SWF Lockdown!

[Guest Grand Slam]

First there was nothing but darkness and then—

 

*BANG!*

 

*BANG!*

 

*FWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISH!*

 

*BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM!*

 

*BOOOOOOOOOM!*

 

—The camera darts through the crowd of the First Union Center, as a fantastic visual display of pyrotechnics starts another edition of SWF Lockdown! The camera slows down a little, allowing a few fans their fifteen minutes of fame, 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 Lockdown, ladies and gentlemen, and what a show we have lined up for you tonight! The SWF Wold title will be defended tonight, for the third time in a row, as Thoth takes on The Boston Strangler, who won his shot two shows ago, in the main event!”

 

“A six-man tag has been scheduled between the Unholy Trinity and Magnificent Seven, after what can only be called a shocking upset of Justice and Rule, Michael Craven defends the US title and Sacred meets Jay Dawg, in a match with a great deal of history!”

 

“Plus we’ll see a defense by the man scheduled to speak in just a few moments. The BRAND NEW Intercontinental Television Champion, Mak Francis!”

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome, the NEW,” Funyon pauses at the word, allowing the crowd to cheer, “S-W-F, Intercontinental Television Champion…

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAH!1!!!!1

 

…MAAAAAAAAAK FRANCISsssssss!”

 

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

 

Right on cue, 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’ Rock Superstar remix continue to blare over the PA system, the Philly crowd bursts out of their seats, in recognition of their hometown heroes theme!

 

“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.

 

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 growin’ 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 his hometown crowd, before entering through the middle ropes. Mak climbs the nearest turnbuckle and poses, as a wave of flashing lights go off. Francis, already holding a microphone. Brings it to his lips as the crowd chants for him!

 

FRANCHISE! FRANCHISE!

FRANCHISE! FRANCHISE!

 

“Heh, Umm… okay guys, well I’ve—” begins Mak, but the chants only increase in volume, forcing him to bring the mic back down. He looks, genuinely in awe of the reaction.

 

FRANCHISE! FRANCHISE!

FRANCHISE! FRANCHISE!

 

“…Thanks everyone, …I-I’ve got a lot on my plate today folks, so bear with me, but rest assured it’s good to be back, right here, in my home town of Philadelphia!”

 

YEAAAAAAAAAH!!1!1

 

 

“Cheap pop! What a disgrace, besides, a fairy dies every time some crowd whore like him, gets an audience to fel–fel… felicitate him.”

 

“Yes, the crowd is honoring Francis, Bobby.”

 

“You know what I wanted to say and that ain’t it, MARK!”shouts Riley.

 

“Well, you better clap and pray quickly then, too be sure you make it through this segment, right Bobby?” responds Mark, shutting his announce partner up.

 

The crowd finally quiets some, allowing Mak to speak. “It’s been almost one month since I stepped back into a Smarks Wrestling Federation ring. In fact, it’s been almost one month since I stepped into this very ring, at the First Union Center!" The crowd once again pops at any mention of something from their hometwon. "Now, I know this may come as a shock to some of you, but I didn’t really know if I could still do this. At 13th Hour, I said, I accomplished a lot of great things in this business, but there was still so much more that I could do and that’s been proved true.”

 

Francis points to the ICTV belt in his possession, receiving a large pop in response. “It was hard, to sit there and watch… and to wonder sometimes, if it was really worth the struggle, but I couldn’t see retirement as a viable option…”

 

He pauses for a moment, pondering on his exact words. “…Though when you’re coming back off an injury, all the bravado in the world can’t make you what you once were. And honestly, I’m just… just really happy to still be doing this.”

 

 

Most of the crowd claps in approval, while scattered fans yell out "You the man, Mak!". Francis just nods his head. “Right now, I’m the Intercontinental Television Champion, and I have a match against one of the best in this business, later tonight, in Stryke. I’ll tell you this much, I’m going to put my heart and soul on the line to defend this belt and make Philly proud. I’ll keep all my promises…”

 

“... Don't get me wrong, I’m no role model. I’m a guy, with a, heh, a slight tendency towards chicanery and,” Francis raises his hands making quotation marks, “and “cheating”, every now and then, but I’m trying. I want to be your fighting champion, and I’ll do what I can to become the man that I’m supposed to be.”

 

Francis seemingly fired up, raises his mic, his voice getting louder with each word. “So when I go out there tonight, and excel like only this Franchisable man can, I need EVERYBODY here in PHILLY TO, BACK THE—”

 

When suddenly—

 

“I’M GONNA KNOCK YOU OUT! MOMMA’ SAID KNOCK YOU OUT! ”

 

—The arena lights go out, as LL Cool J’s “Mama Said Knock You Out” starts up, a huge wall of blue and silver pyro sprays upwards, all across the stage. The lights return on the ramp as the sparks and smoke clears, revealing Stryke standing at the top of the stage. Blue and white spotlights dance over the stands as Stryke is greeted with a hostile response from the crowd, but Stryke pays little attention to the boos raining down on him, for interrupting Philadelphia’s native sun!

 

“Back what? You think these sheep should ‘Back the Mak’? Come on you sheep… sing along with me. Maybe, Back the cripple? Back the thief, perhaps, cause that’s all you are, Francis? Or how about ‘Back the soon to be TWO TIME ICTV Champion’, Stryke!”

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Styrke paces about the stage, as the crowd continues to lay into him. “You stole that title Francis! You slipped in between my rematch clause, and you STOLE it! Beezel could have pulled out all the little moveset tricks he wanted to this time and I still would have cleaned his clock! I’d have had my belt back, like that! But no, you stole my belt before I could do that.”

 

“So, you better bring every ounce of your pathetic, Philly ‘heart and soul’ or any other mumbo jumbo to the ring this time, cause I’m the better athlete and until you beat me… that is MY belt and you haven’t done JACK SH*T to hold it!”

 

Stryke drops his microphone with little care and walks backwards, staring a hole into Francis, who stares right back, as Bobby Riley speaks. “Stryke laying down the law here tonight! Francis couldn’t even get a word in edge wise!”

 

“You can tell that match will be a serious confrontation, but next Michael Craven defends the US title against the Wildchild!” The camera fades, as SWF Lockdown goes to commercial break.

[Guest Grand Slam]

SWF Lockdown rolls back into The City Of Brotherly Love Scanning the venue, several signs are visible, including “I Came For The Wrestling, And Stayed For King!” and “I’d Rather Be Watching Flesher!!!”. It finally comes to rest on the (in)famous SWF announcers, sitting as usual at ringside.

 

Stevens: Welcome back to SWF Lockdown, live from First Union Center in Philadelphia, PA! Joined as usual by my ambiguous sidekick, Bobby Riley, I’m “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens!

 

Riley: Never call me your sidekick again. EVER. I’m the real star of this announce team, and you know it!

 

Stevens: Whatever, Bobby. Regardless, we’ve got some great matches tonight, including M7 battling the Unholy Trinity!

 

Riley: Flesher AND Justice and Rule in the same match? Pinch me, I must be dreaming!

 

Stevens: Plus, we’ve got The Boston Strangler facing Thoth with the World title on the line!

 

Riley: Bah! Thoth doesn’t deserve to be World Champion! Tom Flesher is The Superior One for a reason!

 

Stevens: I’d beg to differ, Bobby, but we’re about to start things off with a US Title bout! It’s Wildchild going up against US Champion Michael Craven!

 

Riley: They call this a match? Explain, Mark.

 

Stevens: Wildchild has earned this shot through hard work and determination! He’s barely lost to both Ejiro Fasaki and a returning Sacred in the past weeks, and his consolation prize is a shot at Michael Craven for the US Title. Call it a gut feeling, but I think Wildchild walks out of Philly tonight the new US Champion!!!

 

Riley: Whoa whoa whoa... Wildchild got smacked down by Craven during their last match for the US Title, and The Bahaman Bomber has NEVER won a SWF title! Plus, he’s not even from America, you dimwit! How can you say that you think he’ll win tonight?

 

Stevens: I don’t know, Bobby, but I’ve just got this feeling like he can and will win that title...

 

The lights cut out, the crowd begins to boo like crazy while a cursor pops up on the SmarkTron, which seems to be in DOS mode. Keystrokes can be heard in the background as someone types:

 

C:\>dir/SWF

 

This is followed by the distinctive sound of the Enter key being hit. Popping up is the following short list.

 

Directory of C:\SWF\Superstars

 

VelvetHammer.exe

TheSuperiorOne.exe

TheDoggah.exe

KingOfNightmares.exe

HellMachine.exe

Franchisable.exe

MaoriBadass.exe

 

The typing continues on as whoever is typing types in:

 

C:\>Run "KingOfNightmares.exe"

 

The typer hits Enter again, but the screen stays, the little cursor beginning to flash brightly and rapidly for several seconds before...

 

“BOOM!”

 

A huge blast of blue and white pyro kicks up, the smoke lingering on stage for quite some time. Strobe lights pulse to the beat of the guitar and drums in the background as Saliva’s “King of My World” kicks in while the crowd really begins to boo. As the first words kick in, the strobes cut out, a single, blinding light shines from the entryway, piercing through the smoke. The light illuminates the figure of Michael Craven, his body shadowing most of his front side. He stops to look at the fans before he spins around twice, finishing by pointing to himself as the crowd begins to boo louder. Holding his pose for a second, he releases as the chorus ends for the first time, walking down to the ring. The lights are now a deep blue, Craven focused only on the match at this point.

 

Funyon: The following match is scheduled for one-fall and it is for the SWF US CHAMPIONSHIP! Introducing first, from Tampa, Florida, weighing in at 280 pounds... ladies and gentlemen, he is the SWF US Champion... “The King Of Nightmares”... MICHAEL CRAVENNNNN!!!

 

He enters the ring by hopping over the top rope, landing on his feet. He climbs the turnbuckle closest to the crowd, opening his arms wide and soaking in the crowd’s response, a chorus of heavy boos except for The Craven Section, as a white spotlight shines down upon him, casting shadows across his face. Mike then hops off the turnbuckle and repeats it before he hops down, turning to stare at the entryway.

 

Riley: Mark, take a look at Michael Craven, for he is the future of the SWF. He’s got power, speed, and he’s even got his own section! How can you not love this guy?

 

Stevens: Easily. He’s an asshole to everyone around him who’s not commissioner.

 

As Stevens finishes, "The Everlasting Gaze" by Smashing Pumpkins, kicks up, the crowd going absolutely nuts. And with that, Wildchild springs from behind the curtain onto the stage area, banging his head in time with his music as the Philly fans cheer for the Bahaman Bomber.

 

Funyon: And the challenger; from The Bahamas, he weighs in at 214 pounds... The Bahaman Bomber... WILDDDDDCHILD!!!!!!

 

He slaps hands with the fans at ringside as he jogs towards the ring, somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes, and springs back to his feet, immediately running to the ropes and leaping atop them, posing for the crowd. Thousands of camerabulbs flash out from the sea of people, reflecting off of Wildchild’s tanned skin before he hops down.

 

Stevens: Wildchild has the advantage here, I think. He’s much faster than Craven, and if he can keep himself out of The King of Nightmare’s clutches, he’ll take the title!

 

Riley: I think not! If Craven gets a hold of Wildchild, it’s lights out!

 

Craven hands off his title, the ref holiding it up before handing it off to the timekeeper. Wildchild quickly streches himself out in the corner before he turns to face Craven, the excitement building as the ref turns and signals to the timekeeper...

 

DING DING DING!!!

 

Stevens: Here we go!

 

Craven stalls, staying back in his corner. He knows better than to charge Wildchild. And so, he waits, hoping that Wildchild will come to him. The Bahaman Bomber moves out of the corner, but he doesn’t move far. This forces Craven to do exactly what he didn’t want to do; make the first move. He tries to grab Wildchild, but pays for it with a swift kick to the face. Craven staggers back for a second, grabbing his jaw and shaking his head, but as he recovers, Wildchild catches him, hooking his arm before he flips him over and arm drags him to the mat! Craven hits the mat, slowly rising back up, but as he does, he takes a leg lariat to the face the knocks him back to the mat!

 

Stevens: Wildchild flying right out of the gate, taking Craven down to the mat!

 

Riley: ...With an armdrag and leg lariat. Puh-lease.

 

As Craven gets to his feet, Wildchild runs for the ropes, flying off them like a bullet out of a gun. Craven has no time to react to Wildchild as he leaps into the air, wrapping his legs around Craven’s neck, and rotating, flips Craven around into a headscissors takedown! The King of Nightmares slams into the mat, slowly rising back up to his feet, but before he can do anything, Wildchild pelts Craven with a few quick kicks before he grabs his arm and whips him into the corner!

 

Stevens: Beautiful headscissors by Wildchild, but he’s not done there!

 

Craven though, reverses the whip, sending Wildchild into the corner instead! The Bahaman bomber applies the brakes before he hits the turnbuckle pads, but as he turns around, Craven charges at him, setting him up for a huge body splash! Craven has Wildchild right where he wants him, but Wildchild jumps into the air, legs spread apart as he leaps frogs over Craven! The crowd goes nuts, but the go even more nuts as Wildchild thrusts his legs back, nailing Craven with a backflip kick! Mike is thrown forward, his head slamming into the top turnbuckle pad, causing him to bounce back upright and stagger backwards. Wildchild lands on his feet, just in time to hook the staggering Craven’s arms, dropping to the mat as he slides him into a backslide pin!

 

Stevens: Whoa! Did you see that?!?! And Wildchild’s pinned Craven to the mat!

 

Riley: How can he do something like that?!?!

 

Kivell drops down to the mat, counting:

 

One-

 

Craven kicks out! The crowd goes silent, but Wildchild doesn’t slow down, getting quickly back to his feet and waiting for Craven to get to his.

 

Stevens: And only a one-count for Wildchild, who has jumped on the fact that he’s faster than Craven and is using it to his advantage!

 

Riley: There’s no way a little guy like Wildchild could keep Craven down for the three-count! It’s impossible!

 

Craven rises to his feet, stunned from the quick pin-fall attempt, but Wildchild is already in position for his next attack, grabbing Craven around the ankles before he drops him to the mat with a drop toe hold! Craven hits the mat, but he isn’t down long before Wildchild is once more up on his feet, leaping up before slamming a leg across Craven’s back with a leg drop! Craven grabs his back, rolling out of the way and sitting up as the crowd cheers for the Tropical Tumbler.

 

Riley: And there’s another weak little move from Wildchild. I can’t understand how this guy beats anyone...

 

Craven rises again, but Wildchild responds, driving his knee into Craven’s chest, quickly backing off as he runs for the ropes!

 

Stevens: But here he goes again! This might be one of those big moves out of Wildchild’s arsenal!

 

Looking up and spotting an easy target, Craven moves to clothesline Wildchild, but the Bahaman Bomber slides through Craven’s legs! The King of Nightmares looks up, lost as to where Wildchild is, but little does he know that Wildchild is right behind him. As he gets up, Wildchild grabs Craven by the side with his feet, tripping Craven back onto his shoulders as Wildchild rolls through and bridges back, locking Craven into a rolling hold pin!

 

One!

 

 

Tw-Kivell stops the count as Craven kicks out! The crowd grows quiet for the moment as Wildchild rises to his feet alongside Craven.

 

Stevens: A spectacular showing from Wildchild so far, having been able to keep the US Champion essentially on the ground! Craven has not been able to catch Wildchild!

 

Riley: But when he does... Wildchild will wish he had never stepped into the ring, I can tell you that much.

 

As the two rise up, Wildchild slams Craven with another leg lariat, causing him to hit the mat once more on his back. The crowd cheers loudly, a still-standing Wildchild looking up at the top rope before he runs to and leaps onto it. Turning around, he sees Craven getting to his feet, and not wasting any time, leaps off the top rope, flying at Craven with a wild cross body!

 

Stevens: Cross-body block! Wildchild hits Craven-

 

Wildchild knocks Craven to the mat, but The King of Nightmares rolls through, right back onto his feet, now cradling Wildchild across his chest. Grinning, he drops to a knee, slamming Wildchild down across his knee with a hard ribbreaker! the Tropical Tumbler cries out as Craven lifts him back up, dropping down on a knee again and slamming Wildchild into another ribbreaker! Wildchild cries out again, the crowd starting to voo as Craven spins around and drops, slamming Wildchild into the mat with a powerslam!

 

Riley: See? Tolda ya so, Mark! Wildchild’s flatter than a pancake after that powerslam!

 

Craven hooks Wildchild’s leg, pinning him down as Kivell counts:

 

One!

 

Tw-shoulder up from Wildchild! Craven releases Wildchild’s leg, instead pulling up The Bahaman before he blasts him with a knee to the chest.

 

Stevens: And now Craven has taken the offensive, combining power with strategy as he goes to work on Wildchild’s ribs!

 

Riley: It’s Craven’s style. A few holds, a few slams, and BAM!, you got a victory.

 

Wildchild cries out in pain as Craven launches a second precision knee strike into Wildchild’s ribs, his next move being a whip to the ropes. Wildchild flies towards them, hitting and bouncing back off them at Craven. Wildchild lands in Craven’s waiting arms as he lifts Wildchild up in the air as if for a back drop, but instead of tossing him over, pushes him up in the air when Wildchild is horizontal and forcing him to hit the mat hard on his chest and face with a huge flap jack!!! Wildchild bounces off the mat from the sheer recoil of the move, flipping onto his back and allowing Craven to cover him for a pinfall attempt!

 

One!!!

 

 

Two!!!

 

 

Shoulder up from Wildchild at barely under two and a quarter! Craven drops right back down, trying to cover Wildchild again...

 

 

One!!!

 

 

Two-

 

 

Abrupt kickout by Wildchild at two! Craven yells at referee Matthew Kivell, holding up three fingers to Kivell’s two. When Kivell ignores Craven’s three-count cry, Craven holds up two fingers, but not the same ones as Kivell is holding up.

 

Stevens: Well, isn’t someone a little muffed about not getting what they want...

 

Riley: He’s got a right to complain, and if it was Wildchild, you’d be defending him!

 

Stevens: ... Just like you’re defending Craven.

 

Riley: Am not... liar.

 

As Craven gets to his feet, he grabs Wildchild, pulling him up, but Wildchild catches him off-guard with a kick to the face! Craven staggers back, nailing Craven with a weak leg lariat, but as he recovers from the lariat, Craven kicks Wildchild in the gut, doubling him over as he locks in a gutwrench hold. Wildchild is then lifted up over Craven's shoulder so he faces upwards, his back held over Craven’s shoulder. Craven continues to lock his arms around Wildchild's torso, but applies pressure, resulting in Craven holding Wildchild in a Canadian backbreaker!

 

Stevens: A Canadian backbreaker hold from Michael Craven, but it seems a little odd that he wouldn’t work the chest...

 

Riley: The ribcage goes all around the body, Mark, and Craven knows that. He is working that ribcage, even though it looks like he’s working the back!

 

The crowd boos as Wildchild cries out in pain, Craven squatting, bouncing up and down a little to get Wildchild’s body moving He then takes one, two, three big squats, and on the apex of the third, releases the hold, only to slam Wildchild chest-first into the mat! The Craven Section marks out for the move as Craven salutes his joyful fans, who respond back with a reply of “HAIL CRAVEN!!!” as their hero rolls the pain-filled Wildchild onto his back.

 

Stevens: Looks like a Canadian backbreaker slam from Craven, for lack of a better term, and here’s a cover as Craven rolls Wildchild over!

 

One!

 

 

Two!

 

 

Th-Kickout by Wildchild! Craven slams a fist into the mat, in disbelief that he only got a two-count. He holds up three fingers again, but Kivell holds up only two. Craven rolls his eyes in exasperation, grabbing Wildchild by the head and pulling him to his feet, executing several knees and blows to the chest as he pulls him up.

 

Riley: I do not believe it!! Kivell counted slow on that one! Craven had him!

 

Stevens: Wildchild kicked out, but he’s really slowed down when it comes to offense! Craven’s power moves are really getting to him!

 

Craven smiles as he pulls Wildchild to his feet, holding him with one arm and making a throat-slashing taunt with the other. Wildchild, though, makes Craven pay for his delay, firing a knee into Craven’s gut to free himself of Mike’s grasp. As the King of Nightmares drops his prey, Wildchild leaps up and spins, cracking Craven in the side of the face with a gamengiri, dropping Craven to his knees and drawing a mild pop from the crowd. Wildchild hits the mat, but as he rises, grabs one of Craven’s arms, wrapping it around his leg. Wildchild grabs Craven’s free arm with his arms and hops over, forcing Craven's shoulders to be pinned to the mat!

 

Stevens: A La Majistral cradle from Wildchild! Here’s the count!

 

 

One!

 

 

Two!

 

 

Craven breaks the hold up, quickly getting back to his feet after the surprise pinning attempt! He struggles a little, slower to his feet than the Caribbean Cruiserweight, allowing Wildchild to get to his feet and jump on Craven’s shoulders. Quickly wrapping his legs around Craven’s neck, Wildchild flips back, throwing Craven down with a whipping hurracanrana!

 

Stevens: HURRACANRANA! Craven’s down! Wildchild might be on the verge of finally winning a title!

 

As Craven hits the mat, Wildchild reaches back, grabbing Craven’s legs and holding on as he pins Craven to the mat, the crowd counting along with Kivell:

 

One!

 

 

Two!

 

 

Thr-NO! Craven barely breaks out of the pin, falling back as Wildchild falls forward. The crowd boos at Craven kicking out, but Wildchild rises back up, turning their boos to cheers as he grabs Craven, slowly pulling him up and nailing him in the side of the head with a swift kick before he runs for the ropes.

 

Stevens: Wildchild has control of this match now! He might be able to pull off a major upset!

 

Riley: After how close he came to beating Sacred... I wouldn’t say it’d be a major upset, but I know I’d be upset!

 

Flying off the ropes at light speed, Wildchild leaps into the air, dropping Craven with a flying forearm to the face! Both men hit the mat, slowly rising up as the crowd erupts into roaring cheers. The crowd can feel the momentum shift as boh men rise up, Wildchild answering those feelings as he laps into the air, flipping forward before he thrusts his legs into Craven’s face, sending the Gulf Coast Hurricane tumbling to the mat with a shooting star missile dropkick!

 

Stevens: A perfect shooting star missile dropkick from Wildchild, and Craven is indeed in trouble!

 

Riley: If Wildchild keeps up his successful high-flying attack, Craven’s going to lose his title!

 

Craven rises slow, breathing a bit on the heavy sign as he grabs the side of his face, but as he looks up, Wildchild swings his leg around into a spinning heel kick! Craven ducks, grabbing Wildchild as he spins, and lifts him up onto his shoulder. As he starts to fall back into a backdrop, though, Wildchild spins around, landing flat across Craven’s body, landing on top of Craven in a crossbody position, pinning Mike’s shoulders to the mat!

 

Stevens: Wildchild counters the backdrop!!! He might have him here!!! The count from Kivell!!!

 

 

One!

 

 

Two!

 

 

Thre-NO! Another close call for Craven!

 

Stevens: Dammit, so close! Wildchild had Craven down, and he was mere centimeters away from becoming the new US Champion!

 

Riley: Well, they don’t give prizes out for being close, Mark.

 

Stevens: But if Wildchild can take Craven down and hit him with something big, then he’ll be the new champ!

 

Craven rises to his feet as the crowd chants Wildchild’s name, hoping to shake off the counter The Bahaman Bomber pulled on him, but he nearly gets his head taken off with a leg lariat! Barely ducking the move, he spins around, thrusting his arm out to grab Wildchild around the throat as he turns around, lifting the Bahaman up into the air. Craven sadistically grins at the crowd as he holds Wildchild in the air with his one arm, letting out a cry before he drops Wildchild down with a chokeslam!

 

Riley: CHOKESLAM!!! CHOKESLAM!!! Cover him, Craven!

 

Craven drops down, covering Wildchild as the crowd boos and The Craven Section goes nuts, Kivell counting:

 

 

One!

 

 

Two!

 

 

Three-NO! WILDCHILD GETS THE SHOULDER UP! Craven is enraged, angrily pounding his fists into the mat as he screams, knowing in his mind that he had Wildchild on the mat for three for sure this time.

 

Stevens: HE KICKED OUT!!! HE KICKED OUT!!! WILDCHILD’S DREAM IS STILL ALIVE!!!

 

Riley: But for how much longer? Craven’s lost his temper, and he’s gonna tear Wildchild in two!

 

Grabbing the smaller man, Craven drags him to his feet, where he nails him with a knee to the chest, then grabs him in a front facelock and lifts him up. Holding him there for several seconds, he drops down, slamming Wildchild down into a reverse suplex! The Bahaman grabs his ribs after impact, Craven holding onto the headlock in order to pull Wildchild up again. Releasing the headlock, Craven pounds into Wildchild’s ribs furiously with bodyblows, softening up those ribs preceding a whip to the corner. Wildchild reverses the whip, however, sending Craven flying into the turnbuckle! The Bahaman Bomber charges in after him, spinning 360 degrees before he slams into Craven with a body splash! Craven collapses in the corner as Wildchild bounces off him, but Wildchild falls back, grabbing his ribs in pain as well!

 

Stevens: BLUE CRUSH!!! Wildchild just slammed Craven to the mat!

 

Riley: But he’s down, too! He hit those ribs Craven has worked on during the match!

 

Stevens: Even so, the fans are clearly behind Wildchild, who is one Falling Star Press away from finishing this match!

 

Craven rises out of the corner, beaten and bruised, but he grabs a rising Wildchild, pummeling him with two brutal overhand punches before he grabs his arms and whips him to the ropes! Mike charges after Wildchild, but Wildchild jumps onto the top rope, curls into a ball, and launches himself at Craven's head, flying the full 8 feet before he smashes into Mike, sending him tumbling to the mat! The King of Nightmares lands on his back, slowly rising to his feet as Wildchild hops back up, the adrenaline flowing as he runs for the ropes!

 

Stevens: PINBALL ATTACK FROM WILDCHILD! DOWN GOES THE CHAMP! WILDCHILD’S GOT HIM RIGHT WHERE HE WANTS HIM!

 

The crowd is on their feet, excitement in the air as Craven shakes off his dazed state, Wildchild bounding back from the ropes, flying towards Craven, leaping high into the air...

 

 

“WHAM!”

 

 

 

 

But Craven takes him down with a snap spinebuster, planting his shoulder directly into Wildchild’s ribs! The Bahaman Bomber goes down, clutching his ribs and crying out in pain as he lies on the mat.

 

Riley: YES! That’s gotta be it!

 

Stevens: What a counter! Craven caught Wildchild in mid-air and slammed him to the mat!

 

Craven gets to his feet, once more making the throat-slitting taunt with his thumb, but this time, he makes good on his promise, heading towards the turnbuckle and climbing up to the top rope as he faces out at a crowd disgusted with him.

 

Riley: This is it! Wildchild’s dreams are about to be smashed!

 

Craven lines himself up with Wildchild, and then, standing tall for only a second, jumps, leaping into the air. He flips almost all the way around, his knees aiming straight for Wildchild’s chest...

 

 

“THUD!”

 

 

 

... But Wildchild rolls out of the way just in time, causing Craven to come crashing down into the canvas after missing the shooting star knee drop!

 

Stevens: HE MISSED!! HE MISSED THE KINGDOM COME!!! THE KING OF NIGHTMARES IS DOWN!!!

