Smarkdown!!!

[Guest Suicide King]

SWF Smarkdown

July 21, 2003

Live from the sold-out Staples Center in Los Angeles, California!

 

Opening Promo

All we know is, there is TV time scheduled for a promo here. Who is cutting it? Your guess is as good as mine. One way or the other, opening promo is called.

 

Non-Title Singles Match

Judge William Hearford v. Va'aiga

Judge requested this matchup. It seems that he may have something to prove, and what better way than taking the Maori Badass to the woodshed?

 

 

Falls Count Anywhere Match for the #1 Contendership to the SWF Hardcore-Gamers Title

Dace Night v. WildChild

Wildchild missed a chance to become the new U.S. Champion on Lockdown, but someone sees a bright future for this high flyer. Tonght he gets a chance at the master of "horrorcore". The winner gets a shot at the HCG Title.

 

 

Singles Match

Frost v. "The Sacred One" Andrew Blackwell

One is a legend from way back, a Hall of Famer that has won every title in the SWF. The other is an up and coming superstar, a possible legend in the making. Tonight, they clash for the very first time!

 

 

Tag Match for the #1 Contendership to the SWF Tag Team Titles

The Turner Empire ("TNT" Taylor Nicholas Thompson & The Boston Strangler) v. International Incident (CIA & Mak Francis)

Two fairly new teams have formed recently, and what better way to test their teamwork and competitive fire than throwing them against each other with a shot at the Tag Titles on the line?

 

 

??? Match

??? v. ???

Again, there is time scheduled for a match here, but no one seems to have the first clue who is wrestling. The hell?

 

 

Singles Match for the SWF U.S.Title

Micheal Craven © v. Ejiro Fasaki

Ejiro has proven over and over that he is one of the best in the business today, but his utter lack of singles gold is embarrassing to the Mag 7. Hearing this, the ever-ready-for-a-challenge U.S. Champ Craven offered the Rule a title shot. The winners? All of us.

 

 

Gauntlet Match for the #1 Contendership to the SWF ICTV Title

In order of appearance:

Beezel v. Sean Atlas v. Nathaniel Kibagami v. Stryke

The competition in the ICTV division has never been stronger, and it is hard for one breakout champion to emerge from the chaos. Here is their chance. The survivor of this match is guaranteed a shot at the ICTV champion.

 

 

Singles Match for the #1 Contendership to the SWF World Heavyweight Title

"The Superior One" Tom Flesher v. Jay Dawg

These two put on some hellacious matches while Tom was champ. But Tom isn't the champ anymore. Now, these two superstars will do battle to determine which one of them will have the pleasure of facing the World Champion for the biggest belt of them all.

[Guest Suicide King]

The picture goes to black.

 

The Smartmark Wrestling Federation logo flashes on the screen.

 

...

 

Silence.

 

...

 

“THREE!”

 

“TWO!”

 

“ONE!”

 

...

 

*BOOM!*

 

*BOOM!*

 

*BOOM!*

 

*WWWWHHHHIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR*

 

...

 

*MOTHERFUCKING BBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!*

 

The explosion of pyrotechnics and the roar of the crowd can only mean one thing.

 

 

IT’S TIME FOR SWF SMARKDOWN!

 

 

The camera cuts to Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley who are both impeccably dressed for tonight’s show… for some reason. Stevens take a breath. “And wweellccccooommmeee fans to SWF Smarkdown! I am your play by play commentator ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens, sitting here with the one and only, your favourite, but certainly not mine, Bobby Riley!”

 

“Yes, hello!” says Bobby, slightly disinterested, “How are you all doing tonight?”

 

Steven scratches his head, “You do know that they can’t hear you, Riley?”

 

“Well excuse me for trying to make conversation!” Bobby huffs as he crosses his arms and raises his chin.

 

“Hah... anyway fans, we have a tremendous show for you tonight, it’s a jam packed card and I honestly don’t know how we’re going to get through it all. Some of tonight’s action includes ‘The Judge’ William Hearford vs Va’aiga and that will be the match kicking off the show in just a minute. We also have the new SWF World Champion, The Boston Strangler with TNT in a Tag Team match against CIA & Mak Francis to determine who win face the Unholy Trinity for the belts! And the main event for this evening is a number one contendership match for the World Heavyweight Championship, between Jay Dawg and your favourite Bobby, Tom Flesher!” Stevens reports with his usual accuracy.

 

The ambiguously gay colour commentary if offended by Steven’s latter statement, “Dammit Mark, get it right. God, let me take over here for a minute. Tonight’s main event is a one sided match with the winner already clear in everybody’s mind, the ‘I’m so tough but talentless’ Jamie Drazon versus ‘The -SUPERIOR- One, the always classy and always brilliant’ Tom Flesher!”

 

“...” Stevens can’t say a word, “I still wonder why they hired you.”

 

“To be completely biased towards the bad guys, duh...”

 

“... oh, good point. Just trust me fans, there’s a load of great wrestling coming your way, but before we proceed, I promised myself I would say something about a listing on the card.” Grand Slam says.

 

Riley looks at his sheet, “You mean all these goddamn question marks?”

 

“Precisely, Bobby... on tonight’s card, we have a slot for an opening promo, but we don’t have a name for anything. We also have a match later on tonight, between question mark and question mark, and no stipulation! I have no idea what’s going on... Riley, what are your thoughts?”

 

“What? I think?”

 

“Good point...”

 

Before the show turns into a commentary banter session between Grand Slam and Bobby Riley, the technical guys backstage decide to step in and get things rolling...

 

To the crowd’s pleasant surprise but to Bobby Riley’s chagrin, the haunting sample of Dimmu Borgir's ‘Burn In Hell’ begins to play over the speakers.

 

“Uh oh... I know this music, Bobby!” Shouts Stevens.

 

Riley is saddened. “Unfortunately, so do I. I was hoping for Flesher to announce he was pulling triple duty tonight, I wanted to see him grapple himself...”

 

The brushing of wind through nature is short and sweet however, as it soon changes...

 

*BOOM!*

 

A row of bright flames explode up and across the staging as the song explodes into a much heavier and thicker guitar riff! The crowd roars in approval of who is coming out to greet them, and they continue to do so as a spotlight turns on and focuses directly on the stage...

 

...revealing Crow, the Antichrist Superstar, standing on the ramp amidst the flames, with his arms spread in the crucifix pose!

 

Stevens responds to Bobby’s wallowing with, “You got someone better than Flesher, well, according to crowd that is, since I’m an unbiased commentator.”

 

“Pfffft, the day you’re an unbiased commentator is the day I sell my pink latex full body suit.”

 

The riff tempo slows and the croaky, almost frog-like black metal vocals take over...

 

“Welcome to the abandoned land...

Come on in child, take my hand...

