aiga's chest.

AHHHHHH!

Only for Va'aiga to stand rock still, slowly looking down at Ejiro, he pulls him up by the back of his head and hammers two stiff right hands straight across his jaw. Rearing back, Va'aiga sends his arm smashing towards where Fasaki's head just was, but it connects with empty air. Spring from his feet, Rule launches his leg around and drills his foot into the back of the Maori's head.

Stumbling forwards a step or two, Va'aiga looks around before toppling slowly to his needs.

Stevens: "The size and power of the Hardcore Maori, he takes a Dropkick and doesn't even move, then an Enzuigiri and it's a good few seconds before he topples to his knees."

Riley: "He won't be getting the chance to do that again once Justice and Rule wear him down, that's for sure."

Bouncing off the ropes, Ejiro charges straight into the kneeling Va'aiga, driving a knee right into his jaw, knocking him off his knees and to the mat. Quickly jumping into his corner, Ejiro tags in Judge Mental. The pair drag the two hundred eighty five pounds of Maori into the corner and put the boots to him.

BBBBOOOOOOO!

Hebner steps in and warns Justice and Rule to get away from the corner and let Va'aiga up, but Judge turns around and shoves him away before stepping up and shouting in his face, even as Hebner threatens to DQ him.

Meanwhile Fasaki slips out of the ring onto the apron, and drags the get rope across the Hardcore Champ's throat, trying to choke the life out of him.

Stevens: "Ejiro Fasaki going old school heel, choking Va'aiga with that tag rope while Judge has the ref distracted."

Riley: "Hey, someone get Dace back in his corner."

Not standing for any of this, Night rushes across the ring, slamming into Ejiro on the apron, who only stays on thanks to the fact he's got a hold of the tag rope. Hebner swings round and starts yelling for the break and for everyone else to get out of the ring.

Dace slips under the ropes before Judge can turn and attack him. The referee starts to yell at Ejiro on the apron, even as Mental pulls the dazed Va'aiga out of the corner and smoothly plants a foot in his groin, out of sight of the ref.

BBBBOOOOOOO!

Riley: "Stupid Dace Night, he's only going to make things worse for his partner. Judge and Ejiro know what they're doing and how to do it well."

Stevens: "So cheat, cheat and cheat again to hold onto the Tag Team Titles?"

Riley: "Win if you can get the tights, loser if you can't get the DQ, but always, always cheat!"

Judge Spikes the Maori into the mat with a DDT. Rolling to his feet, he takes hold of the tope rope and just stands on the Maori's chest and throat, crushing the life out of him. Taking the time to boot Va'aiga in the head a few times, Mental finally pulls him away from the ropes.

Rolling the big man onto his front, the Mag Seven member Hammerlocks his arm behind his back, and slaps him around the ears, in and effort to knock even more sense out of him. Then taking the point of his elbow, he grinds it into the back of Va'aiga's neck.

Riley: "See Stevens, Judge knows what he's doing, he know he has to keep that fat lump of crap grounded and wear him down. Set him up with strikes and submission holds. Not go gun hold slamming and bombing without any plan like the Trinity do."

Slowly working his way up to his feet, dragging the Maori Badass with him, still grinding the point of the elbow into the neck, Judge drops his arms quickly into a Rear Waistlock, and straining for all the leverage he can get, lifts Va'aiga from the mat and sends him over head with a German Suplex.

RRRAAHHH!

Stevens: "What effort from Judge Mental, with a German Suplex on Va'aiga! I don't think he's going to be doing that one to much!"

The weight is too much and Justice can't hold onto the bring, so he settles for rolling over into a cover instead.

......ONE!

......TWO!

YYYYYYAAAAAAHHHH!

Stevens: "Va'aiga just powers out right on the two!"

Riley: "Guys, I think you need to choke this kiwi a bit more!"

After shooting his shoulder off the mat, Va'aiga collapses back down, still gasping for breath, even as Judge rises back to his feet, and hooking the Maori's legs, attempts to roll him over for his much favoured Boston Crab.

Dazed, but not out of it, the Hardcore Champ fights the hold, twist and locking his body, refusing be to rolled over. Judge digs his heels into the mat, trying to power over Va'aiga but it's no good at all. With one last twist to the side, he buries his boot into the small of Va'aiga back.

OOOOHHHHH!

Stevens: "I think Mental now knows for sure that he can't out power the Maori Badass, and it's not going to do him any good trying to Suplex him all the time."

Riley: "That's why he's wearing him down and being smart. Just another way Justice and Rule have of winning."

Lashing out, Mental drives his boot into the Maori's spine over and over again, to the groans of the fans. Horrorcore yells on form his corner, encouraging his partner to get back in the fight. Dragging the battered Va'aiga back into his corner once more. Reaching, he tags Fasaki back in.

Justice and Rule wrap their arms around the head of the Unholy Trinity member, before raising their arms, signalling for a Double DDT. In a desperate effort to fight out, Va'aiga swings both his fist round and hammers them into the collective ribs of both Ejiro and Mental.

YYYYAAAAHHH!

The Tag Champs stagger back from the force and the shock, as the struggling Va'aiga rockets forwards with a Double Lariat, hammering both men from their feet and to the mat as the crowd and Night burst into a roar.

Stevens: "Double Lariat! Va'aiga is back in control!"

Still gasping for regain his breath, he starts the long, slow crawl across the ring towards his corner and the tag to Dace Night. Ejiro starts to crawl after him, still shaking his head out form the Lariat, but determined not to lose the advantage by letting the Maori tag out.

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!

Straining out, Rule clamps a hand on Va'aiga ankle, even as Dace leans over the ropes as far as the tag rope will let him, searching for his partners hand. On sheer guts and violence, the Maori kicks backwards, smashing Ejiro in the face.

YYYAAAHHH!

Finally pushing himself back to his feet, the big and pissed off Maori slowly looks around, to see a flying Mag Seven missile of Ejiro Fasaki diving forwards him, throwing out his right hand, he cracks it off Ejiro's skull with a sound that echoes across the arena. Grabbing the smaller man by the legs, Va'aiga drops backwards, sending him through the air and crashing onto his face with a Flapjack.

RRRRRAAAAAHHH!

Stevens: "Flapjack on Ejiro Fasaki! Va'aiga needs to make the tag right now!"

Riley: "Bah, he can't even stand like ten minutes in the ring with Justice and Rule. What does that say about the Trinity's chances?"

STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!

Once more Va'aiga starts the agonising crawl towards the, moving faster now though after having shaken out some of the cobwebs. He reaches, and Dace leans over, one hand firmly holding the tag ropes, he reaches, reaches and .. makes the tag.

YYYAAAAAAAHHHHHH!

Stevens: "Dace tags in!"

Riley: "Oh bugger!"

Diving through the ropes, Horrorcore leaps at a staggering Ejiro and drives a knee into his face. Mental bounds out of his corner at Dace, but gets met with a Lariat that drive him right off his feet. Scooping Judge up from the mat, Dace spins him around and snaps his arms shut with a Rear Waistlock before snapping his body backwards in a sharp arch.

Stevens: "Lariatooo! DANGEROUS GERMAN ON JUDGE!"

Riley: "Judge isn't the legal man, ref are you blind? Stop Dace from beating up on him!"

DACE F'N' NIGHT! DACE F'N' NIGHT!

Swinging around, Night zeros on Rule, slamming his knee into gut of the Tag Team Champ, Dace follows it up with a second and a third. Slinging Ejiro's arm over his shoulder and clamping on a Front Facelock, Dace hauls him up into the air and throws his feet out, dropping Ejiro down on his next.

Holding on tight to the Facelock, he rolls back up to his feet, bringing Fasaki with him. Night clinches his tights and takes Fasaki all the way up into the air. Letting his legs drop down to the side, Dace leaves Ejiro almost horizontal, before quickly slipping a arm between his legs and jumping forwards, slams the Mag Seven Member down with ring shaking force.

RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

Stevens: "SHEER DROP BRAINBUSTER! Dace rolls through, going for another ... no .. SUPLEX MAORI DROP!"

Riley: "Bloody Maori's and their million and one bloody drops."

Hooking Ejiro's leg as he slams into the canvas, Dace makes a cover for the win as the crowd chants along.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

But it's no good, Judge Mental has Hebner distracted across the ring, and it's, only the fans that are counting.

Riley: "Mwahahaha! Judge acting like a real team mate, making sure Ejiro doesn't having worry about kicking out."

Stevens: "Dace had this one won. Va'aiga and him should be Tag Team Champions by now, it should be over!"

Looking around, wondering why the bell isn't ringing, Dace sees Judge and the Ref across the ring. Picking himself up from the mat, he bursts into a charge, shoving past Hebner and drills Judge with a full speed Running Elbow Smash, driving Judge back into the ropes and out over the top to the floor.

Stevens: "RUNNING ELLBBOOWWW!"

Darting across the ring, Night pinballs off the ropes and charges back across the ring, and even as Judge slowly rolls to his feet on the outside, Horrorcore dives through the ropes, elbow first, smashing it into Judge's head.

CRRAACCKKK! CLANK! THUD!

Stevens: "EELLBBOOWW SSUUCCIIDDDDIIIAAA!"

ELBOWS RULE! ELBOWS RULE! ELBOWS RULE!

Riley: He's beating up on Judge again, he's not legal, Hebner damn it, DQ his ass already."

Shaking himself off slowly, Dace Night pushes himself up with the aid of barrier, leaving Judge laid out on the floor. Climbing back up the apron, he rolls back into the ring. Moving over to the still prone Fasaki.