 

Riley: This isn’t supposed to happen!!! Craven’s supposed to beat Wildchild! Wildchild’s never beaten him before!!

 

As he recovers from the missed finisher, Craven crawls slowly towards the ropes, hoping that they will save him from anything Wildchild can throw at him, but as The Tropical Tumbler rises up, he spots Craven there, signaling to the crowd for a certain move. The crowd pops as Craven reaches the ropes and lies there on top of the bottom rope, Wildchild running back to the opposite ropes. Bouncing off them, he slides in between the bottom and middle ropes, grabbing them before he swings his legs into Craven’s face, knocking Craven back onto his back with a variation of the 619!!!

 

Stevens: CHICKLET BUSTER!!! CRAVEN IS DOWN!!! WILDCHILD HAS THIS IN THE BAG!! HE’S GOT IT!!

 

As he enters the ring again, Wildchild grabs Craven, slowly pulling him to his feet, perhaps for the Wild-Driver, but as he does, Craven grabs Wildchild and rakes his face! The rake distracts wildchild long enough for Craven to lock in a front facelock, hook boty his legs, and roll back into a small package!

 

Riley: SMALL PACKAGE!! No one saw it coming!!!

 

As Craven rolls back, he rolls near the ropes, sliding his feet on the bottom rope to support the pin and keep Wildchild pinned to the mat!

 

Stevens: NO!! Not like this!!! Craven’s got his feet on the ropes!!!

 

Kivell doesn’t see Craven move his feet on the bottom rope, blocked by Wildchild and Craven’s bodies as he begins to count:

 

 

ONE!!

 

 

 

 

 

Stevens: CRAVEN’S GOT HIS GOD DAMN FEET ON THE ROPES!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wildchild breaks the pin!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...But it’s too late.

 

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

Stevens: GOD DAMMIT!!! CRAVEN STOLE ONE FROM WILDCHILD!!! WILDCHILD WAS GONNA WIN THE US TITLE!!!

 

“King Of My World” kicks up, the referee handing Craven the US Title as he rolls out of the ring, hoisting the title up for all to see. The crowd responds with boos, some fans hurling their garbage at The King of Nightmares as he heads towards the Craven Section.

 

Funyon: The winner of this contest by pinfall AND STILL SWF US CHAMPION... MICHAEL CRAVEN!!!

 

Craven smiles as he reaches his adoring fans, a group of fifteen or so near the foot of the entrance ramp. With the title slung over his shoulder, he gives his fans a brief photo-op to have their picture taken with their hero, who is very much out of breath and past the point of exhaustion.

 

Stevens: It’s a damn shame the match had to end like that! Wildchild put on one hell of a show and was gonna win, but Craven cheats and gets the victory! It’s a damn shame...

 

Wildchild continues to argue with Kivell about Craven’s feet on the ropes, but Kivell says that he never saw Craven’s feet on the ropes, maintaining the tainted outcome of the match. Wildchild screams at Kivell as he gets to his feet, perhaps starting to lose his temper a little as he moves away from the referee...

 

Riley: Give it up, Bahaman Blunder! Craven beat you 1-2-3 in that ring! You lost!

 

As Craven smiles for the fans, the rest of the crowd suddenly cheers, and Craven looks up at the entryway for any possible attackers...

 

Stevens: OH MY GOD!!

 

Riley: LOOK OUT, CRAVEN!!!

 

But he gets NAILED with a suicide dive off the turnbuckle, compliments of an enraged Wildchild, having nailed Craven with the Andros Dive!

 

 

“THUNK!”

 

 

Craven’s head smacks into the steel railing surrounding the ring, both men collapsing to the ground, the crowd cheering for The Caribbean Cruiserweight:

 

Crowd: WI-LD-CHILD! WI-LD-CHILD!

 

Stevens: Wildchild has finally lost it, Craven’s blatant cheating putting him over the edge, and he’s taken down the US Champion! It’s safe to say that the bad blood between these two men hasn’t settled yet! But stay tuned, because there’s more exciting SWF action coming up next, right after this commercial break!

[Guest Grand Slam]

Fade in…

 

The lights begin to dim down…

 

Silence fills the arena, the fans all stand in unison, eyes gazing at the entrance way as a catchy beat kicks up, and they hear…

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

Exploding in orgasmic fashion, the crowd roars for the Hall of Famer making his way out from behind the curtain. Despite his undetermined fan status, Sacred is still being welcomed back after a long absence, too long some say. Whatever the case may be, one thing Sacred does seem to care about his the blessing of the fans, and his peers, as he struts out laughing from the behind the curtain. Sacred seems to let himself go, having fun in the moment as Damn It Feels Good to be a Gangsta by the Ghetto Boys plays behind him.

 

The Australian native nods his head in time with the beat, loosening his collar and shaking himself up in preparation for his match, still in dress shirt and pants, and looking rather sharpish I might add, appealing to many of the blue collar workers in this Philadelphian crowd.

 

“The following match is scheduled for one fall!”

 

Funyon’s voice booms to all corners of the First Union Center as Sacred slides underneath the bottom rope and onto his feet. “Introducing first! Hailing from Adelaide, Australia. Weighing in at 228 pounds, he is “The Sacred One”, he is… ANDREW BLACKWELL!”

 

“Oh, what a match this promises to be!” Cries an excited Stevens, barely able to hear himself over the throng of fans in the arena cheering profusely. “Two veterans, who in my opinion, are yet to hit the highest point in their respective careers. There has been good and bad blood between these for ‘lo the past 3 years, only facing each other one on one once, with Jamie Drazon prevailing as the victor.”

 

“And no doubt,” Riley cuts in. “Blackwell has remembered that loss all too well, as a loss to someone you’ve been with through so much HAS to play on your mind, no matter if it’s friend, or foe.”

 

“But something that will have been plaguing Drazon the past three years is when Sacred COST HIM THE EUROPEAN TITLE AT FINAL REVELATION! OH MY GOD!”

 

Just a little miffed, Riley asks. “… What? You remember back that far?”

 

“Axis told me to say-“

 

 

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

 

 

A thunderous noise is heard as pyro explodes from seemingly everywhere around the arena. The lights dim as a pre-recorded voice instructs the audience…

 

 

“THIS!”

 

“IS!”

 

“MAH!”

 

“HOUSE!”

 

 

A hail of boo’s rain down on Jamie Drazon as he shows his face for the first time to the tune of Rammstein’s Du Hast. Waking out with his head tilted to the floor, the crowd makes known their general contempt for The Hardcore Maniac, hissing and booing as he lifts his head, their disapproval of him only seems to fuel him as he shows a faint smile, albeit one of cruel intentions.

 

Beginning to feel rather worried by Dawg’s demeanour, Stevens remarks. “If Sacred is unpredictable in his tactics and execution, then Jamie Drazon is certainly unpredictable in his brutality. He’ll always find a new way to hurt a new opponent, ANY opponent. Sacred can’t expect any ‘special’ treatment here tonight…”

 

The two combatant’s eyes meet as Drazon is half way down the ramp and lock onto each other as Funyon yells into the microphone…

 

“… And his opponent! He hails from Vancouver, B.C. Weighing in at 243 pounds, he is the Hardcore Maniac, please welcome… JAY DAWG!”

 

“On the flip side though, Mark,” replies Bobby. “Sacred says he doesn’t care he and Dawg are no longer friends. What else does he not care about? Would he ruthlessly attack Drazon because he just doesn’t care?”

 

“One wonders, Bobby, wether Sacred is still of sound mind considering his past history.”

 

Jay Dawg slides into the ring and is onto his feet in a flash, watching his former tag team partner like a hawk. Quickly leaving the scene, Funyon leaves the two men and a nervous Bill Chiota in the ring. Overwhelming thoughts of the coming carnage cloud his mind as he forgets to call for the bell! Fed up, the timekeeper does it anyway.

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

To the crowd’s surprise, the two men suddenly charge at one another, entering into a tie up!

 

Mark Stevens is just as thrown back by the sudden turn of events, commenting. “I expected the stare down, a tried and true favourite of the crowd, but these two have decided to not wait and just attack from the get go! This has been a long time coming, and they must want this to begin, spurred on by the heat of the moment.”

 

“Obviously, Mark…” Riley replies in a condescending. “I’m surprised you didn’t see this. They’re trying to throw each other off their game, mixing things up, unfortunately for them, they both had the exact same idea.”

 

Shooting a disgruntled look toward his partner, knowing he’s right, Stevens replies. “We’ll ask them after the match to see who’s right, but at this point, let’s get back to the match!”

 

A stronger and more powerful Drazon forces his former Creative Control compatriot onto his back, pushing him away with relative ease. Whirling back to his feet, Sacred sees Dawg on the charge and plans to meet him, but a clothesline attempt from Drazon forces him to duck underneath his arm and hit the ropes in front of him. Drazon grunts as he himself hits the ropes, coming back towards Sacred, easily able to judge his next move as he ducks underneath a flying forearm. Digging his foot into the canvas, Dawg suddenly puts on the brakes, spinning around in a half circle, but Sacred knows this counter all too well, and scouts it before Dawg has even attempted it, and ducks it easily!

 

WHOOSH!

 

Expecting a trademark Sacred forearm in retaliation, Drazon blocks high, but he is literally swept off his feet as Sacred goes low and takes his legs out from underneath him!

 

THUD!

 

“Intelligent thinking from the Sacred One, using a move JD is fond of using, knowing Dawg would be expecting a forearm,” Stevens comments, very impressed.

 

“What’s more is that Dawg’s has to be experiences the effects of that move psychologically more than physically. If he was thinking Sacred would stick to the script he wrote out in his mind, he’s dead wrong! Sacred LOVES to get inside your head, and I’m sure JD won’t know what to expect next!”

 

Riley’s assumption appears to be the correct one, as Drazon climbs back to his feet, his eyes opening more than usual, his static movements give away his uncertainty. Pulling something from his own move set, Sacred hops into the air, catching Dawg around the neck with his ankles and flipping him over in an ankle scissors. The move does little to Dawg who rolls back onto his feet, determined not to show his ambivalence towards Sacred, in more ways than one. His fist does the talking, telling Sacred to be on his toes in the form of a flurry of punches, forces Blackwell back towards the ropes.

 

Whipping Sacred across the ring, he waits for the Australian to return, ducking his head at the last moment and tossing Sacred over his head! Unfortunately for him, Blackwell lands safely on two feet, and turns around in a flash, locking his arms around Drazon’s waist. Performing a stand switch, Dawg reverses and spins behind Sacred, suddenly running forward and pushing Sacred into the turnbuckles! Hitting with a thud, taking the wind out of him for a second, Sacred is lifted on Jay Dawg's shoulders easily and taken to the center of the ring. The crafty Australian suddenly turns his predicament to his advantage, falling from Dawg’s shoulders and rolling him up in a Victory Roll!

 

“Sacred once again gets the better of the exchange!” Shouts Stevens as Chiota slides over to count.

 

ONE!

 

But that’s all the fluke roll up gets as Drazon angrily pushes Sacred forward and climbs back onto his feet. Trying his luck once too often, Sacred charges as Jay Dawg with a short spear, but acting quickly, Drazon leaps over the charging Australian easily. Hitting the strands, Sacred is forced back to Dawg against his will, and as a result is caught with a reverse elbow to the jaw by Jay Dawg! Spinning around Blackwell in an instant, Dawg puts his arms around the Aussie and lifts him into the air, slamming him back down to the mat with a Belly-to-Back Suplex! Chiota is called into action once again as Dawg hooks Sacred by the leg!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWOOKICKOUT!

 

“That’s something Jay Dawg has to stick too, simple, body pounding, impact power moves to wear the Aussie down, which judging by last week, isn’t too hard to do at all,” Stevens notes.

 

Sacred rolls back onto his feet after the kick out, but is immediately met with stiff right hand punches from the Hardcore Maniac, knocking him towards the turnbuckles, cornered, at the mercy of Dawg’s battering, knuckles connecting against his jaw as the taste is knocked from his mouth. Jay Dawg grins slightly, bringing his fist back farther, aiming for a King hit to put Sacred down, but the Australian manages to move his head out of the way, as Jay Dawg’s fist hits the turnbuckle pad! Angered but unhurt, Dawg tries once more, but again Sacred avoids it! Blackwell fires a kick away in retaliation, but Drazon catches him by the foot and takes him out of the corner with Sacred hopping on one foot. Attempting to fling Sacred down on his back, Drazon pushes him upward, but Blackwell only uses this to his advantage as he flips into the air, landing back down on his feet! Spinning on one foot, his other heading for Sacred’s chin, Drazon hopes to surprise him with a Thai Roundhouse Kick! His hopes are severely dashed, and he is visibly shocked to see Sacred duck his patented kick so easily, and surprise him with another roll up, reaching back with a schoolboy!

 

ONE! No! “Another one count only for Sacred, but me thinks these quick pins are only part of his ploy,” notes Riley informatively.

 

“I’m as surprised as Mr. Drazon is,” Stevens admits. “I’ve rarely seen anyone avoid that lethal kick of his, but Blackwell seemed to scout it VERY early, and I bet only he, in the entire SWF could do that, so quickly knowing Dawg as well as he does.”

 

With both men back to their feet, Dawg takes some time to reassess, circling Sacred with care. Knowing Drazon has been put well and truly off guard, Sacred gives him no time to think as explodes with Gusto, using his forearm to batter away at Jamie’s facial features. Upon failing to deform Dawg, Sacred whips him into the ropes, and as he returns, sucks him in by lowering his head. Drazon’s eyes open once in glee, but then close again, as he is about to kick Blackwell in the face! Sacred suddenly changes position, taking Drazon down to the mat face first with a drop toehold!

 

“Now,” begins Stevens. “Let’s see where Sacred will strike on Dawg’s body. Which limb will be attacked and put out of commission?”

 

Sacred literally dives on top of Drazon’s leg, wrapping his body around the left in a side leg lock. Growling, Dawg viciously deals with Sacred, freeing his leg and kicking Sacred in the face!

 

THWACK!

 

THWACK!

 

THWACK!

 

“Puh-Lease Mark! Did you expect Jay Dawg to give in THAT easily?” Boasts Riley, proudly as he watches Dawg’s boot crunch against Sacred’s cheekbone. “Blackwell had two things working against him there, one, Drazon obviously expected Sacred to pinpoint and work on a body part, as is his trademark, and two, do you even realise how strong his legs are!?”

 

“Well excuse me Bobby, but the workings of this match are just mind boggling. I mean, who has the advantage!?”

 

“No idea Mark, my advice is to just lay back enjoy the show…” Replies Riley, leaning back in his chair while open a bottle of beer.

 

“And commentate?” Grand Slam reminds his cohort.

 

Riley sits it back down quickly. “… Oh yeah.”

 

With a final blow that sends Sacred rolling backward with a severe tooth ache, Dawg rolls backward onto his own feet, setting upon Sacred as he grabs him by the head and pulls him down onto his rising knee!

 

Once!

 

Twice!

 

Three times!

 

With Sacred suitably unaware of his name, let alone his surroundings, Drazon pulls him into his grasp, throwing arm over his own shoulder, and grabbing Sacred by the belt line, lifting him into the air, and dropping him down with a vertical Suplex! Instead of going for a useless cover, Dawg smartly climbs back to his feet, Sacred still locked in place. Lifting his opponent up in the air once again, Drazon changes his footing slightly, and the fans rise as Drazon drops straight down, planting the Sacred One with a Brainbuster!

 

“Oooooooh!” The fans cry as Drazon pushes his arms into Sacred’s chest, pinning his shoulders down to the mat.

 

“NOW Drazon is playing to his strength’s!” Riley yells, somewhat relieved.

 

“If he were playing to his strength’s,” corrects Stevens. “Sacred would be stacked on four tables, which are set on fire, and have 10 chairs on his face while Dawg threw himself off a balcony with a senton.”

 

Riley’s eyes light up. “…This NEEDS to happen!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

“TWWWOOOOOOOOOO!” The fans cry as Sacred shoots a shoulder up from the map, and they cheer his tenacity. However, Drazon does not share their feelings, and promptly grabs Sacred by the hair and pushes him into the turnbuckles. Dawg grabs Sacred just underneath his shoulders, gripping onto his shirt and pulling him close, his muscles tensing, as Sacred looks back at him, drowsy and rather helpless. Ripping his button’s clean off, Drazon exposes Sacred’s torso, rearing back…

 

SLAP! “WHOO!”

 

… And striking Sacred across the chest with a Knife-Edge Chop!

 

SLAP! “WHOO!”

 

SLAP! “WHOO!”

 

SLAP! “WHOO!”

 

“Man, what impact Drazon is having with those chops!” Stevens exclaims, cringing after every blow that leaves a beet red mark across Sacred’s chest. “You can see the agony on Blackwell’s face as Dawg simply let’s all his frustration out on his former friend!”

 

“It was easy to tell at the beginning of this match that Dawg was a little apprehensive at the thought of facing Sacred, but now that he’s in the ring controlling the Australian and brutalising him, he feels at home, and won’t hold back.”

 

“Look at the way he’s looking into Sacred’s eyes…” Comments a thoughtful Stevens, studying Dawg intently, until he says. “You can be sure he can see that European title and the events of Final Revelation in those eyes…”

 

“Ok, did Axis actually tell you to say that!?”

 

The crowd, despite their enthusiasm for the chops, shower Drazon with hate as he whips the Australian across the ring, but Sacred reverses it! Dawg is sent across the ring with Blackwell, but he puts his foot on the lowest turnbuckle pad and hands on the top rope to stop himself in time to kick Sacred in the gut with a mule kick!

 

Doubled over, a slight bit of blood appearing on his lower lip, Blackwell is at Jay Dawg’s mercy as the Hardcore Maniac grabs him by the waist, locking his hands together and lifting Sacred into the air, spinning around…

 

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

 

… And planting him with a Belly to Belly Suplex!

 

“OH! Absolutely NAILED that Suplex!” Riley shouts, groaning on impact, feeling the blow himself, but still happy. “He’s the same old Jay Dawg all right, taking NO mercy to his opponent, and you gotta believe Sacred is in a bad way right now.”

 

Laying his entire body over Sacred and pulling his leg up as far as he can, Jay Dawg makes the cover as the fans rise to their feet with worried looks!

 

Mike Chiota slides over…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRRRNOOOO!

 

“Two and a half!” Cries a disappointed Riley. “Despite the slight weight difference in these two, Drazon is able to easily man handle the Sacred One, which scares me. Does Drazon make up for Sacred’s smarts and technical ability with his sheer intensity and will to fight?”

 

“Tension’s are high in that ring, and both men will do EVERYTHING they can to prevail, and pour every bit of sweat and blood into the contest.”

 

Reeling from the big body blows he’s suffered, Sacred rolls slowly across the ring. He attaches himself to the bottom rope, permanently if he has his way, but Drazon has other, violent ideas on his mind as he stalks Blackwell, grabbing him from over the top rope and lifting him to his feet on the apron. As before, Drazon grabs Blackwell in a front face lock, hoping for a Suplex…

 

Dawg attempts to lift his Aussie opponent… but Sacred blocks it by hooking his foot underneath the ropes! Frustrated but not deterred, Drazon tries again, but still he cannot lift Sacred! Giving up on the Suplex, Dawg decides to instead decapitate Sacred, taking a few steps back and charging, leg raised, targeting Blackwell’s forehead…

 

… He jumps off from the apron! Drazon lands awkwardly on the top rope!

 

“… Of course, Jamie Drazon’s intensity can sometimes get the better of him…” Remarks a sombre Bobby Riley, watching Dawg swing from side to side on the top rope.

 

Knowing that if he simply grabs JD from off of the ropes that the Hardcore Maniac will just murder him as quick as a flash, Sacred takes another route, jumping onto the ring apron, and then the top rope, turning to face Dawg.

 

“… This isn’t like Sacred at all!” Stevens cries, pondering what the Australian is thinking as he takes one cautious step along the rope. “Wait, what am I saying, this is exactly like Sacred. This is extremely risking and daring for a man who’s taken many hard shots to the head, but he has to do something to swing the momentum away from JD.”

 

The crowd watch in suspense as Sacred crosses the top rope, one foot in front of the other, balancing himself, suddenly getting a running start…

 

 

 

 

WHACK!

 

 

 

 

… And fly kicking Drazon right in the goddamn face!

 

The crowd roars as Drazon’s body falls to the mat after the blow from Sacred’s hard soled shoes. “OH MY! The risk payed off!” Stevens cries happily. “If ever there was a unique equaliser, THAT was it!”

 

“Blackwell better count his lucky stars!” Comes Riley’s unimpressed and grim reply. “It’s the little things he does which do the most damage, but that’s not going to work for long against a man like Jay Dawg.”

 

Breathing heavily while putting a finger to his lip to examine the blood dripping from his lip, Sacred casts an angered glare at Drazon. Looking to settle the score, Sacred suddenly bursts out of the blocks, running over to the turnbuckle parallel with Jamie’s body and leaping up…

 

 

The second rope…

 

 

The third rope…

 

 

Springing off the final rope, flipping backwards as he fans all rise and the announcers watch in awe…

 

 

 

 

 

 

CRUNCH!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nailing the Superman 3…

 

“TRIPLE JUMP MOONSAULT!” Yells an out-of-his-seat Grand Slam Mark Stevens. “His superior speed and agility may just get him back into this thing!”

 

The fans are hopeful as Mike Chiota slams his palm on the canvas while Sacred grabs JD by the legs and flips over him in a bridged position!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHNNNOOOOOOOOO!

 

“OOOH!” The fans sigh, so, so disappointed as Drazon kicks out, still with a lot of fight left in him, something Sacred always admired, but now hates about Jamie Drazon.

 

Knowing he has to finish this match and quick, Sacred lifts Jay Dawg onto two feet, nailing him with a few trademark stiff forearms before attempting to whip the Hardcore Maniac into the nearest corner… But No! Drazon reverses the whip! Dawg follows Sacred in as he nears the turnbuckles, but thinking on his feet, Sacred places his hands on the top rope and leaps into the air, flinging himself backwards and putting his feet on Dawg’s shoulders!

 

But the headscissors attempt is reversed as well, as Dawg throws Sacred off of his shoulders and over the top rope! Grabbing onto the top rope just in the nick of time, Sacred plants his feet on the ring apron, narrowly missing slipping off the side of the apron. Learning from previous mistakes, Dawg tries to clothesline Sacred from off the apron, but Sacred counters, ducking low as his shoulder connects with Dawg’s breadbasket. With the Maniac doubled over, Sacred flips over the top and grabs Dawg by the leg’s in a sunset flip attempt…

 

But those strong legs come into play once again as Dawg easily keeps his feet. Jamie Drazon stares down at Andrew Blackwell, his eyes slowly rolling into the back of his head as his hands grip tightly around his former friend’s neck. Just another victim on the road to the top now, Dawg lifts Sacred up into the air, choking the life out of him!

 

“WHOA!” Exclaims Riley, totally in awe of Drazon’s power, especially when it’s not exactly like him. “Maybe he does see that European title in Sacred’s eyes because that was UNBELIEVABLE to lift Sacred up like that, and up from off of the mat no less!”

 

As the circulation is cut from Blackwell’s head, his body writhes and wriggles in a desperate attempt to escape. His legs kick wildly and just as it seems he may escape with help from the fans who cry in unison…

 

“SACRED!”

 

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!

 

“SACRED!”

 

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!

 

“SACRED!”

 

CLAP! CLAP! CLA-

 

… Drazon takes him across to the turnbuckles and simply THROWS him down on the braces! Literally bouncing away, Jamie prepares for his next move, clocking Blackwell in the face with a Thai Roundhouse!

 

“You know what’s coming next Stevens!” Riley chants happily while hassling Mark by tugging on his shirt.

 

“Quiet! Oh no… Sacred’s now down on his knee’s… say your prayers Blackwell…” Stevens solemnly says as Sacred falls near the ropes, a faraway look in his eyes.

 

Charging forward like a bull, a smile on his face as he picks out a point on Sacred’s head, Jamie Drazon shoots his leg across the ring while kneeling on one knee with the…

 

 

 

 

 

 

SHINING BLACK!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO! SACRED DUCKS UNDER THE BLOW!

 

“HOLY!” Stevens cries in disbelief. “How did he avoid that in time!? How-“

 

Riley suddenly cuts off and yells. “Hold on Stevens, Dawg is back for another pass!”

 

Indeed, Drazon has stumbled forward after the first attempt put him off balance and turns around in anger, attempting the Yazuka kick to the BACK of Blackwell’s head!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

YES! HE KICKS SACRED IN THE BACK OF THE HEAD!

 

“HOLY SHIT!” Utters Riley. “Sacred is DOWN and this match is OVER!”

 

“DAMNIT! Sacred nearly ducked under that attempt as well, but Dawg just got there in time! This can’t be it!”

 

Confident, and pleased to see Andrew Blackwell a lifeless heap on the mat, Dawg hooks him by the leg, closing his eyes and smiling as Chiota counts begrudgingly…

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TTTHHRREEEEEEEEEFOOTONTHEROPES!

 

 

NO POBO!

 

 

“RAAAHHHH!”

 

The fans are absolutely ecstatic as Dawg looks at the referee, then at his hand, which points to Sacred’s foot on the bottom rope. Absolutely livid, Dawg quickly lifts Sacred to his feet, shaking his head and cursing at his former stable mate, ready to seal his fate and get his revenge!

 

The Hardcore Maniac sets Sacred up in a standing headscissors and wrapping his arms around his throat, looking out to the crowd as they boo the hell out of the hardcore legend.

 

“JD’S REVENGE! THIS WILL DO IT!” Riley literally screams at the top of his lungs.

 

“I know we’ve said it before but this match was a long time coming, and this MOMENT was a long time coming, does Sacred have ANYTHING left in him…?”

 

“How CAN he, Mark? Dawg has him in position, there is NOTHING he can do now!”

 

Gripping his hands together, prepping himself, Dawg takes a deep breath, just about to leap into the air…

 

 

 

 

 

 

But Sacred drops onto his knees!

 

Riley cries, absolutely pissed. “WHAT!? GET UP AND TAKE IT LIKE A MAN!”

 

Stevens opens his mouth-

 

“OH SHUTUP!”

 

The crowd senses a faint glimmer of hope as they cheer for Sacred, but JD is too determined to let Sacred go so easily, pulling him back onto his feet and yet again setting him up…

 

 

 

 

 

BUT HE COUNTERS AGAIN, DROPPING TO HIS KNEES!

 

 

 

 

 

“ARGH!”

 

The cry that escapes from Jamie Drazon’s mouth can be heard all through the arena, but he lifts Sacred up again, veins popping for every part of his body as he tries once more…

 

 

 

 

 

 

SACRED REVERSES! Using as much power as he can summon, Sacred lifts his head, his eyes and body visibly straining to lift Dawg, but the Hardcore Maniac is tossed over Sacred’s head with his arms still locked around Blackwell’s!

 

 

 

 

 

 

WHAM!

 

“REVERSAL!” Stevens cries. “I can’t believe it! He’s turned it into a pinning predicament!”

 

Showing perhaps slight bias, Billy Chiota slides across the mat and slams his fist down on the mat as Drazon is stuck underneath Sacred who lifts his legs above his own head, putting ALL his weight down on Drazon’s shoulders!

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYEESS!