There is no work of play...

Only one bill to pay...”

 

As the music pumps through the arena, Crow, accompanied by friend Dante Crane, and by the beautiful woman that we’ve come to know as Jessica begin to walk down the ramp. Of course, you cannot forget that the Antichristian Phenomenon is sucking back on his favourite brand of cigarettes.

 

"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.

 

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

 

"YOU'RE GONNA BURN IN HELL!

OH, BURN IN HEEEEEEEELL!"

 

Crow strides up the steel steps, closely following behind by Jessica, whom he provides easy access to the ring by holding the second and third ropes open. ‘Sick Boy’ Dante Crane needs no such assistance though, so he waves Crow off and steps through the ropes by himself, like the man he is.

 

Grand Slam comments, “The Gothic Warrior looks lax as always, Riley... but you can tell by looking into his eyes that he has some things to express.”

 

“...” Bobby squints, “You can see that from here? Jesus, you must have the eyes of a hawk.”

 

The Antichrist Superstar pecks Jessica, creating a bit of row in the female audience, and then walks over to the ropes and calls for a microphone. Funyon obliges and hands Crow the mic.

 

“Fans, friends and enemies... unfortunately, I am not as happy as I usually would be on such a night. I mean, come on, it’s a beautiful night... I have friends,” Crow looks towards Dante, “I have a beautiful woman by my side,” then looks towards Jessica, “and I’m not booked for any match.”

 

Riley quickly cuts in, “I know the latter makes me VERY happy.”

 

“Ah, shut up, Riley, let the man speak.”

 

“But...” the Antichrist Superstar pauses for a second, “There is one, very large, very stupid, and well, downright fucking psychotic person who puts a damper on my night.”

 

The crowd screams.

 

“JANUS!!”

 

“You are correct, ladies and gentlemen, and if you haven’t guessed already, he is the reason I am out here. Terrence, how are you feeling tonight? Good? That’s fucking excellent. But it matters not, because I have some things I want to discuss -with- you. So, would you be so kind as to get your ass out here right now. I have no time for silly banter; you get your ass out here before I can back there and drag you out here myself.”

 

Crow lets his arm drop to the side. It’s time for waiting, and as time passes, Jessica slinks up and wraps her arms around her man.. Dante turns very HBK-esque and lies across the turnbuckle. Far too much time passes and so, the Gothic Avian brings the microphone to his lips... but before he can speak...

 

The arena goes quiet as the Smarktron shows nothing but a pure white backdrop, with blood dripping down it into what looks like a mirror. The lights on the stage, in the rafters, everywhere, begin to increase in intensity, obscuring all but the Smarktron. A voice begins to sing in soft Japanese.

 

"Senketsu ni somaro mirai no toki

Hageshiku modaeru honnou..."

 

The blood almost completely fills the mirror on the Smarktron, and the beat of the song begins to pick up. Through the haze of blinding light, two silhouettes can be seen walking towards the ring - one small man dwarfed by a giant. Nothing but their black silhouettes can be seen, until the mirror on the Smarktron abruptly shatters.

 

"BEAST...OF BLOOD!"

 

And the lights return to normal except the ones around the ramp and ring, surrounding the forms of Janus and Thoth in a white haze as they stand on the ramp side by side to the sound of Malice Mizer's "Beast of Blood". The Smarktron displays their most devastating moves and matches, as Funyon lifts his microphone.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen...at seven foot two, he weighs three hundred and fifty pounds and hails from Sydney Australia! Being accompanied by Thoth the Balancer, he is the Hell Machine....JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

 

Climbing up into the ring, still surrounded by the white haze, Janus and Thoth turn their heads to look around at the crowd, until finally the light dies down to something manageable and "Beast of Blood" fades out...and Crow looks rather unimpressed by the duo's intro. Janus stands with his hair tied back and clad in his trenchcoat, and Thoth...is his usually pretty Iori Yagami-looking self.

 

"Looks like it's ask and you shall receive tonight, Riley! Crow asked, and he got what he wanted!" Grand Slam says.

 

"In that case I'd like to ask for..."

 

A sharp look from Stevens reminds Bobby Riley that this is indeed a PG show. Before the Hell Machine or the Balancer can speak however, Crow once more lifts his microphone.

 

"Terrence, man. Nice to see you actually showed up tonight, even with your -little- friend there. You see, I have a problem with you... well not so much you as with that fucked up head of yours. I'm sick and tired of waiting for you to come after me, and I want to finish this... while not here and now, very fucking soon. What do you think of that, BOY?"

 

At the word 'boy' Janus' eyes light up and he begins to storm forward, but Thoth holds out an arm to prevent the giant's forward movement. The Hell Machine stares down at his compatriot as the Balancer lifts a microphone.

 

"You don't need to listen to his goads, Janus. He hasn't got the power nor the technique to compete with you. You're just wasting your time with him, so let's go."

 

Taking a deep breath, the Hell Machine slowly nods at this advice and they turn around...and the Smarktron changes as they do so. It shows last week's Lockdown...

 

----

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!"

----

 

...and without a word, the Hell Machine turns around once more. Crow smiles, not cockily, but there's a certain oozing charisma in his look. And probably making the female contingent (and Bobby Riley) ooze somewhere else, but we won't go there.

 

"Well, Terrence, as you can see, I can quite adequately handle your raging self. If you want to make something of it, why don't you come down here and we can discuss it like men?"

 

Riley squealed over at the announce table. "Don't do it, Janus! It's a trap!"

 

"Crow's more honourable than Janus and his partner, Riley."

 

Crow looks at the indecisive giant and smirks. "What's wrong? You look a bit pale... are you worried, Terrence?"

 

That's all the words the Hell Machine needs, and when Thoth throws his arm out again, the seven-footer pushes it aside and heads down the ramp at a dead charge. Dante hops off the turnbuckle and Jessica backs away from her man, as the Hell Machine slides under the bottom rope and up to his full seven feet, glaring at the Antichrist Superstar. He lifts a hand, and one of the technicians around the ring throws him a microphone.

 

"Like...men? You insult and mock me by calling me Terrence, MARKUS. The Terrence you want is dead and buried, and only Janus remains."

 

Crow shrugged his shoulders.

 

"I'd like to think you're still in there somewhere, Terrence, just waiting for someone to beat this oversized hunk of flesh called Janus into submission. What do you say? Are you up for another round... or five?"

 

The Hell Machine scowled, his voice lowering into a guttural growl.

 

"I can crush you...anytime...anywhere...ANY MATCH..."

 

Crow lifts a finger, wagging it in front of the Hell Machine's nose like he was a scolded puppy. The effect isn't lost on the monster, who is quivering with rage. Crow, however, remains as casual as ever. Once again lifting the microphone, the Antichristian Phenomenon laid it all down.