Reaching down, Dace starts to pull the Mag Seven member to his feet, but the Tag Champ sends his arms and legs shooting out, snatching Dace by the head and the legs, rolling him up into a Small Package, grabbing a firm handful of tights for good measure.

Hebner dives in and starts the count, unaware of the tights Ejiro is holding.

......ONE!

......TWO!

......1/4!

......1/2!

Kickout!

RRRRRAAAAAHHHHH!

Rapidly back onto his feet, Dace nails Fasaki in the head with an Elbow Smash, and follows it up with two hard knees to the mid section. Twisting Rule around, Night ducks down, and rises up, sitting Fasaki across his shoulder in an Electric Chair.

Stevens: "Small Package with the tights, but Dace kicks out. Elbow Smash and some stiff knees, now a Night Driver coming up."

Riley: "The tights? I didn't see anyone holding any tights, apart from towel boy in the back before I came out."

Reaching up, Night grabs Ejiro by the hips to throw him forwards, but Ejiro sends his hand flashing down across Dace's face, raking his eyes in well practices fashion. Shifting his weight to the side, Ejiro dives forwards, his leg across the back of Dace's neck and shoulder, planting him face and shoulder first to the mat with a Fasaki Fuser.

BBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOO!

Stevens: "Thumb to the eyes, and Ejiro scores with a Fasaki Fuser off Dace's own shoulders."

Riley: "Interesting and new offence. Just another reason why Justice and Rule are the biggest record breaking Tag Team Champions we've ever seen."

With Night clutching at his face on the mat, Ejiro makes a dive for his corner and the tag out to Judge Mental. The Judge leaps into the ring and immediately gets to stomping on Dace, each boot strike laced with a little extra venom. Dace steps slowly as he regains his footing, and the Judge grabs staright for an arm and whips Dace into the ropes. Ejiro fires off a kick from his corner, stretching out to smack his foot across Dace’s upper back, and as Dace stumbles into the grasp of Judge Mental, the Judge torques Dace over with a wheel powerslam and holds on for the cover…

ONE!

TWO!

TH.. and Dace kicks out. Judge holds three fingers up to Mark Hebner, but he shakes his head and calls the two count.

Stevens: Close, so close for the Judge with that powerslam.

Riley: Justice and Rule are the best tag team in SWF history, and this is why, Stevens. There could be a pin at any time, from either of them.

Judge leans back and grabs for a leg of Dace, slapping on a quick grapevine, but Dace shakes off the hold before it’s properly applied, and the Brummie superstar stands first, waiting for Judge to stand up himself. Dace fires off an elbow strike, but Judge ducks and forces Dace to turn round, using the Horrorcore one’s momentum against him. Judge snaps off a big backdrop suplex sending Dace down to the mat again.

OOOOHHHHH!

Judge stomps away at Dace’s leg again, before dragging Dace over to the JnR corner BY the leg, and Ejiro blind tags himself in, hopping over the top rope and dropping a leg onto Dace’s outstretched limb. Ejiro leaps to his feet and wheels round for the crowd.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Riley: These fans know NOTHING, Stevens. Cant’ they appreciate the skill of Ejiro, and the excellent teamwork of Justice and Rule in general?

Stevens: Cheating and dirty tactics won’t endear yourself to most crowd, Riley.

Riley: Well... I like it and it’s my opinion that counts.

Ejiro picks up Dace again, before quickly flattening Dace down to the mat again with a swinging neckbreaker. Rolling his kneepad down in his characteristic style Ejiro drops his knee across the leg of Dace, and Dace visibly winces as the shockwaves of pain travel up his body. Ejiro drops to cover, grabbing a handful of tights for luck…

ONE!

TWO!

And Mark Hebner stops the count, spotting Ejiro using the tights, and waves the protesting Magnificent 7 member away.

Stevens: It’s about time someone called Ejiro Fasaki on that little trick.

Riley: Why? It’s all part and parcel of modern wrestling.

Stevens: it’s lowdown, it’s dirty and it’s thoroughly illegal.

Riley: And that’s why I like it Stevens.

Dace Night rolls towards his corner, looking to tag out to the Maori Badass, but Ejiro flips the hand of Judge and Hearford LAUNCHES himself across the ring to drag Dace away from the corner by the leg.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Judge drags Dace into the center of the ring torqueing round Dace’s ankle with a toe hold and segueing that quickly into an elbow drop across Dace’s leg. Judge smiles to himself and stands, holding Dace’s leg, stepping through and locking on his Reverse Figure Four! Va’aiga leaps into the ring and stomps Dace free, but as Mark Hebner goes across to escort Va’aiga back to his corner, Ejiro sneaks quickly into the ring and the pair stomp away at Dace, then pick the sizeable Brummie up and double suplex him quickly over. The pair high five INSIDE the ring before Mark Hebner gets a chance to turn back and see what they’ve been doing, and Ejiro covers…

BOOOOOO!

ONE!

TWO!

TH… and Dace Night kicks out!

Riley: That’s just what I like to see. Quick tags, cutting the ring in half.

Stevens: They never made a tag there! That was little more than a high five in the middle of the ring.

Riley: If the referee thinks it’s a tag, it’s a tag.

Ejiro looks down disdainfully at the fallen Dace Night and as the High Priest of Horrorcore sits up, Ejiro rushes him and SNAPS the thick Birmingham neck over, Curt Hennig style. Dace rolls over and reaches out towards his own corner, edging slowly towards it, but as Dace approaches Va’aiga and looks for a tag, Ejiro hits a perfect dropkick knocking Va’aiga off the ring apron!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Ejiro drags Dace back into the middle of the ring, then picks up and whips Dace Night HARD into the Justice and rule corner, quickly following in with a running elbow, rocking Dace’s head back on his neck, then tagging out to the Judge who hops into the ring and fires off a MASTERFUL chop into Dace’s chest..

WHOOOOOOO!

And a second

WHOOOOOOOOO!

Judge goes for a third, but Dace reverse the momentum and spins Judge into the corner! Dace fires a first quick elbow across Judge’s cheek, but Ejiro slingshots into the ring over Judge and KNEES DACE IN THE FACE! Dace drops to the canvas like a stone and as Mark Hebner ushers Ejiro out of the ring, Judge adds a little insult to injury, stomping Dace in the crotch!

BOOOOOOOOO!

Stevens: I have to admit it. The knowledge of where your partner is, and how to spring him from any predicament by fair means or foul is the biggest strength of Justice and Rule. It’s the sign of an experienced tag team.

Riley: It’s always going to hurt Dace and Va’aiga, that they’ve trained together but never teamed up before. Oh and that they suck compared to our tag champions.

Stevens: The views of Bobby Riley do not necessarily represent those of the SWF or its great fans.

Judge grabs for the downed Dace and lifts him off the mat, setting up a back waistlock and easily German Suplexing Dace over, releasing early to add that little extra impact as Horrorcore hits canvas. Judge looks down upon Dace disapprovingly, stomping away again at Dace’s leg before grabbing an arm and lifting Dace straight into a hobbling Irish Whip. Judge smiles to himself again as Dace rebounds off the ropes and the Judge grabs hold of Dace with a reverse half nelson, taking Dace down rapidly, STO style.

Stevens: The Closing Arguments! This could be big trouble for the High Priest of Horrorcore!

Judge covers and Mark Hebner drops down to count…

ONE!

TWO!

TH.. and Va’aiga just gets over in time to break the count with a stomp. Again Hebner shepherds Va’aiga back to his own corner and again Ejiro sneaks into the ring and Justice and Rule stomp away on the prone Dace Night. The pair slap hands in the ring but THIS time Mark Hebner has turned back to the action and he calls “No Tag!” and ssends Ejiro back to his corner, to the cheers of the crowd!

YEEEEEEAH!

Stevens: Finally, FINALLY someone catches out Justice and Rule and their despicable tactics.

Riley: You are SO biased Stevens. So utterly, TOTALLY biased.

Judge waits for Dace to rise up from the canvas before firing a pair of quick chops. Judge grabs for an arm of Dace, looking for a whip, but then changing it in mid move and applying a solid wristlock. Judge kicks Dace across the back, brining the High Priest of Horrorcore to his knees, before adding the coup de grace , DDTing Dace from the kneeling position. Judge leaps to his corner and Tags in Ejiro, who slingshots himself in halfway across the ring dropping his leg across the fallen Dace! Ejiro covers

ONE!

TWO!

THR… and Dace Juuuuuuuuuust kicks out. Ejiro gives Mark Hebner a long cold stare, again showing him three fingers, implying that HE thought that count was enough to win.

Stevens: That was one incredibly close call there, Riley.

Riley: Well Grand Slam, I personally think that WAS three. Justice and Rule have already won this match in my book.

Ejiro grabs Dace and lifts the high priest of Horrorcore up, elbowing Dace a couple of times in the face to soften up the tough as nails former Hardcore Gamers champion. Ejiro takes down Dace with a quick Russian Legsweep, then moves straight back to Dace’s leg, dragging the Brummie to the ropes and placing Dace’s already worked on limb over the second rope. Ejiro signals to the crowd…

BOOOOOOOOO!

…and hits his running second rope straddle ONTO DACE’S LEG! Dace grabs his pained leg as Ejiro backs off a little.

Stevens: What innovate offense again from Ejiro Fasaki.

Riley: That’s why they’re tag champions, Grand Slam, they’re just finding new and interesting ways to hurt you every time they step into the ring. Ejiro walks over casually to his corner as Dace rolls towards his, and as Judge is tagged in he SPRINTS over to Dace and drags him back into the middle of the ring again. Judge picks up Dace and grabs him in a back waistlock, and Ejiro caps his exit from the ring by firing off a STIFF enzuigiri as Judge German Suplexes Dace over!