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“NO!” Screams Riley in vain as the bell is rung and “Damn it Feels Good to be a Gangsta” hits the speakers as Sacred unhooks his arms from Drazon’s. He quickly slides out of the ring as the Hardcore Maniac scans around ringside for the wily Australian, but Sacred is already making his way up the ramp, though stumbling along the way as he grabs his head in pain.

 

“I can’ bloody believe it! What a total FLUKE! Sacred barely escaped with 100% metal capacity, let alone the pin! I… I just can’t believe it!”

 

“Oh you better believe it! Sacred reversed JD’s revenge into a unique back drop and pinning combination, only JUST squeaking out the win here tonight!”

 

As Funyon gets on the mic, the fans pop like crazy for. “The winner of this match by pinfall at a time of 12 minutes and 26 seconds… THE SACRED ONE, ANDREW BLACKWELL!”

 

Slowly climbing to his feet, Jay Dawg rushes over to the ropes nearest Sacred, simply pointing at him, his eyes barely open but the anguish of losing to his former tag partner is clearly written on his face and in his actions, as he dares Sacred to come back into the ring.

 

“You’re damn right he only squeaked out the win!” Riley replies in protest. It was clear Drazon was in better shape, and the better MAN here tonight, but Sacred used his, pfft, ‘smarts’ the win the match!”

 

“Settle down! It’s not the end of the world, yes, it was clear these two weren’t quite ready for each other tonight, and it was a clear mismatch of styles and characteristics. Judging from tonight’s match, these two will meet again at some stage, and we’ll know without a shadow of a doubt which veteran should rightfully win.”

 

Falling to his knees at the top of the entranceway, Sacred looks back at Jay Dawg… with a smile. Still fuming, Drazon looks back at Sacred, his own expression soon changing as he beings to nod, and a slight smile appears on his face too. It soon fades however, as JD mouths across the arena...

 

"Next time...."

 

And that's how we leave the scene as we...

 

Fade to black...

[Guest Grand Slam]

Backstage in the first union center, a figure sits, quiet, alone, shrouded in darkness. As the camera approaches closer, the figure slowly turns, light flickering over his visage, lip curled in a scowl. Oh, no wait, that’s a different kind of promo. This is just CIA, looking embarrassed as he turns around from the craft services table with a slice of pizza in his mouth. “What? The interview’s NOW?” Looking down at his watch, CIA shrugs, and tosses the pizza back on a paper plate, holding up one finger to signal to the cameraman that he’ll be with him in just a moment. Grabbing a cold beer from a cooler in the middle of the table, CIA twists off the top, and tips back the brown tinged glass, drinking….. drinking…. Drinking…… until finally, with a loud ‘Ahhhh!’ he slams the bottle back down on the table, completely empty.

 

“I love it when I get a night off, eh? Especially when I get to spend it right here, in….” Frowning, CIA looks back at his paper plate, and, quickly, he grabs the pizza, throwing it aside, and replacing it with a Philly Cheesesteak. “…..Phiiiillll-lid-deeeellllpppphhhhiiiiaaaa!!!!” The fans let out a loud cheer, and CIA smiles. “That’s more like it, Eh? Anyway, I asked for this time so I could talk to you, the fans. I told you, the people wh o really make this sport special, that I’d be wrestling for you, every match, every night, eh?” Grabbing his plate, and pulling a couple of beers out of the cooler into his other hand, CIA begins to walk down the hallway, allowing the camera to follow him as he makes his way through the twists and turns of the backstage area, narrating as if he were holding a casual conversation with a friend, and not addressing an arena full of people.

 

“Now, I told you it’d be my all, win lose, or draw, eh, but I know you people want to know what’s up with your favorite Canadian import, don’t ya? I come back, win the hardcore title in a BRUTAL matchup, in just about three weeks of action. And hey, you don’t believe I got hurt, I can show you all my doctor’s bills for fresh bandages alone. I still got this pain in my side whenever I roll over, eh….. but enough about that. You people were happy, and I had gold around my waist. Well, here it is, only a couple weeks later, and I got no belt. Some of you may be confused. I mean, used to be, you could watch the SWF for months and every night it’d be Tom Flesher, J&R, Danny Williams. Lately, around this place, title’s have been changing ownership faster than a wallet in a house full of kleptomaniacs, eh?”

 

Laughing a little at his own bad joke, CIA turns a corner, waving to a few of the production people as he passes, before turning back to the camera, walking backwards down the hall. “Is CIA a winner? Not always. But I am a fighter. It’s been tough, being hardcore for you fans, but I’m not gonna stop doing anything as long as it gets you folks screaming for more. I want a rematch. Hell, I want a shot at every belt there is. I will do my very best, and take on anyone. Your U.S. Champ, whoever it may be this week, ICTV title, Hardcore, WORLD? Hell yeah, I want that gold settled around my waist, eh. But there’s something I realized in the last week, and that’s VERY important when it comes to the other belts. The tag team titles. Now, what I realized is, in this ‘Bid’ness’, as someone I know might call it, you gotta have friends. A posse, a crew, your homies.”

 

Turning around, CIA stops in front of a locker room door, presumably his own, and turns away from the camera once more. “Yeah, so I said to myself, CIA, you need to find yourselves some partners, a real STABLE foundation to build on. But who? Who would be the best choice? Well, you fans need to love them. I won’t settle for anyone who doesn’t appreciate you people, eh. But even better yet, how about one of those champions I was talking about? How about a man who can outwrestle half the roster, who’s won awards, and most importantly, a man who can get me a cheap pop, right here in Philly.”

 

Knocking on the door, CIA steps aside, and, a moment later, the door swings open, and the Canadian smiles, happily addressing the emerging figure, gold belt strapped around his waist, fans letting out a huge roar as they see who CIA is talking about. “Delivery! That’ll be twelve fifty. Plus tip, if you know what I mean. I hear you got all those Franchise bucks to throw around, now that you’ve got a nice shiny gold belt around your waist.

 

The Franchise smiles, grabbing the plate with the Philly Cheesesteak out of CIA’s hands, and looking down at the beer for a second. “Maybe I’ll have one of those AFTER my match, Dream. And here’s a tip for you. Go partying with the Franchise tonight, cause this is MY city, and noone knows how to party like PHILLY!”

 

The fans let out another loud cheer, and CIA shoots Mak a silly thumbs up, smiling at his one time foe, now compatriot. “That’s right fans. I’m a former hardcore champ, but if I have anything to say about it, I’ll be there again. Mak Francis, your own hometwon hero, the ICTV champ. When I needed a man to turn to, I knew exactly where to go, he’s my number one, and this is the beginning of great things for both of us, eh?”

 

Francis and CIA face the camera, and smile, as CIA addresses not the fans, but all the wrestlers in the locker room who may be watching. “So if you’ve got a nice little accessory to hold your pants up like the Franchise here, you better watch out. If it’s gold, we’re coming for it, in any match, any place, and time you want it. Tag team? Just try and stop us. US? You know we have to get a taste. World? Sky’s the limit, ladies and gents, cause an international incident has just hit this locker room, and all the fans better keep their eyes peeled, to watch the fun unfold.”

 

Francis and CIA smile, turning towards one another and thrusting their arms forward, pounding fists for the camera to see, before turning back into Francis’ locker room to escape the lens, and the audience behind. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, the Franchise has to prepare for another chance to entertain you fans in that ring. Don’t forget to buy the T-shirt, folks!”

 

CIA smiles and holds up a T-shirt with the name ‘International Incident’ Emblazoned on it, and then he throws the fabric bundle over the lens of the camera, and the shot fades to black.

[Guest Grand Slam]

“Heaven’s a Lie” by Lacuna Coil begins to chime in as the eager Philadelphia crowd reacts to it with resounding jeers. Amidst the darkness, the chain-draped Smarktron plays Sean Atlas’ dramatic Crucifix entrance from Battleground, illuminating the set. Then, just as the music climaxes with the growing electric guitar riffs...

 

 

!~BOOM~!

 

 

An immense explosion goes off onstage, leaving behind more smoke that follows the opening fireworks. Through the haze walks the first superstar of the night, the masked man himself, Sean Atlas. The crowd grows more aggressive towards him as he strolls down the ramp, vigor renewed after a two week break.

 

*Ding-Ding*

 

“The following match is set for one fall! Introducing first, from Chicago, Illinois, weighing in at 245 pounds... SEEEAAAAAAN ATLAS!”

 

During Funyon’s introduction, Sean has made it to the ring, sliding inside as he came near. Posing up against the ropes, he stares out at each side of the First Union Center, showing everyone his (covered) face. His music soon fades away, allowing our esteemed announcers to be heard.

 

 

Riley: What a way to kick off the night! No boring promos, just straight up wrestling featuring the best masked man to ever step inside an SWF ring.

 

Stevens: Even better than the best of them all, new name face and line of merch…

 

Riley: Yes, better than even -him-.

 

Stevens: Well, in the world of logic, Sean Atlas has once before proven to be better than his opponent tonight, Longdogger Pete. He also managed to defeat LDP’s Tag Team partner Frost in singles competition.

 

Riley: And now that he stands in the way of Pete’s rise to... actually win a match, he should expect nothing but disappointment.

 

Stevens: The Masked Menace takes on the Miami Menace…

 

 

“OH, MY GOD! INCREDIBLE SUPERSTAR!”

 

 

Stevens: And here he comes!

 

 

A white pyrotechnic explosion erupts across the stage filling the arena with even more smoke. To the beats of “Baseline” by Quarashi, the One-Man-Wrecking-Crew steps out through the curtain, setting foot on an SWF stage for the first time in months! He walks down the ring, slowly and deliberately in tune with the music...

 

Baseline, baseline

we’ve got fools on the case and their giving me baseline

Baseline, baseline

Baseline, baseline

we’ve got fools on the case and their giving me baseline

Baseline, baseline

 

Now we’re back in the game

The Quarashi pain it’s plain

I see the suckers fall out and the fuckers call out

Pick me up. But they don’t know what it’s about

I do my shit on the mic and I’m pleasing the crowd

Jump back, get back or else your getting a smack

on your face just like your daddy used to smack you way back in the days

This ain't no silly ass game I’m playing

hear what I’m saying, now start prayingWe’ve got fools on the case and their giving me baseline

Baseline, baseline...”

 

“And his opponent, from Miami, Florida, weighing in at 277 pounds, making his SWF return... The One Man Wrecking Crew... LONGDOGGAH PEEETTEEE!

 

Stevens: Despite my colleague’s claims, the Longdogger happens to be in the middle of quite a good run, focused on the Intercontinental Television title since Stryke got his hands on it. But the belt has since changed hands, falling into the possession of Mak Francis and before him, Beezel.

 

Riley: And speaking of Beezel, he was quite the rood little Scorcho to Sean Atlas last week, claiming to be this and that, having his belt and his mask, blah and blah. Well, the belt is gone and that mask can’t stay on for long.

 

Stevens: We’ll just have to see, Riley.

 

 

During that rambling, Pete has made it into the ring, using the closest set of stairs to step inside. Wearing a “Doggah in da House” T-Shirt with black jean-shorts, the knee braces he now wears show he’s an old hand in this business. But despite the braces and the balding blonde hair, Pete’s face looks youthful as ever, excited to avenge his loss to Sean exactly two months ago.

 

Once “Baseline” has faded out, the crowd’s excitement is far more noticeable. They applaud Pete vigorously, with a small group in the upper deck chanting “LDP! LDP!” The chant doesn’t really catch on though, as Pete approaches Sean Atlas, greeting the man for the first time since May. Looking to avenge his own loss and that of Frost, the One Man Wrecking Crew must now stop the runaway train that is Sean Atlas...

 

But that runaway train just so happens to be headed right for him, and like a ’67 Chevy stuck on the tracks, Pete can’t avoid the young and stiff forearm of the masked Machiavellian as it strikes him across the collar bone…

 

DING-DING-DING!

 

And takes him down!

 

Riley: With that lariat the match is underway, folks!

 

 

Propping up Longdogger after leveling him to the canvas, Atlas quickly turns the motion into an Irish whip, sending Pete into the ropes. He springs off, adamant for retribution for the cheap lariat that started this off, and sends up a clothesline of his own but Atlas duck under it. Pete continues running, bouncing off the other set of ropes while Atlas comes off those opposite him.

 

They head for a collision in the middle of the ring, prompting Atlas to lower his shoulder as Pete begins to slow down... but isn’t quick enough as Atlas hurls himself into the knees of the One-Man-Wrecking-Crew, spearing him in the legs!

 

 

Stevens: Atlas is taking it to Pete early on here, pounding him into the mat.

 

Riley: Even though Pete’s bigger, he’s also a bit slower, which could work to the masked man’s advantage.

 

 

Coming to his feet, Atlas meets the half standing Longdogger in the spot they collided, then helps him up and proceeds to place him in a front face lock... but Pete powers out of it, clubbing the side of Sean’s head. Standing upright, he continues the assault with multiple right overhand punches, hyping up the crowd! He forces Atlas’ back into a corner, grabs his arm and extends it, then ducks under it and wrenches the arm around...

 

Getting him away from the corner, Pete keeps adding torque on the arm, wrenching it far back enough to cause Atlas to double over. From behind now, LDP reaches through Sean’s legs to grab his other arm, pulls it back, and quickly sets up a Pumphandle. Using both arms he lifts the masked Atlas off the mat and onto his shoulder, then jumps and SLAMS Atlas down with authority! He leans in and uses the opportunity to pin Atlas’ shoulders to the mat...

 

 

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

 

 

...T...W... NO! Atlas quickly kicks out, refusing even a two count so early in the match.

 

 

Stevens: Seemingly, MacDougal is trying to slow the pace of the match down, playing it his way.

 

Riley: You might be right, Mark. But that was still way too early to go for a cover.

 

Stevens: Well, maybe I’m wrong and he’s just trying to get it done as soon as possible. Considering his age and ring rust, a short match is a good match.

 

 

As the sound of disappointment from the fans fades away, Pete gets himself standing while ‘helping’ Atlas to his feet as well. Just as Sean comes up, LDP grabs him around the waist, lifts, the drops him back down onto his kneebrace, colliding with Sean’s tailbone. Atlas backs up, arching his back in pain as he turns around to walk away...

 

But he doesn’t get very far as Pete wraps his arms around Atlas once again and pulls back, elevating the rookie over his head and SLAMS him back down with a German Suplex! He keeps the waistlock on as he stands up, rolling both himself and Atlas into a standing position and once again pops his hips, slamming Sean into the mat with a second German! He continues the assault, following the second Belly-to-Back Suplex with a third, this time letting Atlas go!

 

 

Stevens: Rolling Germans from Longdogger Pete!

 

Riley: Rolling Germans... sounds like a racing team from Berlin.

 

Stevens: A what?

 

Riley: Right over your head, Mark. Rather, right over your cap.

 

 

Pete gets up while Atlas remains on the canvas, rolling around a bit after the multiple suplexes. He looks back up to see someone blocking his light, and that would be an airborne Peter MacDougal, hanging in the space above him with legs extended, trying to hit a legdrop...

 

And Atlas rolls away! The heavy braces on Pete’s legs would have caused far more damage than Sean would like, and he proceeds to attack them. Standing up in time with LDP, Atlas evades an attempted Irish whip and kicks Longdogger in the shin, right below the knee brace. Seeing how it slows down the big fella, Sean kicks him again, this time directly to the back of the leg, in the soft spot behind the knee joint, taking the One Man Wrecking Crew to one leg...

 

 

Stevens: Atlas seems to be going after Pete’s weakest spot – his legs. He employed the same strategy last time and Pete seems to be falling victim to it once again.

 

Riley: Take it easy, Grand Slam, he’s just using a strategy. I was there, and I’ll admit it wasn’t a pretty sight, but they were fair game then and still are now.

 

 

Atlas waits as Pete stands up. Gauging just how much damage the legs can sustain, he shifts focus and steps to Peter’s side, hooking his foot underneath and falling back to his a Russian Leg Sweep. He comes back up, along with a slower but eager Longdogger and kicks him in the knee again!

 

His temper slowly losing itself, Pete refuses to go down to one knee and instead shows Atlas that his legs are quite useable by thrusting one of them into his midsection... But it backfires as Atlas catches it, holding on to the rim of the knee brace for a better grip. Pete hops on one leg now, ironic in a way, and prepares for the Leg Capture Suplex which he’s seen Sean do so many times before…

 

 

Stevens: You know this one Pete, he -just- did it to Frost...

 

 

But Atlas isn’t after the neck in this match, and instead spins down, rotating around with Longdogger’s foot in his grips, extending his own leg to sweep Pete’s only remaining one out from under him! He takes the Miami Menace to the canvas with a Dragon Screw Legwhip, dropping him back first as one leg gets swept and the other is left draped over his shoulder.

 

Instantly, he stands up, heads to the ropes in front of him and bounces off, then, as he returns to LDP he bends down, grabs on to both feet and flips over, bridging above the body of Peter MacDougal while folding LDP’s in half with the Jackknife Pin...!!

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

NO! LDP forces him off!

 

 

Riley: That kind of cover stretches out the opponent’s legs, perfect for what Atlas is trying to accomplish.

 

Stevens: Lucky for Pete, he uses the same pin and knows how to get out of it with ease.

 

 

Standing up, Atlas takes Pete by the hand and gets him standing. Grabbing his other hand, Atlas crossed the two arms in front of Pete’s body, then comes around behind him to put on a Straightjacket hold. He attempts to lift the bigger Doggah off his feet for the Suplex, but Pete fights out of it, getting his hand out of Atlas’ grip...

 

With one arm still in his grasps, Atlas tries to keep it wrapped around Pete’s body and specifically, his neck. He turns his back to Pete’s back, setting up an Immaculate Neckbreaker on the One Man Wrecking Crew... But Pete emphatically prevents it, removing himself from the clutches of his own arm, then drawing Atlas closer with a forceful pull and...

 

...Hits a monstrous clothesline, retaliating for the one Atlas hit to start this match! Instantaneously, Pete falls onto Atlas, driving his elbow into the chest of the masked malice!

 

 

Stevens: There he goes, dropping 277 pounds onto Atlas! That’s the LDP we all know and love.

 

Riley: Love?

 

Stevens: No, Bobbie, not THAT kind of love.

 

Riley: Oh...

 

 

Pete stands and draws Atlas’ arm up, away from clutching his hurting chest. He gets Atlas standing and whips him off into the ropes. Atlas bounces and continues to run with little regard as to what could happen next. He’s suddenly forced to leave his feet and finds himself falling behind the 6’6” frame of Longdogger Pete, soon to collide with the canvas below...!!

 

 

Stevens: Samoan Drop!!! LDP covers...

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

...T...H...NNNOOOO! Atlas gets a shoulder up!

 

 

Pete gets to his feet as quickly as his legs could get him. Standing over the fallen Sean Atlas, MacDougal drives his boot into the chest of his fallen opponent, stomping his foot against the ribs of the masked man that owns them. Atlas eventually rolls away though, not wanting to suffer any damage to that precious chest. He brings himself up, but only in time to be places in a Front-Face-Lock by the Doggah.

 

In a Suplex attempt, Pete lifts Atlas off the mat... but can’t get him any higher as Sean locked his leg around LDP’s. Fighting and forcing his way out of the face-lock, Atlas sweeps around to the ground behind MacDougal and latches on to his feet, then pulls back, seeping his legs out from under him!

 

 

Riley: A sneaky move by Atlas that always turns the tide against his opponents. Funny how Pete, having known him longest, hasn’t figured that out yet.

 

 

The adulation for Pete turn into boos toward Atlas as he takes the right leg, bends it at the knee and SLAMS it into the canvas!

 

 

Stevens: Alright, now he’s just being blatant about it.

 

Riley: And what in the gosh-darn world is wrong with blatant?

 

Stevens: ...Nothing in your case.

 

 

Atlas once again takes the leg and lifts it... then SLAMS it back down a second time. Realizing he can’t let this go on, Pete starts to come to his feet, but Sean is holding his right foot, preventing it. Still, on his one leg, Longdogger manages to turn himself around and stand up, his other leg in Sean’s clutches...

 

But this time, Atlas does sneak his arm around Pete’s neck, and quickly snaps, lifts the Miami Menace off his foot and brings him into the air for a Leg Capture Suplex...!!! But Pete shifts his weight back, keeps his balance and prevents Atlas from hitting the move by throwing his arm around Sean’s neck and falling... blindly plummeting to the canvas, dragging the head of the masked man with him...

 

 

Hitting a DDT!!!

 

 

Stevens: What a reversal! Somehow, the Longdogger found the strength to get Atlas down!

 

Riley: Atlas must’ve lost his balance, that’s all. Just lost his balance...

 

 

Welcoming the cheers from a hot Philadelphia crowd, Pete slowly rises once more. He leans on the ropes as he gets his wind back, Wating on Sean, watching him from a side perspective as the masked man shakes off the impact of the DDT and comes back to his feet. But Pete finds himself a great opportunity and before Sean can stand upright, Pete springs off the ropes, dashes at the young lion and jumps, elevating his leg high in the air...

 

And drops it across the skull of Atlas!!!

 

 

Stevens: Scissor kick! A marvelous scissor kick from the ring veteran!

 

Riley: Sean’s losing his hold on this match...

 

Stevens: What hold? Listen to this crowd, sausage sucker. The One Man Wrecking Crew is on fire!

 

 

Momentum building, LDP seizes Sean off the mat and brings him to a standing position. Taking him by the arm, Pete whips him off to the ropes, standing in wait as Atlas bounces and makes his return trip. Still shaky from the multiple shots to the head, Atlas isn’t quick enough to stop Pete from lifting his body up into the air, holding him in a Military Press...

 

 

Stevens: This could be the MUSCLEHEAD SLAM!

 

Riley: Not if Sean can avoid it!

 

 

And Atlas does avoid it, wriggling his body free from its elevated position high above the ring, and he falls back to the mat... but his head lands on the top rope, smacking him in his cranium once more!!!

 

Sean recoils from the impact, stumbling around in the ring, unsure of his or Pete’s whereabouts. Meanwhile, despite his attempts at ending the match being debunked, the Longdogger knows exactly where he is and what he is about to do as he takes Atlas by the waist, lifts him slightly of his feet and brings him back down across the knee with a Manhattan Drop!

 

The attack on his tailbone stuns Sean even more, especially since Pete’s brace is large enough to have also impacted his... other... bone... and stuff. Now more vulnerable than ever, Atlas finds it hard to evade Pete as he grabs onto his head and lowers it, then hooks Sean’s arms from underneath.

 

 

Stevens: The LONGDOGGER CLOGGER! This is it, Riley, this is it!

 

 

But Sean’s back and abdominals are still quite intact, as well as his will to win this match. So, just as Pete tries to lift him up, Atlas resists for as long as he can, until Longdogger’s grip loosens... just then, Sean arches back, lifting Pete off his feet and high into the air... The Miami menace hangs behind Sean, upside down with his head pointing straight towards the canvas... and slowly headed right for it...!

 

 

!*SLAM*!

 

 

Riley: The Spinal Tap!!

 

Stevens: The what?

 

Riley: Spinal Tap! Sean pulled this off only once before, back in the SJL!

 

Stevens: A backdrop...?

 

Riley: If you take it on your head and neck, sure!

 

 

Wasting no time, Atlas turns around, orients himself and lifts Pete off the mat, then whips him to the side ropes... but holds on to the arm, snapping LDP right back to him. Pete knows this move all too well though, and in return tries to prevent the probable Belly-to-Belly Suplex that follows... But Atlas has different ideas and instead, goes to work on the legs lifting them up from under LDP, forces his shoulder in...

 

And SLAMS him down with a Spinebuster! Working incredibly fast, Atlas steps through Pete’s legs, then crosses them and flips the Miami Menace over onto his belly, securing the hold and drawing the legs back for the submission finisher that Pete once told him to learn...

 

 

Riley: THE SHARPSHOOTER!

 

Stevens: SEAN ATLAS HAS THE ONE MAN WRECKING CREW IN THE SHARPSHOOTER!

 

Riley: This is what all the leg work was for, Grand Slam! This is it! The young phenomenon is about to defeat an experienced veteran!

 

 

Grimacing in pain, shrieking in agony, Longdogger Pete fights to keep himself in it... Atlas wrenches his legs back, crossed around his own, striving to keep his feet planted and the ropes out of Pete’s reach... momentary jeering from the Toronto fans has become monumental support for the Miami Menace, optimism for a seasoned veteran with quite a crawl still ahead of him....

 

 

Stevens: Just how long can he hold on? How much does he have left in him, after so many years of experience? Has the time off rejuvenated him so much that he can make it across the ring? Or did it only keep him rusty and aging, deteriorating him as only time can?

 

 

The braces on Pete’s knees provide Atlas with a better grip as he shifts his hands, latching on even more tightly... Longdogger, meanwhile, claws at the canvas, dragging himself with every possible appendage, forcing the ropes to draw near... He lets out a loud shriek when his oppressor jerks his legs back, further causing pain to LDP’s lower back and legs...

 

 

Riley: What would it do for the former Hardcore champion to lose in such a way in his return match? To submit to the same man that he helped develop? He knew it coming in; he knew what kind of a force Sean Atlas can be. If he taps out now, there is no uphill for Peter MacDougal to climb. It’ll be nothing but a steep drop into wrestling obscurity...

 

 

Referee Eddy Long is now in his face, asking if Pete will give up, as if the anguish of his current situation isn’t enough incentive to tap... He ignores the man in the striped shirt and continues to force his way towards the ropes... He makes steady progress, inching his way closer every time... Resistance from Atlas deteriorates, and he is forced to back up to follow Pete and keep the hold on...

 

 

Stevens: But there’s hope yet! He’s over halfway there, weakening the clutches of Sean Atlas, resisting the temptation to give up, refusing to tap out, rejecting any notion that his career is at an end!

 

 

Indeed, MacDougal has made it closer to the wonderful rubber-covered-steel ropes that enclose this combat zone... The very ropes that Pete can so rarely use as a weapon are no within reach... They appear welcoming, like a hand that reaches out to you and grabs hold, saving you from a fall so mortal that you refuse to plummet... And as Pete reaches to that outstretched hand and clutches it like no other, he escapes the threat of such a perilous loss...

 

 

Riley: No...!

 

Stevens: YES! HE DID IT! THE DOGGAH GOT TO THE ROPES!

 

 

Accordingly, referee Long forces Sean Atlas to drop the hold. He does so, albeit reluctantly, standing in the center of the ring surrounded by thousands of joyful Canadians. He leans against his knees, silently thankful for them being in great shape as opposed to Pete’s and waits.

 

He waits as MacDougal drapes himself over each rope, elevating his body higher. He waits while Longdogger tries to build on whatever adrenaline rush he may have inside. He waits, despite the fact that waiting doe shim no end of good. He waits, whilst Pete plants one foot, then another, then stands up right his back turned to Sean Atlas...

 

He stops waiting.

 

 

Stevens: Behind you, Pete!

 

 

Atlas latches on.

 

 

Riley: THE KATAHAJIME! CAN HE LOCK IT IN?!

 

Stevens: He hasn’t done a thing to hurt Pete’s neck!

 

 

And that proves to be his downfall as Pete fights out of it, preventing him from fully locking it in. He turns around and begins a barrage of hard right overhand punches to Atlas’ masked mug, electrifying the crowd once more and he forces Atlas pack with every punch! WHAM, WHAM, WHAM, against the head of the opponent, shifting him across the ring all the way to the other ropes!