 

"You and me, big guy. You think you can take me in any match? Prove it. We'll have matches...we’ll have FIVE of them. Each a different stipulation. And we'll see who comes out on top..."

 

Stevens perks up. "Wait a minute...is he...?"

 

Riley blinks. "What?? Is he what, Stevens??"

 

The baseball-loving announcer merely frowns in speculative thought, and then the Antichrist Superstar makes it all clear.

 

"You...and me. Best of Five. The winner is the first man to win three matches. Then, that man gets the pride of knowing they're better than their opponent ever was and better than their opponent will ever be..."

 

The crowd's slowly increasing cheering is nearly deafening. Janus and Crow stare at each other in the ring, and up on the ramp, Thoth hears and sees all. He doesn't look pleased, and starts down the ramp at a brisk trot as the Hell Machine lifts his microphone again...

 

...only to drive a knee into Crow's stomach and hook his head, before elevating him off the mat and cracking his skull into the canvas with the Eternal Twilight! Rolling back to his feet, the giant stares down at his fallen foe and growls through his microphone.

 

"You're on."

 

He lifts his head, staring across the ring evilly at Dante and Jessica. The 'Sick Boy' looks more than ready to take Janus on, but the Hell Machine shakes his head and turns away...thrusting his arms into the air.

 

*BOOM~!*

 

Dante and Jessica recoil from the turnbuckles as blue fire erupts from them, and Fear Factory's "Resurrection" blazes out of the speakers. The Hell Machine rolls out of the ring and is met by Thoth, who doesn't look too pleased. The duo stalk back up the ramp together, as in the ring, Jessica and Dante help a sore Crow back to his feet.

 

Markus Cirillo...is smiling, and this smile, slowly changes into laughter...

 

Fade to commercial.

[Guest Suicide King]

Stevens: Well what a way to start the show tonight as Judge Mental William Hearford takes on one of the men who took HIS tag team belt, the Maori Badass Va’aiga

 

Riley: You have to favour the Judge tonight Stevens, I mean he’s got the experience, the skill and the lack of scruples that marks all the greatest wrestlers.

 

Stevens: But Va’aiga has something no one in the federation has had for a long, long time and that’s TWO title belts. The Maori has made one HELL of an impact since joining the federation.

 

 

Funyon: The following match is scheduled for ONE fall. Introducing first, weighing in tonight at 285lbs, hailing from Rotorua on the North Island of New Zealand, he is the reigning SWF Hardcore Gamers Champion and along with Dace Night comprises the reigning SWF TAG TEAM CHAAAAAAAAAMPIONS OF THE WOOOOOOOOOORLD, this is “The Maori Badass” VAAAAAAAAAA’AAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAA

 

The arena drops to darkness, as Va'aiga's shadow appears in the entranceway, dressed in his hooded training top with the hood down, wearing a belt over each shoulder. The bassline of "Bring The Pain" by Method Man starts up and red strobe lights pierce the darkness of the entrance ramp as Va'aiga begins his slow walk to the ring, throwing a few phantom jabs on the way. The Smarktron shows images of Va'aiga shadow boxing and posing, cut with some of his biggest in ring hits - Maori Dropping Jay Dawg onto a flaming section of canvas, flattening Ejiro with a Lariat, Camel Clutching Jay Dawg with a bent golf club, Maori Dropping CIA through the windshield of the Mag 7 limo, smashing Crow with a chair, staring off with Janus, holding up both the Tag and Hardcore Gamers belts after the tag title win, hitting the Decapitator on Ejiro with Dace Night... Inside the ring Va'aiga rolls down his hood and raises both belts high above his head, showing them off to the crowd before handing the belts to an assistant and casually throwing his hoodie into the corner.

 

Stevens: We’ve got such a great card lined up for later tonight, Riley. The Number one contenderships for BOTH of the belts Va’aiga is carrying there as Wildchild takes on the Unholy Trinity’s Dace Night, and the future of the tag titles is in the hands of the International Incident and the Turner Empire.

 

Riley: Things could be bad for the Unholy Trinity. If Dace and Va’aiga end up facing off against each other and beating the HELL out of each other in a Hardcore Gamers Title match, how the hell will they face either the Strangler and Taylor Nicholas Thompson, or CIA and Mak Francis?

 

Stevens: I’m sure they’ll cross that bridge when they come to it.

 

Funyon: And his opponent… from Royal Oak, Michigan, weighing in tonight at 242lbs, he is one half of Justice and Rule and a member of the Magnificent Seven, he is JUDGE WIIIIIIILIIIIIIAMMMMM HEEEEEEEEARRRRRFOOOOOOOOOORDDDDD!

 

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

 

"NOW TESTIFY!"

 

The song skips to midway through and continues on as three sets of red pyros shoot up all across the stage, and Judge Mental appears on the entrance ramp. He walks down to the ring in a very precise and deliberate step, occasionally stopping to give a small taunt to the crowd. Sliding under the bottom rope Judge looks out into the crowd then turns to face the entrance ramp, his face the picture of determination as the Judge waits the arrival of his opponent.

 

 

Riley: Man I wouldn’t want to be messing with the Judge today, Grand Slam, he looks PUMPED.

 

Stevens: William Hearford has been on a down ever since the Trinity took their tag team belts away from them. The Magnificent Seven took a little revenge last week winning a six man, but with both the Turner Empire and the International Incident gunning for the tag titles, it’s going to be very hard for Justice and Rule to get their belts back.

 

Riley: I like the way you said “their” belts, because they really do belong to JnR. The Trinity only has them on loan and they know it.

 

Judge and Va’aiga lock up to start the match. Judge goes for a top wristlock and works in round into a hammerlock. Va’aiga wrenches round and counters into a hammerlock of his own, but Judge leans back and takes a side headlock. Va’aiga shoots Judge off and the man of Justice bounces off the ropes. Hearford shapes for a shoulder block as he rebounds, but standing firm, Va’aiga does the same and the pair collide forcefully in the middle of the ring, Judge bouncing off but not falling over.

 

Stevens: It seems like Va’aiga has a power advantage over Hearford. This could be an important factor in the match, as Judge isn’t used to being overpowered.

 

Riley: Yeah but Judge has the SKILL advantage, Grand Slam!

 

The pair lock up again with Va’aiga forcing Judge down to one knee quickly. Va’aiga takes a wristlock, but the massive Maori is forced to turn as Judge tries to sneak through and leg trip the Maori Badass over. Judge uses Va’aiga’s turn to take a back waist lock, but Va’aiga hits a standing switch and goes for a quick German suplex, but Judge blocks by stepping a leg through Va’aiga’s, anchoring himself. Va’aiga changes tack and goes for an arm of the Judge, but Hearford unfurls Va’aiga and whips the Maori Badass into the ropes. Judge shapes for a shoulder block again, as does Va’aiga and with the extra momentum of HIM rushing this time, Judge BOUNCES off Va’aiga and skids back a couple of paces on the canvas. Va’aiga grins broadly and beckons Judge back to his feet, and the Judge does so slowly, slightly wary of the Maori’s power now.