OOOOOOOOOH!

Stevens: Another deadly double team there from Justice and Rule. The mark of a great tag team is knowing how to work together to the greatest effect.

Riley: Glad to know you’re finally admitting it.

Stevens: I’m not changing my mind about them being dirty low down cheats, however.

Judge waits again for Dace to get back to his feet, and another pair of quick chops gets the High Priest off his balance enough to allow Judge to whip the massive Brummie again. As Dace rebounds back towards Judge Mental, the Judge smacks Dace down to the canvas with a beautiful standing dropkick. Judge quickly drags Dace to his feet by an arm, and the Magnificent Seven’s most experienced member takes great joy in cranking in a hammerlock, showing off Dace to all four sides of the arena.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Judge wraps his other arm round Dace and after stopping to draw breath, the Judge snaps Dace Night over with his HAMMERLOCK SUPLEX dropping Dace to the canvas with a near sheer drop! Judge stands and backs off, beckoning Dace back to his feet with a confident smirk crossing his face. Stumbling a little and HEAVILY favouring his leg, Dace slowly stands as Judge stalks him menacingly.

Stevens: It looks like William Hearford has something REALLY BAD planned for Dace Night here.

Judge locks in a Full Nelson quickly on the stunned Dace and looks round to the crowd, drawing the ire of the fans who catch his gaze before lifting Dace up and over and SMASHING him down to the canvas with a dragon suplex. Dace stumbles to his feet slowly as Judge sneers and cracks his knuckles, waiting for Dace to stand. Judge locks in a back waistlock, but Dace elbows out of it and hits a standing switch of his own! Dace goes to German the Judge, but Hearford blocks and pushes Dace off. Judge turns so the pair are facing and Dace fires an elbow into Judge’s face then makes a dive for his own corner again.

DACE! DACE! DACE!

Dace edges his way towards Va’aiga’s outstretched arm, but Judge is quick and grabs a leg out from beneath Dace Night and locks in a half crab!

Stevens: That was very close, Dace nearly, ever so nearly got that vital tag he’s been looking for.

Riley: Nearly doesn’t cut it in this sport though, Grand Slam. Dace is STILL in big big trouble.

Judge cranks on the crab and reaches down to grab Dace’s other leg but Dace wriggles away and towards his own corner a little, and Judge focuses on keeping the half crab cinched in tight, working again on the leg of Dace and wracking the High Priest of Horrorcore’s whole lower back, thigh and leg itself with cold unforgiving pain. Dace inches and inches towards Va’aiga and a tag and Judge’s face turns to the picture of concentration as he tries to keep the psychotic Brummie contained, but Dace is making steady but noticeable progress back for the tag.

DACE! DACE! DACE! DACE!

Dace reaches out desperately for a tag to Va’aiga, but as the Maori Badass stretches his arm out, looking for the tag again, and as the crowd builds to a frenzy Dace stretches his own arm as far out as it will go…

Stevens: This is it Riley, here comes the Maori…

And Judge breaks the half crab and drags Dace FIRMLY back into the middle of the ring.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Dace is left sprawled on the canvas as Judge smiles again and fires another quick couple of stomps to Dace’s leg, before picking up the downed Trinity member and whipping him hard into the ropes. Hearford swings his arm HARD at Dace, looking for a massive lariat to finish him off, but DACE DUCKS and goes careering into the ropes on the other side. Ejiro fires off a kick towards his back, but the Japanese-American is a little slow and Dace gets away, and as Judge turns to face him, Dace SMASHES HIM WITH THE YAKUZA KICK! Both men drop to the ground through the impact or just general exhaustion on Dace’s part. Va’aiga leads the crowd in a rhythmic clap, urging Dace back to his own corner…

Stevens: YAKUUUUUZA KIIIICK! It’s anyone’s game from now! Dace Night is down, but it doesn’t look like the Trinity is out.

Riley: The Judge should be able to get back to his corner faster than Dace can though, I mean he hasn’t had his leg wrenched in six million interesting ways.

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPclapclapclapclap…..

Dace and Hearford edge ever so slowly towards their own corners, as Mark Hebner puts on a double KO count, neither man on their feet. The Judge starts clearly outpacing the high priest in the race to tag, but Dace is still certainly moving. Judge reaches out and flips the outstretched hand of Ejiro Fasaki, and rule hops into the ring and rushes over to Dace, diving to grab a leg, but Dace gets a despairing dive in, just catching the massive Maori hand of Va’aiga as Ejiro gets thin air looking to stop him! Ejiro takes a shocked step backwards desperately trying to wave off Va’aiga…

VA-ING-UH! VA-ING-UH!

And the Maori Badass leaps over the top rope into the ring and SMASHES EJIRO WITH A TACKLE THAT NEARLY TAKES HIM OUT OF HIS BOOTS! The crowd explodes into a massive round of cheers. Judge hops into the ring to offer his support as Va’aiga kips up and WIPES JUDGE OUT WITH A SECOND RUNNING TACKLE! Ejiro staggers to his feet just as Va’aiga turns and BLASTS A THIRD TACKLE INTO EJIRO’S RIBS! Judge stands using the ropes and Va’aiga turns to face him and fires off a MASTERFUL, WINCE-INDUCING FOURTH TACKLE!

VA-ING-UH! VA-ING-UH!

Va’aiga: BOO-YAH!

Stevens: Va’aiga is a house of fire!

Riley: Or possibly a hoss of fire?

Stevens: Well whatever he is it’s BIG BIG trouble for Justice and Rule!

Ejiro takes his time standing up, and he turns to the Maori Badass, to be greeted with a look of hatred and evil intent crossing the Big Mongrel’s face. Va’aiga stares right at Ejiro, who looks away a little as he winds up a masterful elbow strike, smashing into Va’aiga’s cheek with tremendous impact… AND VA’AIGA DOESN’T BUDGE! VA’AIGA FLATTENS EJIRO WITH A MASSIVE, MASSIVE, 40oz STEAK AND A SIDE SALAD LARIAT!

Stevens: LAAAARIIIIAAAAAAAAAAT! Ejiro goes flying.

Riley: I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Ejiro fly that high without planning it himself.

Judge disappears out of the ring, looking for his tag title belt as Va’aiga draws back and screams out to the crowd. Judge stalks round the ring and climbs up onto the ring apron, checking that Mark Hebner is detained with Va’aiga and Ejiro and sneaks up on Dace Night, but before Hearford has a change to swing, DACE SWINGS FIRST, TOASTING THE JUDGE WITH VA’AIGA’S HARDCORE GAMERS BELT! Judge flies off the apron to the floor below.

Riley: Did you see that? Dace just cheated, Stevens! Dace just cheated!

Stevens: It looks like Dace knows of the cheating and foul plays depths that Justice and Rule will sink to, and he’s prepared to play, and beat them at their own game. With Va’aiga’s belt just lying there waiting to be used, I think he took the right step.

Dace drops the belt again, as in the middle of the ring Va’aiga draws his hand slowly across his throat, calling out to the crowd…

Va’aiga: DECAPITATOR!

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Va’aiga leans over to Dace and forcefully tags the High Priest of Horrorcore, then moves back to Ejiro and peels the King of Rule off the canvas, whipping him into the ropes. Dace hobbles into the ring and assumes position to the left and in front of Va’aiga and as the Maori Badass grabs and turns Ejiro, powering Ejiro down to the canvas again with an inverted powerbomb, Dace fires off a stiff Axe Kick across the back of Ejiro’s neck with his good leg!

Stevens: DECAPITATOR! DECAPITATOR! DECAPITATOR!

Va’aiga rushes to the edge of the ring and stomps away on Judge’s hands as he tries to claw himself onto the apron to either distract Hebner or pull Dace out, but with Va’aiga guarding it’s a fruitless task, as Dace drops to cover Ejiro and Mark Hebner counts, joined by the unanimous voices of the packed crowd…

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

Stevens: THAT’S IT! IT’S OVER! IT’S FINALLY OVER! That’s the three count and the long undefeated reign of Justice and Rule is over!

Riley: Look at the belt shot, the double teaming… Justice and Rule were cheated, plain and simple, Stevens.

Stevens: And you think that Justice and Rule wouldn’t have stooped to lower and dirtier tactics if they were able to. It’s a case of what goes around, comes around MUCH MUCH harder.

Back in the ring, as Justice and Rule skulk their way out of the ringside area, referee Hebner hands Dace Night and Va’aiga the tag team belts, and as Funyon announces…

Funyon: Your winners, and NEW SWF TAG TEAM CHAAAAAAAAAAAMPIONS OF THE WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORLD… VAAAAAAA’AIIIIIIGA AND DAAAAAAAAAACE NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!

TRIN-ITY! TRIN-ITY! TRIN-ITY! TRIN-ITY! TRIN-ITY! TRIN-ITY! TRIN-ITY!

Judge pulls a lifeless Ejiro from the ring, and with look of pure murder and hatred in his eyes, stares down the new Tag Team Champions as he backs up the ramp, helping Ejiro with him.

The Goth and the Maori embrace each other, Tag Title Belts in their hands, as the crowd continue to chant for them. The pair in the ring raise the belts high into the air, the crowd cheers, cameras flash and we fade to commercials on this picture perfect moment.

July 12, 2003

The Unholy Trinity locker room door swings open as the figures of Va’aiga and Dace Night burst through, clutching their New Tag Team Titles.

Together Horrorcore and the Maori Badass embrace their stable mate and leader, Danny Williams.

“We did it! We fucking did it Danny!” They yell with joy

“Congratulations guys, I’m so proud off you.” Deathwish congratulates them.