 

He shoves Sean into them and whips him across, sending the malevolent Atlas across the ring. Atlas hits the ropes again and springs off, charging back towards the hobbling One-Man-Wrecking-Crew, desperately hoping to level him to the ground...

 

But he meets nothing but the rubber sole of Longdogger’s boot as it collides with his artificial leather face, POUNDING HIM INTO THE CANVAS!

 

 

Stevens: BIG BOOT! A BIT BOOT TO THE FACE OF ATLAS!

 

Riley: HOW in the HELL did he do that?? His legs should have been jelly by now!!

 

Stevens: Apparently there’s far more inside that man’s spirit than you imagine, Bobby. He’s adamant enough to do whatever it takes and win this match!

 

 

Keeping the fans on their feet and the noise level as a sustained high, Pete walks up to Atlas and rolls him onto his front, then lifts him up. Holding him by the arms, LDP raises Sean to his feet, keeping him doubled over the entire time. MacDougal can feel the weak but tense body tremble in his hands, utterly shocked by the swift kick to the face. He almost feels a bit of pity for the man he helped create...

 

 

Riley: It this what I think it is?

 

Stevens: It sure is! THE LONGDOGGER CLOGGER!

 

 

Pete holds Atlas in position, relieved to finally see the light at the end of the tunnel and the win within reach. His knees, so heavily punished for the first time in a long time almost buckle underneath him while he prepares to drive Atlas head into the mat. But in a sudden moment, the feeling of pity he just felt becomes a throbbing feeling of pain as Atlas removes an arm from Pete’s grip and swings it around, driving it directly between the legs of the Longdoggah!

 

 

Stevens: What the...

 

 

He continues the motion though, hooking a leg with that arm and recovering his other arm to pull on Pete’s neck and bring him down, also hooking LDP’s leg with his. He flips the bigger man over and spins around, rolling him up for a cover!

 

 

Riley: INSIDE CRADLE! INSIDE CRADLE!

 

Stevens: But what about the...

 

 

Eddy Long makes the count...

 

 

Riley: This is just like...

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...T...H...R...E...E............?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

 

Stevens: HE KICKED OUT! THE SON OF A MACDOUGAL KICKED OUT!

 

Riley: DAMMIT!

 

Stevens: No low blow, no inside cradle. Not this time, Seano!

 

 

Atlas curses himself for trying the same finish as he used two month ago, but now realizes what it’ll take to put this man down. He couldn’t do it to Frost, but to Peter Macdougal, he just might be able to.

 

 

Standing up to his feet, Sean pulls on LDP’s arm, lifting him in a rolling motion to his feet, then right off them. He lowers his shoulder as he brings LDP higher, trying to set this up so quickly, before the shock of the kickout dies down. Not even bothering to take the time to pose for the crowd, exhibiting his dominance over the Miami Menace, Atlas continues with the original motion, falling to the side, not even jumping as he brings Pete’s head further and further down, finishing him off with...

 

 

Riley: THE SAINT’S DEMISE...............

 

 

!*BOOOOOMMMMM*!

 

 

Riley: !!!!!!!

 

Stevens: No!

 

Riley: He covers!

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TTTTHHHHHHHRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

DING-DING-DING!

 

 

Stevens: Damn it all to hell!!!

 

 

“The winner of this bout... SEAN ATLAS!”

 

 

Stevens: For the second time, Sean Atlas topples the tower of Longdogger Pete.

 

Riley: And just as he did to Wild and Dangerous, Atlas has shown dominance over yet another former tag team, Frost and LDP!

 

 

“Heaven’s a Lie” blasts up in the arena once again as Atlas rolls out of the ring, leaving behind an exhausted Peter MacDougal inside the ring.

 

 

Riley: A win is a win, and no matter how many times Atlas does it, it continues to mean more and more for the young buck. You hear that music? That’s the battle hymn of winner.

 

Stevens: I just can’t believe it... It was RIGHT THERE!

 

Stevens: This is the man that could possibly be the ICTV Champion very soon...the I-C-T-V CHAMPION! Representing the... continents and... televisions! And you’re OK with that?!

 

Riley: Once he actually gets a shot, I’ll be perfectly fine with it...

 

Cut to commercials.

[Guest Grand Slam]

"This is SWF Lockdown, ladies and gentlemen!"

 

The voice of Mark Stevens rings out above the cheering of the crowd as the SWF's latest show comes back on the air, and as per usual the cameras pan around the arena. Everyone is cheering and waving signs, many of them generic ones such as "I'm With Stupid" and "Hi Mom". It takes the camera a few moments of scanning to find wrestling related signs, such as the one depicting the Unholy Trinity with "Your Gods" scrawled on it. Fans on the opposite side of the arena mirror it with a Magnificent Seven sign, and as we spin around and down to ringside, the final sign of the evening...

 

...is a well-drawn piece of art with Janus and Crow, complete with the gothic warrior screaming "Burn in hell!" at the Hell Machine. And then we're greeted by the faces of 'Grand Slam' Mark Stevens and 'Ambigiously Gay' Bobby Riley.

 

"Welcome back, folks, and we're set up for yet another match of the night candidate!" Stevens shills.

 

"Janus, who completely obliterated Michael Craven on Smarkdown, now gets a match with the recent bumpee Crow, and boy have they been stirring up the shit, Stevens!" Riley giggles.

 

"Janus and Crow have a lot of bad blood, stemming back to the Junior Leagues, Riley. And Janus attacked Crow barely a week ago and told the bird to stay out of his business!"

 

Before the ambigiously gay co-announcer can respond to Stevens' comment, the arena falls into darkness, and unable to see anything, people's attention is drawn to the Smarktron. Dimmu Borgir's "Burn In Hell" begins to play over the speakers. The music continues to play.....and play...and...

 

*BOOM!*

 

A row of intense flames rips across the stage as the song drops into much heavier riffage that sends the crowd wild! The crowd continues to cheer as a spotlight turns on and directly focuses on the stage... revealing Crow, standing on the ramp amidst the flames, his arms spread in a crucifix pose. The song continues as the tempo slows down and a bell tolls in the song....

 

"There's just five words to say...

As you go down... *BONG*

Down... *BONG*

Down... *BONG*"

 

The song seems to pause as Funyon rises to his feet, shouting into his microphone to make himself heard.

 

"Walking down the aisle, hailing from Anchorage Alaska! Standing at SIX feet TWO inches and weighing TWO hundred and THIRTY one pounds, he is accompanied by Dante Crane! He is none other than the Antichrist Superstar... CCCCRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!"

 

"YOU'RE GONNA BURN IN HELL!

OH, BURN IN HEEEEEEEELL!"

 

Crow climbs up the steps and into the ring, still smoking his cigarette. Dante walks around the outside of the ring and - rather than take a proffered chair at the announce table again - simply stands in Crow's corner. Stretching in the ring, the Antichrist Superstar takes a drag of his cigarette and exhales.

 

"His choice of music is highly ironic, Riley, as his opponent..." Stevens muses.

 

"Pfft. Irony, shmirony. We all know Crow's going to be Janus' bitch in this match. Maybe then he'll be my..."

 

"Don't even GO there, Riley."

 

"What?" Riley's face is a mask of innocence.

 

Crow leans on the top rope to exchange a few words with Dante about something, and it's at this point the rising lights are turned off. This plunges the arena back into darkness...and the familiar face of a young man with white hair appears on the Smarktron. The opening strains of Fear Factory's "Resurrection" ooze forth from the speakers, and blue pyrotechnics fountain up from the sides of the ramp. As a spotlight swings towards the curtain, we hear the voice of Burton C. Bell, singing...

 

"Consumed with memoriiies...

That preceeded todaaaaaay...

Given a chance to bereave...

Life that's slipping A-WAAAAAAAAAY!"

 

The booing of the crowd is almost monumental as the Hell Machine steps out from behind the curtain, his red eyes locked on the ring. The Smarktron plays some of his most brutal clips as he stalks down towards the ring, and Funyon once more rises to his feet.

 

"His opponent, hailing from Sydney Australia! Standing at SEVEN feet, TWO inches, and weighing THREE hundred and FIFTY pounds...the Hell Machine....JAAAAAAAAAAAANUSSSSSSSSS!"

 

Unnoticed in the darkness, Crow stubs out his cigarette and simply watches the approaching behemoth, as Janus climbs up onto the apron and over the top rope. He thrusts his arms into the air, the thunderous *BOOM* of blue fire erupting from the turnbuckles causing some of the crowd to shriek. "Resurrection" fades out as the lights come up, and Janus stretches his arms, red eyes looking between Crow and Dante. Feeling the tension in the air, referee Sexton Hardcastle looks between the two superstars...and motions for the bell to be rung!

 

*DING DING DING*

 

"And this match is ready to go! These men have been waiting for this moment!" Stevens calls.

 

"Come on Janus! Squash the birdie!" Riley giggles.

 

Rather than rush straight into trying to murder each other, the Hell Machine and the Antichrist Superstar circle each other slowly. Janus has a smile on his lips, baring his teeth in a grin that's less than pleasant. Crow is unimpressed by this, and shows the giant as such with a flippant smile and a middle finger. Janus takes exception and lunges forward with a lariat...but Crow drops down and takes him to the mat with a drop-toe hold! Seeking an instant advantage, the Antichrist Superstar grabs one of the giant's legs to apply the figure four...

 

...but Janus kicks him square in the ass mid-move and knocks him away! Slowly rising back to his feet, the Hell Machine is met with a stiff knife-edged chop from Crow!

 

*SMACK* "WHOOOOOOOOO!"

 

*SMACK* "WHOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

"Janus is just not noticing those chops, Riley!"

 

"Pfft, like Crow could even hurt Janus anyway!"

 

After the second chop, Crow pauses. Janus looks down at his scarred chest, then, still smiling almost manically at his foe, the giant pats his chest and spreads his arms as if offering the Antichristian Phenomenon another shot at him. Crow shrugs his shoulders and stretches his arms in preparation...and promptly pirouettes on one foot and slams a BRUTAL roundhouse kick square into the Hell Machine's abdomen! Stunned by the stiff impact of the Das Wunder Kick, Janus is unable to respond as the Antichrist Superstar grabs the monster's head and snaps it down into the canvas with a DDT! He rolls the giant over and hooks a leg!

 

ONE!

...

....

.....

TWO...KICKOUT!!

 

The Hell Machine literally benchpresses Crow off his body and sits up, a less than pleased expression on his face. Rolling across the ring and coming back to his feet, the Antichrist Superstar smiles coolly at the giant. As Janus rises up to his full height again, Crow hits the ropes and comes back, throwing his legs into the air for an impressive looking running dropkick. Unfortunately for the Antichristian Phenomenon, Janus steps back and swings one of his arms out to slap Crow's legs away in mid-flight! The sudden lack of momentum causes the gothic avian to fall to the mat face first, eliciting an 'oooo' from the crowd.

 

"Ooooo! After kicking out of that pinfall attempt, Janus blocks a dropkick attempt by Crow and sends him falling to the canvas!" Stevens hollers.

 

"And he follows it up BEAUTIFULLY!" Riley gushes.

 

As the Antichrist Superstar shakes his head and gets up on his hands and knees after being slapped out of the air, he looks around for Janus. Looking down at the mat, he sees an immense shadow overlapping his for a split second before being CRUSHED back to the canvas with a nasty looking standing leg drop by the Hell Machine! Rather than cover, Janus simply rolls away and climbs to his feet as Crow arches his back in pain. The giant promptly follows up by stomping his size 13 boot into the Antichrist Superstar's kidneys, as if trying to stomp the very life out of him!

 

Finally, the Hell Machine drags his opponent up and almost leisurely whips him towards the ropes, lifting his leg for a big boot. Unfortunately for Janus, he misjudged his opponent's resiliency, as Crow skids to a halt and wraps his arms around the lifted leg and stares up into the Hell Machine's eyes. Janus simply scowls, and the Antichrist Superstar smiles.

 

"Victim."

 

And then, using all the strength he possesses... Crow drops and pulls hard! The move executes perfectly, and Crow takes Janus down to the mat, slamming him onto his back with a dragon screw leg whip! Holding the monster's leg, the Antichristian Phenomenon rises to his feet once more and steps over Janus' legs, locking them around his own and slowly turning the surprised giant over.....INTO A SHARPSHOOTER!

 

"What a counter by Crow! He stops before Janus' big boot, takes him down, and locks on a SMOOTH sharpshooter!" calls Stevens.

 

"Pffft! Like he could hold someone of Janus' size in that move for long, Stevens! Crow's pussy-weak!" is Riley's response.

 

While not entirely correct, Riley does have a point. Crow strains as he heaves back on the giant's legs, and the Hell Machine is literally brought back to life with the pain! Ignoring the pain shooting through his legs, Janus pushes himself up with his arms and flexes his aching leg muscles, trying to just pull his legs free of the Antichrist Superstar's grasp. With a grunt, Crow feels his grip loosening...

 

...and steps out of the sharpshooter, releasing Janus from the hold! Before the seven-footer can make use of his newfound freedom, Crow grabs the giant's left leg and bodily lifts it off the canvas. A pause, and then he's promptly slamming it down to hear an indistinct growl of pain from the Hell Machine! Pleased by this result, Crow slams the monster's knee into the canvas again! As he bends down to lift Janus' leg again, the monster lifts his right leg and slams a powerful boot into the Antichrist Superstar's abdomen! Left reeling, Crow stumbles and attempts to get air in his lungs as Janus uses the ropes to help himself up.

 

"And it seems the Antichrist Superstar has found a hole in Janus' impressive physique!"

 

"Pfft! He'll just exploit it much like any other guy with that chance would!"

 

Stevens isn't quite sure how to take that, and the attention goes back to the ring as Crow opts to charge the giant! However, despite his unsteady vertical base, Janus is able to execute a perfect counter, lifting his foe up and taking him down with a whirl sideslam! The crowd pops as Crow actually no-sells the move and bounces back up, hitting the ropes and charging the giant again!

 

This time however, the Hell Machine scoops him up into the air and swings him over for a powerslam...but drops and turns it into a backbreaker, bending the Antichristian Phenomenon's spine across his knee with brutal force! Crow writhes in pain as he hits the canvas, and Janus drops down laterally to pin him.

 

ONE!

...

....

.....

TWO!

...KICKOUT!

 

Crow thrusts an arm in the air, and the Hell Machine growls under his breath. The resiliency of his opponent is starting to annoy him, and wasting no time, he grabs some blackened locks and pulls Crow to his feet. A big right hand, a left and another right sends the Gothic Warrior stumbling back into the ropes. Stalking over and clutching an arm, Janus Irish whips his opponent into the opposite ropes. Crow comes off as the Machine from Hell preps himself fro a clothesline… but there's no connection whatsoever as the arm is ducked and the bird continues running. Off the ropes again, but this time Crow has been caught in the huge grasp of a Machine-like hand! Struggling, the Antichrist Superstar claws at Janus' arms with his long nails - causing some blood to drip from flesh cuts. Though, this only makes the monster angrier and thinking quickly to avoid his doom, Crow rears back his leg...

 

... and drives it forward into Janus' crotch!

 

"No, not those! Anything but those!" Bobby Riley pleads.

 

The connection results in Janus relinquishing his grip and sends him falling onto his knees, grabbing at his bruised testicles.

 

Stevens ignores Bobby's cries and reports. "Crow just dug into his hardcore tactics, pulling out an illegal move, and the referee is sure letting him know that."

 

As Grand Slam reported, the referee is admonishing Crow, but he's just too consumed with the task at hand to notice. Cocking his leg back and then throwing it forward, Crow hits Janus in the side of the head with a big roundhouse kick! The Hell Machine body slumps backwards… but he's still upright… that is, until another roundhouse kick sends him crashing backward into the mat! Sensing the opportunity, Crow quickly rushes to Janus' side and jumps into the air. Extending his right leg, the Antichristian Phenomenon drops it across Janus' throat, and almost instantly following it up, he rolls backwards and jumps up onto the second rope. Bunching his legs and pressing off the ropes, Crow corkscrews and somersaults two hundred and seventy degrees...

 

... landing the perfect springboard somersault senton on Janus' chest! The crowd cheers wildly for Crow's explosion of offense and continue to rally him on as he cringes a little and grasps at his back. Janus lies winded on the canvas, his blood boils... this is an embarrassment for him, currently losing in the fight against a smaller and weaker opponent. The Gothic Warrior picks Janus up and latches onto an arm, sending his opponent into the corner... but no! Janus reverses the whips and sends Crow FLYING back first into the turnbuckles! With a roar, the Hell Machine charges towards his prone enemy, looking to crush his body into the turnbuckle. Yet, this is not to be, because as Janus charges, Crow gains back his wind and uses the ropes for support as he launches his legs into the air! The Australian Monster is taken back a couple a steps before Crow reels him back in and applies a front face lock. The Antichrist Superstar sits himself on the top rope and twirls the finger, signaling for the Murderous DDT to the approval of the SWF crowd! Crow leaps and spins in the air...

 

...

 

NOOOOOOOOO! Janus wraps his huge arms around Crow's chest and squeezes with all his might, throwing a stone and hitting a bird, causing a descent from flight. He's holding Crow in the air... but only for a split second, because before you can say 'Holy Fuck Janus Wants Crow', the Hell Machine THROWS the Gothic Avian to the mat with a massive, earth-shattering spinebuster!

 

"WOW! What a spinebuster! Crow has been broken in half right in front of our eyes!" Grand Slam marvels.

 

"Yes! Go Janus! That's the end of this match right here, Marky Mark, Crow doesn't hold a candle to the HELL MACHINE~!" Bobbie says, trying to sound tough when saying the latter.

 

Scowling, Janus drops down and hooks the lateral press.

 

ONE!

...

....

.....

TWO!

...

....

.....NOOOOOOO! KICK OUT!

 

Janus scowls and jumps straight up, making sure to give Crow a couple love taps with his boot. The Gothic Warrior cringes as his back is aching from the harsh treatment, but he sucks it up as he's dragged to his feet. The Hell Machine roughs Crow up a little and pushes his back a step before unloading a furious right hand. The blow sends Crow back a step, but Janus is merciless and latches an arm for an Irish Whip. The Antichrist Superstar is sent into the ropes and comes off at a tremendous speed, yet only to be knocked down to the canvas by a thrusting shoulder tackle. Not allowing his opponent any rest, Janus hastily jumps forward and standing over Crow, he throws his arms down and grasps the prone competitor by the throat and hoists him into the air!

 

Stevens applauds. "Tremendous showing of strength from the Hell Machine here, but what's he going to do from he-"

 

Just before Grand Slam can finish his sentence, the Hell Machine turns one rotation and omits a bellowing roar as he literally throws Crow over the top rope!

 

"THAT'S WHAT HE WAS GOING TO DO, MARK! He was going to kill Crow and I swear on my pink full body latex suit, that he succeeded!" Bobby Riley squeals excitedly.

 

Replays showcase the fall from multiple angles, and each show cases the Antichristian Phenomenon's rough and awkward landing on the thinly protected floor on the outside.

 

"Good god, that was a very nasty landing and look at Janus in the ring, he's smiling... that's disgusting."

 

"Disgusting!?" Riley questions, "He has a right to smile, he hates this guy. I know I'd smile if I hurt you like that."

 

"... but you'd like that for a completely different reason."

 

Janus continues smiling as he exits the ring as calmly strides after Crow, who is crawling up the ramp towards the staging. The Hell Machine laughs at Crow's cowardly action and grabs some blackened locks in order to pull his opponent. And he does so in a horrendous manner, ripping a clump of the Antichrist Superstar's hair out of the scalp! Crow cries out and in reflex action breaks the grip and...

 

...nails a double downward claw thrust on Janus' face! The Monster screams out and pushes Crow away, then quickly rushes to cover his face with his hands to stop the bleeding!

 

...Who would have thought, a reflex action, could be so fatal?

 

BECAUSE CROW REARS HIS LEG BACK AND FIRES IT FORWARD, CRACKING JANUS' KNEE WITH A DAS WUNDER KICK!!! The connection causes it to buckle and down to one knee the Hell Machine goes, and following up, Crow rears back his leg once again and throws it forward! This time though, it connects with Janus' side and a growl of pain is emitted from the huge force. And like a perfectly choreographed dancer, Crow swings his leg one last time and THROWS it forward, connecting with the SICKEST, the STIFFEST and most PAINFUL WUNDER KICK SEEN TO DATE!

 

"OH MY GOD! DAS WUNDER KICK! What force and power behind it! Crow has just shown us the full brutality of his devastating attack, a huge reminder of Nathaniel Kibagami's if you asked me." Grand Slam conveys with a manner of excitement in his voice.

 

Bobby Riley spits, "Pfffft! Crow's kicks are skull cracking, not pussy like Kibag-"

 

Mark Stevens cuts poor Bobby off, "The ref has just started the ten count! After begging the wrestlers to get back in the ring, he's had enough! This doesn't bode well for Janus, as he's seemingly unconscious on the ramp!"

 

Crow realizes this and begins to walk casually to the ring, Janus, however, is only slightly stirring on the floor.

 

(ONE!)

 

Crow is halfway to the ring.

 

(TWO!)

 

Janus rolls onto his stomach, groaning in pain.

 

(THREE!)

 

The Antichrist Superstar strides up the stairs, feeling mildly assured of his victory.

 

(FOUR!)

 

Janus bench-presses himself up, grimacing with a snarl on his face.

 

(FIVE!)

 

Crow re-enters the ring and turns around as the giant finds his feet once more!

 

(SIX!)

 

Now on his feet, the seven foot monster cringes as his bad leg nearly crumples, but he braves the pain!

 

(SEVEN!)

 

The Hell Machine is limping down the ramp, cringing at the pain in his leg!

 

(EIGHT!)

 

Is he gonna make it!?

 

(NINE!)

 

Janus jumps up onto the apron!

 

...

 

And slides in!

 

(TEENNOOOOOOO!)

 

In the ring, Crow clutches his abdomen and charges at the rising Hell Machine, as he rises after sliding into the ring. Perching on the giant's knee, the Gothic Avian swings his leg around for a shining wizard-esque move, replacing the knee with his DAS WUNDER KICK...but a thick arm blocks it! Snarling, Janus looks up into Crow's eyes...and slams his head into the bird's nose! Crow lets out a cry of pain and staggers back, clutching his nose.

 

"Nasty looking headbutt by the Hell Machine! He doesn't care WHAT damage he does to Crow!"

 

"Good for him, Stevens! He's going to KILL one bird with a very big and muscular stone!"

 

Reeling back from the blow, the Antichrist Superstar takes his hands away from his nose and looks at the blood covering his hands. He grimaces in pain and forces himself to sneeze - a splatter of blood staining the canvas as he clears his nose. Hitting the ropes, he prepares for a rebound attack...but the Hell Machine has his number and CHARGES INTO HIM WITH A GORE! The sheer impact sends both superstars through the ropes and crashing to the floor outside the ring!

 

"GORE! GORE! GORRRRRE BY JANUS!" Riley squeals.

 

"By god! I think these two have forgotten it's a wrestling match and are just trying to murder each other!"

 

Both Janus and Crow sprawl on the ground, the Antichrist Superstar clutching his ribs where Janus GORED him straight through the ropes. Shaking his head, slowly rising thanks to his bad leg, Janus once more finds his feet. Dante Crane watches the giant, but seeing the referee's gaze on them, he doesn't attack. Ignoring the beginning of the ten count, the Hell Machine picks Crow up and hoists him up onto his shoulders. With a gleam in his eyes, the monster approaches the announce table.

 

(ONE!)

 

"Uh oh, Janus is coming this way, Riley..."

 

(TWO!)

 

"I'd offer him a seat but he seems....uh....occupied....Stevens...."

 

(THREE!)

 

Planting his good leg on the announce table, the giant uses it like a step and climbs onto the no-so-sturdy structure. Looking out across the crowd, he pays no attention to the fleeing announcers as they move over towards Funyon. Seeing the Hell Machine standing on the announce table, referee Sexton Hardcastle slides out of the ring and signals for the giant to get down.

 

"Looks like Janus has plans for Crow...but here comes Hardcastle to stop him, thank god!"

 

"Uh...Stevens? Hardcastle couldn't stop a cold."

 

Ignoring the referee, Janus turns one full revolution. He grimaces and drops to one knee as his bad leg crumples, but he ignores the pain and pushes himself back up to his full height. He takes a deep breath and lets out a single, loud "HAH!" of laughter before leaning sideways, beginning to fall over for the death valley driver that would murder Crow...

 

...but mid-fall, the Antichrist Superstar tries to swing his legs off the giant's shoulders and reverse it...

 

...AND INSTEAD BOTH OF THEM TAKE A SICK BUMP AS THE TABLE COLLAPSES UNDER THE TWISTED IMPACT OF BODIES!

 

"Holy HELL! Janus and Crow just both...both....went THROUGH the table! I don't think anyone got the better of that!" Stevens hollers.

 

"I agree for once! I don't know WHAT happened! I think Crow landed on his back...and Janus might've hurt his neck when Crow twisted around in that fall..."

 

The bodies of both the Hell Machine and the Antichristian Phenomenon stir and twitch weakly, but otherwise do not move. Amid the wreckage, Crow's eyes are rolled back in his head, and Janus looks like he landed right on his head, considering the glazed look in his eyes. After checking both superstars, Hardcastle yells something at the timekeeper, who rings the bell. Funyon rises from his seat.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen...the match has been ruled a NO CONTEST by the referee! EMTs are on their way to check on the superstars for any possible injuries!"

 

The fans boo at the lack of a good match, but much of the arena is silent as EMTs come down to ringside. With the help of Dante they lift Crow onto a stretcher, and attempt to lift Janus onto the second one. For a moment, the Hell Machine comes to life as if he's going to WALK AWAY...but he collapses over the stretcher.

 

"By god...both these men have been incredibly punished, Riley..."

 

"I'll say, Stevens..."

 

The last thing we see before SWF Lockdown goes to commercial is Janus and Crow, sprawled on stretchers as they're wheeled backstage.

[Guest Grand Slam]

The camera fades in from break, obviously peering out of a luxury box window for a panning shot of the screaming First Union Center crowd. The camera slowly comes around and into the box to find Frost sitting in a leather chair in the middle of the room. The fans watching on the SmarkTron out in the arena pop for the sight of the Velvet Hammer. He is dressed in a white dress shirt opened at the throat and tan slacks. A glass a bourbon is in his right hand, a smoldering cigar in the left. He looks slightly amused at Ben Hardy sitting in a chair facing him. Hardy is stuffing his face full of crab puffs from a nearby table ladened with fancy finger foods. Ben sees the camera on him and drops the puffs in his hands and gulps what is in his mouth.

 

"Welcome back to Lockdown," Hardy tries to cover with a mush mouth of food. "I'm here in the SWF's own personal luxury suite watching the festivities with the Iceman from Iceland, Frost!"

 

Frost nods at the slight intro and takes a drag on his cigar. Hardy looks for a napkin, but winds up wiping his hands on his pants.

 

"Frost," Hardy continues, "has the night off after his hard fought victory over Renegade on Storm. However, from the footage we saw earlier tonight of what happened after Storm, I would say that Frost has only one man on his mind tonight, The Superior One Tom Flesher." The fans boo at the name drop.