 

Stevens: Va’aiga is looking to keep this match based around pace and power. He’s clearly showing his power advantage over William Hearford, and he has to press home this advantage to win. Judge, however, needs to keep it methodical and focused.

 

Riley: Judge needs to utilize his superior experience and his willingness to circumvent wrestling’s overly staid regulations to his advantage.

 

Stevens: You’re saying he should CHEAT?

 

Riley: Well… yes!

 

Va’aiga backs off a couple of steps and lets Judge regain his composure. Judge backs off a little himself and prepares to rush Va’aiga, and as Va’aiga looks to Judge, the experienced Mr Hearford rushes in at Va’aiga with one of his signature lariats, but Va’aiga DUCKS and as Judge is a couple of steps past him, Va’aiga slides in and nails the flailing Judge with a backdrop suplex. Va’aiga floats over to cover and the match referee Eddy Long counts…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

T.. and Judge kicks out VERY soon after the two counts goes down.

 

Riley: Well it’s going to take more than THAT to floor the judge.

 

Stevens: That is true, Judge William Hearford is a helluva tough campaigner, and Va’aiga will have to work very hard to defeat him.

 

Va’aiga picks Hearford off the ground and softens Judge Mental up with a pair of quick body punches, before bending the Judge double with a stiff knee to his solar plexus. Grabbing a solid waist lock on the doubled up Judge, Va’aiga effortlessly hoists him over with a gut wrench suplex. Va’aiga stands and waits for Judge to regain his own vertical base. Judge turns slowly as Va’aiga rears back his fist and a MASSIVE right cross staggers the tag team specialist backwards. Va’aiga steps inwards and lifts Judge up, crashing him powerfully across his knee backbreaker style. Judge flops on the canvas, clutching his back, and Va’aiga presses hom his advantage, turning Judge over, exposing the Judge’s back before dropping a knee forcefully into the small of Judge’s back. Va’aiga flips Judge back over again and covers…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH.. and Eddy Long’s hand has no need to hit the mat again as Judge kicks out.

 

Stevens: That was close! Va’aiga nearly got a quick victory over Judge William Hearford.

 

Riley: It was close, but it WASN’T three. I’m not sure what Va’aiga is playing at, as he knows it’s going to take more than that to beat the Judge.

 

Stevens: Yeah but it takes more energy to break a pin cover than apply one, so any early pin is not just a chance to sneak a win, but a chance to fatigue your opponent too.

 

Va’aiga picks Judge up off the mat and fires a few quick punches off, turning the judge man with the force of the blows. Va’aiga fires a knee into the back of the staggering Judge, then launches in and grabs a back waistlock, LAWN DARTING Judge over his head with a German Suplex that leaves the Judge in a crumpled heap on the mat.

 

Va’aiga: COME ON JUDGE!

 

Va’aiga beckons Judge back to his feet and cinches in a side headlock quickly as Judge clutches his back. Va’aiga backs Judge into the center of the ring and whips him over quickly with a rapid suplex, floating over to cover again. Eddy Long rushes over to count…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH… and Judge kicks out again.

 

Riley: Look at the tenacity! Look at the inner strength of the Judge!

 

Stevens: Well Judge has kicked out of a few of Va’aiga’s lesser moves, but there’s a lot more in Va’aiga’s arsenal that he can bust out.

 

Riley: And Judge can kick out of ALL of it.

 

Va’aiga picks Judge up again and fires off a series of quick rights, but Eddy Long drags him away from the attack and scolds Va’aiga over his use of a closed fist. Va’aiga turns towards Eddy Long to argue his case and Judge takes the opportunity to fire a MASSIVE uppercut low blow, dropping Va’aiga down to the canvas in pain, and with Eddy not concentrating on what JUDGE is doing, the crafty veteran gets away with the low blow scott free. Judge grabs for a leg of Va’aiga quickly and steps through, locking Va’aiga in a figure four. Va’aiga scrunches up his face in pain as the hold is fully applied.

 

Stevens: The figure four applied there. It’s one of the classic wrestling holds and certainly one that’s gonna hurt the leg of the victim.

 

Judges torques on the hold as Va’aiga inches slowly towards the ropes, and with a massive stretch out of his ta Moko covered arms Va’aiga grabs hold of the bottom rope. Hearford waits for the count of four before breaking the hold and smiles confidently to himself as Va’aiga gets back to his feet slowly. Judge picks Va’aiga’s right leg and trips him up, sending the big Maori down to the canvas again, before dropping an elbow across the inside of Va’aiga’s leg as the Judge drops down to apply a leg bar. Judge stretches out Va’aiga’s leg, segueing round to a heel hold and as Va’aiga tries to pry himself free of the hold, Judge breaks it himself and stands quickly, firing in a few stiff kicks to the leg of the Maori Badass.

 

Riley: Continued focused attack. That’s the hallmark of great wrestling Grand Slam, and Judge is showing all of it.

 

Stevens: I have to agree with you Bobby. Judge is as solid a technical wrestler as you could hope to face.

 

Judge stomps away at Va’aiga’s right leg before lifting the Badass up and whipping him against the ropes, Va’aiga moving a little slowly as he bounces off and back towards Judge. Hearford steps aside and kicks Va’aiga in the back of his right knee, taking the Maori down to his knees, and Judge fires off a knee to the back of Va’aiga’s head, sending him down to the canvas. Judge stalks around Va’aiga waiting for an obvious opening.

 

Riley: Have you noticed that Judge hasn’t fired off ANY chops at Va’aiga so far?

 

Stevens: Well he’s aware that Va’aiga’s amazing physique allows him to shrug off the majority of impact form chops.

 

Riley: See that shows that Judge is learning from others mistakes. That’s the attention to detail you just don’t GET from other wrestlers.

 

Judge drops to one knee over the fallen Va’aiga and grabs for the right leg, turning Va’aiga over as he applies a half crab to the Maori Badass. Judge turns to look at Va’aiga and gives a disdainful glare at the Maori struggling to break the hold. Va’aiga again starts another rope seeking quest, but as the Maori Badass tries to extend out his body, Judge Mental slows his progress down by elevating the half crab up, no standing, and at the same time dragging Va’aiga further away from the ropes.

 

Stevens: Judge solidifying his grasp of Va’aiga’s leg there. It’s all well thought out strategy from William Hearford tonight.