“We owe some of it to you man, thank you so, much.” Dace says, with a yell of happiness.

The door swing open again, and the frame is filled with cameras and sound booms, as reporters try to question the Unholy Trinity. Danny steps forwards, and Va’aiga and Dace follow behind him.

“Before anyone starts, I would like to publicly congratulate my stable mates on their amazing victory, and say how happy it makes me that they’ve come this far.”

Dace pipes in, as he and Va’aiga slings the Tag Title Belts over Danny’s shoulders.

“This means the Unholy Trinity is only going to grow stronger and stronger. So watch you. We’re not coming for everyone else, but we’ll fight like the warriors we are to defend our titles.”

Cameras flash and click as the trio raises the SWF Hardcore and Tag Team Title Belts between them.

“We are the Unholy Trinity, we are united and strong, we are warriors, we are proud, we are the victors.”

“Now, if you don’t mind,” Williams says, forcing the door shut, “We friends have some celebrating to do.”

July 12, 2003

As SWF Storm comes back from commercial break the camera quickly focuses on Funyon who stands center ring, microphone in hand.

“The following contest is the scheduled for ONE FALL and is for the SMARKS WRESTLING FEDERATION UNITED STATES CHAMPIONSHIP!” bellows Funyon.

“So do you wanna’ be a Franchise… And live large… A big house… five cars…”

The wispy sounds of a digital xylophone echo throughout the arena; a deep background beat, cleverly created by violins, and slightly overshadowing the original background rhythm. As the opening lyrics from Mak Francis’s Rock Superstar remix continue to blare over the PA system, the crowd bursts out of their seats, in recognition of the all too familiar music!

“The rent charge… Comin’ up in the world, don’t trust nobody… Gotta’ look over your shoulder constantly!”

The SmarkTron flares up with a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis, which is followed by ‘The Franchise’ in large green lettering, flashing on the screen in time with the beat, interspersed with signature spots and clips of Francis’ trademark smirking pose.

“Introducing first THE CHALLENGER,” Funyon takes a breath, “From Philadelphia Pennsylvania, weighing in at TWO hundred and THIRTY-SIX POUNDSsssss… ‘The Franchise’… MAAAAAAAAAK FRANCISsssssss!”

After taking a few steps out and down the ramp, Mak tilts his shades down on the bridge of his nose, before smirking… looking left and then right, soaking up the crowds reaction…

“I remember the days, when I was a young kid grownin’ up… Lookin’ in the mirror dreamin’ about blowin’ up!”

*PWI-SHEW! PWI-SHEW! PWI-SHEW! PWI-SHEEEEEEW!!*

He readjusts his shades with a smirk, before slowly strolling down to ringside and after walking up the ring steps, he cockily wipes his feet on the apron, giving a salute to the crowd, before entering through the middle ropes. Mak climbs the nearest turnbuckle and poses, as a wave of flashing lights go off. The crowd begins to calm down as suddenly—

“I’LL BRING HOME THE TURKEY IF YOU BRING HOME THE BACON!!”

—Rivers Cuomo's voice blares forth from the PA system, causing the audience to jump from their seats once again…

*FWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISH*

…Followed by a sheet of red pyro exploding on the entrance ramp.

"And his OPPONENT," announces Funyon, "From Phoenix, Arizona and weighing in at TWO hundred FIVE POUNDSsssssss… He is the NEEEEW and REEEEE-IGNING S-W-F INTERCONTINENTAL TELEVISION CHAMPION… BEEEEEEEEE-ZEEEEL!"

“Here is the S-W-F ICTV champion, El Scorcho, arriving through the red flames of pyro that we’ve become so accustom to seeing!” says Mark Stevens, as through the resulting smoke, Mr. B himself, singing along to the chorus with his masked voice, helps riley up the crowd even more!!

”I'm a lot like you, so please, hello... I'm here... I'm waaaaa-iting.”

Beezel continues down the ramp, nodding his head to the beat like many of the SWF fans, before singing some more.

”I think I'd be good for you, and you would be good for me!”

The man, masked from head to toe, confidently enters the ring, ICTV title around his waist. Beezel stands as tall as a five foot eleven man can and un straps the title handing it over to Eddy Long, who raises it into the air, to a loud pop, before giving it to a ringside attendant. Long checks the masked champion for illegal objects and finding none allows the champion to back away to his corner.

The Franchise and Mr. B tentatively circle the ring, attempting to feel each other out, as referee Eddy Long signals for the bell!

*DING! DING! DING*

Mak and Beezel stand center ring, Francis moving into a tradition amateur wrestling stance, in a position too grapple, while Beezel on the other hand, cautiously moves forward. The Franchise wiggles his fingers, signaling a test of strength, which Mr. B apparently accepts, mimicking Mak’s motion.

“These are two of the more popular superstars in the SWF right now and the crowd has proven that with their response to our ICTV champ and his challenger!”

Francis and Beezel’s fingers’ lock together, as they stress and strain for supremacy! Mak, the large and stronger of the two combatants, pressures Beezel and begins to bend him to his will – but Mr. B is not to be out down, as he quickly lifts his right leg and places it under Francis’ chin, before falling back, stunning the challenger with a innovative modified jawbreaker! Mak stumbles back, holding his jaw, as he backpedals, looking bewildered by the offensive maneuver that just took place. The self proclaimed Franchise strokes his chin some more, while Beezel kips up to a nice applause!

“The champion executes a very nifty maneuver out of the tie-up situation. Some sort of a jawbreaker variation, using his shin.”

“Mak looked surprised, Mark.”

“True Bobby, one of the things that makes this Beezel character such a difficult opponent is that you can’t scout him and that’s something the Franchise depends on. His style can change in the blink of an eye and if you’re Francis, you just have to hope that you’re up to the task.”

The champion and challenger, once again, tentatively turn the circle, as Mak steps forward and offers’ a second test of strength. Beezel seems to ponder this and slowly moves forward in response, again imitating his opponent—

*Thwack!*

—Before lambasting his knee brace protected left knee with a lightening quick and sharp roundhouse kick! Mak crumples to the ground, completely caught off guard, as El Scorcho, using the ropes to gain momentum, runs forward, stepping on the bewildered Franchise’s knee for a shinning wizard attempt…

…But Mak parries the blow meant for the back of his head, with his forearms and hands, though he’s hit with such force that he is pushed into a backwards roll! Francis continues to scoot back into the corner, a quizzical look on his face, even as his back hits the bottom buckle.

“El Scorcho seems to have taken ”The Franchise” completely by surprise with an inventive arsenal of leg based attacks and he’s going to take a powder in the corner!”

Mak stays put in the corner, while Mr. B slides back up to his feet and beckons Francis to come forward – but Francis stalls, still sitting in the corner, arms draped on the ropes and the crowd calls him on it, a few people slightly ticked off that the match is starting up so slowly. Eddy Long yells at Francis to stop stalling, much to his hometown crowds’ delight and receives a sharp look from Mak, who looks to still be trying to figure out Beezel.

“How in the hell are you supposed to beat an opponent you can’t REALLY scout, Mark?”

“That’s a very good question and when I get an answer, you’ll be the first to know…”

The Franchise finally pulls himself up and nods his head a few times before stepping forward, looking for a collar and elbow tie-up, right leg forward, to protect his injured joint, as Beezel nods his head in respect of the adaptation. The two come as close as you can to a tie-up, before Mak ducks underneath and lands a knee lift to the champions gut! Beezel hunches over, allowing the Franchise to slide into a side headlock and grind the masked man’s face into his bicep.

“Mak gets control after a little bait and switch action!” says Riley, while Mak continues to work off the headlock. The man known as Beezel attempts to back himself and Francis into the ropes, but the Franchise plants his feet and leverages him over in a headlock takedown.

While Mr. B twists his body in the hold, Stevens comments on the psychology of Mak’s actions. “Francis is working off that headlock, trying to keep this match slow and on the mat, where he has an advantage, but sooner or later he’s going to have to pick up the pace and a ladder is going to come into play.”

After shifting enough in the headlock, El Scorcho attempts to get a grounded headscissors, but Francis swats away his leg and leans forward, trying to nullify any counter attempts. Beezel final grabs the head scissors, but Mak escapes, maintaining control. Beezel, realizing there is no other course of action, slides onto his belly, giving him enough space to push up to his knees. Mak tries to keep El Scorcho grounded, but the high flyer refuses, lifting them both up to a standing position. The champion backs himself and his challenger into the ropes, using their momentum to shoot Francis away. The Franchise hits the far ropes and rebounds quickly, stepping over Beezel as he hits the mat. Mak rebounds again, as Beezel stands poise in a martial arts stance—

*Whooooosh!*

—This time ducking under a snapping roundhouse kick meant to decapitate him! Mak comes back for more, after his close call and this time Beezel leapfrogs, enabling Francis to catch him mid flight!! The Franchise spins in places, as El Scorcho sits atop his shoulders…

“Spiral Bomb!” calls Riley, as Mak sets up to hit his spinning sitout powerbomb.

“NO! Counter!” shouts Stevens in response, as the masked ICTV champion pounds away with stiff strikes to the face of the self proclaimed Franchise. Mak falters and Mr. B takes full advantage, flipping backwards, dragging the challenger to the canvas, and causing him to skitter away! “Beezel counters out of it and into a hurricanrana!”