 

Frost exhales a thick cloud of smoke before speaking. "The loathing between I and Flesher has been brewing for too long and I think it's high time that we put it to rest. It was never about the title for me, it was never about revenge, or proving I was better than him. It was about wiping the cancer that is Flesher and the Magnificent 7 off of the SWF landscape forever, about letting everyone see Flesher and his cronies for who they truly are."

 

"Harsh words from an ex-Mag 7 member," Riley admits.

 

"Who better to preach on sin than someone who has lived it," Frost calmly states. "The Mag 7 I originally joined, TBS, TNT, Danny Williams, have all broken away from Flesher. We have all seen him for who he is and have never recieved an even break from him since. I've never had Tom Flesher in that ring, one on one, no interference. I want it to be him and me straight up with lots of pain and pummelling. Then we'll see how superior he really is."

 

"I don't think a former World Champion has to prove his superiority," Hardy says, and then blanches at realizing what he just spoke.

 

Frost leans forward in his chair closer to Hardy. "Flesher's superiority is one of smoke and mirrors. He surrounds himself with an army, he stacks the deck in his favor at all times. He is an image more than a man. He lives off of fear, instills fear in others through his name and his lackeys bashing you in the brain from behind. I want Flesher to see me coming. That's why I went to him after Storm. I'm bringing him the fear he's been dealing in since taking over the Magnificent 7."

 

Frost looks directly into the camera and points a finger. "I'm going to leave you twisting in the wind, until Ground Zero, Flesher. Little reminders of me sneaking up on you will appear from week to week, you can bet on that. However, it won't be until the pay-per-view that you're slim grasp on your empire will finally be wrenched loose at my hand. Know that Flesher and think about it every waking second."

 

The camera zooms in on Frost's tense expression, the fans yelling in the distance. The shot tightens in on his cold, steel blue eyes and goes to black.

[Guest Grand Slam]

The First Union Center is livelier than most of the arenas the SWF visits. It certainly has something to do with Philadelphia fans in general – they’ve more than earned any reputation they have. But tonight, they’re celebrating a hometown hero, Mak Francis, who’s come back home with a title belt around his waist, and the sold-out crowd has never been prouder. Every row is peppered with signs, t-shirts, foam fingers – all manner of Franchiseable merchandise has been sold tonight. For once, no hyperbole is necessary. The crowd’s roar as the SmarksTron displays a graphic for Mak’s title defense –a ladder match against Stryke— is truly deafening.

 

“Welcome back to SWF Lockdown, ladies and gentlemen!” Mark Stevens has to yell into his headphones to be heard over the row of chanting fans behind him. “We’re coming to you live tonight from Philadelphia, and the fans here are absolutely rabid for Mak Francis tonight! I’m beginning to think we made a mistake in booking Thoth and Strangler as the main event, Riley!”

 

”For once, I have to agree with you, Mark. As much as I disprove of Thoth still holding the World title, I can’t imagine why anybody would be attracted to the prospect of the Boston Strangler taking it from him. I mean, we’ve got to have limits, here. How many title shots is that ‘roidhead going to get, anyway?”

 

Riley’s been a little bitter since his heartthrob lost the title, but Stevens decides to let his partner’s pouting slide for once. “Next up tonight, we have two men who are looking to move towards that main event scene! Nathaniel Kibagami has been floundering lately, but with a tremendously decisive victory over Xero –“

 

“It was Xero. Who cares?”

 

” –he’s earned a shot at TNT, a former World champion who has also lost his touch as of late! The Explosive One has recently teamed up with the Boston Strangler, but how much has that affected him? I can’t pick a winner in this match, Riley. I think it could go either way.”

 

 

“WATCH ME EXPLOOOOOOOOODE!”

 

 

”TNT” hits the speakers, and the man himself comes striding through the curtains at the top of the ramp. The crowd gives him a polite reception (he’s not from Philly, after all) as he makes his way down to ringside.

 

”Ladies and gentlemen, this matchup is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, weighing in at two hundred and sixty-six pounds and hailing from Anaheim, California…T…N…TEEEEEE!”

 

Taylor climbs through the ropes and raises one fist high as he walks to the turnbuckle, eliciting a small pop from the crowd. A close-up of the man’s face reveals a determined expression; Thompson bites his lip absently, as if he were trying to remember something that’s barely escaping recollection.

 

“Thompson’s 1 and 0 against the former Clannite – something that’s probably on the minds of both competitors. Sil…Kibagami is always volatile when dealing with someone who’s beaten him before,” Mark gushes, trying desperately to cover his slip-up, “And after his…his win on Storm, I think TNT would do well to approach this match with a certain amount of caution.”

 

“I don’t think Silent will be much of a threat,” sneers Riley. “Beating Xero isn’t all that special. Hell, I think even you could do it, with a couple months’ training. But TNT is a former World champion. He beat El Luchadore Magnifico for the belt, Mark. He’s not a pushover, even if he is a little stupid.”

 

”I want to feel the changes coming down,

I want to know what I’ve been hiding…”

 

 

BOOM!

 

 

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.

 

“Introducing second…weighing in at two hundred and sixty-eight pounds and hailing from Phoenix, Arizona…NATHANIEL KIBAGAAAAAAAMI!”

 

Nathaniel makes his way to ringside, nodding to a fan here and there as he passes by, seeming not to notice as the applause dies down somewhat, and slides into the ring. He rolls to his feet and agilely springs onto the nearby second turnbuckle, where he assumes the familiar crucifix pose…and the camera captures some disturbing changes in the man’s appearance. Kibagami’s hair is back to its original jet-black. There’s a few days’ worth of stubble on his face – he doesn’t seem to have shaved in days. But perhaps most conspicuous is the black trenchcoat he removes as he turns to face his opponent. Both men approach the center of the ring as Nick Soapdish reviews the rules of the match. Kibagami tosses his coat over the top rope to a somewhat stunned Funyon, who hurries over to the timekeeper’s table with the ominous-looking coat.

 

Mark Stevens sits at the announcer’s table, looking a little pale. “Kibagami looks…he looks like hell, Riley. You don’t think Thoth is really starting to get to him, do you…?”

 

Riley snorts derisively (is there any other way to snort?) “Come on, Stevens. I’m sure everything is perfectly okay. Nathan’s neck is damn neat broken no matter what color his hair is. It’ll be a short enough match. Don’t get so worked up over little things.”

 

DING DING DING!!

 

“We’ll see about that, Riley.”

 

TNT lunges towards Kibagami as soon as Soapdish is out of their way, looking to overpower his opponent in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, but –

 

 

BAM!

 

 

Nathan connects with an elbow flush into the Explosive One’s nose! Taylor stumbles back, blood suddenly gushing from his nose, and the ex-Clannite follows up with a hard right hook to the jaw, sending Thompson’s head snapping to the right! Kibagami is expressionless as he presses his advantage – he can’t afford to be anything less than unrelenting; TNT likes to work his opponent’s neck – with a sharp kick to the ribs that doubles the former World champion over!

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

Kibagami’s kick reverberates around the arena, and a few of the Philadelphia fans take up a mocking “WHOOOO!” chant out of appreciation for the brutality being shown in the early stages of this match. Nathaniel tilts TNT’s chin up and begins to deliver vicious knife-edge chops to the man’s chest, and the chanting begins in earnest!

 

SLAP!

 

”WHOOOOOO!”

 

SLAP!

 

”WHOOOOOO!”

 

SLAP!

 

”WHOOOOOO!”

 

SLAP!

 

BAM!!

 

The ex-Clannite recoils from a tremendous elbow shot, and TNT follows it up with another!

 

 

BAM!!

 

 

And another!!

 

 

BAM!!

 

 

The third elbow sends Nathaniel crashing to the mat, half-conscious, giving Thompson a moment to gather his thoughts and regroup. The Explosive One obviously wasn’t prepared for such a cold, calculated assault, despite Kibagami’s rather obvious frame of mind, but he shakes his head to clear the cobwebs and tries to reassess the situation.

 

“I haven’t seen this kind of fire from Nathan since the pay-per-view! TNT’s time with Danny Williams serves him well here and buys him some time, but he’s got to stay on Kibagami until he can figure out how to deal with his opponent’s new approach.”

 

Taylor drives his boot into Kibagami’s ribs, and Nathaniel jerks involuntarily – but he doesn’t cry out. The Explosive One continues to assault Nathan’s exposed chest and ribs, and it does keep him down, but with every dull thud of Thompson’s boot against Kibagami’s chest, Kibagami inches a little closer to the safety of the ropes.

 

“I think you’re overestimating Silent, quite frankly.”

 

”His name is Nathan, Riley.”

 

“Right, Mark. Look at him.”

 

TNT sees Kibagami reach out for the ropes and grabs a handful of his hair to prevent him from achieving his goal – the last thing he wants to give Nathan is time to formulate a plan of attack. He yanks the ex-Clannite to his feet and whips him towards the ropes opposite them.

 

“Silent’s trying to recapture the magic, but he’s just not good enough anymore. He’s lost that killer instinct, Mark. He needs to stick to his little gymnastic exhibitions to have a chance against TNT. The guy’s not bright, sure, but he’s strong. One good shot on the Silent One’s neck –“

 

”Kibagami’s neck.”

 

”Sure, whatever, one good shot to the neck, we’re done. It’s very simple. I think even TNT can handle that, don’t you?”

 

Kibagami grabs the ropes and uses them to slingshot himself back towards Thompson, his face the epitome of calm and collected as he whips his arm out, looking to catch TNT with a lariat. The Explosive One ducks the clothesline with just inches to spare, but Kibagami continues on to the ropes instead of turning to take advantage – perhaps his momentum keeps him from stopping in time. Whatever the reason, Nathan propels himself off the ropes a second time and tries to connect with a Yakuza kick, but the former World champion steps to the side and dodges as Kibagami tries to drive his boot into TNT’s face. The ex-Clannite’s eyes widen ever so slightly as he realizes his miscalculation, and he tries desperately to turn around in time to compensate, but no dice!

 

 

CRACK!!

 

 

Two hundred and sixty-six pounds of Burning Lariat connect with the side of Nathaniel Kibagami’s neck, driving him hard into the mat! A thin line of blood appears on the canvas as one of Nathan’s teeth goes clean through his lip at the impact, and the camera is at just the right angle to capture it on the SmarksTron! The Philly fans go ballistic at the sight of blood, and TNT wipes some of his own blood from his face before rolling his opponent onto his back and hooking his leg for the cover!

 

O

 

N

 

E

 

!

 

 

T

 

W

 

O

 

!

 

Nathaniel kicks out smoothly, seemingly unaware of the blood flowing from his lip down his throat as TNT steps back, a little taken aback at Kibagami’s resiliency – everybody knows about the problems he’s had with his neck. He shouldn’t have gotten up so fast from that lariat. Thompson looks a little disappointed with himself as he grabs a handful of his opponent’s hair and pulls Nathan to his feet.

 

“I don’t think I’ve seen a lariat like that before,” breathes Mark. “I’m surprised Kibagami’s still standing.”

 

“I told you earlier, Mark. Stupid, but strong.”

 

”You also told me that one good shot to the neck would put Kibagami down for the count.”

 

”Well…” Riley searches for an explanation that excuses his short-sightedness. “TNT caught him on the side of the neck. It was a glancing blow. He got a two-count from a glancing blow. See?” As usual, the man fails miserably, saving Mark the trouble of humiliating him. Riley always manages to get the job done on his own.

 

TNT grabs hold of Nathan’s shoulders, forcing him into a collar-and-elbow before Kibagami can use his elbow strikes to even things up. Taylor easily cinches up the weaker man for an Exploder, but Nathan drives an elbow hard into the back of the Explosive One’s skull to prevent it, reminding TNT that he needs to stay one step ahead of the ex-Clannite. Opting for something Nathan may not be expecting, Thompson quickly repositions his arms for a head-and-arm suplex, but Kibagami blocks it and grabs hold of TNT’s left arm, trying to swing it around and force Taylor to the ground where Kibagami can secure a Fujiwara armbar! TNT stumbles as Nathan begins to execute his counter, but Thompson lurches in the direction Nathaniel is pulling him in, inadvertently breaking free of the hold and circling around Kibagami’s back! Nathan tries to turn around and try for the armbar again, but he’s just a second too slow, and he finds himself lifted off of his feet and falling backwards before he can complete the turn! The ex-Clannite barely has time to turn back around and position his shoulders correctly for the landing before crashing into the mat! TNT bridges back, pinning Kibagami to the mat with a picture-perfect German suplex!

 

O

 

N

 

E

 

!

 

 

T

 

W

 

O

 

!

 

T

 

H –

 

Kibagami rolls out of the pinning predicament and stumbles backwards to his feet, obviously starting to feel the pressure. TNT is a step ahead of his opponent, and he’s got the clear strength advantage. The neck has held up so far, but how long can that last in a match against such a formidable opponent?

 

“TNT scores a near fall with a German suplex!”

 

”Kibagami’s hurting, Mark! I can see it in his eyes!”

 

”Riley, there is no way you can see the man’s eyes from here.”

 

”…it’s, ah, it’s a figure of speech, you know.”

 

TNT gets to his feet –

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

--and is met with a sharp kick to the ribs! Kibagami wastes no time; as the Explosive One doubles over, Nathan applies a sloppy hammerlock with his left hand, hooks a front facelock with his right, and falls back, driving TNT’s head into the canvas with a stiff Hammerlock DDT!

 

”Haven’t seen Silent use that move in a while.”

 

”I thought you said his name was Kibagami, Mark.”

 

”Kibagami’s never used that move before, Riley.”

 

Riley blinks, not comprehending Mark’s meaning. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course he has. Just hasn’t used it in a while, that’s all. I thought you were supposed to remember all the insignificant wrestling factoids. It’s not part of my job description; don’t start depending on me to think for you. More than I already do, that is.”

 

Nathan pulls the former World champion to his feet and whips him into the ropes, sizing the man up for a hard roundhouse kick. Kibagami lets loose as TNT comes hurling towards him, but the 6’6” wrestler ducks effortlessly underneath Nathaniel’s boot and continues across the ring! Pivoting 180 degrees before setting his outstretched leg back down, Kibagami calmly approaches Taylor as he comes back across the ring, ready to try again –

 

 

SLAM!

 

 

“Power Nitro Driver off the ropes!” yells Mark Stevens, and the First Union Center absolutely explodes! The crunch of Nathaniel’s shoulders and neck against the mat has set the crowd on fire – for a brief moment, Taylor Nicholas Thompson might as well be from Philly, the crowd is so impressed with him!

 

“HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!”

 

“Shut up, Riley! We’re on basic cable, remember?”

 

Kibagami is folded up like an accordion on the canvas, blood all over his chest from the hole in his lip. TNT keeps one hand on Nathan’s neck and put the other on his right shoulder, jackknifing Kibagami’s legs for the pin.

 

“Mark, did you see that? TNT absolutely killedhim!”

 

O

 

N

 

E

 

!

 

 

“He’s finished, Mark! Call the paramedics right now, have them bring the stretcher!”

 

 

T

 

W

 

O

 

!

 

 

“Stick a fork in Kibagami, he…is…done!”

 

 

Kibagami thrusts his left shoulder up and into the face of TNT, who stumbles back and releases the pin. The crowd goes wild, the referee raises two fingers high, and Bobby Riley simply stares at his monitor for a moment as Kibagami rolls towards the ropes and uses them to pull himself to his feet.

 

“How is he standing?” chokes Riley. “How the shit?”

 

”I don’t know, Riley. His neck…he should be…he should be in a stretcher, Riley. God help me, I think you’re right. I don’t know how he’s standing.”

 

TNT rises to his feet and sees Nathan pulling himself up to his feet; without stopping to think, he charges towards Kibagami and knocks him out of the ring with a Cactus Clothesline, sending himself to the floor in the process. The former World champion grabs a handful of Kibagami’s hair and picks him up, looking towards the steel stairs…then changes his mind and rolls Nathan back into the ring before climbing back in himself. He wants to win this match on his own merit. Besides, maybe the steel steps aren’t the ring thing to do...maybe he should go for the Short Fuse and the tap-out....or maybe he should set him up for the Mushroom Cloud…or maybe he should…

 

Thompson’s train of thought is unpleasantly interrupted by a instinctual leg sweep from Kibagami, knocking TNT’s legs out from under him and sending him tumbling to the mat. Nathan spins to his feet, and, as his opponent rises to one knee, drills Taylor’s skull with a Shining Wizard, dropping him right back to the canvas!

 

CRACK!

 

CRACK!

 

CRACK!

 

Three sharp kicks to the head start the blood gushing from TNT’s nose once again, but the calm expression never leaves Kibagami’s countenance. Soapdish tries to check Taylor’s cut to see if he should stop the match, but Nathan brusquely shoves the referee out of the way. An indignant Nick Soapdish tries to check the hole in the ex-Clannite’s lip instead, but a simple glance from the Phoenix native seems to communicate the folly of that particular idea.

 

“And just like that, Kibagami is in control of this match!”

 

”Until the big lummox hits him in the neck again, anyway.”

 

Satisfied with his handiwork for the moment, Nathan pulls a bloodied Thompson to his feet and whips him hard into the turnbuckle. The ring shakes from the impact as Taylor’s back strikes the turnbuckle,

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

-- but he doesn’t get a chance to stumble of the corner before Kibagami drills him in the side of the head with a gamengiri! Nathan quickly gets to his feet –

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

This time, he connects with a high roundhouse, catching the former World champion in the jaw! Nathan takes a step back and measures TNT before throwing a third kick, but the Explosive One gets his arms up and blocks it! Nathan stumbles back, and in the moment it takes him to regain his balance, TNT blasts him with an elbow strike, flooring him! The crowd cheers as TNT turns and shakily starts to climb the turnbuckle, looking to finish Kibagami off with the moonsault.

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

A sharp roundhouse kick from Nathan, though, knocks Thompson’s leg out from under him, and he nearly topples off the turnbuckle completely! Kibagami manages to hoist TNT onto his shoulders, with Taylor looking up at the lights, and pull him off of the turnbuckle. With a sharp shrug of his shoulders, the ex-Clannite turns TNT around so that his ribs rest on Kibagami’s shoulders, almost like a backflip slam…but Kibagami falls back and to the side, dropping the Explosive One directly on his neck in the middle of the ring!

 

”What the hell was that?!?” squeals Riley as Kibagami makes the cover.

 

O

 

N

 

E

 

!

 

“That’s…that’s called the Stigmata, Riley.”

 

T

 

W

 

O

 

!

 

“Well, who the hell uses that?”

 

T

 

H

 

R

 

E

 

E

 

!

 

DING DING DING!

 

”Your winner by pinfall…Nathaniel Kibagami!”

 

Kibagami rolls off of TNT, unaware of the blood that covers his chest, and climbs out of the ring. He climbs down the ring steps, ignoring the cheering crowd, and snatches his coat back from Funyon as he makes his exit up the ramp. “Forty-Six and Two” blasts through the arena as TNT groggily rises to a sitting position, a disappointed look on his face.

 

The camera cuts to a solemn-looking Mark Stevens at the announcer’s table. “Nathaniel Kibagami seems to have recaptured his fighting spirit, defeating TNT in an impressive fashion. We’ve got a stellar six-man tag coming up next on SWF Lockdown! Stay tuned, folks!”

 

As the camera starts to fade away, the announcers can still be heard.

 

“Answer my damn question, Mark. Who uses the Stigama…the Stigmata?”

 

”Nekura. That’s Spider Nekura’s old finisher.”

 

“…oh yeah…”

[Guest Grand Slam]

As SWF Lockdown returns from commercial break the camera quickly focuses on the announce booth, which contains the commentating duo of Mark Steven and Bobby Riley, welcoming us back. “Welcome back folks! For those of you just joining us, I’m Mark Stevens, alongside Bobby Riley and this is SWF Lockdown!”

 

“That it is Mark.” Adds Riley. “It’s about time for the ‘supposed’ ICTV Champion, Mak Francis, to give Stryke his belt back… you know, the one that he STOLE!”

 

“I’d hardly agree with Stryke’s assessment on that account because Francis won the belt fair and square by climbing that ladder last show. Let’s go to Funyon.”

 

Funyon stands center ring, microphone in hand. “The following contest is the scheduled for ONE FALL and is for the SMARKS WRESTLING FEDERATION INTERCONTINENTAL TELEVISION CHAMPIONSHIP!”

 

Suddenly, the First Union Center’s lights go out, and a moment later—

 

“I’M GONNA’ KNOCK YOU OUT! MOMMA’ SAID KNOCK YOU OUT!”

 

LL Cool J’s “Mama Said Knock You Out” starts up, a huge wall of blue and silver pyro spraying up all across the stage, the lights return on the ramp, revealing Stryke standing at the top of the stage. Blue and white spotlights dance over the seats, as the Philadelphia fans waste no time in heckling the Australian who dares to challenger their native son, but Stryke pays little attention to the boos raining down on him, as he starts on his way down the ramp.

 

“Introducing first, the challenger, from Sydney, Australia, and weighing in at TWO hundred and NINE-TEEN POUNDS, this is STTTTTT-RYYYYYKE!!!”

 

The Aussie climbs into the ring, getting checked by referee Eddy Long, as he awaits the champion.

“Stryke is looking primed and ready for this ICTV match!” notes Riley, as suddenly a voice sings out—

 

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

 

—And 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.

 

“And his OPPONENT,” Funyon takes a breath, “From Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,” the crowd pops, “weighing in at TWO hundred and THIRTY-SIX POUNDS… the NEW, S-W-F, ICTV CHAMPION…‘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. He steps down, and un straps the title belt, 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 new champion for illegal objects and finding none allows him to back away to his corner.

 

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

 

*DING! DING! DING*

 

Stryke and Mak lock eyes, both men quickening their pace, just before coming together, center ring, clashing in a collar and elbow tie-up. As they jockey for position, Mak shifts and swats his opponents’ wrist to the left – successfully breaking the grapple, the Franchise ducks low and behind, pulling Stryke’s legs from underneath him, causing him to land face first to the mat. Stryke touches his nose, which stings a little, while lying flat on his stomach, which allows the self proclaimed Franchise to spin around over top of him. Mak floats over once again, for what seems like, just for kicks, before settling into a back mount position.

 

“Francis executing that amateur float over once again, clearly asserting his dominance on the mat. The Franchise looks like he’s trying to reinforce that he’s better than Stryke on the mat, with all that extra, unneeded showmanship.” After finishing his lesson on the mat, Mak quickly secures an amateur waistlock, to stop Stryke, who shifts, attempting to get off his stomach.

 

“That’s because he’s a cocky bastard, Mark! Stryke’s going to bring his bulbous… enormous…” Stevens turns like a flash and looks at him with death in his eyes. “…Aheheh, his big head down to earth.” Francis releases the waistlock and reaches under Stryke’s left arm, securing a half nelson – ineffectually, as his opponent pries Mak’s hand from his neck, while swatting away Francis’s free hand attempting to complete a full nelson, for the cattle mutilation!

 

Stryke slides out of the side mount and rotates into a back mount, after breaking the half nelson, showing off his own technical abilities, but Mak easily evades any attack he wanted to chain with it, by tucking and rolling forward, in a Granby roll! Stryke falls to a crouch and Francis ends up in the same position, the two men mirror images of each other!

 

Mak explodes forward, and scores a double leg tackle, that puts Stryke on his back. The self proclaimed Franchise, from this mounted position, slides to Stryke’s upper body and pries his left arm away, scissoring said limb before pulling back and attempting to hype extend the joint!!

 

“Juji-gatame!” screams Stevens, surprised by the quickness with which Francis moved into the hold. “Cross arm breaker by the champion!” As Stryke kicks and bounces on the mat to get to the ropes, Francis actually extends the arm, causing a searing pain in the challengers arm and shoulder!! “He’ s got it lock in! He’s got it locked in!”

 

Stryke, now in a situation that has gone from bad to worse, quickly finds a loophole, putting his leg into the ropes for a break! “Gimme’ a rope break!” shouts Eddy Long, and Mak dutifully breaks the hold, backing away, while Long checks on Stryke, who is now trying to get the kinks out of his arm and shoulder.

 

“The Franchise, able to get the cross arm break locked in and as you can see, Francis was able to actually extend the arm. Had they been in the center of the ring, this match would be over.”

 

Mak and Stryke stand and circle again, coming together in the second collar and elbow tie up of the night, jockeying for position – but Francis’s mat wrestling prowess, allows him to drop to one knee and shift Stryke’s weight onto his shoulders before swinging him overhead and towards the mat back first.

 

The fireman’s carry takedown attempt surprises Stryke, but he readjusts and laces his arm with Mak’s before whipping him over onto his back and half way across the ring!

 

“WOW, Stryke just arm dragged out of a Fireman’s carry! What an innovative counter by the challenger, Stryke!!”

 

“You’re damn right Stevens! That’s why Stryke is the uncrowned ICTV champion!”

 

The Franchise jumps up to his feet quickly and sprints across the ring only to get his arm laced with Stryke’s again in a second arm drag! The main difference is this time Stryke slaps on a kneeling arm bar. After Francis regains his bearings, he attempts to push himself up out of the sitting position and rise up to his feet. Stryke, sensing the change in momentum, slides into a side headlock to try and stall Mak. While Stryke works off the headlock Stevens explains his actions. “Much like Francis in his match with Beezel on Storm, Stryke is using that headlock to slow down his opponents’ momentum! People forget, Stryke is no slouch when it comes to the technical aspects of wrestling.”

 

Mak rears back and nails Stryke in the rib cage with an elbow. The crowd starts to murmur as Francis rears back and hits a second elbow, but they are quieted, as Stryke blasts Mak with a—

 

*Thwap!*

 

—Devastating European uppercut! Stryke bends the reeling Franchise’s head down and—

 

*Thwap!*

 

—Catches him with a second STIFF forearm uppercut! This one allows Stryke to back Francis into the ropes, before sending him on his way with an Irish whip! Mak rebounds off of the cables and runs directly into a picture perfect Stryke dropkick! The crowd semi marvels at the extension on his dropkick, but quickly boo, as he plays to the crowd by raising his hands from his kneeing position, before shimmying over to the Franchise for a lateral press, hooking the near leg! Eddy Long drops into position…

 

ONE…!

 

 

TWO—

 

No! Only a one count, as Francis kicks out—

 

—But not only does the self proclaimed Franchise kick out… he grabs a hold of Stryke’s left arm and transitions beautifully into a Fujiwara armbar!! Stryke struggles on the mat, as Mak looks at his ring positioning and seeing that he’s too close to the ropes, so Francis adds a crossface to his fujiwara, locking his legs around the arm!

 

“Crippler Crossface right out of the pin by the champion! What a counter!”

 

Stryke inches towards the ropes, his face a mask of pain, as the champion pulls back! Stryke, only a few inches from the ropes, reaches out in hopes of breaking the hold quickly – but Mak puts one of his feet on the bottom cable and pushes it out of his grasp!!

 

“Damnit!” declares Riley, obviously upset, as Francis keeps yanking on his opponents’ neck. Finally, Francis can no longer hold Stryke back and he reaches the ropes, forcing Long to ask for a break! Mak, once again dutifully releases the hold, his point getting across.

 

 

Mak stands up and pulls Stryke back up to his vertical base before reaching back—

 

*Smack!* WHOOOOOOOOO!

 

—And hitting a blistering knife-edge chop to the chest of the challenger! Mak rears back again, this time pushing Stryke into the ropes, before—

 

*Smack!* WHOOOOOOOOO!