 

Riley: Va’aiga is being given a lesson from a master of wrestling psychology. And there’s a little extra spice because Judge is well known for not liking brawlers and hardcore wrestlers, and Va’aiga is Hardcore Gamers champion and a brawler at heart.

 

Judge Hearford calls for Eddy Long to ask Va’aiga if he wants to give up, and the defiance of the “NO!” in Va’aiga’s response visibly irritates the Magnificent Seven’s judicial enforcer. Judge drops down to one knee again and looks to grab for Va’aiga’s OTHER leg and apply his more deadly elevated full Boston Crab, but losing some leverage in an attempt to get a better hold gives Va’aiga enough room to break free of the hold and back up to the ropes, where he uses the aforementioned ropes to return to a vertical base.

 

Stevens: A lucky escape there for the Maori Badass. If what I think is right and Judge was going for his double leg elevated crab it could have been all over.

 

Riley: Well William Hearford has so many ways of beating you, I don’t think this little setback will slow him down.

 

Va’aiga grabs out for an arm of Judge and goes to Irish Whip him, but having to pivot on the leg Judge has been working on Va’aiga can’t prevent Judge from do-see-do countering sending the Maori Badass into the ropes. Va’aiga rebound off the ropes with a full head of steam (albeit favoring his leg again) towards Judge, but as Va’aiga flails out a loose lariat, Judge drops down and drop toe holds the massive Maori, holding onto the top hold for a few second of extra pain. Judge takes his feet again and stomps away at the leg before picking up Va’aiga by the leg and SMASHING the Maori’s knee into the canvas. Judge drops down and bars Va’aiga’s leg again and again Va’aiga is forced to reach out ropewards!

 

Stevens: The pressure is just RELENTLESS from the Judge. He’s picking Va’aiga apart piece by piece.

 

Riley: I love every second of this, make the big dumbass SCREAM Judge

 

Stevens: You really are a paragon of fair and unbiased journalism, aren’t you?

 

Riley: I’m the finest wrestling journalist alive.

 

As Mark Stevens sighs to himself at the commentary desk, Judge again instructs Eddy Long to ask Va’aiga whether he wishes to give up. Another defiant “NO!” brings on a “VA-ING-UH!” chant from the crowd, stirred up by the defiance of the Maori Badass. The Massive Maori twists and turns to try to worm his way out of the hold, but Judge has the Maori Badass stuck tight in the leg submission. Again Judge asks for Eddy Long to check Va’aiga and again Va’aiga screams a “NO!” out to the audience.

 

Riley: Just give it up. You KNOW you don’t stand a chance Va’aiga!

 

Va’aiga reaches out for the ropes but Judge cranks the hold on tighter and sits up a little, moving from barring the leg to attempting to wrench Va’aiga’s foot loose from his leg at the ankle joint. Va’aiga rolls towards the ropes, but Judge rolls with the move and switches hold AGAIN this time cranking in a reverse ankle lock.

 

Stevens: Judge is pretty much going through the A to Z of leg submission holds here.

 

Riley: Can you THINK of a hold beginning with Z, Stevens?

 

Stevens: Ummm… ziplock!

 

Riley: Wow... I hate to admit it, but you’re good!

 

Judge tries to increase the pressure of the hold again by folding Va’aiga up a little, but Va’aiga rolls through the hold, monkey flipping Judge over him with his bad leg. Va’aiga folds up in pain clutching his leg, but as Judge gets to his feet and tries to regain control, Va’aiga rolls to the outside briefly. Eddy Long puts on a count, but Judge rushes to the outside and slings Va’aiga back into the ring.

 

Riley: There’s no escape from Justice!

 

Stevens: Va’aiga may need time away from the Judge, but William Hearford is a merciless competitor.

 

Judge stands Va’aiga up and whips the big Maori again, and as Va’aiga limps back across the ring towards him, Judge shapes for his massive powerslam, but Va’aiga ducks low and blasts Judge down with a running tackle! Va’aiga stands slowly, heavily weighting himself on his better leg and awaits Judge’s standing up. Va’aiga grabs for an arm of Judge as he stands and whips the Bringer of Harsh Justice HARD into the ropes. Va’aiga ducks down and sets for a back drop but Judge counters into a sunset flip! Eddy Long drops to count!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH.. and Va’aiga powers out.

 

Stevens: Just as you think Va’aiga can wrestle control, both figuratively and literally, from William Hearford, the Judge takes control back. This is a harsh lesson in wrestling from the Judge.

 

Riley: Va’aiga is in deep trouble, and has been for some time Stevens.

 

Judge drags Va’aiga RIGHT into the middle of the ring and adds another baleful glare down to his fallen brawler opponent. Judge grabs for the leg of the Hardcore Champion and steps through again, but with Va’aiga the other way up, this means Judge is applying…

 

Stevens: THE CROSS EXAMINATION! This is one of the most brutal and nasty submission holds in the whole wrestling business today.

 

Riley: I wouldn’t want to be put in one. And Va’aiga probably isn’t enjoying it much either.

 

Va’aiga’s face is scrunched up into a ball of pain as Judge keeps the lethal submission hold locked in on Va’aiga’s, leaving the Maori balled up in pain on the mat. Va’aiga tries desperately to roll over the hold, but Judge slams his own body down on the mat to straighten out the hold and prevent himself from being turned.

 

Stevens: If Va’aiga can turn the hold over he’ll reverse the pressure the hold causes and it’ll be an Inverted Indian Deathlock on the Judge!

 

Riley: Yeah but Va’aiga doesn’t look in any shape to take control of the hold as it stands.

 

Va’aiga tries again to spin the hold round, and Judge responds again by shifting his weight to counter Va’aiga’s roll attempt. Va’aiga tries to roll the OTHER way and Judge instinctively shifts his weight in the other direction, again preventing Va’aiga from countering. Judge tells Eddy Long to ask Va’aiga is he wants to give it up, and the Maori Badass responds with a vigorous shake of the head. Judge lays flat again and concentrates on turning up the pressure of the hold.

 

Stevens: Va’aiga just doesn’t know when to quit.

 

Riley: He should have quit about 30 seconds into the match. Or maybe on the entrance ramp. Seeing Judge should have made him realize he couldn’t win.

 

Va’aiga tries AGAIN to roll over the hold and this time succeeds… and Judge uses the momentum to roll with Va’aiga and RE-ROLL the hold back over keeping the Mag 7’s Judicial force in control. Judge smiles to himself as the hold is locked in as nastily as ever, but Va’aiga is left near enough to the ropes to reach out, and slowly… ever so sloooooowly Va’aiga locks his fingertips around the ropes, and the crowd goes BALLISTIC! Judge holds on for as long as he can before the five count and finally breaks. For the first time in the match Judge goes for a cover rather than attempting to make Va’aiga submit…

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR… AND VA’AIGA KICKS OUT!