Beezel and Francis both quickly rise after that sequence and El Scorcho, not one to let up on the pressure, charges forward. Mak readies himself, planning on knocking Beezel down with a lariat – but the champion slides in between Mak’s legs and stands grabbing a perplexed Franchise in a back waistlock! Francis quickly regains his bearing and fires off sucessive back elbows, loosening his opponents hold, before executing a standing switch! Beezel, sensing he’s about to be dumped on his head, runs to the ropes and locks his arms in them, sending Mak into a roll. El Scorcho charges again and this time Mak charges as well raising his leg for a high kick—

*Whooooooosh!*

—But Beezel ducks and skids to a stop, readying himself for a kick, while Francis rebounds off the ropes, catching his arm and rotating around behind him, ending in a DDT!!

“Float over DDT from the Franchise, who has adapted well to the change in pace!”

“Yup, Mak’s doing the smart thing by attacking Beezel injuries from previous matches. He’s made it clear that he’s going to attack the ribs and head of Beezel, by his attempts at offense!”

Beezel lays knocked out on the ground, while Francis adjusts his knee brace, before rolling out of the ring. He lifts up the tarp on the apron and pulls a black ladder out, causing the crowd to pop! “And it looks like the Franchise will be the first competitor to initiate a ladder, in this match!” comments Grand Slam, as Beezel stirs and slides up to his feet, rushing over towards the ropes, near Francis. Mak pushes the ladder into the ring, just as Beezel slingshots himself over the top, in a cross body!

El Scorcho stands up and walks off the slight pain in his ribs, as Francis briefly cradles his own before getting up. “Both of these guys have taken punishment to their head and rib cage over the past few weeks and you can see that starting to come into affect right now. Beezel with his most recent matches against Janus and Stryke, while the new World champion, Thoth, and Michael Craven pounded on Francis.” Beezel walks over to Francis and receives a snapping right hand from the Franchise, before he tilts Beezel’s chin up and—

*Smack* WHOOOOOOO!!!!1!1

—Connects with a scintillating knife-edge chop! Mak readies Beezel for a second knife-edge, but Beezel quickly overcomes Francis’ strikes and lands a stiff strike, to his head! Mr. B quickly takes advantage and rears back—

*Thwap!*

—Plastering Francis with a kick to the rib cage! Mak covers his ribs but Beezel hits him in the face with another punch! While Mak is stunned, El Scorcho rears back again—

*Thwap!*

—Blasting Francis with a kick to the left knee! Mak falls to a knee and the champion rears back for a third and final time—

*THWAP!*

—Waylaying Mak with a kick to the head!! The first row of the crowd “oohs” in sympathy, as Beezel rolls into the ring leaving his challenger on the outside, struggling to get to his feet. “Beezel going after the same weak points as the challenger in this match, because the knee, neck and rib cage are vital to surviving any match, let along a ladder match!” notes Stevens, as Beezel grabs the long forgotten ladder and sets it up, center ring, underneath the ICTV title, as Mak crawls from the apron, into the ring! Francis, realizing he needs to strike fast, gets up and bum rushes Beezel from behind—

*Clank!*

—Only to get tripped up by a modified drop toe hold directly onto the bottom ladder rung!! Mak’s forehead is busted open immediately, if not sooner, as he leaves a tiny pool of blood on the black ladders’ rung, not moving from his position!

“As you folks can see, ladders are definitely a dangerous element and can draw blood or possibly turn the tide of any match easily!”

The champion moves Francis off the ladder, lifting him up, but the Franchise is less out of it than Beezel thinks and scores a thump to the eye, poking through an eye hole in his mask! A small faction of the crowd boos the action, but most cheer Mak’s cheating nature.

“And a thumb to the eye can turn the tide, just as easily, Marky Mark!”

While Beezel tries to regain his vision, Francis folds the ladder up and whacks him in the back with it! Beezel falls to his knees in pain, as Francis touches his forehead, feeling the small gash he received. Mak drags the ladder over to the turnbuckle and wedges it in between the second and top ropes, before turning and slightly stumbling back towards Beezel. He grabs the masked champion by the head and pulls him to the corner, lifting him up to his vertical base! Francis seems to have an idea, as he stands beside Beezel, grapevining their legs and putting his hands on opposite sides of El Scorcho’s neck, grabbing a hold of the ladder.

“What the hell is he doing now?” questions Mark Stevens

“I’ve got suspicions and none of them are pretty!” shouts a giddy Bobby Riley, in response.

Beezel regains his equilibrium, but it’s already much too late, as Francis bring the ladder to champion’s neck and drops backwards in a Side Russian Leg Sweep, pinning his neck between the canvas and ladder. Beezel holds both hands to his neck in a choking motion, as his shoulders’ spasm in pain and Francis smirks with a small amount of blood dripping down his face…

“What an innovative move by “The Franchise”! He’s not going to let Beezel outdo him tonight, Grand Spam!”

“A Ladder assisted Russian Leg Sweep by Francis and if you didn’t call it innovative, I sure as heck would have!”!

Mr. B. continues to roll about the mat holding his throat, as Francis sets up the aforementioned ladder, in the corner. The Franchise stalks over to Beezel and lifts him up—

*Smack* WHOOOOOOO!!!!1!1

—Blasting the champ with a blood vessel popping, knife-edge chop! Stunned, Beezel can do nothing as the Franchise sends him off towards the ladder in an Irish whip! Beezel hits the ladder back first and slumps in the corner, as Mak charges forward—

*Clank!!*

—Only to get tripped up by ANOTHER drop toe hold, directly onto the second ladder rung!! Mak’s forehead is busted wide open now, giving the crowd a reason to cheer! More blood! Beezel continues to gag slightly, but he overcomes that and yanks Francis off the ladder, letting him hit the canvas. El Scorcho seizes the ladder and looks on in surprise as…

“Oh my!” shouts Stevens, in a little shock. “Francis’ head dented that ladder rung! I’ve heard of hard heads but geez…” Bobby raises his hand as if to say something, but Mark quickly cuts him off. “…No Bobby… just no.” Riley looks dejected and sulks, while Beezel sets the ladder up center ring and bypassing the second step, he begins to climb! Mak meanwhile, has finally shaken off the effects of that last move and is trying to push himself up. “Beezel taking another few steps up the ladder, nearing the top, Francis finally makes it to his feet.” calls Stevens as Mak stumbles towards the ladder! El Scorcho reaches up and take a swipe barely missing the ICTV belt, as Francis now standing on the ladder—

*Ding!*

—Hits him low! Mak removes his arm from between Beezel’s legs and jumps down, while El Scorcho just stares at his opponent in disbelief. As if impervious to pain, similar to his match with Janus, Mr. B simply stays there, on the ladder. Mak, looks up puzzled once again by the ICTV champion, until the statuesque Beezel falls backwards like a brick, dragging the ladder down with him! The self proclaimed Franchise looks relieved, as the crowd seems split about getting on him for the dirty tactic!

“Well, some of this crowd’s expressing there discontent about that low blow by “The Franchise”.”

“And some of them are cheering Grand Salami. Cheating to win is acceptable nowadays, even if you aren’t from south of the border!”

Mak attempts to catch his breath for a minute, when suprisingly, Beezel starts to get up, pushing the ladder off of himself and through the second rope, forcing Mak into action. Francis grabs Beezel and lifts him up, depositing him on the top rope, forcing the champ to straddle the turnbuckle! Parts of the crowd begin to buzz, as the self proclaimed Franchise—

*Wham!*

—Hits a snapping right hand to the champion’s face! Mak begins to scales the ropes, causing the slight buzz to get a lot louder and as he snitches in a front facelock, the crowd goes wild! “Could we be about to see a SUPER Franchise Tag, from the challenger?!”

Mak repositions himself on the second, attempting to hook Beezel’s leg, when the masked martial artist comes back to life. Striking at the gut of his challenger, in a last ditch effort to save himself!! Francis releases the facelock and sits stunned on the ropes as Beezel stands up and dives overhead…

…

Yanking the Franchise down to the canvas in a Sunset Flip Powerbomb!!

“Beezel knew that if Francis hit that Super Fisherman’s buster this match may have been over, so he pulled out all the stop on that occasion!”

The champion releases the automatic pin that comes with executing such a move, remembering that he needs to get to his title. Beezel, slightly worn out, looks around from the ground for the ladder and spots it partially outside the ring, one end on the apron, the other on the floor. Beezel slowly attempts to drag the ladder back into the ring – but Francis, after shaking off the cobwebs, comes into the picture, nailing him with a kidney shot and dropping him to the mat in a Russian leg sweep! Mak looks at Beezel and then the crowd, before wedging the ladder on top of the protective barricade and apron!! The audience begins to buzz once again, as the Franchise picks El Scorcho up and Irish whips him! People in the first and second rows rise to their feet, as most of the crowd looks on in wonder. Mak bends at the waist and the crowd goes nuts, as he BACKDROPS BEEZEL OVER THE TOP ROPE…

…But the masked man regains his balance and lands on the apron, saving his back from a terrible fate! Mak turns around directly into a right hand from El Scorcho!! Mak and Beezel trade right hands, until Beezel kicks Francis in the rib cage, hunching him over!! The Franchise can do nothing as Beezel snitches in a front facelock…

…

…Lifts him into the AIR…

…

…AND DROPS HIM BACK FIRST ONTO THE LADDER!!!!1!1!

Holy Shit! Holy Shit!

“…Wow…”

“…Ouch…”

Holy Shit! Holy Shit!

“Man, take a look at this…”

A split screen graphic occurs, the right side showing the replay and the other showing real time action. While the real time action just has both Beezel and Mak, lying on there back and stomach respectively… the SWF Replay shows—

==========

SWF Replay

==========

Beezel is shown kicking Francis in the rib cage, hunching him over!! The Franchise can do nothing as Beezel snitches in a front facelock, hoists him vertical, barely stalling for even a moment, before dropping him back first across the metal ladder propped on the apron… DEFORMING THE FRICKEN LADDER!!