 

—Lambasting Stryke with a second knife-edge chop! This one allows Mak to send him on the ride, with an Irish whip! Francis waits center ring for his prey to return and as soon as he is in proper position the Franchise grabs him about the head, twisting behind him in a sleeper hold! The challenger waves his hands in the air, as Mak tightens the hold – but Stryke is quick to counter, sliding behind the champ, he hoists him up about the waist and spins around before dumping him to the canvas in a backdrop suplex!! Eddy Long moves into position, as Stryke floats over into a pin and the stunned Franchise arches his back…

 

ONE…!

 

 

 

 

TWO…!

 

 

 

 

T—

 

No! Only a two count, as Francis kicks out!

 

“Stryke gets the first near fall of this young match up with that nice executed spinning backdrop!”

 

Stryke yanks Mak up to a kneeling position and puts him in a kneeling surfboard, pulling each arm back, while he posts Francis’ spine against his own knee! The Franchise moves his leg along the mat, trying to get sopme sort of leverage on Stryke. “The challenger, going right to work on the back of the champ, knowing full well, that in his last match the Franchise’s rib cage and back were focused on!”

 

“Like I said, Stryke does his home. He’s giving himself time to recover from that sleeper and crossface, while punishing Mak’s injuries!”

 

Francis grimaces in the hold, as Stryke continues to apply pressure. The Philadelphia crowd sees their hometown hero in trouble and begin to clap, causing Francis to feed off the crowd… and he starts to rise to his feet! The crowd increases the speed of their claps in time with Francis’ shaking muscles, as he turns in the hold and spins so that eh and Stryke are face to face!

 

“The champion is UP! Toe kick to the gut of Stryke hunches him over!” calls Stevens, while the action occurs! “Mak backing up into the ropes – YAKUZA KICK!”

 

“NO!” shouts Riley. “Stryke ducks!” The challenger, now behind the champ, grabs him by the head and secures a sleeper hold for himself! Mak’s eyes go wide as dinner plates, as his eyes begin to feel heavy and he searches for an escape! Then Francis remembers how Stryke countered his sleeper attempt and attempts to twist beside him—

 

*Thud!*

 

—Only to have the bottom drop right out from beneath him, as Stryke puts him head first into the canvas with a sleeper drop! Stryke covers in a lateral press, his forearm across Francis’ face, while Long counts…

 

 

ONE…!

 

 

 

TWO…!

 

 

 

 

 

T

H—

 

No! Only a two count, as Mak kicks out!

 

“Stryke once again comes out of that exchange in control after a sleeper drop! He’s been all over the ICTV champ, except for some brief moments early.”

 

“And I bet he was playing possum even then. Stryke has it all over Mak!”

 

Stryke picks Francis up to his feet and backs him into the corner, before beheading Mak with a—

 

*Thwap!*

 

—Powerful European uppercut! Stryke bends the reeling Franchise’s head down and—

 

*Thwap!*

 

—Catches him with a second STIFF forearm uppercut! This one forces Francis to slump in the corner. Stryke takes the opportunity to stomp a mud hole and walk it dry, as the saying goes, before sending him away with cross sorner whip! The Franchise slumps into the corner and his eyes grow wide, as Stryke charges in for some kind of attack – but Mak, being aware of his surroundings, lifts a boot that cracks him in the head!! The challenger attempts to stumble away – but Francis quickly pushes himself up onto the top turnbuckle and hops onto his shoulders, pounding away at the back of Stryke’s head—

 

“The Franchise looking for a Victory Roll! No, wait—”

 

—Before spinning around on Stryke’s shoulders into position for a hurricanrana!!! Mak arches back trying to pull Stryke down as he goes, but Stryke is ready for the move and he slowly drops Mak to the mat, snitching in his left leg first and then his right, transitions it into…

 

“Event Horizon! HA! Stryke counters that rana attempt into his High angle Boston crab, the Event Horizon!”

 

Stryke has the challenger in a bad way here! All the work that’s been done to his back over the past two shows, lends itself perfectly to this attack! But look Riley, the Franchise is still fighting. He won’t give up that easy! ”

 

LET’S GO MAAAK! *clap clap clapclapclap*

 

Stryke shakes his head in disgust at the chant and continues to constrict his grip, and bend Mak, placing more and more pressure on the rib cage and lower back of the self proclaimed Franchise! Now the entire Philly crowd has joined in on the chant to rally the young grappler and native son! “Stryke grinding Francis down with that High angle Boston Crab, but listen to this filled to capacity Philly crowd, as they get behind the champion!”

 

LET’S GO MAAAK! *clap clap clapclapclap*

LET’S GO MAAAK! *clap clap clapclapclap*

LET’S GO MAAAK! *clap clap clapclapclap*

 

Francis claws his way towards the ropes, dragging his opponent with him, as he uses the crowds’ energy to make his way towards the bottom cable! The fans continue to chant for him, as he gets closer, and closer… until he finally reaches the bottom rope! Eddy Long asks Stryke for a break and when he doesn’t let go immediately he starts a count!

 

“One…!

 

Two…!

 

Three—“

 

“See that Stevens! Stryke held on JUST a little bit longer, using the referee’s count to his advantage!”

 

Mak holds his rib cage in pain and torment, as Stryke drops the hold and backs away to a torrent of jeers! He doesn’t even acknowledge the crowd, as he goes back to the systematic destruction of Mak Francis’ back and ribs! Stryke grabs Mak and after a stinging European uppercut, he whips Francis away! Mak is too dazed and in pain to counter, as Stryke pushes him up into the air, releasing him at the highest point he can, before guiding him down apon his bended knee in a Gut buster!! The challenger rolls the champ onto his back, before dropping into a cover…

 

 

ONE…!

 

 

 

TWO…!

 

 

 

T

H

R—

 

No! Francis pushes his shoulder off the mat at two and a half!

 

Stryke looks at referee Eddy Long, just to make sure and then makes his way over to the corner. As Stryke goes through the ropes and climbs the turnbuckles, the self proclaimed Franchise makes it up to his feet, clutching his ribs. The high flyer leaps off the top rope, realizing that he can’t hit the splash, he changes his momentum in mid air and lands on the champion with a…

 

“Frog Splash Cross body! NO! ROLLED THROUGH!”

 

…Mak hooks the leg, as Stryke thrashes about and Long jumps into position, sliding along the mat as he maneuvers into the right place, the hot Philly crowd counting along!

 

“ONNNEEE…!

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOO…!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHH…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

—NOOOOOOOO!”

 

Stryke break the pin and trashes his shoulder off the mat!!

 

The crowd lets out a deflated groan, as Stryke and Francis pop up to their feet! Francis is obviously, the slower of the two grapplers to get to his feet, but he charges blindly all the same, walking right into the clutches of his opponent for a Broken Arrow attempt – but Mak makes up for his tactical error by countering with rapid fire elbows!!

 

The Franchise grabs Stryke’s free arm and bends it behind him in a hammerlock and as the challenger stands stunned, Mak connects with a chickenwing jawbreaker!

 

“Now that’s above average!”

 

But Francis isn’t done yet, as he grabs the dazed challenger and lifts him up by the waist, dragging him over to the ropes, before, well, stunning him with a StunGun!!

 

LET’S GO MAAAK! *clap clap clapclapclap*

LET’S GO MAAAK! *clap clap clapclapclap*

LET’S GO MAAAK! *clap clap clapclapclap*

 

Stryke dangles on the top rope, with legs that feel like rubber bands as Mak pulls him away from the cables from behind… and then the self proclaimed Franchise grasps his challenger about the waist and even though his opponent, fights to break his grip, he can’t do it before Mak pops his hips in a—

 

*Thump!*

 

“German suplex by the Franchise, but he’s not letting go! Rolling Germans! He’s going for his suplex combination!!!”

 

*Thump!*

 

Francis rolls up to his feet again, with the crowd cheering him on and secures a half nelson…

 

Stryke continues to fight, not allowing his free arm to be snitched into a full nelson attempt, or his wrist to be clasped for the Million Dollar-plex! Stryke grazes the side of Mak’s head with his elbow, but realizing that it won’t work, he tries to headbutt out of the hold, but he can’t! Stryke runs through the list of counters and remembers his best bet, reaching out and grasping Eddy Long by the shirt, he pulls him close and—

 

 

 

 

 

*Ding!*

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

Stryke releases Long and pushes him away, after he removes his leg from in between his opponents’ and Mak hunches over some in obvious pain!

 

“HAH! Stryke using the same ‘great’ counter Francis did at 13th Hour to combat his own rolling suplex combination! He outscouted “The Franchise”!”

 

I didn’t agree with his tactics then, and I don’t agree with Stryke’s in this match! Mak Francis’ face is contorted in pain and surprise after that dastardly low blow turns the tide of this match-up!”

 

Stryke lifts his low blowed opponent up onto his shoulders in a Torture Rack position, and pauses for a second, before dropping to his knees, essentially giving the self proclaimed Franchise a backbreaker across his own shoulders.!! Mak drops to the mat, spasming in pain, as Stryke covers…

 

 

ONE…!

 

 

 

TWO…!

 

 

 

T

H

R

E—

 

No! Francis rolls a shoulder off the mat at two and a half, causing the crowd to cheer!

 

“A close call for the Franchise there! You can tell it took a lot of effort to get his shoulder up after that one.”

 

LET’S GO MAAAK! *clap clap clapclapclap*

LET’S GO MAAAK! *clap clap clapclapclap*

LET’S GO MAAAK! *clap clap clapclapclap*

 

Stryke looks over to Eddy Long and “That was a three!” to him before clapping his hands three times. Long responds by thrusting the two fingers out and yelling “TWO!” for the entire audience to hear. Stryke, a little miffed, yanks Francis up by his neck and drags him towards the corner, while Stevens calls the action. “Distress is starting to set in on the challenger’s face!”

 

Stryke grabs Mak’s waist and lifts him up, depositing Francis on the top turnbuckle, before scaling the pads himself! “Stryke setting Mak up for the Super hurricanrana that he defeated Danny Williams with to win the title! This will surely end it!”

 

Stryke makes his way to the top and hoists the Franchise up into a standing position, but Mak fights back and the two men trade blows, standing on the top rope… suddenly Mak counters, doing something most people would never think of as a counter, not that he intented to do it…

 

OHHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

…Crotching himself… Mak falls straddling the top turnbuckle, and his fall forces the ropes to shake tossing Stryke down to the ground at an awkward angle!! The challenger sits unmoving, as Mak pushes himself off the buckle, pushing through the pain in his testicals…

 

“Come on Mak!” shouts Stevens. “Why go for the Frogsplash when your ribs and back are injured! He doesn’t need to prove anything!

 

“Well he does have something to prove Stevens! Stryke IS better than him and should be the ICTV champion, as we speak! Until Mak pins him one, two, three, his title win means NOTHING!”

 

“He’s already proven himself in my book, but if he were to pull off this move, I doubt there’d be any more painful way to win a match!”

 

…Francis continues to stand, the crowd rising to its feet in anticipation! He pauses for a moment, cradling his ribs, but not caring in the least, as he lifts his hand in the air and shouting—

 

“I think it’s time to gimme’ that Brotherly Love Philly!!!!!!!1!1”

 

The crowd roars back Mak’s response and then Francis stands to his full height…

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

…AND LEAPS OFF THE TOP ROPE, HITTING THE FROG SPLASH!!!!!1!

 

 

…

 

 

…ONTO STRYKE’S RAISED KNEES!!!!

 

“Oh Man, Stryke got his knees up at the last second!”

 

“What great ring awareness by Stryke!”

 

Stryke pulls himself back up to his feet, standing poised, as Mak cradling his rib cage, slowly pushes himself off the canvas. The crowd is chanting for him to watch out, as he begins to get up off the ground. He stunned, dazed and confused and as soon as his head clears, Stryke latches onto him, placing him into position for a Rock Bottom!!

 

“The Broken Arrow… countered!” says Riley, as Mak elbows out of the Urange suplex. Mak ducks underneath and grabs him by the neck yanking Stryke down to the canvas in a hangman’s neckbreaker!

 

Francis attempts to stand up first getting to his hands and knees as Stryke covers his neck. Mak stands but falls back into the ropes, holding himself up through the pain, waiting for Stryke to get up of the ground. He clutches his ribs, as Stryke meanders up to his vertical base—

 

“YAKUZA KICK! HE HITS! Mak scores the Yakuza kick!”

 

—The self proclaimed Franchise falls into a pin, landing across the chest of Stryke!! Mak covers and Eddy Long counts, with the crowd chanting along…

 

 

“ONNNEEE…!

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOO…!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHH…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

—NOOOOOOOO!”

 

”That was SO close Bobby! Everyone believed this match was over! The Yakuza kick comes up just short on a pinfall!”

 

“Thank god! I almost gave up hope… let’s go Stryke, pull it together!”

 

Mak stands up, a look of slight insecurity on his face, like he doesn’t know what to do, before he shakes it off and wobbles over to the ropes, leaning on them to brace himself! He waves his hands in the air, yelling for Stryke to get up to his feet and The crowd has risen up to there feet now, as Mak moves straight ahead, with the challenger in his sights for a Yakuza kick and the Franchise races forward, raising his leg for the high kick—

 

“YAAAAKUZA KICK— NO! IT’S CAUGHT!”

 

“What’s Stryke looking for here?!” questions Bobby Riley.

 

—But Stryke catches the boot and Mak is spun around and set up into a Rock Bottom, but as he’s lifts, Stryke juts his knee out, bringing Francis down back-first across his knee in a backbreaker-esque slam!!!

 

“YES! NEW CHAMPION! NEW CHAMPION! The Broken Arrow connects… it’s all over! Stryke’s the new champ!

 

“After all that work on the back, can Francis kick out!”

 

Eddy Long drops to the mat, as Stryke covers hooking the leg. The crowd jumps to it’s feet to see, counting along, hoping that the champion, their champ, can somehow, someway, kick out…

 

“ONNNEEE…!

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOO…!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHH…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

—NOOOOOOOO!”

 

Francis barely rolls a shoulder up off the canvas!!

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!1

 

The crowd explodes in cheers for their hero, as Stryke moves his hands through his hair, wondering just what he has to do to beat Mak. Stryke quickly gets to his feet and hooks both of the champions’ legs, looking to put him in the Event Horizon for the second time tonight, this time near the middle of the ring!!

 

“Stryke can’t turn over the crab! But he’s not giving up! Wait, he’s locking his arms with Francis’ legs… he’s going for a Catapult!”

 

Mak gets catapulted into the turnbuckle pads, but he stop his momentum and as Stryke follows him in Mak dives back into a cross body – BUT Stryke roll through himself into a cover, hooking the near leg!!! The crowd prays and counts along, as Mak wiggles to get free…

 

“ONNNEEE…!

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOO…!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHH—NOOOOOOOO! COUNTER~!!!!”

 

 

Stevens screams, as Francis kicks out—

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!

 

—But not only does the self proclaimed Franchise kick out… he grabs a hold of Stryke’s left arm and transitions beautifully into a Fujiwara armbar!! Stryke struggles on the mat, as Mak looks at his ring positioning and sees that he has enough room, as the cross body and roll through took them to the center of the ring!! The self proclaimed Franchise releases the fujiwara, this time locking in a half nelson, then secure the other arm for a full nelson, bridging forward into the Cattle Mutilation~!!

 

"You know how I said that winning with the Frogsplash would be the most painful way to win this match... I was wrong..."

 

BAK THE MAAAAAK! *clap clap clapclapclap*

BAK THE MAAAAAK! *clap clap clapclapclap*

 

"Huh?" questions Riley.

 

"If he had anything to prove, he's done it in this match, as after all the pain he's been through, enduring this would make this a true fighting champions victory! A tradgic heroes victory..."

 

BAK THE MAAAAAK! *clap clap clapclapclap*

BAK THE MAAAAAK! *clap clap clapclapclap*

 

Mak screams out in agony, unsure if he can hold the bridge much longer, as Stryke's face shows intense pain.

 

"Look at Mak, he may submit himself before Stryke does..."

 

"It's all comes down to a war of wills, Bobby!"

 

Mak cries out once again, referee Eddy Long asking both men if they submit. Stryke looks around, desperate to break the hold. He tries to turn his head several times, surveying every option, but in the end, all he can do is...

 

 

 

TAP!

 

TAP!

 

 

TAP~!!!

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

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

 

Mak releases the hold and falls flat onto his back, the pain searing in his rib cage, but the chants and cheers of his crowd, the Philadelphia crowd, make him smile, even through the pain, as Eddy Long raises his hand and drapes the title over Mak's body! The crowd continues to cheer, and neither announcer can say anything, for fear of ruining the moment, as SWF Lockdown goes to commercial break.

[Guest Grand Slam]

We fade back to Lockdown and a view of the back, where Quiz is standing behind a podium. We pan tonight's Quiz show set. The Studio Audience is perched on bleachers, and a black-haired woman stands in front of a glittering green board, with fourteen blanks on it. We fade in on Quiz, who welcomes us back.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another Quiz show! Let's see if you can figure out what we're doing tonight."

 

"I'd like to first introduce Vicky Black, our new hostess. She'll be helping us out with our endeavors from now on."

 

We go to an extreme close-up of Quiz's face, his wide white smile filling the screen.

 

"We've been through the preliminary rounds, so let's introduce tonight's winner, with a chance at twenty-five THOUSAND dollars - Ben Hardy!"

 

We shift to a shot of Ben Hardy, jogging down to where Quiz stands.

 

"Now, Ben, you know the rules. Tonight's category is Great Pairings, and we'll let you pick your prize."

 

Quiz steps aside, revealing a podium with the letters Q, U, I, and Z on it, each containing an envelope. Hardy steps forward, taking the Z and stepping back. He opens it, showing the crowd what he'll be playing for. He reads off the back of the envelope...

 

"Flesher-brand condoms, personally endorsed by Tom Flesher! At a price of sixty-four dollars, they'll be worth every penny!"

 

Quiz looks Hardy up and down. "...in twenty years, when you finally get laid!"

 

The Studio Audience roars out in laughter as Quiz continues.

 

"Well, Ben, as stated before the category is Great Pairings, and if we could show the Studio Audience and the folks at home the puzzle..."

 

We shift to a shot of Vicky Black, standing in front of the following puzzle.

 

_ _ _ _ _ _

 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

 

"We'll give you R, S, T, L, N, and E..."

 

The puzzle shifts to...

 

_ _ _ _ L E

 

_ E _ _ _ R _ _

 

"And we'll allow you to pick three consonants and a vowel."

 

Hardy taps his chin.

 

"I'd like a B... a D... an H... and a U."

 

"Let's give them to him, Vicky."

 

We fade to Vicky, who reveals the modified puzzle.

 

D _ U B L E

 

_ E _ _ _ R D _

 

"You have fifteen seconds, Ben, go nuts."

 

"Okay... Double Kennedy... Double Bubble... Double Dribble... Double Hearford... Doobie Henchman..."

 

"Try looking at the board, Ben."

 

"Right... Double Hellards..."

 

"Three seconds."

 

"Double Hankerings..."

 

DING

 

DING

 

DING

 

"Oooh, Ben, I'm sorry, your time is up. The category was Great Pairings, and we all know the greatest pairing of all... Vicky?"

 

Vicky reveals the rest of the puzzle...

 

D O U B L E

 

J E O P A R D Y

 

"The greatest pairing of all time, Double Jeopardy, Ben, you should've known that... but the whole world will, at Ground Zero!"

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm Quiz, stay tuned - you never know when you might see a Quiz show!"

 

The Studio Audience roars i nthe background as we shift to a shot of the board, the words DOUBLE JEOPARDY fading out slowly as Vicky Black voices over.

 

"Quiz is filmed in front of a live studio audience."

 

We fade out completely, and into a commercial for Frost-brand condoms...

[Guest Grand Slam]

“And we are just mere moments away from another sterling contest between two major factions that are fighting for supremacy here in the SWF,” says ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens as the crowd rises up once again from their chairs as Funyon heads to the center of the ring. “And what an important contest this is going to be between two of the more powerful factions in the SWF. One on the way up and the other might just be on the way down.”

 

“Oh sure,” remarks Bobbie Riley, “Kick Tom and the boys while they’re down! Well I just hope you remember just how well they treated everyone while they were on top and show them the same exact respect that they showed you.”

 

“Oddly enough, that was exactly my plan… Take it away Funyon!”

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” begins the smooth tones of the ring announcer, “this next contest is scheduled for one fall and is a special challenge six man tag team contest. Introducing team number one!”

 

HERE WE ARE!

 

BORN TO BE KINGS!

 

WE’RE THE PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE!

 

YEAH!

 

“Coming down the aisle… they weigh in at a total combined weight of 643 pounds. They are the team of ‘The Superior One’ Tom Flesher, Judge William Hearford, and Ejiro Fasaki… They are THE MAGNIFICENT SEVENNNNNNNNNNNN!”

 

Power stepping all the way down to the ring, The Magnificent Seven does not smile with each other, does not taunt the crowd and does not waste a moment as they slide into the ring side-by-side. Striding up to Funyon, Tom Flesher nearly shoves the announcer down to the mat as he walks from one side of the ring to the other like some kind of caged animal. Clearly these are three angry men that simply have no time to waste with pre-match antics. And ‘Grand Slam’ will be happy to explain why that is.

 

“That announcement seems a light tonight fans as this core of wrestlers sure as hell have not been on any kind of roll lately,” calls Mark Stevens, “In just a few short weeks, they went from being the top of the heap to the bottom of the barrel. They don’t have any titles in the fold right now. And for this squad of men that lives for nothing else, that’s almost worse than death.”

 

“And you know,” adds Riley, “The Magnificent Seven will do anything to climb back up that mountain. And if that means taking the New World Tag Team Champions and Danny Williams apart, that is exactly what they will do.”

 

LET FREEDOM RING WITH A SHOTGUN BLAST!

 

With lasers and smoke filling up the entranceway, the entire Unholy Trinity purposely strides down the aisle in order of height. With Danny Williams leading the pack and Va’aiga bringing up the rear, three very serious and focused men make their way into the ring. But this group has a whole lot more gold to show for their actions over the last few weeks as Va’aiga not only carries one half of the World Tag Team Titles, but also the SWF Hardcore Gamers strap as well. Parading into the ring one at a time, the people assembled cheer wildly as The Unholy Trinity raises their arms up on high to the people as a show of mutual respect.

 

TRIN-IT-EE! TRIN-IT-EE! TRIN-IT-EE!

 

“These three morons better get this nonsense out of the way pretty damn early,” chides Bobbie Riley. “Look at the Magnificent Seven over there. They sure as hell do not seem to be in any kind of mood for games tonight. And who can blame them?”

 

Sending his loyal lackeys to the apron, The Superior doggedly takes command of the center of the ring as The Trinity continue to egg the fans on a little bit in their usual dignified manner. Nodding to each other afterwards, Dace Nigh makes the call that he is going to be the first member of their group to get in the ring with the former World Champions. Ramming together in a collar-and-elbow tie up, “The High Priest of Horrorcore” muscles Tom Flesher back and into a neutral corner with what seems to be almost scary ease. But the cagey grappler quickly pivots with the tie up and instead forces Dace’s back against the turnbuckle. Almost before the referee can even issue the command, Flesher releases his grip on Dace … but for a purpose ever more vile.

 

WHAM!

 

Darting inside his larger opponent, Tom sneaks in and slams upward with a smashing palm strike that catches Night right underneath the chin. Stammered by the blow for a moment, Night provides no defense as Flesher continues to pound away at the member of the Trinity with a series of hard boots to the gut that send Dace down in a seated position against the ropes. Ducking out of the corner at the referee’s insistence of a clean break, Tom places his hands in the air for just a moment before he charges into the winded Night with a hard short Yakuza kick across the face!

 

BOOOM!

 

“Good gravy,” admits Stevens, “I cannot remember the last time I saw Tom Flesher get so angry so early in a contest. I guess that loss to Thoth last week really got into his head.”

 

“Thoth is a punk bastard who might as well hand that belt back to the rightful champion right now, before Flesher hurts him. With no Nathan Silentbami or what ever he’s calling himself, Tom would be the champion right now anyway!”

 

Almost diving into the wounded Horrorcore, Flesher chokes furiously at Dace’s throat as referee Matthew Kivell continues to plead for some sort of order. Breaking off before the disqualification, Tom takes Dace by the arm and drags him over to the unfriendly confines of The Magnificent Seven’s corner where he makes a tag out to Ejiro Fasaki. But both members of Justice and Rule clamber into the ring as Tom tosses Dace across the ring and into the ropes before he rebounds right into a sky high double flapjack that causes the High Priest of Horrorcore to consider becoming an atheist. Rolling out of the ring before the referee can even issue a warning; the Judge leaves Ejiro Fasaki to continue the assault for the former World Tag Team Champions as Riley gushes over the tag team maneuver.

 

“What a brilliant play called by the quarterback of the Magnificent Seven,” he glows, “Tom as those two tight and hard and… and… I need a towel.”

 

Grabbing Dace by the head once more, Ejiro uses a snap mare to get him into position before lowering his kneepad and crushing down on Night with an unprotected knee to the face. Leaning across the World Tag Team Champion, Ejiro hooks the far leg as Kivell lowers the first count of the night on Night.

 

ONE!

 

TWNOOOOOOOOOOKICKOUT!

 

Easily muscling his way loose out of the cover, Night frees a shoulder from underneath Ejiro’s paltry 188-pounds. But Rule is totally unperturbed and he shows it by dropping another knee into his adversary, but this time the joint comes pounding down right on Night’s throat. Grinding into Dace’s windpipe as Kivell tries to force a break, Ejiro almost looks possessed as he continues to take the wind away from the man that took his title belt away at Storm. Finally removing the obstruction from Night’s breathing process, Fasaki pulls Dace into a seated position before leaning in and snapping on a reverse chinlock that actually gives the fans a chance to catch their breath and start to rally behind the British Bully.

 

DACE! -CLAP CLAP- NIGHT! -CLAP CLAP- DACE! -CLAP CLAP- NIGHT!

 

Almost surging to his feet immediately from the fans’ noise, the master of Horrorcore fights his way right up to his feet where he can fire a hard elbow right into the gut of his attacker. Another hard blow knocks Ejiro’s perilous grip entirely asunder and allows Night the chance to run into the ropes for some momentum. Seeing the charging body coming at him, Fasaki leaps high into the air and allows Dace to go running right underneath. Turning quickly, Ejiro once more attempts a leapfrog only to have Dace pluck him right out of midair and crush him into the canvas with a stunning powerslam! Unable to make a pinning combination from the effort of his own move Dace quickly rolls into his corner and makes a timely tag to the leader of the Unholy pack.

 

DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E!

 

Absolutely rabid about getting into the contest with an immediate impact, Danny Williams immediately hooks Ejiro up about the head and absolutely whips him into the canvas with a hard snap suplex. Holding onto the head, Danny rolls up with Ejiro still in hand for a moment before releasing the front facelock and using Fasaki’s wrist to pull him inside for a hard short clothesline that sends the Magnificent Seven member rocketing to the canvas. Not satisfied with this in any way, Danny Williams tosses Ejiro into the ropes and catches him on the rebound with a harsh charging knee that finds its mark in the bread basket and flips Ejiro to the canvas in a hump. Looking out to the people for a moment, Danny lifts his elbow to the air as a signal that he is moments away from putting the dangerous limb to very good use. Waiting on Fasaki to rise up to his feet, Williams runs into the ropes to give the elbow a little extra impact only to suddenly feel his legs are no longer underneath him as he tumbles to the mat.