 

Stevens: You know I’m not sure how much more of this that Va’aiga can take, Riley. This has been a brutal beating from Judge Mental.

 

Riley: Judge just needs that little bit of icing on the cake to finish Va’aiga off.

 

 

Judge picks Va’aiga up off the canvas again and with hate burning in his eyes, he lifts Va’aiga up and inverts the massive Maori, holding the Badass belly to belly style, with Va’aiga’s head pointing threateningly down at the canvas.

 

Judge: DAMN GUILTY!

 

Stevens: Oh my god… Judge is going to bust out THE VERDICT!

 

Judge stares out into the crowd, preparing himself to spike Va’aiga down to the canvas, but by thrusting his knees forcefully into Judge’s shoulders, Va’aiga folds Judge backwards and reaches his feet, hoisting Judge up into a tombstone position that Va’aiga is in control of! Va’aiga releases one arm and clutches onto Judge, then uses his free arm to reposition Judge, moving Judge up to a position across his big Maori chest… AND PLANTS JUDGE WITH A MAORI DROP! Va’aiga rolls off Judge exhausted, and Eddy Long puts on a double count.

 

Stevens: THE MAORI DROP! THE MAORI DROP! And both men are down! Who will be the first man to peel themselves off the canvas and take the advantage!

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

 

 

The Crowd starts a rousing chant of “VA-ING-UH! VA-ING-UH!”

 

 

 

SIX!

 

 

 

 

 

Judge is up to one knee, and with the aid of the ropes gets back to a vertical base.

 

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

Va’aiga is up to one knee…

 

 

 

 

 

EI.. and Va’aiga is standing now as well. Judge walks over to try to finish off Va’aiga again, but the Maori Badass stuns Judge Mental with a MASSIVE left cross. The crowd, anticipating what’s coming calls “ONE!” Steadying himself by planting his left foot firmly on the canvas Va’aiga fires off a second left cross, and the crowd calls “TWO!” A third left cross lands, staggering Judge backwards again as the crowd chimes in with “THREE!” and then begins warming up “oooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAA” as Va’iaga rears his right hand back slowly, balls it into a fist, gives it a kiss for luck and BLASTS Judge with a right cross sending Judge flying down to the canvas, to the accompaniment of a rejuvenated crowd’s “BOO-YAH!”

 

Riley: CLOSED FIST! CLOSED FIST! Va’aiga is abusing the rules of wrestling there Grand Slam and you’re not even calling it!

 

Stevens: And when have you ever stood up for the rules of wrestling?

 

Va’aiga crouches down like a coiled Viper looking to strike, as Judge staggers to his feet, only to be FLOORED by a majestic running tackle from the Maori Badass! Va’aiga hops back to his feet, still slightly favouring the right leg however, as Judge draws himself sloooooooooooowwwwwwwlyyyy up to one knee… and Va’aiga DROPKICKS HIM IN THE FACE with an UGLY UGLY dropkick!!!

 

Stevens: DROPKICK! Va’aiga plants Judge Hearford with a dropkick!

 

Riley: Well with Judge leaning forward up on one knee it’s the only chance Va’aiga is ever gonna have at dropkicking someone.

 

Va’aiga stands tall in the middle of the ring and screams out to the crowd…

 

Va’aiga: DROOOOOOOP!

 

…but Judge keen to avoid this rolls out of the ring and grabs for Va’aiga’s (and formerly his) tag team title. Judge rolls back in and stands slowly, but Eddy Long is wise to this and grabs for the belt. Va’aiga rushes in with another tackle on Judge, but bailing backwards with the impact, Judge crushes Long against the edge of the ring and the experienced ref drops to the mat. Back in control of the belt again Judge moves in towards the Maori Badass and Judge swings for Va’aiga with the tag title belt… AND VA’AIGA DUCKS! Va’aiga kicks the Judge hard in the stomach and Judge as a reflex action drops the belt on the canvas. Va’aiga wrenches Judge up across his chest and backs off to the ropes, then taking five quick strides forwards Va’aiga gives Judge a RUNNING MAORI DROP ONTO THE TAG TITLE!

 

Stevens: RUNNING MAORI DROP! RUNNING MAORI DROP!

 

Va’aiga sends the belt skidding across the ring to a corner and as Eddy Long comes round he doesn’t spot the use of the belt, and he just drop to count the cover as Va’aiga presses himself up on Judge Mental’s chest, holding the Judge down on the mat…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

Stevens: Va’aiga wins! Va’aiga wins! Va’aiga wins!

 

Riley: He had to cheat to do it. Va’aiga is nothing but a sneak.

 

Stevens: You wouldn’t be saying that if JUDGE had won in that fashion.

 

Riley: I would. I call it right down the middle Grand Slam and you know it.

 

Va’aiga grabs for both of his title belts and hoists them high into the air to the adoring cheers of the sold out Staples Center crowd. Va’aiga casually slips them back over his shoulders and grabs for his hooded top, and then beckons over to Funyon to throw him the ring mic for a second. With shortened breath Va’aiga addresses the crowd.

 

Va’aiga: Tonight… This brother has been pushed to the limit, and damn, I made it through. That man lying there is one tough, TOUGH bastard. And Judge, and if that weasely little Fasaki are up for it. When The Trinity have got through their next defense, we’ll take you bastards on again, we’ll turn up and we’ll KICK YOUR ASSES one more time. BOO-YAH!

 

Va’aiga limps out down the ramp, throwing his mic back to Funyon as he heads out.

 

Stevens: That’s one BIG challenge laid out for Justice and Rule. But before any rematches, the Unholy Trinity team of Dace Night and Va’aiga will have to get past either the International Incident or the Turner Empire, stay tuned for that one folks…

 

Riley: I can’t wait for that Grand Slam.

 

Stevens: Neither can I but we’re gonna have to wait a little longer.

 

Fade out.

[Guest Suicide King]

The Staples center is quiet as SWF Smarkdown returns from a commercial break. After a moment, though, Funyon announces…

 

“Ladies and gentlemen… JAY DAWG!”

 

Multiple Fireworks explode around the arena, rafters and entrance ramp. The lights go out...

 

"THIS

 

IS

 

MAH

 

HOUSE!!"

 

The voice, obviously pre recorded, echoes through the arena. Rammstein's 'Du Hast' plays without the lyrics... The heavy beats thunder 360 degrees all over the arena... JD steps through the curtains, his head down. He walks to the top of the ramp, slowly raising his head. He lowers his head again, although a smile without good intentions is now plastered on his face. He slides into the ring and picks up a microphone.

 

“So,” says the former Creative Controller with a smirk, “I hear that Tom Flesher just hasn’t been himself lately.”

 

“That’s what we’ve been hearing, too,” says Mark Stevens. “Flesher hasn’t been working very hard in the training room, ever since losing the World Title to Thoth a few weeks ago.”