==========

End Replay

==========

The crowd continues to buzz, as Francis and Beezel roll off the ladder and onto the ground in pain! While Mak stays on the ground Beezel forces himself to get up and realizing that that ladder won’t be of any use, he looks under the ring for a second ladder… and not finding one! The Franchise is still on his belly on the outside, not doing much of anything!

“It’s been at least a minute or two and Mak Francis STILL is not moving much… goes to show how strong an attack that was!”

The masked man stumbles around ringside, checking the next closest side of the apron, and once again Beezel comes up with no ladder!! Francis, now equipped with a chair, claws his way from the floor to the apron, on all fours, trying his damnedest to get back in the ring and find Beezel, who he thinks must be already climbing. Finally, after much strife and stumbling around Beezel at last finds what he was looking for and pulls the ladder from under the ring!! The ICTV champion slides the ladder under the ropes and follows it in. Meanwhile, Mak Francis has pulled himself somewhat together over the last few minutes and sits in the ring on one knee, clutching his ribs and unable to hold his steel chair!

“Beezel finally found the ladder he was look— wait, watch out!” The Franchise comes into the picture, lifts his weary leg and lands a kick to the ladder, sending both it and it’s holder to the mat!! “Yakuza kick~! Yakuza kick, out of nowhere, into the ladder by the challenger!” Francis wobbles back to the steel chair he dropped and grabs it, before walking over to the downed Beezel and NAILING the ladder covering him!!

Beezel lies near knocked out as Francis pulls the ladder off him and sets it up! His forehead bleeding has finally calmed and while tired he still has much left in the tank. Which could be said for Beezel as well, since he is starting to move on the canvas. All that energy Mak though he had is gone, as he attempts to climb the ladder, because while looking back down at the canvas, he sees, El Scorcho getting to his feet!!!

Mak drops down off the ladder and grabs the Phoenix native, turning him around into a back waistlock, as he gets drug back towards the middle of the ring! “What’s the challenger looking for here… some type of German suplex? Could he be… I think… I think he’s going to try and German suplex Beezel onto that industrial strength, upright ladder?!”

Mark Stevens would be correct, because as he speaks “The Franchise” Mak Francis, is attempting to toss Beezel on his head into an upright ladder – but the Franchise doesn’t get to complete this action, as his opponent twists in the hold spinning both of them from a belly to back position, into a backslide hold!!

“COUNTER! He escaped the German into the ladder!”

…Beezel takes a step and turns, running towards the ladder…

…Leaping up to the third rung and stepping on the fourth and fifth…

…Flipping overhead and landing with a dull…

*Thud!*

AFTER HITTING A PEDIGREE~!!!1!

The crowd explodes in cheers, while Riley merely shakes his head. Mark Stevens on the other hand, is marking out like a 12 year-old kid on his parents’ computer! “I’d know that move anywhere! The Baha California Crusher~! Beezel, borrowing moves from arguably the greatest Ladder expert in SWF history, right there!”

“Damn illegal, dirty Mexican… even retired; he comes back like Montezuma’s revenge!”

Beezel lays on the ground, all energy gone, after mustering up the strength to pull off that great counter. Mak is face down, banging his leg against the ground in pain, as he rolls towards the ropes and ring apron on instinct, while the ICTV champion stares up at the lights! “I still can’t believe some of the things this Beezel pulls off… how about you Riley?”

“I can’t believe this is even happening. It’s like seeing the Mexican slut all over again.”

The self proclaimed Franchise rolls out of the ring, while Beezel begins to try and get up, fairly unsuccessfully. The ladder sits poised, ready to climb, but Beezel just can’t force himself up. Francis hasn’t even really moved on the outside, when Mr. B crawls towards the ropes in hopes of using them to his advantage. He pulls himself up to his feet with some noticeable trouble, as Mak Francis on the outside, crawls over towards the announce table. Francis regains his bearings and gets up folding his second steel chair of the night! El Scorcho begins his trek up the ladder bit by bit

The Franchise hits him with a VILE chair shot, forcing him to fall back to the mat, once again pulling the ladder with him! Mak, realizing he needs to put Beezel down for good, before attempting to climb the ladder

Francis sets up his two chairs, center ring, an even distance apart and picks Mr. B up to his feet, before Irish whipping him. Mak expects Beezel to come running back and sets up for a drop toe hold into the propped up ladder, but El Scorcho holds onto the ropes! Mak storms towards Beezel and after a—

*Wham!*

—Stiff right hand, Beezel is easy pray! “Irish whip by the Franchise… NO reversed! Oh man! Beezel gets his THIRD drop toe hold of the night into a ladder and Francis’ fore laceration is REALLY flowing!! Now what is Beezel doing?” questions Grand Slam with good reason, as Beezel hoists the bloodied Franchise onto the ladder with the two chairs as its base…

“I don’t think I want to know…”

…Beezel shuffles over to the corner and slowly scales each turnbuckle, trying to maintain his balance, causing the crowd to once again rise to their feet, expecting something big to happen. “Damnit, this is something that that retired dirty Mexican might have tried when he was wrestling.” Stevens rebukes quickly. “Shut up Bobby! Is he going to try a Moonsault onto the contrapt—”! Abruptly, Stevens and Riley quick there bickering and just stare in awe, as a crimson masked Francis pops up into the picture, leaps up the turnbuckle pads and snitches in a back waistlock—

…

*CLANK!!!!*

…

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

“…”

“GODDAAAAAAAMN!”

“…’

“SAY SOMETHING MARK!”

“O–OH–OH MY GOD… HO–LY SH*T! D–Did you see that too Riley?”

“AREN’T THESE SUPPOSED TO BE INDUSTRIAL STRENGTH LADDERS?!”

“…May-maybe industrial strength just isn’t strong enough for the SWF?”

A split screen graphic occurs, the right side showing the replay and the other showing real time action. The real time action has Beezel draped over the ladder and Mak on his back near the corner… while the SWF Replay shows—

==========

SWF Replay

==========

Beezel is shown climbing up the turnbuckles for what can only be assumed a moonsault – but as he gets up to the top, OUT OF NOWHERE, the Franchise pops up into the picture, leaps up the turnbuckle pads and snitches in a back waistlock, before GERMAN SUPLEXING El Scorcho and RELEASING HIM AT THE APEX… SO THAT HE FLIPS 270 DEGREES AND LANDS STOMACH FIRST… DEFORMING THE GODDAMN PROPPED UP LADDER!!

==========

End Replay

==========

“Th-That is BEYOND calling it a sick fall! That move was out of this stratosphere, as far as I’m concerned!!”

Francis crawls over to the broke body of Beezel and pushes him off the ladder, to check it and in fact the ladder is unusable. El Scorcho doesn’t move from his position, as Francis slowly slides out of the ring and checks the one side that had not been… finding no ladder…

“It seems like we’re all out of ladders that work…”

“Who would have though that could happen…?”

Mak looks up, questioning where the hell he’s going to get another ladder… and then it hits him! Francis shuffles towards the entrance ramp, as quickly as he can, while Beezel still lies in the middle of the ring, not moving after that horrible fall. The crowd looks on, as Mak goes behind a curtain and is not seen for about thirty seconds… until a ladder pokes through the curtain!! More and more and more of the ladder come through the showing just how big it is. Francis brings the ladder into the ring and sets it up, as Beezel finally FINALLY begins to move…

“That’s HUGE Bobby!”

“I’d call it ‘Gorging’…”

“I’d call you a sick freak, but you don’t see me actually doing it!”

Francis climbs and reaches out, this close to the belts… just a few more steps and he’ll be there… but Beezel with a brave burst of energy shoots off the ropes, stepping onto a ladder rung two below Mak, Mr. B continues to chase Francis up the ladder slowly but surely as the two men meet at the top…

“They’re fighting atop the ladder! Mak has yet to win a straight brawl with Beezel in this match-up and this is as close to one as you can get!”

Right on cue, Beezel takes control, striking Mak repeatedly… Francis knows he can’t win this fight so he does the only thing he CAN do… tip the ladder over, so that—

“DISCONNECT BOBBY—” shouts Stevens before pulling his plug and bailing.

“OH DEAR—” yells Riley disconnecting.

—they fall all—

HO-LY SHIT!!

…

—THE WAY—

HO-LY SHIT!! HO-LY SHIT!!

…

—DOWN…!!!

*CRASH~!!!1!!!1!!!1!*

HO-LY SHIT!! HO-LY SHIT!!

The announce table is shattered… Bobby Riley and Mark Stevens gape at the scene, as bother men stay down for an extended period of time. Mak and Beezel going on instinct… crawl towards the ring, there eyes set on the prize

“How is Beezel standing Mark?”

“How is Mak standing Bobby?”

Both questions go unanswered as the two warriors attempt to get back into the ring. They struggle; knowing how close they are to the gold, but in the end it’s going to come down to a fight at the top. Both men know this, as they reset the ladder and climb… Mak looks up… Beezel has the slight edge on him… so in a last ditch effort… Francis leaps up and off to the side, pulling Beezel down…

AND THEY LAND IN A HEAP OF HUMANITY!!!!!

HO-LY SHIT!! HO-LY SHIT!!

“Well at least we have time for a replay so that we can finally look back at that fall onto our table, which has been decimated …”

A split screen graphic occurs, the right side showing the replay and the other showing real time action. The real time action has Beezel and Mak on the canvas, Francis on his back looking up at the lights, while Beezel for lack of a better phrase is “D-E-D” DEAD!!!!!! The SWF Replay shows—

==========

SWF Replay

==========

First Beezel and Mak are shown, while the ladder is tipping over and both men fly off the ladder, almost soaring through the air… UNTIL THEY FALL ALL THE WAY DOWN WITH A LOUD CRASH!