 

“The Judge just tripped Williams from the floor,” calls Stevens as though we weren’t expecting it. “He was just about to knock Ejiro’s head into the third row but Justice was not about to let that happen.”

 

Immediately turning as he gets up to his feet, Danny reaches down to the floor between the middle ropes and snags an unsuspecting Hearford by the hair and attempts to pull Hearford into the contest. But before anything in that regard can happen, Danny suddenly feels the entire weight of Ejiro Fasaki comes crashing down across his back with a straddle! Bouncing off Williams immediately, Fasaki leaves the leader of The Unholy Trinity wide open as Tom Flesher comes charging down the apron and kicks Williams right off the ropes with a hard boot to the head.

 

“What brilliant triple teaming,” laughs Riley as Ejiro waits a moment as Hearford climbs up to the apron and picks up a tag ropes. “What did I tell you Stevens, the quarterback has his linemen all hungry for some meat. Just like me!”

 

Making the tag to his steady tag team partner, Ejiro brings the Judge into the contest for the first time legally. Together hooking Danny up, Justice and Rule take him over and to the mat with a classic double vertical suplex that plants Williams in the center of the ring. Breaking their hold, both Fasaki and Hearford run off the ropes in rapid succession and drop down hard with two elbows that strike the same point in a matter of two seconds. Fasaki makes his way out of the ring with his task completed as the Judge happily continues the barrage. Pulling Williams off the mat and pushing him into a neutral corner, the Judge cuts loose with some of his devastating chops across the pectorals.

 

CHOP!

 

WHOOOO!

 

CHOP!

 

WHOOOO!

 

Pressing Danny back against the corner, Hearford uses his bulk to send Williams across the ring with a hard Irish whip and follows him in for what looks like what might be a corner clothesline. But the cagey veteran Danny Williams has seen that combination enough times to place a foot right into the face of his charging foe. Stammered backward from the shot, the Judge looks stunned as Williams comes rushing forward with his elbow aimed right at his opponent’s gourd.

 

“RUNNING ELBOWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA~!”

 

“CAUGHT! BELLY-TO-BELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLY~!”

 

Grabbing Danny around the waist as he came running in, Judge reels backward and sends his opponent hurtling overhead with a perfect throw that deposits Danny right into the dead center of the ring. Shaking off the effect of the boot, The Judge still fights his way up to his feet and gives a point to his corner as if to dedicate his next move. Lining up Williams with both eyes, the Judge comes stampeding forward with a lariat and runs strait into one really hard wall.

 

KRACK!

 

“ELBOWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA COUNTER~!”

 

DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E!

 

Williams goes down, his last bit of energy put into getting back up and nailing Hearford in the forehead with his signature strike. Nearby, Hearford lies near motionless, cinching his eyes in pain and only a few weak movements from his appendages hint to the crowd that he’s not KO’ed.

 

“I swear, every time those two meet in the ring Judge takes a running elbow. His head is like a magnet for the God damn things.” says a sour Riley as Williams is the first to show movement, rolling over onto his belly and moving over Hearford for a pin.

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

THREEEEENOSHOULDERUP!

 

“Incredible resilience from Hearford!” says Bobbie, “Screw all those hardcore guys, this guy is damn tough!”

 

“More like lucky that Danny didn’t cover immediately,” notes the more level-headed Grand Slam, “That’s a bona fide match ender there. If Williams had moved just a bit faster he would have definitely gotten a 3-count.”

 

Danny shakes his head and takes a deep breath as he drags Hearford back up to his feet, cinching a front facelock as he drags a still stunned Justice back towards his corner, where the giant Va’aiga reaches over and tags him on the shoulder.

 

HIS HOUSE! HIS HOUSE! HIS HOUSE! HIS HOUSE!

 

Danny doesn’t even hold Judge for Va’aiga, just letting him go as Va’agia quickly steps through the ropes and charges over the man like William Perry! The crowd cheers as Hearford hits the mat to a resounding thud as the big man calls for him to get up again. The slightly battered Hearford shakily begins to stand, but Va’aiga puts an end to that as he dashes forwards with another shoulderblock… right into a drop toe hold! The crowd boos as the Judge counters the clearout move and begins to put boots into the big man’s skull.

 

“Ha! Hearford was playing possum and lured that big Maori right into a face full of canvas!”

 

“Well, the man took enough of them on the last show. You’d hope that he’d finally counter it.”

 

The boot heels don’t keep the fresh big man down for long as he makes a swipe for Justice’s leg, but the old man quickly steps back, allowing Va’aiga some breathing room. The big man pounds his fist on the ground as he quickly gets his vertical base. The Judge begins to back away towards his corner, but the Maori badass won’t have that. He charges forwards, and Justice gets in position as the giant member of the Unholy Trinity locks up with him, gaining a foot or so… before he’s thrust to the mat as the Judge brings his front foot back into the Maori’s leg, sweeping him to the ground! The man hits the mat, and Justice immediately grabs a leg, spinning it around and falling back as he quickly locks in the classic Figure Four Leglock!

 

“An interesting judo-ish takedown there, but it worked damn well. The Judge has his foot forward and was just waiting for Va’aiga to try and lockup so he could take him right off his feet.”

 

The Unholy Trinity member grimaces as Hearford applies the hold, grabbing the straight leg and pulling it upwards as the man tries to get the most out of the early hold. The big man, though, isn’t about to give up that easily. Biting his lip, the man plants his hands his on the ground and begins to flip himself over. The crowd behind him, the Judge gives up on concentrating on the leg to trying to keep the hold from being reversed on him.

 

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

 

Chants spring up as the Maori begins to go over the top, despite Hearford’s desperate attempts of Hearford to stay on the ground, but it’s to no avail as the big man flips the hold over! Justice gives a grunt of pain as he quickly begins trying to crawl towards the ropes, the hold on his legs putting him in excruciating pain… but it’s released as Va’aiga has no intention of making him tap out. The big man gets up, able to no-sell most of the soreness in his legs as he pulls up Hearford, scooping him up and planting him back into the mat with a scoop slam!

 

”MY HOUSE!”

 

HIS HOUSE! HIS HOUSE! HIS HOUSE! HIS HOUSE!

 

He pulls up Hearford for a second one…

 

 

*DING~!*

 

But catches one of the most blatant lowblows in the history of wrestling! Not even trying to hide it from the ref, Hearford connects with deafening force, sending the crowd into riot!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Va’aiga falls to his knees holding his battered gonads as Kivell comes over and begins chewing out the old veteran, who nods vacantly at the reprimand as he reaches back with his hand and tags in Tom. Both he and Ejiro come in and run at the now kneeling Va’aiga, nailing him with stereo Yak kicks! Kivell immediately turns towards Ejiro and starts threatening a DQ, but Ejiro quickly follows Matt’s orders and goes back to the ring apron.

 

“Blatant cheating, double teaming, fantastic submissions, and all of it done with a total disrespect for the other side,” says Bobbie with a smile, “I’m falling in love with the Magnificent 7 all over again, Grand Slam.”

 

With the Maori Badass stuck lying on his back, Flesher decides to introduce the giant’s knees to his Doc Martens, nailing them over and over again with disrespectful kicks. Va’aiga isn’t nearly done yet, though, and he quickly rolls away and slams his fist on the mat as he gets to his feet… but Flesher quickly grabs his wrist for a whip! But the Badass easily uses his size to reverse it, and he flings Flesher at the ropes instead! The crowd cheers as the Unholy Trinity member hits the ropes himself, building up momentum for a lariat… but Flesher ducks under the massive forearm, and the two bounce off the ropes again.

 

*THWACK!*

 

Just a little too close for Va’aiga, though, as Ejiro sees the ref watching Flesher and uses the chance to hit an Enzugiri, and the big man stumbles forwards as Flesher returns with a dropkick that connects right with the knee!

 

“More concentration on legs of Va’aiga, and it looks like the Magnificent 7 have found the weak spot they’ve been looking for.”

 

“Definitely. Both Tom and the Judge specialize in leg submissions, and Ejiro can run circles around the Maori Dumbass while kicking his knees out from under him. The Trinity are definitely screwed here.” remarks Riley matter of factly as Va’aiga tries to stand up. Tom won’t let that happen anytime soon, and he quickly sweeps his foot under the rising man, putting him back on his back. He grabs a leg…

 

“CROSS LIGHTNING!”

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Somewhere, CED Ordonez curses Tom Flesher as the leader of the Magnificent 7 applies the old smark favorite’s finishing hold right in the middle of the ring. The Maori Badass actually yells out in pain as the hold is applied, and Danny looks on with worried eyes from the outside, knowing that the rookie may be too far out of reach.

 

“That’s the move that made Danny tap out in his World Title shot! He knows first hand how painful that submission is,” says Grand Slam, putting Danny’s concern into words, “And judging by where he is in the ring, this one may be over.”

 

Va’aiga looks over at his partners, Dace yelling “COME ON, VA’AIGA! COME, ON, MAN!” and Danny holding his hand out firmly, ready for the tag. The crowd cheers for him, and the big man tries to start moving towards his corner… but he just can’t make it. The pain in his legs is just too much for him to concentrate on pulling his body over towards his partners, and he holds his hand up tentatively, everyone in the arena watching and waiting for what looks to be a tapout.

 

“This is it! It’s over! He can’t move!” cries an ecstatic Bobbie Riley as Va’aiga, face contorted in pain, keeps his hand up in the air…

 

 

 

 

 

 

*THUMP*

 

 

 

 

 

 

YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!

 

 

The crowd nearly explodes as Dace Night, his urge to save his tag partner taking over, slides in and hits a diving elbow on Flesher’s head, breaking up the hold just in time! The referee escorts him back to the outside, and the crowd begins to rally as it’s a race to see who can tag in first.

 

MA-OR-EE! MAY-OR-EE! MAY-OR-EE! MAY-OR-EE!

 

Tom Flesher holds his head for a moment as Va’aiga holds his legs in pain, but Va’aiga is the first to start moving, slowly crawling towards the outstretched hand of his leader, Danny Williams. Flesher, though, recovers not long after, and he quickly begins scrambling for his corner, tagging in Ejiro Fasaki! The crowd boos and Ejiro and his partner quickly enter the ring, each grabbing a leg and pulling him over to their corner, with Kivell furiously yelling at Hearford to get out. He begins a 5 count before a DQ, and the two wrestlers take the chance to count along, slamming Va’aiga’s knee into the canvas after every number.

 

ONE!

 

THUNK!

 

TWO!

 

THUNK!

 

THREE!

 

THUNK!

 

FOUR!

 

THUNK!

 

F- And there is where Justice exits, but not without a talking to from Matty Kivell and another warning on his conduct.

 

“Well, another blatant act of cheating from the veteran, and it looks like a little too angry to be subtle tonight.”

 

Ejiro quickly begins working over the man with kicks, nailing him all over as he moves around him like a cat playing with a mouse. Of course, the mouse is twice his size, but still, like a cat playing with a mouse. The big man gains his vertical base and Ejiro bounces on his toes as he watches and waits. Not wasting any time, the Maori takes a massive swing at Ejiro’s head… but the smaller man easily dodges it, swiftly nailing him with a sharp kick to the knee. He falters for a moment, and Ejiro uses the chance to begin hammering him with elbows. Elbow after elbow after elbow connects in the Maori’s face, and with a quick spin he nails his signature reverse rolling elbow!

 

“SCREAMING ELBOWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

Ejiro watches as the big man stumbles backwards, hitting the ropes… but comes back with a massive lariat, taking both of the men down to the ground! The crowd cheers for Va’aiga to get moving again, but he’s barely got the strength to get up after putting all of his power into that last lariat. On the side, Hearford and Flesher yell at Ejiro to get up as the small man is left holding his head from the brutal last ditch attack from the Maori.

 

“A great counter-punch by the Maori Badass, but he’s almost out of it. He has to start moving or he’s going to get caught again!”

 

Va’aiga starts to slowly show signs of life as Fasaki begins to shake off the effects of the lariat. The giant man slowly begins to crawl towards the Unholy Trinity corner while Ejiro gets back up to his feet, cursing as he staggers over towards Hearford and tags him in. Danny yells for Va’aiga to hurry, and the Maori Badass speeds up and now moves for the outstretched hand of his fellow tag champion, Dace.

 

 

He gets closer....

 

 

And closer….

 

 

 

 

 

*…*

 

... And his hand hits nothing as the Judge is able to come across the ring, pulling him back towards the heel corner. He quickly turns Va’aiga to face the Magnificent 7 as Justice mounts his back and grabs his chin, pulling him back for a camel clutch! The fans boo loudly, and Bobby Riley cheers out loud.

 

“William Hearford catches Va’aiga,” notes Stevens, “and even though it looked like the tempo was going to change, the Magnificent Seven has it under control once again.”

 

“Of course they do, Mark,” says Riley. “Va’aiga’s just not smart enough to get in control here.”

 

Hearford sits back in the camel clutch, stretching the enormous Maori’s back. The camera focuses in on his face, showing that the Judge isn’t resting as he usually would when applying the hold. His face is intense and angry as he pulls back on Va’aiga’s jaw, bending his back and neck uncomfortably out of joint. Hearford nods at Ejiro Fasaki, who quickly hops the ropes. Matthew Kivell shouts at Ejiro to leave the ring, but the latter half of Justice & Rule ignores him and sprints to the opposite side of the ring. He bounces off the ropes, picking up speed, and bounces off once more before driving a dropkick into the Maori Badass’s face! The fans boo loudly at the classic showboating, but Ejiro isn’t concerned with showing off. He stands up as Va’aiga tries in vain to cover his face and plants a stiff kick straight in the Tag Champion’s face! Kivell finally steps in and pushes Ejiro back to the corner as Va’aiga screams from the unprotected blow to the face. Kivell backs away, but before he leaves the ring, Fasaki dives down onto Va’aiga and drops an elbow stiffly on the crown of his head! Va’aiga’s head slumps forward, and as Ejiro steps back to the corner, William Hearford rolls the Maori to his back and covers him for

 

 

ONE!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR- NO! Va’aiga gets a shoulder up, forcefully showing the crowd he won’t be held down. Hearford stays on him for a second to drive a stiff right hand into his jaw, putting him back on the mat for a few moments while the Judge leans over and tags in the former World Champion, Tom Flesher.

 

“Flesher’s coming back into this one,” says Stevens.

 

“Finally,” adds Riley.

 

“The Magnificent Seven’s just plain angry this week,” continues Stevens, “and Tom Flesher’s hoping to take out some of that anger on the Maori Badass… but I’d wager that Va’aiga isn’t going to take it lying down.”

 

“Looks to me like he takes a lot lying down, Mark.”

 

Sure enough, Flesher climbs to the top rope as soon as he makes the tag. With Va’aiga laying on his back, Flesher jumps off the turnbuckle, then lands with full force on the Maori Badass’s sternum with a double-footed stomp! The crowd boos loudly as Flesher nods cockily, then drapes his 213 pounds over the Australopithecine’s body. Matthew Kivell counts

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

NO! Va’aiga kicks out forcefully, nearly sending the Superior One into the air. Flesher stands and backs off as the Maori monster rolls to his knees. Tom takes a few steps back as Va’aiga stands up, and then takes him straight back to the mat with a dropkick to the knee! Va’aiga collapses to the canvas, and Flesher grabs his legs and turns him to his back, then steps around and applies a figure-four leglock! The crowd pipes up in a chorus of boos, but Flesher simply grins at his Maori opponent as he rocks back and forth to increase the pressure of the leglock.

 

“Flesher continues working on that left leg,” says Riley. “The Magnificent Seven’s members all have a very similar style, and when they get into the ring together they seem to just click. It’s amazing, isn’t it? They’re all so relentless, and they work so well together.”

 

“Of course, Flesher and Hearford lost to Dace Night and Danny Williams a few weeks ago,” replies Stevens, “and Dace and Va’aiga just took the Tag Team Titles off of Justice & Rule the other night. They’re not exactly working well, Bobby.”

 

“Hey, they’ve got the weak link of the Unholy Trinity on his back, don’t they?”

 

Not for long, apparently. Flesher keeps the hold as tight as he can, but the crowd starts chanting once again…

 

 

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

 

 

In the corner, Danny and Dace stomp the mat to help the crowd along, shouting advice and encouragement. Va’aiga starts straightening his legs, but Flesher forces them back into figure-four position. The crowd chants louder and louder, and even as Flesher tries forcing the hold even more, the Maori Badass starts to get fired up! “Here we go!” says Mark Stevens as Va’aiga takes a deep breath and then, with all the strength he can muster, kicks his legs out! Flesher tries to hold on, but Va’aiga manages to break the hold! He rolls over, reaching for his corner, and Flesher scrambles to follow him! He dives onto the Maori with an axehandle as he reaches out, lunging for Dace Night’s hand….

 

 

 

 

SLAP!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

The crowd roars its approval as Dace Night rumbles into the ring! Flesher steps back, holding his hands up and trying to beg off, but Dace grabs him and pulls him into a vicious knee strike! Flesher doubles over, and Dace clubs his neck with a stiff elbow! Tom almost collapses, but the High Priest whips him to the ropes and gets a running start. On the rebound, he clobbers Flesher in the jaw with a sickening Yakuza kick! Flesher’s neck snaps sickeningly to the side, and he falls to the mat holding it, then quickly rolls to the side. He slaps Ejiro Fasaki’s hand as he rolls out to nurse his injury.

 

“Well, that was fast,” says Stevens. “Dace Night cleans house on the Superior One, and…”

 

Before Stevens can finish his sentence, Fasaki dives into the ring! Dace charges at him, arm cocked for a running elbow smash, but Ejiro ducks the strike! Behind Dace, he spins and nails him with an elbow to the back of the neck! Dace falls to the mat and Ejiro covers for

 

 

ONE!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

NO!

 

 

 

Dace kicks out, and Ejiro grabs him by the head. He stands in front of him in position for a snapmare, but Dace won’t allow it! He elbows Ejiro in the back twice, then slams a knee into his tailbone to break contact! As Ejiro stumbles away, Dace pulls him back in and ducks between his legs. Before Ejiro knows what’s happening, Dace has him in the electric chair position! The High Priest throws Ejiro down to the mat with the Night Driver, prompting another roar from the crowd! Before Ejiro even lands, William Hearford runs into the ring and dropkicks Night in the back! Danny Williams sees the interference and joins the fray, setting off a pier-six brawl!

 

“This is a total debacle!” shouts Mark Stevens, channeling Vince McMahon from the old WWE videogames. “Matthew Kivell has lost control!”

 

“Like he ever had it.”

 

Dace moves toward the edge to help Danny by Yakuza-kicking Justice, but Tom Flesher reaches in from the concrete and grabs his ankle! Dace falls, and Tom yanks him to the floor, then whips him to the corner and follows with a Yakuza kick of his own! Dace crumbles, and as Ejiro starts to stir again, Va’aiga makes his way back into the ring!

 

The crowd chants “TRI-NI-TY! TRI-NI-TY!” as the giant ambles in, his leg showing pain but the adrenaline overriding. With Dace out of the picture, Danny goes to plan B, jumping into the air and nailing Hearford with a stiff Dynamic Kick! The Judge falls back into the corner, and Danny moves toward him. Tom steps in and grabs the Maori, who turns around just in time to get nailed with a shotei to the jaw! Va’aiga staggers backwards and into the stunned Hearford. Matthew Kivell, completely confused, watches as the Judge tries to shake the exhausted native off. Ejiro Fasaki, meanwhile, crawls up behind Danny Williams and nails him with a low blow! The crowd boos, but Ejiro no-sells them entirely and locks on his reverse fisherman’s! Tom Flesher grabs Kivell and turns him around just in time to see Ejiro hit the suplex, and Kivell counts

 

 

ONE!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

NO!!!!!!!! Danny kicks out, then rolls away. Ejiro follows him, and they roll out of the ring together. Dace Night starts to get to his feet on the outside, and Tom Flesher charges at him and nails him with a baseball slide into headscissors! As Grand Slam says, “Dace just can’t get a break this match,” Flesher rolls to the side and sends Dace somersaulting back to the concrete!

 

“Of course not,” says Bobby. “He’s in against the best wrestler in the SWF today!”

 

“He’s not even in the ring!”

 

Va’aiga, meanwhile, lifts William Hearford to his feet and nails him across the chest with a vicious forearm smash! “Even though he seems to be running on fumes,” says Mark Stevens, “the Maori Badass is still going from zero to sixty in two seconds flat!” Hearford tries to fight back, but Va’aiga nails him with another forearm, grabs ahold of him and lifts him into the air in power slam position! The crowd roars its approval as Va’aiga shakes off the cobwebs and pauses just long enough to scream…

 

 

“MY HOUSE!”

 

 

The crowd, simply put, explodes.

 

 

“This could be it!” shouts Stevens, trying to yell over the screaming crowd. “This could end it all!”

 

Va’aiga jumps up, leaving the mat entirely, and dives forward. Finally…

 

 

BOOM!

 

 

“MAORI DROP!” screams Stevens! “MAORI DROP! COVER HIM!”

 

Matthew Kivell counts

 

 

ONE!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE –

 

 

 

NO!!!!!!!!! Tom Flesher breaks up the pin with a dropkick to the Maori Warrior’s skull! He rolls off the Judge, confused, and Flesher moves to the corner. He crouches, setting up a Yakuza Kick to finish! Outside, Danny Williams and Ejiro Fasaki trade elbows for the upper hand. Va’aiga makes it to his feet, and Flesher charges out of the corner! As he sprints toward the Maori, Ejiro Fasaki once again passes by Danny Williams, this time shoving him into a ringpost, and spins around to hit him with a rolling elbow! Flesher raises his foot, and just as Danny Williams ducks the elbow and Ejiro’s arm slams into the steel, Va’aiga catches Flesher’s boot! Danny stands up and quickly pops Ejiro with a back elbow smash to neutralize him, and William Hearford starts to get his wind back. Va’aiga holds Flesher’s boot for a moment, not quite sure what to do with it, and finally…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

Flesher leaps into the air and sends his Doc Marten crashing into Va’aiga’s skull with an enzuigiri!

 

“Oh my god!” screams Bobby Riley! “Flesher nails Va’aiga with an enzuigiri! He’s never done that before!”

 

Va’aiga, caught completely by surprise, falls to the mat. Flesher bounces back up, grabbing Va’aiga’s legs before he even hits the mat, and quickly drops an elbow into the strained left knee! Va’aiga winces, trying not to show pain, but Flesher stands back up and crosses his legs into a cloverleaf! He quickly steps over, locking on the Superior Stretch, and Va’aiga’s legs start to throb with pain! Danny tries to enter to make the save, but Hearford steps up. Still dazed from the Maori Drop, Hearford is only a momentary distraction.

 

 

But that’s all Flesher needs.

 

 

 

TAP

 

TAP

 

TAP

 

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

“VA’AIGA TAPS TO THE SUPERIOR STRETCH!” screams Bobby Riley. “GET OUT THE CHAMPAGNE! THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN HAVE BEATEN THE UNHOLY TRINITY!”

 

“Only by getting the early advantage by cheating,” says Stevens. “And even then, if the wind had blown the other way, they could have lost just as easily. Let Va’aiga heal up and let’s see that happen again. He’ll be back to fight another day!”

 

“But tonight, the Magnificent Seven get the win! And that’s all that counts!”

 

Fade.

[Guest Grand Slam]

The First Union Center is loud and fired-up as SWF Lockdown returns from their final commercial break. The SmarkTron™ lights up with the Lockdown logo, then flashes to a shot of a man in the crowd, holding a “CLANNIES ATE MY BABY!” sign, complete with a picture of Thoth munching on an infant. The crowd noise dies down slightly as the voices of “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley return to the airwaves.

 

“Welcome back to S-W-F LOCKDOWN!” shouts Mark, with obvious excitement in his voice. “Tonight has truly been an EXTRAORDINARY show! We saw both the United States and ICTV titles up for grabs, a battle between longtime vets Sacred and Jay Dawg, another chapter in the rivalry between Crow and Janus, and most recently, a superb six-man tag team matchup between the Trinity and the Magnificent 7!”

 

“Stevens, that was one of the best matches I’ve ever seen! And you know why? Because TOM FLESHER was in it!”

 

“Really? I figured you liked it because you find Dace’s choice in ring attire to be extremely fashionable.”

 

“Shove it, Mark.”

 

“Well, despite the incredible night we’ve already seen, it’ll only get better with tonight’s main event! Thoth, who beat Tom Flesher for the title on the July 2nd edition of Lockdown, has been a busy champion! He recently defended his title against the Superior One himself, and now, on the very next show, he has to face a man who took Tom Flesher to the absolute limit at 13th Hour, the Boston Strangler!”

 

“King still has it in for Thoth! Two title defenses in a row? Hell, even Tom Flesher would have some trouble with that! He’d win, but it’d be hard for him!”

 

“Well, Thoth has no choice but to go forward and do his best! Still, a win here would be a very impressive sign from the Balancer, who has yet to taste defeat since his return!”

 

“And Strangler sure as hell isn’t the guy who’s gonna end that streak! The guy hardly deserves to win a game of Bingo, let alone the SWF World Title!”

 

“Fortunately for all the SWF fans out there, you aren’t in charge, Bobby. We now take it to the middle of the ring, where Funyon is ready to get tonight’s extraordinary main event underway!”

 

Funyon stands alone in the middle of the ring, with a single spotlight piercing the darkness to illuminate the well-dressed announcer. The crowd, more than ready for this match, explodes once again. As the noise finally dies down, Funyon raises his microphone to his lips. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! It is now time for tonight’s MAIN EVENT!” The crowd pops once again, giving Funyon a moment to ready himself. “Tonight’s match is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP! Introducing first…”

 

Right on cue, the opening chords of “Godzilla” by Blue Oyster Cult kick up over the First Union Center’s speaker system. The word “STRANGLER” is displayed in big white letters on the SmarkTron™ as a massive wall of white pyro explodes upwards from the stage. “Godzilla” kicks into high gear, but the song is drowned out by the pyro and the fans as the Boston Strangler appears from behind the pyro. Strangler raises a fist into the air, then slowly walks down towards the ring. His usually stony demeanor is absent tonight, replaced by a thin, anxiety-filled grin. “INTRODUCING FIRST, FROM BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, WEIGHING IN AT 303 POUNDS, HE IS THE BOSTON STRRRRRRRRANGLER”! crows Funyon as Strangler reaches the bottom of the ramp. Strangler rolls into the ring, and immediately hops up onto the second turnbuckle. Strangler raises both fists in the air, and poses for the crowd as flashbulbs explode throughout the arena, bathing Strangler in flash after flash of white light. Strangler finally hops down off the turnbuckle and starts to pace around the ring in a circle, with the nervous look still plastered on his face.

 

“Stevens, Strangler looks scared going into this one! Thoth has this one won already!”

 

“Strangler has every right to be somewhat nervous! This is a match for the biggest title in the game! When he fought Flesher, he already held a win over Tom, and was ready to go. But Thoth beat the man he couldn’t, and Strangler hasn’t wrestled Thoth in a year’s time. There’s some definite anxiety here!”

 

“Nah, he’s just a pussy” retorts Riley, drawing a scathing stare from Grand Slam.