 

”It’s really too bad,” replies Bobby Riley. “He’s just not as much fun to watch when he’s not feeling like himself. He’s not nearly as tight or toned.”

 

Jay Dawg continues. “In fact, the buzz around the locker room is that Flesher’s lost his killer instinct. His drive, his motivation. Sounds to me like he just lost his BALLS!”

 

The crowd boos loudly at JD’s unnecessary crudeness. Drazon looks toward the entrance, seeming to expect something, but nothing happens. JD raises an eyebrow, and says, “That’s right! Tom Flesher’s lost everything! He’s not exciting, he doesn’t care, he’s a f**king PUSSY!”

 

Once again, the crowd boos as Drazon stares at the curtain.

 

“Oh, come on,” says Bobby Riley. “This isn’t necessary.”

 

“Who knows what Jay Dawg’s thinking?” asks Mark Stevens. “Maybe he’s just trying to psyche Tom Flesher out. After all, they’ll be meeting later on tonight in a match to determine the #1 contender for the Boston Strangler’s SWF World Title.”

 

“You know,” says Drazon, “I know why Tom Flesher isn’t coming out to the ring to fight me. It’s because when Thoth beat him, he cut off Flesher’s balls and took them home. And the next week, when Tom came back for the submission match, Thoth held him down and cut his dick off too. I guess Flesher’s just too big a bitch to care that I’m out here running him down. And you know what? He’s such a bitch, he’s just gonna roll over at the end of the night.”

 

Once more, Drazon stares toward the entrance, but the curtain doesn’t move. Frustrated, he drops the microphone.

 

“THIS

 

IS

 

MAH

 

HOUSE!”

 

JD’s music starts again, and the angry fighter slides out of the ring. His forehead is knotted up, and he looks, quite simply, very pissed off that Tom Flesher didn’t answer his implied challenge.

 

“Well,” says Mark Stevens, “Jay Dawg laid it all out for Tom Flesher, and Flesher wasn’t willing to come out and answer the challenge. Could it be true? HAS Tom Flesher lost his motivation?”

 

“We’ll have to see, Mark. But to tell you the truth, he just hasn’t been the same since he lost the title. I don’t know what’s happening, but we’ll see later tonight in the main event!”

 

Fade.

[Guest Suicide King]

We return to SWF Smarkdown with an unique vision backstage where the cameras have gotten a peek at the preparations that a superstar must go through in order to prepare himself for the rigors of in ring competition. In this particular case, we find the Bahama Bomber, Wildchild, going through his rituals. Stretching out his legs one at a time, Wildchild leans from one side to the other so deeply it would make Kawada say, ‘damn, that’s far’. Finally through making every member of the male audience wince, Wildchild gets up off the floor and heads to the outside of his locker room to head towards the ring for his shot at the number one contender spot for the Hardcore Gamers Title. Popping through the doors, Wildchild runs head long into the person he would vote the person he would least like to run head long into.

 

“Don’t you have a home, Fasaki?”

 

“Yeah, but we never seem to ever go to Florida,” replies the smiling face of the slimy little weasel. “Ready more your match tonight, champ?”

 

“Why are you always so interested in what I’m doing? Don’t you have your own problems to worry about? I heard that Judge was not so happy with you costing him the World Tag titles.”

 

“Oh don’t worry about that WC. Judge and I have got a plan. Well its not so much a plan so much as knowing that we would whip the hell out of Dace and Va’aiga at a drop of a hat and take back our belts if we ever got the chance. Of course, losing one match is pretty much the longest slump I’ve ever been in. How’s that compare to your little slump?”

 

“I have a match,” Wildchild growls as he brushes past his obnoxious enemy.

 

“Oh I know,” calls Ejiro after his buddy, “and I really hope you cripple that bastard. It makes things easier for me after all. But to be quite honest, I don’t think you have that sort of fire in you. Yet.”

 

“You’d be surprised as to the fire I can get behind me.”

 

“Actually, no I wouldn’t. See I’ve seen your whole SWF career from inches away. I know exactly what you’re capable of. Yet, to be honest, you simply haven’t lived up to that have you?”

 

“…”

 

“Nope,” blinks Ejiro. “But I know you could, very easily in fact. All you need is the proper motivation. And … not to toot my own horn, I can do that for you.”

 

“Yeah… and maybe we can be best friends too.”

 

“Well, probably not. But I think you’ll find my methods much more effective than what’s been happening to you lately. But don’t listen to me. Listen to my results. And watch what happens when I get in the ring with the United States champion that you couldn’t beat. Later, WC.”

 

“… Later.”

[Guest Suicide King]

FADE IN

 

“We’re ready to get right back into the action here on Smarkdown,” shouts Mark Stevens, “with a Number One Contender’s match! Dace Night, the hardcore specialist, will have to take in his former ally and partner, Wildchild, in a match to determine the Number One Contender to Dace’s current partner, Va’aiga!”

 

“They don’t call Dace Night the ‘High Priest of Horrorcore’ just because it’s catchy,” adds Bobby Riley. “He earned that nickname in the JL, thanks to some of the sickest, bloodiest, most violent matches ever seen! Wildchild is in over his head here! He doesn’t even come CLOSE to being as hardcore as Dace is!”

 

“I’ll go along with that,” admits Stevens, “but there’s more than one way to win a hardcore match. Remember when Judge Hearford was briefly knocked down to the Hardcore division? He made a nice little side business out of refusing to wrestle the hardcore style, and it didn’t stop him from running through the division at all! And, let’s not forget that Wildchild is a former Hardcore Champion, and he didn’t win it in some kind of bloodbath, either!”

 

“Yeah,” replies Riley, “but look at who he beat for the belt: Mike Van Siclen. That’s not exactly a proud testament to Wildchild’s abilities!”

 

“The point that I was trying to make,” continues Stevens, “is that just because Wildchild’s not into the ultraviolence like Dace is, doesn’t mean that he doesn’t excel at in hardcore matches. In fact, Wildchild probably does better than most in matches where there are no rules, because they allow him to go all out with his unpredictable style! Remember, Dace, despite his reputation in the hardcore ranks, is a technical wrestler. He depends a lot upon preparation and counter-wrestling, and Wildchild isn’t a guy you can easily anticipate; at least once every match, I see him do something that I either haven’t seen in years, or that I’ve never seen before at all!”

 

Bobby shakes his head. “By the same token, like you said, Dace and Wildchild DID used to be partners; they used to spar together, and I have a feeling that that experience is going to work in Dace’s favor!”