Then the screen cuts to the next replay…

Beezel is shown climbing up the rungs slightly ahead Francis leaps up and off to the side, pulling Beezel ALL THE WAY DOWN TO THE CANVAS! The challenger releases the automatic pin that comes with executing such a move, apparently remembering that he needs to get to his title, even with the vacant look in his eyes…

==========

End Replay

==========

The self proclaimed Franchise begins his trek up the ladder at a snail's pace, but Beezel has nothing left to stop him with. Rung by rung Mak makes his way up the ladder, and he finally grabs the ICTV title, unstrapping it and raising the championship in the air, as he stands high atop the mountain top. Eddy Long signals for the bell.

*DING! DING! DING!*

“The winner of this bout… And your NEEEEEEEW… SMARKS WRESTLING FEDERATION INTERCONTINENTAL TELEVISION CHAMPION… “THE FRANCHISE” MAAAAK FRAAAANCISsssssss!”

Mak drops down off the ladder, as Beezel gets up to one knee and slaps holds his rib cage, while Mak holds his ribs with the hand that isn’t being raised. The crowd lets loose a massive “BEEZEL” chant more than on par with their “Franchise” one, as they stand in the Nutter Center and clap.

“What a contest! What a display! What a day for our NEW ICTV Champion Mak Francis, as this crowd shows its respect for both men in this match up.”

Mak can barely stand, still cradling his ribs he raises his hand one more time, as SWF Storm goes to commercial break.

July 12, 2003

In the Ervin J. Nutter Center, you can hear an electric hum. It’s a loud hum, if you focus on it. Right now, the thousands of people inside this arena in Ohio cannot hear this hum, because they are about ten to fifteen times louder!

“Hey fans, what a stellar night of action! Exciting ladder matches, No-DQ matches, tag title defense… and now our main event!” announces Stevens with a flourish. “Just eight days after Thoth’s storybook World Title victory, Commissioner Suicide King has ordered the return match for tonight, and to make things worse, it’s Tom’s specialty: a submissions match.”

“And if things couldn’t get any worse,” adds Riley, “It’s that Thoth has little to no background in submissions wrestling. In fact, in his entire career, he’s used less than...” Riley pauses, holding out his hand and nodding silently. He shows his outstretched hand to Stevens. “He’s used less than this many holds,” he says to his broadcast partner.

“You mean five?” Stevens replies, nonplussed.

“Yeah, less than five. I mean, he’s really got his work cut out for him today. Of course, I heard that it’s still a victory if one were to tap out as a result of getting hit in the face a lot.”

“That’s gotta be Thoth’s only hope going into this,” says Stevens, as the camera pans over to Funyon, who starts to talk as the legendary “Kashmir” starts to play.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he starts, with his booming voice from the diaphragm, “The following contest is a submissions match, and it is for the S-W-F World Heavyweight Championship!” The crowd cheers for that announcement briefly, and Funyon continues: “The only way to win is by submission, pinfalls do not count! Introducing first, representing the Magnificent Seven, from Buffalo, New York, weighing in at 213 pounds... he is the challenger, The Superior One... TOOOOM FLESHER!”

Flesher’s pyro is still as big as it was the last time he wrestled. With it is a distinct lack of irony; he’s not compensating for anything, in fact, his pyro has always been the same size. And it’s not under his orders that this is the case, the order comes from the SWF creative, as well as marketing. More pyro equals more merchandise. Flesher looks just as confident as he did when he was champion as he saunters down the ramp.

“Look at Flesher. You’d think he never lost the belt,” scoffs Stevens.

“Well, look at the match! On paper, he can’t lose! He only lost the title in the first place due to an oversight. He was dominating practically the entire time! Now, he’s going to take his title back, and we’ll all look back on Thoth’s reign as a hiccup in the era of Superiority.”

“Does he pay you to say this drivel, Riley?”

“Well, pay is a funny word to use, but for the sake of brevity, yes.”

The question would forever remain answered as Flesher enters the ring. He hands an index card to Funyon, and then poses as yet more pyro goes off. Funyon reads the card as “Kashmir” winds down.

“Fans, I apologize for this slight setback in my career, I can assure you, without a doubt, that after tonight, you can go home to your Tom Flesher posters and your Tom Flesher T-shirts, and be confident you’re running with a champion.”

Flesher takes off his warm up gear and places it over the steel pole in the corner of the ring as the red strobe lights start their epileptic flicker. “Go To Hell” by KMFDM kicks up. The shadow of Thoth appears from behind the curtain, and then he is not a shadow, now flickering with blood intent.

“And his opponent, from Aechiba, Japan, weighing in at 245 pounds... he is the S-W-F World Heavyweight Champion... THOOOOOTH!”

"I saw Thoth in the back, and he was going through some mental preparation," says Riley. "It's a safe bet he's trying to think of all the ways Flesher could possibly make him submit, as well as figuring out how to leverage his own abilities to win this match."

"You can hold the mirror any way you like, Bobby, but this match, in my humble opinion, was designed for Flesher's victory."

Thoth gets in the ring and removes his title belt. The referee takes it and holds it up in the air as Thoth and Flesher make eye contact. Flesher is even cockier, somehow, than he was last time. Thoth is stubbornly defiant. Their bodies change from crimson red to normal as the lights fade into the overwhelming brilliance of the rafters.

Thoth flexes his wrists. Flesher cranks his neck. The crowd leans forward, trying to listen in on a silent conversation. Cutting the silence is the bell.

*DING DING DING*

Thoth and Flesher circle each other, their eyes trailed on each other’s movements, looking for any flaws in balance or posture that could be exploited. None are found. It’s both frustrating and expected. At this pinnacle of the game, there are no mistakes. Both men walk toward each other to lock up, and they do so, tying up at the collar and elbow, but Flesher wastes to time, flipping Thoth to the mat with an armdrag, and locking in a hard armbar. Leaning in, Flesher yells, “This is what it is going to be like, Thoth! Pain!” He wrenches on the right arm, and Thoth grits his teeth. Before the referee can ask if he gives up, Thoth uses his free left hand to beat Flesher off and escape. He shakes out his right arm, and looks at Flesher, trying not to show any sign of weakness. This moment may just be the most important of the match; Flesher has clearly gotten under Thoth’s skin. There is no doubt in the Balancer’s mind of that. Thoth’s goal is to try and create doubt in Flesher’s mind, that he is not afraid, because if he does show pause, Flesher will tear him alive in that ring.

“Wow! Flesher, out of nowhere putting Thoth under his control. The amateur background is going to come into play, as you’re going to see time and time again.”

They charge towards each other with trepidation and motivation, Thoth reaching for the lock-up, but Flesher goes low for the single leg takedown, catching Thoth again by surprise! He rolls him over onto his back and holds onto the leg, staying elevated before putting pressure in a leaning back position... and it’s a single leg crab. Thoth scurries quickly on his elbows to the ropes, grabbing it. Flesher lets go and lays in a pair of boots to the champion’s back before grabbing a tuft of hair. He feels the length and texture with disdain.

“And again, Flesher scores! He’s able to come from any position, and angle, and exploit it into a submission hold. Hypothetical question, Riley, you’re Thoth, and you’re in this match. How do you win?”

“Well, if there’s any chance at all... he needs to use his ability to inflict lots of pain. And he does this in such a way, somehow, that it’s better than the way anyone else inflicts pain. Yes, we have this new, suave Thoth, but he needs to tap into his primal self!”

“If he can get an opening first,” quips Stevens.

Flesher grabs the shoulder of his opponent, and whips him to the ropes. Off the rebound, Thoth is rocked by a stiff palm strike from the challenger. He manages to stay upright though; falling down to a prone position would practically put him in another submission hold. Flesher hurries his approach, throwing more shotei palm strikes to the face that back Thoth into the corner. The Superior One follows up with some body blows, trying to wear down the Balancer’s constitution; make him more vulnerable to painful body holds. Thoth doubles over further with each strike, but musters the strength to raise his arms and drop them like hammers into Flesher’s back. He stumbles forward, and Thoth takes advantage by spinning his momentum in the opposite direction, directing an Irish Whip to the corner. Flesher turns himself around, taking the bump on his back, as well as being able to see what’s in front of him. Thoth approaches at a running pace, pumping his arms to get a better running start. A lot of people don’t know that the ring isn’t the best place to run; it is a little bouncy. Nevertheless, Thoth closes the distance, and leaps forward, but Flesher dodges to the side, and Thoth... lands on his feet! The Balancer was expecting a dodge, and upon landing, grabs the challenger and hurls him back into the same corner, caving in his chest with a chop that delights the audience! Tom’s jaw falls open from the pain. Thoth brings Flesher to the mat face-first with a Downward Spiral, then gets to his feet and surveys the situation. His face bunches up with consternation. What to do, what to do? Decision made, he sits down sideways on Flesher’s back and pulls back on his left arm. He spends a little time trying to gauge the best angle to pull at, using Flesher’s grunts of pain as an indication of how he’s doing.

“Thoth with a fairly basic armbar now. He’s-” Stevens can’t even finish his sentence before Tom Flesher grabs Thoth’s left leg with his free hand and knocks him off balance. Holding the leg, he gets Thoth onto the mat, and turns him over into another single leg crab! But Thoth is already at the ropes, and Flesher breaks the hold.”

“Flesher was in that armbar for all of three or four seconds,” says Mark Stevens. “Thoth is not just going to have problems on the defensive end of this match, but he’s going to have major trouble setting up an offensive front, if every time he goes for a hold, all Tom Flesher sees is an opening!”