 

Strangler continues to pace, muttering under his breath as “Godzilla” fades out. The cheers of the crowd die down, then turn into a huge chorus of boos as KMFDM’s “Go To Hell” kicks up. Red strobe lights flash around the arena as the Balancer, Thoth, emerges on the stage with the SWF World Title belt slung over his shoulder. Thoth’s face displays a trademark evil grin, with his eyes locked straight on Strangler. Strangler glares back at Thoth as the normal confident look on Strangler’s face replaces the perturbed expression. “AND INTRODUCING HIS OPPONENT! FROM AECHIBA, JAPAN, WEIGHING IN AT 245 POUNDS, HE IS THE SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION, HE IS THOOOOOOOOTH!”

Thoth makes his way towards the ring, ignoring the overpowering jeers from the Philadelphia crowd as he remains focused solely on the challenger to his title. “Well Mark, if there’s one thing these ignorant buffoons here in Philadelphia know how to do, it’s booing” remarks Riley as Thoth rolls into the ring.

 

Thoth hands his SWF Title belt to referee Mark Hebner and stretches himself out a little bit, finally breaking his staring contest with Strangler. Strangler pumps his arms backwards and steps forward to the middle of the ring, looking eager to get the contest underway. Thoth finally finishes the stretch, and purposefully strides forwards into the middle of the ring, ready to go as well. Mark Hebner says a few words to both men, then raises the SWF Title belt high into the air, displaying it for all the fans to see. A small pop accompanies Hebner’s actions as the ref hands the belt to the attendant outside the ring, then signals for the bell to start the match.

 

 

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

 

 

“And this match is underway, Riley! I’m sure that these two men won’t disappoint us!” Strangler and Thoth circle each other, with both men trying to size up their opponents from three feet away. “Strangler’s entire existance is a disappointment! I’m sure this will be nothing different!” snaps Riley as Strangler finally makes the first move. TBS lunges forward and locks up with the much smaller Thoth, who steps backwards to try and set himself. Strangler pushes forward, moving Thoth along almost as will as the SWF Champion struggles to halt Strangler’s protest. Strangler backs Thoth into the corner, and goes to drill Thoth with a huge punch, but Thoth slips off to the side and dodges the clubbing blow. Strangler winds up and sends another huge punch flying at Thoth’s nose, but Thoth ducks underneath the blow and darts behind Strangler. Strangler turns around, only to be met with a brutal knife-edge chop from Thoth. Thoth looks up, and sees that the blow has barely fazed the massive Strangler. Thoth winds up, and delivers a second chop, then a third. The “WHOO!”s from the crowd echo through the building, but Thoth’s chops do very little to stop Strangler.

 

Strangler takes a fourth knife-edge chop to the stomach, which sends him stumbling backwards slightly. Thoth goes to capitalize on the blow, and charges forward. He clotheslines Strangler, sending Strangler lurching backwards. Strangler falls back against the ropes as Thoth turns around sprints towards the ropes on the other side. Strangler shakes his head, clearing the cobwebs, and steps forward, walking straight into a running dropkick from the Balancer. Strangler goes flying backwards and hits the ground, landing in a sitting position against the ropes. “Wow, Thoth is really going straight at Strangler” observes Stevens as Thoth walks up and delivers a stiff kick to the side of Strangler’s head, which sends Strangler reeling to one side. “It’s not often that Strangler gets assaulted like this, and even less frequently when Strangler is getting out-brawled at the outset of the match!” Riley immediately buts in, “Hey, it just goes to show you why Thoth is the SWF Champion, and why Strangler isn’t!”

 

Thoth reaches down and grabs Strangler by the neck, pulling Strangler up. However, Thoth immediately delivers a quick snapmare, which sends Strangler rolling into a sitting position in the middle of the ring. Strangler reaches up and rubs the side of his head, which is still smarting from the swift kick by Thoth, as Thoth sets up behind Strangler. Thoth charges forward, taking aim at the same part of Strangler’s head with his trademark right knee. However, at the last minute, Strangler flops down and lies down square on his back. Thoth’s knee goes rushing overhead and Thoth goes flying on by. “How’d Strangler know he was coming?” exclaims Riley increduously as Thoth manages to screech to a stop. He turns around, looking to go back on the offensive, but Strangler, still lying on his back, reaches up and slams his right foot into Thoth’s stomach with all his might. Thoth doubles over as the air rushes out of his lungs from the force of the blow. Strangler reaches up and grabs ahold of Thoth’s head, applying a front facelock, before pulling him down to the canvas with a sharp DDT. “Incredible maneuver from Strangler there! What innovation by TBS!” cries Stevens as Riley scowls. The crowd explodes for the unexpected maneuver as Strangler rolls Thoth onto his back and goes for the cover.

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

T…

 

 

 

“Of course Thoth kicked out there! How stupid is Strangler, thinking that he could take down Thoth, the SWF CHAMPION, with a bloody DDT?” blurts out Riley. Mark patiently replies, “Bobby, we’ve been over this before. Strangler wants to force his opponents to kick out from under that 300 pound frame as much as possible! It saps a LOT of strength!” Riley ignores the explanation, simply muttering, “A DDT? Pfffffft!” as Strangler gets to his feet, pulling Thoth along with him. Strangler repeats Thoth’s actions from earlier, slamming his open hand into Thoth’s chest with a brutal knife-edge chop. Strangler repeats the action, getting the crowd back into the action as well.

 

 

 

“CHOP!”

 

 

“WHOO!!!”

 

 

“CHOP!”

 

 

“WHOO!”

 

 

“CHOP!”

 

 

“WHOO!”

 

 

Strangler keeps up the offense as he backs Thoth into the corner. He winds up, and finally slams his hand into Thoth’s chest with one final HUGE chop. The “WHOO!” from the crowd is the loudest yet as Strangler backs away slightly, basking in the cheers from the audience. “Don’t get cocky, you Bostonian bastard!” mutters Riley. “You haven’t won this match yet!” Strangler steps back to Thoth and grabs the champion by his arm before whipping him all the way across the ring into the opposite corner. Strangler gets down into a three-point stance, then charges forward and crashes into Thoth with a huge shoulder block. Thoth slumps down into a sitting position against the bottom turnbuckle as Strangler straightens himself up. He looks down at Thoth, then grabs ahold of the top rope to steady himself before unleashing a brutal right boot at Thoth’s midsection. Thoth recoils from the force of the blow, and is immediately met by another sharp strike. Strangler continues to stomp away at the downed Thoth, never giving the Balancer a second to get his wind back.

 

“Strangler is DOMINATING right now, Riley!” shouts Stevens, whose voice is partially drowned out by the cheering crowd. Strangler leans back, then delivers one last hard boot to the stomach of Thoth. Thoth shoots back against the turnbuckle from the force of the hardest blow yet, and reaches up to cover his chest, which is already sore from the earlier knife-edge chops. Strangler grabs Thoth by the leg and pulls him out of the corner into the middle of the ring, where Strangler drops to the canvas and applies the lateral press to Thoth as Hebner slides into position.

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH…..

 

 

 

“And Thoth kicks out again! Still, Thoth has taken a lot of damage in the last minute or so, and Strangler doesn’t seem to be letting up at all!” Stevens’ analysis proves to be on the money, as Strangler immediately grabs Thoth’s arm and pulls him into a standing position before whipping him into the ropes. Thoth bounces off the ropes, and rebounds right into a big boot from Strangler, which drops Thoth onto his back again. Strangler drops down to the mat once more, and forces Thoth back down to the canvas while hooking the leg.

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH……

 

 

“And Thoth kicks out again! Still, that must be putting an awful strain on Thoth! Strangler is laying a beating on him, and he’s being forced to kick out from underneath the massive Strangler!” “Stevens, if you’ve ever smelled Strangler, you’d have all the motivation in the world to get out from under him” retorts an embittered Riley as he watches Thoth struggle up to his feet. Strangler watches his adversary forcing himself up, then stands behind him, signaling for the Plunge. The fans pop, hoping to see the chokeslam, as Riley laughs at Strangler’s actions. “WAY too early for the chokeslam, Stevens. Strangler’s making a big mistake here!” “I dunno, Bobby! Strangler could end the match VERY early if he can connect here…and here he goes!” bellows Stevens as Strangler’s hand locks around Thoth’s throat. Thoth’s instincts kick in, and the champion starts to thrash around, trying to escape Strangler’s vise-like grip. Strangler prepares to hoist Thoth in the air just as Thoth’s thrashing right foot connects squarely with Strangler’s shin. Strangler swears and relaxes his grip on Thoth’s throat as he takes weight off his right leg. Thoth snaps his head backwards, breaking Strangler’s grip on his throat, then reaches up and grasps Strangler around the throat before falling backwards. Strangler is yanked off-balance and goes crashing face-first into the mat as the crowd is silenced by Thoth’s downward spiral. Thoth looks around, somewhat dazed, but the fog lifts as he sees Strangler down on the mat. Thoth crawls over and drapes himself over Strangler’s body as Hebner drops into position and starts to count.

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH…..

 

 

 

“I TOLD YOU, Stevens! Way too early! But did you listen to me? NOOOOOOOO, you thought it was a great idea! You’re as dumb as Strangler is!” Stevens refrains from commenting as Thoth, who appears to have his game face back on, gets to his feet as Strangler starts to push himself up off the canvas. Thoth rushes over and slams a knee into the side of Strangler’s head. Strangler goes lurching backwards, somehow remaining on his feet, and falls against the ring ropes. TBS tries to push himself up once again, but Thoth makes his way over to Strangler and grabs Strangler by the forearm. He drills Strangler in the jaw with a right arm, further dazing the giant, then whips him towards the ropes. Strangler bounces off the ropes and comes flying back towards Thoth, who delivers a hard running clothesline to Strangler. Strangler bounces to the mat and lies motionless for a moment as Thoth shakes out the arm which he clotheslined Strangler with.

 

“Right now, Thoth has control of this match” remarks Stevens as Thoth walks over to Strangler, who is still on his back on the canvas. Thoth grunts under the weight as he hoists Strangler to his feet. Strangler shuffles slightly to his right, having trouble keeping his balance, as Thoth grabs Strangler by the arm once again. He grabs Strangler, and sets him up for a Northern Lights suplex. “Can Thoth really hit the Northern Lights on Strangler, Bobby?” questions a surprised Stevens. “Strangler is a BIG guy!” “Hey, Thoth is the champ! If he thinks he can do it, then he can do it!” retorts Riley in a harsh voice. Thoth sets himself, then, with all his might, lifts Strangler up and over his head. Strangler goes crashing down to the mat behind him, where he moans and lies motionlessly on the canvas. The crowd buzzes, surprised at Thoth’s power, as the Balancer gets to his feet. “I told ya he could do it, Mark!” exclaims Riley. “Well, Thoth did pull off an impressive maneuver there,” admits Stevens. “Let’s see how he wants to follow it up.”

 

Thoth looks at the motionless Strangler on the ground, and pauses for a second. Thoth finally breaks the indecision and strides over to the nearest turnbuckle. He steps onto the ring apron and scales the turnbuckle as the crowd’s buzz gets even louder as they wonder what the SWF Champion has up his sleeve. Thoth reaches the top and sets himself up as he takes aim at Strangler. After a momentary pause, Thoth launches himself off the turnbuckle and flies through the air before drilling Strangler straight across his left shoulder with a knee drop. Strangler howls in pain as Thoth rolls off to the side before scrambling back and covering Strangler.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE……

 

 

 

 

 

“NO! Strangler kicks out! What resiliency by Strangler!” “Hey, Stevens, who cares if he kicked out there!” taunts Riley. “Look at your boy now! Thoth might have just destroyed that left arm! It’s useless!”

 

Riley appears to be correct, as Strangler is still howling and clutching his left shoulder on the canvas. Thoth looks over and sees Strangler holding his shoulder, and a smile comes over his face. He walks over and kicks Strangler as hard as he can in the injured shoulder with the toe of his boot. Strangler screams out in pain and rolls over, trying to shield his shoulder from the champion. Thoth reaches down and grabs Strangler by the left arm, and drags TBS over towards the corner of the ring. Thoth lays Strangler’s arm near the edge of the ring and slides under the bottom rope to the outside. Mark Hebner warns Thoth, then starts the 10 count for Thoth as the Balancer reaches into the ring and grabs Strangler’s arm. “No…don’t tell me Thoth would do this!” cries Mark as Thoth leans back, then sends Strangler’s arm wrapping around the post. Strangler’s shoulder and upper arm take the brunt of the impact, which draws another cry from Strangler and a HUGE round of boos from the crowd. Hebner’s count, which has reached 4, is nearly drowned out by the impassioned response from the Philly crowd.

 

“Dammit Bobby, Thoth is a horrible human being! He knows he can’t beat Strangler, so he has to use that steel ringpost to get the win!” “Hey, whatever it takes, Mark!” replies a smug Bobby Riley. “As long as Thoth walks out of the First Union Center with that SWF Title wrapped around his waist, nothing else matters to him!” Thoth smashes Strangler’s shoulder into the ringpost a second time, and then one more time. Suddenly, Thoth hears Hebner’s count reach “NINE!” and Thoth quickly scrambles into the ring. Strangler reaches to the ropes with his right arm and starts to try and pull himself up, desperate to get himself back into the match. “Look Stevens, Strangler can’t even pull himself up with his left arm! This match is as good as done!” Riley’s observations are the same thoughts running through the minds of everyone in the building as the crowd is deadly silent, seemingly waiting for the end. Thoth grabs Strangler’s hair from behind and pulls him up into a standing position before twirling him around. Thoth pulls Strangler’s head down and sets up the Superstation for a double-armed DDT, but Strangler shifts his right shoulder underneath Thoth’s chest and begins to lift Thoth off the ground. The crowd comes alive as Strangler, trembling under Thoth’s weight, lifts him a solid two to three feet off the ground. Thoth throws a punch at Strangler’s head, trying to shake free, but Strangler plants Thoth with a big spinebuster, which sends the crowd into hysterics. “Cover him, Strangler! Cover him!” cries Stevens as Strangler reaches over and drapes his good arm over Thoth’s chest for the pin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

“NO! Thoth kicked out, but I thought Strangler had it there!” “Thoth can take a lot more than that, Stevens!” “Well Bobby, that may be true, but right now, Strangler has just stolen the momentum from Thoth, and this match is up in the air once again!” Strangler and Thoth both struggle to get to their feet as the crowd starts a “T-B-S! T-B-S!” chant, which seems to fire Strangler up. Strangler beats Thoth to his feet, and turns to wait for the Balancer to get to his feet. Strangler winds up his right fist, and sends it sailing towards Thoth’s sternum. Thoth is caught off-guard by the punch and springs back. Strangler follows up with another punch, which has a similar result. Strangler winds up big for the third one, but Thoth manages to duck and block the punch, sending it glancing off to the side. Thoth takes the momentary opportunity and sails upwards, drilling Strangler square under the jaw with a massive uppercut.

 

“Hell of a move by Thoth there!” admires Riley as Thoth leaps forward and grabs Strangler by his injured left arm. He sets himself and whips Strangler towards the ropes with every ounce of energy he can muster. Strangler bounces hard off the ropes and comes flying back towards Thoth, who catches Strangler by the left arm and sends him flipping over him. Strangler crashes against the canvas and goes rolling all the way to the ropes as a result of the armdrag, while Thoth pushes himself up off his stomach, looking pleased with himself. Strangler’s left arm appears to be hurt even further as he grabs the shoulder, in obvious pain from the maneuver. “Great job by Thoth!” remarks Riley. “Now finish him off!”

 

Thoth looks around, and then spies the top rope again. He starts to walk towards the corner as the crowd’s buzz again ignites, wondering if the Balancer has something even more sadistic in mind. “I wonder if Thoth wants to try another knee drop…” wonders Grand Slam as Thoth climbs the ropes while never once taking his eyes off Strangler. Thoth perches on the top rope and mutters something to himself under his breath as he scouts Strangler’s position, looking to finalize his plans. Finally, Thoth leaps off into midair once again, but stretches out. He flies through the air, pumps his legs in and out, then crashes down straight onto nothing but open canvas. The crowd explodes as Strangler, who rolled into the middle of the ring, looks over at Thoth, who seems extremely dazed following the missed frogsplash.

 

“Thoth made a BIG error in judgment there, Bobby!” says Stevens with a huge grin on his face. “Thoth had control of the matchup, and needed to keep it on the mat. Instead, he went up top, gave TBS time to recover, and then gave him an opening back into the match! Huge, HUGE error in judgment!” Strangler starts to push up, wincing as he moves his left arm, while Thoth tries to find the energy to get to his feet. Strangler walks over to Thoth and pulls him up to his feet before leading with another big right punch. The crowd cheers as Strangler works over Thoth with a few big right crosses, then whips Thoth into the ropes. Thoth bounces off, and runs right back into a Strangler clothesline, which knocks Thoth flat on his back. Strangler drops to the mat and covers Thoth as Hebner, as well as the 15,000+ in attendance, start the three-count.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

“No! Strangler couldn’t keep him down for three, but it was mighty close!” The tinge of disappointment in Stevens’ voice is audible as Strangler reaches down and applies a front facelock to Thoth on the mat. He pulls Thoth up, keeping that front facelock applied tightly. Thoth supplies little to no resistance, as the clothesline still has him knocked loopy. Strangler gets into a standing position, with the facelock still applied, then turns around and drills Thoth in the back of the head with an elbow, spiking Thoth to the canvas. “Lobotomy! Lobotomy from Strangler! Thoth is down and out! We could have a new champion!” screams Stevens as Hebner drops into position and begins the count.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“NO! NO! Thoth kicks out! Thoth kicks out! And the match continues!” Thoth is moving slightly on the mat, struggling to get onto one knee. Strangler looks down at the SWF Champion, and raises one hand into the air. The fans go nuts as Strangler, with his left arm extended and a wince on his face, reaches down and grabs Thoth by the hair, pulling him up to his feet. Strangler places his hands underneath Thoth’s chest, being careful with his left arm, then pushes Thoth up into the air. However, Strangler’s left arm buckles, and Thoth manages to slip off of Strangler’s arms. Strangler whirls around, and gets met by Thoth lashing his right foot out and connecting with Strangler in the gut. Strangler bends over at the waist, trying to catch his breath. Thoth takes a step or two backwards, then leaps into the air and wraps his legs around Strangler’s head before driving TBS down to the canvas. The guillotine facebuster plants Strangler’s face firmly into the canvas, where Strangler lies motionless. The muted crowd watches as Thoth untangles his legs from around Strangler’s head, rolls over, and makes the cover.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“NO! Strangler stays alive! Strangler stays alive!” “Bah. Not for much longer, Mark. Not for much longer” mutters Riley as Thoth pushes himself up to his feet. He briefly exchanges words with Kivell, who gestures that it was only a 2-count, and then returns his attention to Strangler. Thoth reaches down, grabs the injured arm once again, and torques it, sending waves of pain throughout TBS’ entire upper body. Strangler squirms, trying to get more comfortable, as Thoth contorts Strangler’s arm into all kinds of unnatural position. Thoth finally gets Strangler onto his feet and goes to whip Strangler into the ropes, but Strangler sets himself and reverses the Irish whip. “Looks like Thoth underestimated Strangler’s sheer strength!” remarks Stevens. The crowd pops as Thoth goes flying into the ropes, and Strangler sets himself up, waiting for Thoth to return. Thoth goes sprinting back towards Strangler, but launches himself through the air. He slams into Strangler with a big cross-body that sends Strangler crashing to the mat with Thoth on top of him. “And it looks like Strangler underestimated Thoth’s agility!” responds Riley as Thoth hooks the leg and waits for Hebner to start the count.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“NO! Strangler kicks out! Thoth caught him off guard, but Strangler was still able to kick out, and the match continues!” Stevens’ delight is shared by the entire arena, who have the “T-B-S! T-B-S!” chant started up again, louder than ever. Thoth gets up, furious with Hebner this time. Hebner merely holds up two fingers and repeats his claim that Strangler kicked out cleanly. Thoth stomps his foot against the mat and turns back to Strangler, who has gotten to his knees. Thoth grabs Strangler by the head and delivers a sharp snapmare, seating Strangler in the middle of the ring again. Thoth steps backwards, then charges forward, his knee aimed straight at Strangler’s head. Strangler doesn’t duck this time, and the force of the blow sends Strangler shooting forward before falling backwards on the canvas. “There we go! If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again! Probably a lesson Strangler’s learned well, considering all his failures over the years!” jeers Riley as Thoth gets up, instead of going for the cover.

 

“What is Thoth doing?” asks Stevens as Thoth heads to the turnbuckle once again. Thoth quickly reaches the top turnbuckle, but stays down in a crouch, watching Strangler as he slowly and painfully starts to push himself up off the mat. “Stevens, I think Thoth is intent on ending this match right here! I’m guessing he’s looking for the Scum Gale, which would put Strangler down and out for the evening!” The crowd seems to have come to the same conclusion, as they start up a “NO THOTH NO! NO THOTH NO!” chant. The Balancer ignores them as he turns around, setting himself for the moonsault as Strangler staggers to his feet. Strangler is almost up to a standing position, then loses his balance and falls backwards into the corner Thoth is in. Strangler bumps the ropes, which drops Thoth from his standing position into a sitting position, crotch-first on the turnbuckle. The crowd erupts into cheers, coupled with groans from many of the men throughout the audience who feel Thoth’s pain.

 

“Strangler is right back in this one! Riley, Strangler has a chance to take the advantage, and maybe even finish Thoth off here!” “Finish Thoth off? What do you think this is, a poetry reading? And anyways, there’s no chance Strangler takes advantage of this opportunity. He’s blown all the other ones he’s had, and he’ll blow this one too, Mark!” Strangler looks up above him, and sees Thoth in a sitting position facing the crowd. Strangler reaches up and grabs Thoth’s forearms in each hand as he straightens up, stretching his arms to the fullest. “Riley, it looks kinda like…” Stevens says as Strangler pulls Thoth forwards off the top turnbuckle. Thoth goes flipping over in midair and crashes down onto the mat, landing on his face and chest. The crowd goes nuts for the maneuver as Strangler starts to crawl the 18 inches seperating him and Thoth. “DID YOU SEE THAT, RILEY? A REVERSE SOUTHIE SLAM FROM STRANGLER! THOTH MUST BE DEAD! THE MATCH IS OVER! NEW CHAMPION!” Strangler quickly reaches Thoth and hooks the leg as Hebner drops into position and starts the count, with the entire arena counting along.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“GET ‘EM, STRANGLER! PIN HIM!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“NO NO NO NO NO!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“NO! NO! THOTH KICKED OUT! THERE IS A GOD, STEVENS!”

 

“Strangler JUST, JUST misses getting the pinfall! He was a millisecond away from becoming the SWF Champion! But the match continues! WHAT a match we’ve seen here tonight!” Strangler pushes himself to his feet, obviously fatigued from the battle with the SWF Champion. Thoth is hardly moving, still knocked senseless from the reverse Southie Slam. Strangler looks down at Thoth, and an idea flashes across Strangler’s face. He grabs a fistful of Thoth’s red hair and pulls him up to his feet, with Strangler behind Thoth. He grabs Thoth in an inverted facelock and pulls him down to his side with his right arm as he raises the left arm into the air. “STRANGLER’S GOING FOR THE LAST BREATH! LAST BREATH!” cries Stevens as Strangler sets himself and starts to lift Thoth into the air. Thoth manages to keep Strangler’s momentum going, and ends up flipping back over Strangler’s shoulder.

 

“YES!” cries Bobby Riley, in direct opposition to the 15,000+ fans groaning, as Strangler whirls around to face Thoth. Thoth catches Strangler with a quick kick to the stomach, doubling the Bostonian over. The SWF Champion grabs Strangler and pulls him down into position for a double-arm DDT at Thoth’s right side. “HA! Strangler fails again, Stevens! Strangler will never, EVER come out on top!” Thoth looks out at the crowd, with the malicious grin back on his face, and goes to drop Strangler with the double-arm DDT, but Strangler refuses to go down. Thoth strains downward, but Strangler manages to stay on his feet. The crowd begins to come alive as Strangler lifts upwards and slides Thoth onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry position. The fans begin to go nuts as Strangler straightens up, with Thoth still on his shoulders. In one smooth motion, Strangler hoists Thoth off his shoulders and into the air in a Gorilla Press slam position.

 

“NO! NO NO NO NO!” screams Riley as Strangler, supporting Thoth almost entirely with his right hand and using only his left arm for balance, takes a couple of tenative steps forward. The rest of the crowd is going nuts as Strangler looks around, a wild-eyed expression on his face. Finally, Strangler drops Thoth back onto his shoulders as he falls down towards the canvas. Flashbulbs explode throughout the arena as Thoth is spiked head-first into the canvas. Thoth rolls onto his side, knocked out cold, as Strangler rolls over and makes the cover. “MASSACRE! MASSACRE!” screams Stevens in a hoarse voice as Hebner drops into position to make the count.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“NEW CHAMPION! NEW CHAMPION!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“NO! NO! NONONONONONO!!!!!!!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“YOUR WINNER, AND THE NEWWWWWWWW SSSSS-WWWWW-FFFFF WORLD CHAMPION, THE BOSTON STRRRRRRRRRRRANGLER!” crows Funyon. Funyon’s voice, as well as “Godzilla”, can barely be heard over the massive, MASSIVE roar of the Philly crowd.

 

“HE DID IT! HE DID IT! STRANGLER WON! STRANGLER WON! STRANGLER IS THE CHAMPION!”

 

“GODDAMN IT! WHY STRANGLER? WHY NOT FLESHER?”

 

“THE BOSTON STRANGLER, AFTER TWO LONG YEARS IN THIS COMPANY, AND SO MUCH TO OVERCOME, HAS MADE IT TO THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN! TONIGHT, HE IS SWF CHAMPION!”

 

Strangler rolls over and looks out at the screaming crowd, in disbelief over what just happened. Mark Hebner walks over to Strangler, with the SWF Championship Belt in hand, and places it in Strangler’s right hand. Strangler looks down at the belt, which still has Thoth’s nameplate on it, and just stares at it. A single tear rolls down his cheek as he looks at the belt, holding it in his hands. Finally, he gets to his feet and raises the belt high into the air, drawing another huge round of applause from the crowds. Another “T-B-S! T-B-S!” chant thunders throughout the First Union Center. “What a night for Strangler! He’s the champion tonight! Finally, at long last, the Boston Strangler is champion!” Stevens claps his hands a few times as Strangler hops up onto the turnbuckle and raises the belt high into the air, basking in the moment. Thoth, meanwhile, lies motionless on the canvas, as yet unaware that he is no longer champion.

 

“WHAT a show, folks! And for the second Lockdown in a row, we close with a new champion!”

 

“Don’t worry, Mark! There are a LOT of people who’ll take that belt right back from him! Thoth should get a rematch for his belt, and then there’s a whole pack of contenders, including the one man who truly deserves to be champion, Tom Flesher!”

 

“What lies ahead is unknown, Riley! But what we DO know is that tonight, the Boston Stranger is the SWF Champion! Alongside Bobby Riley, I’m “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens! Goodnight, everybody!”

 

The camera slowly fades to black as the Boston Strangler, still clutching his SWF Title tight, continues to celebrate in the ring.

 

 

SWF Lockdown©

July 16, 2003

A White Apple© Production

Edited July 17, 2003 by Suicide King