Again, Flesher lays in a pair of Doc Martens to the back before pulling Thoth up again, walking him away from the ropes and towards the center of the ring. He grabs him around the waist, and starts trying to heave back, but Thoth throws all his body weight forward, making himself a difficult target to suplex. On top of that, he has a weight advantage, though it isn’t one that Flesher can’t muscle and leverage his way against. Flesher tries to roll with the proverbial punches, as it were, trying to lock in yet another single leg crab, but he can’t turn his body to get the right angle going. He tries to slide his hands down Thoth’s leg to get an ankle lock in, but Thoth has had too much time to acclimate himself, and uses his hands to yank Flesher’s leg out of his under him.

“He pulled his leg out of his leg! LOL!” says Riley. Stevens turns to his partner, and with a stonefaced look, he says, “Did you just say L-O-L?”

Flesher takes the fall square on his back, and Thoth quickly mounts him, starting to throw a delicious set of punches to the face. The Balancer has a gleam in his eye, a smile on his face, and he is breathing heavier, ecstatic that he is in a position where he can inflict the type of pain he enjoys most: strikes.

“As an additional note to this match, a submission victory doesn’t necessarily entail that one use a submission hold. At any time, a person can give up, so that means that if Thoth hits Tom Flesher enough that he doesn’t really feel like wrestling any more, then he can tap out. In short, anyone can give up at any time, so someone like Thoth, who doesn’t use too many submission holds, can just throw those fists.”

“But,” adds Riley, “Submission holds are a lot more efficient, delivering more pain in less time. Plus the psychological factor of having someone take you apart, like a stealthy fellow in the middle of the night creeping into your bedroom and-“

“-And I don’t want to know where this is going, unless it has to do with... no, I still don’t want to know,” finishes Stevens, almost making the mistake of giving Bobby Riley a chance to continue talking. The referee starts getting into Flesher’s face, asking him if he gives up, but Flesher is not filled with despair or pain, only rage as this stupid idiot is punching him, this stupid idiot doesn’t even know how to put on an armbar right, this stupid idiot doesn’t know how to wrestle! And this stupid idiot is the champion!

In a rage, Tom Flesher throws the champion off of himself, and quickly crawls over to him before he can get up. Grabbing the offending arm which dare to struck him so, he locks in a cross arm breaker, tearing and rending at that arm to make sure it dare never hit him again!

“Flesher showing a mean streak, look at his eyes! Look at his teeth! That grin!” exclaims Mark Stevens.

Flesher has the arm in a widow’s vice grip, trying to lock the shoulder in while bending the arm in ways it shouldn’t go. Thoth winces, grinding his teeth through the pain. The referee is so close to his face, the champ can feel his hot, spicy breath on his face, and it’s not attractive at all. “Whaddya say, champ, whaddya say?” he endlessly repeats over and over.

“Get... outta... my face!” replies the Balancer, brushing past the official violently, turning his torso toward Flesher to both release the pressure on his arm and to get much closer to Flesher. Thoth gets that mounted position again and tries to throw a punch, but his shoulder screams, and Thoth cringes. He holds himself in place with the injured arm while wailing away with the other over and over again. But with only one fist attacking him, Tom Flesher can easily guess where the blow is coming from (always the left), and grabs the arm, twisting it to force Thoth to roll off. Flesher quickly gets to his feet, and Thoth finds his vertical base as well. The Superior One does not dawdle; with a physical, mental, and psychological advantage, he has no reason to hesitate or stand ground. This is his match, and his rules, and soon it will be his world title again.

On the other hand, Thoth has all the reason in the world to hesitate, for the longer he can stay away from Flesher, and keep standing up, the longer he will survive. However, he doesn’t know what this will accomplish, other than delaying defeat. He curses himself for his lack of aggressiveness, but what can he do? What can he do? Flesher drops low into a wrestling stance, his arms moving surreptitiously. Thoth is forced to retroactively defend himself, trying to move his body in positions where he will be harder to grab.

“Tom Flesher is just toying with Thoth now,” says Stevens. Then Riley chimes in, “Yeah, it’s funny to watch Flesher just mess with him. Thoth feels like he has some sort of defense going, but in reality, he is fizzucked!”

Thoth continues to backpedal as Flesher stalks him like a big cat. The Balancer jerks at finding he is up against the ropes, and Flesher is deliciously taking his time closing the last few feet. Thoth quickly drops to the mat and rolls to the outside. He steps away, catching his breath, with Flesher screaming obscenities behind him. Thoth whirls around and grabs both of Tom Flesher’s legs, and then pulls, dropping Flesher onto his back hard! His neck snaps back and his head almost hits the canvas, but Tom is a pro and knows how to protect his head. Still, though, Flesher is in a tough spot as Thoth yanks him out of the ring. Flesher manages to stay up... for about two seconds, as Thoth floors him with a lariat.

“This match has no countout, and no disqualification, save for rope breaks,” says the Heavy Hitter, reiterating for the fans that this match can go to the outside for extended periods of time. “The match can only end in the ring though; you cannot submit on the outside!”

Thoth pulls Flesher up to his feet and whips him to the guardrail. His back cracks against the steel, and the challenger stumbles forward... only to be knocked back into the rail again by a charging Thoth and his knee which makes contact to the face! Flesher is down on the black protective mat, and Thoth lays in the boots, before looking over his shoulder at inspiration. He hops up onto the apron and gives himself some room, before getting a running start on the short strip and taking off, driving his knees into Flesher’s broad target of a back. Tom lets out an “Uuompfah!” as he gets pancaked further on the outside. He rolls Flesherback into the ring now, and grabs onto the bottom rope to help himself up.

“Thoth finally found an advantage in this match by going to the outside, where he cannot lose,” observes Stevens. “But who knows how many more times he can pull that trick before Tom Flesher learns to counter it; Thoth cannot afford, now, to lose his advantage.”

Taking a page from Flesher’s playbook, Thoth sits on the back of his prone opponent and grabs a leg, pulling hard on it for a single leg crab! Flesher grits his teeth in pain and humiliation, the humiliation of this hold, one of his favorites being used against him. It builds inside like tea in a kettle, percolating, until it explodes, because Flesher spectacularly muscles his way out of the hold! He somersaults onto his feet to avoid putting pressure on his legs to stand up, and ducks a hard roundhouse punch from Thoth. Go-behind... waistlock... and a German! Obligatory crowd pop for the German, but the pop is warranted: nice elevation, good follow-through on the delivery. The Balancer lands with a reverberating crash. Flesher has a fire in his eyes, a desire that isn’t normal for him. Coming into this match, he was loose and cocky, but now things need to heat up he is going to regain his championship. He fires himself on top of the champion and wrenches his neck back, jamming his forearm in his neck and squeezing tight.

“The Superior Stretch Beta!” squeals Bobby Riley. “Tom Flesher is kicking this thing into overdrive! Set phasers to tap out!”

Flesher rears back with rage, forcing that goddamn tapout... but the camera pans to the entryway!

“What?” says Mark Stevens. “Nathan Kibagami is here! I wonder if he’s-”

Kibagami rolls into the ring, ignoring the referee’s pleas for him to leave. He tears Flesher off and hoists him into the air, turning him around, and then powerbombing him into the mat! Viciously, he pulls him up again, and uses the leverage and strength he has to lift him high into the air! Tom cannot support his own weight, and falls back, where Kibagami drops him right on his damn neck.

“No DQ! No DQ! Flesher is fucked!”

Thoth gets to his feet, and looks stunned at his brother, who says to him, “I’m going to follow you, Yuuichiro, make no damn mistake. I will follow you until you can no longer run and I will beat you. But until then, you keep the damn belt so I can take it from you.” Then he leaves and walks up the entryway. Thoth, confused, locks on a Mexican Surfboard, comboing it into a Dragon Sleeper. Flesher puts up no resistance except to scream weakly. The referee asks him what he says, and then stands up briskly, snapping his wrist to signal for the bell.

*DING DING DING*

“Go To Hell” starts to play as Thoth lets go, his enemy no longer in Flesher. The ref hands him his title belt, but Thoth is still bewildered as his eyes focus on the path which his brother took.

“Here is your winner, and STILL! S-W-F World Champion... THOTH!”

Thoth jumps out of the ring and hightails it up the ramp and through the curtain. Nathaniel Kibagami’s threat is the most credible offense Kibagami has made since Thoth returned. Maybe there will be a battle in the near future. But would it be for the title? Or for pride? Or for the right to exist?

July 12, 2003

Results!

--...Poor, poor Xero. Hey, Encore Cross! w00t!

--I really like that there's a move called the Knuckle Bomb. The Hell Machine gives the Nightmare nightmares.

--Wildchild gets all the luck. You wouldn't believe me if I told you who ? was, so read it yourself.

--Shall we call them the Turner Empire? The Superstations? TNT and TBS defeat LDP when Stryke walks out in the middle of the match, that dastardly bastard...

--Frost over Renegade with lots of cold-assorted moves.

--Promo of the night between Atlas and...Beezel? When masks collide...

--About the tag match--remember what I said about not believing me if I told you? Read it. THE DECAPITATOR. FUCKING A.

--What, were this and the tag match the DESTROY ALL MONSTERS portion of the show? Brutal, technical, and solid--I had two very good matches, but Mak Francis gets his cup of tea with the ICTV title after turning in a superior effort.

--And that's not Ronnie Garvin in our champions' line. A new era begins?

Very nice show, with two VERY close marking jobs on my end and some awesome title contests. Card up very soon.

SWF STORM 7/11 - DEEZ NUTTZ

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