 

With that, the lights fade out in the Staples Center, and the entrance way is consumed by a cloud of black smoke. The brutal, hardcore sounds of Dying Fetus’ “Justifiable Homicide” invade the arena as red and purple lights illuminate the ramp all the way down to the ring. Fans come out of their seat, cheering in anticipation of the High Priest of Horrorcore! Dace steps out from behind the curtain, dressed as usual in black trunks, and sporting his officially-licensed “Horrorcore” football jersey (available at SWF Shopzone for $39.99). He raises his right arm in the air and forms the metal ‘horns’ with his index and pinky fingers, waving them out towards the crowd, as he drags a garbage can filled with plunder in his left hand.

 

Funyon stands in the center of the ring, raising the house microphone to his lips as Dace begins to walk down the ramp. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, “the following contest is a Hardcore Rules Match, scheduled for one fall, to determine the Number One Contender to the Hardcore Championship! Making his way to the ring at this time, he hails originally from Birmingham, England, and weighs eighteen stone! He is one half of the SWF Tag Team Champions! He is the ‘High Priest of Horrorcore!’ He is: DAAAAACE NIIIIIGHT!”

 

Dace reaches the end of the ramp and lifts the garbage can off the ground, tossing it into the ring. An assortment of canes and pipes, as well as a small length of rope, spill out of the can as he climbs into the ring. The lights turn back on as Dace kicks the plunder aside and stands in the center of the ring, throwing the metal ‘horns’ in the air once more.

 

“What the hell is that,” bellows Riley. “Where’s the barbed wire? Where’s the weed-whacker? Where are the implements of Horrorcore destruction?”

 

“Before you go and have an embolism, or something,” replies Stevens, “relax. Unless my eyes deceive me, those are fluorescent light tubes peeking out of the rim of that garbage can. And, if I know Dace, they’re probably all filled with thumbtacks! That said, it would seem that Dace has a soft spot for his former after all. He obviously takes this match seriously; it is his job, after all. But, I don’t think that he wants to cripple or permanently disfigure Wildchild at all.”

 

“That doesn’t bode well for Dace Night,” adds Riley. “It’s no secret that I don’t like Wildchild, or his style, but even I have to admit that if Dace is holding back, Wildchild is very capable of pulling off what otherwise would have to be considered an upset!”

 

“Wildchild’s one of the most difficult opponents to have to get in the ring against in the SWF,” agrees Stevens. “His style gives EVERYBODY problems! Between his unparalleled speed and agility, and his high-risk offense, Wildchild has proven to everybody that he can press anybody to the limit, so if Dace doesn’t go all out, he could find himself looking up at the lights before he knows what hit him!”

 

The manic sounds of Dying Fetus mercifully fade out, only to be replaced by the energetic beat of Smashing Pumpkins’ “The Everlasting Gaze.” The fans explode in a massive pop that unexpectedly dies out as the Bahama Bomber steps out from behind the curtain, dressed in black trunks and matching face paint, but also in a black Sacramento Kings Road jersey, displaying Mike Bibby’s number. A great number of those cheers quickly turn to boos, which Wildchild ignores as he bangs his head in time to the music.

 

“What the hell is Wildchild thinking, wearing a Kings jersey out here in La-La land,” asks a puzzled Bobby Riley. “Is he trying to commit suicide?”

 

“I don’t know,” replies Stevens. “It could be that he’s just a diehard Kings fan. Still, Wildchild has always been a crowd pleaser; it’s unlike him to deliberately antagonize the fans.”

 

“His opponent,” continues Funyon, “from the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds, the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

 

Wildchild stops halfway down the ramp, thrown for a loop by the crowd’s reaction. A small group of fans wearing Lakers jersey are practically leaning over the barricade to get at Wildchild, and are loudly berating him. Wildchild’s eyes darken, and he turns towards the fans as though he his about to retaliate at the fans, but he quickly fights down the urge and turns his attention back towards his opponent in the ring.

 

“Did you see that,” asks Riley. “Wildchild was about to go at those fans! I wonder if Ejiro is finally starting to break through to him?”

 

Mark shakes his head in response. “I sincerely doubt it. I know that Wildchild has been extremely frustrated by his most recent losing streak, but I can’t believe that he would seriously consider anything the Ejiro Fasaki had to say to him; I mean, those two have hated each other since they first crossed each others’ path in the JL!”

 

Wildchild suddenly streaks towards the ring, somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes, and springing to his feet as he rushes headlong at Dace! Dace leans forward to greet him with a lariat, but the ultra-swift Bahama Bomber ducks behind him, stuns him with a kick to the midsection, and punches him in the face with three quick right hands!

 

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

 

The referee orders the timekeeper to start the match immediately, and signals to the audio technicians to cut Wildchild’s music.

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Dace shrugs off the punches as if they had no effect whatsoever, and raises his right arm to shoulder level, swinging his elbow fiercely at Wildchild’s head, but Wildchild ducks underneath with alarming ease, quickly springing back up and peppering Dace with another volley of right hands!

 

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

 

“Wildchild gets out of the gate quickly with a series of quick right hands,” reports Stevens. “I’ve never seen Wildchild this aggressive to start a match before!”

 

Dace again ignores the blows, leading wildly with the point of his left elbow this time, but Wildchild again ducks, and resumes his assault of stinging rights!

 

BAP!

BAP!

 

WHUMP!

 

Dace finally stops Wildchild’s attack, lunging forward with a kneelift that raises Wildchild’s entire body off the canvas! He falls to the mat, gasping for air, as Dace rubs his jaw, shaking off the brief but unexpected offensive by the Caribbean Cruiser.

 

“Wildchild got off to a pretty quick start,” notes Riley, “but Dace slows him down almost as quickly!”

 

“Agreed,” adds Stevens. “Wildchild started this match off with a series of punches that probably would have at least earned a knockdown against anyone other than Dace Night. But, matched up against the High Priest of Horrorcore, those shots just don’t have enough mustard behind them!”

 

The crowd breaks into a raucous cheer as Dace forces Wildchild into a corner and rips the Kings jersey off his chest. He flattens his palm out and thrusts it downward onto Wildchild’s chest.

 

SMACK! WHOO!

 

“Well,” remarks Stevens, “I think that the crowd has decided who they wanted to get behind; if they were at all divided, I think that Wildchild coming out in that Kings jersey may have closed the deal.”

 

“A jersey,” adds Riley, “I’d like to add, that has just been needlessly destroyed by Dace Night. Wildchild should demand to be reimbursed for it!”

 

“I’m sure that demand will go over well with the Suicide King,” replies Stevens. “‘Hey King, can you make Dace reimburse me for my jersey?’ ‘Sure, kid, just as soon as you reimburse me for all those t-shirts you gave away!’”

 

Dace grabs Wildchild by the arm and whips him across the ring into the opposite corner. Wildchild leaps into the air as he approaches the corner, landing on his feet on the top turnbuckle, and flips off as Dace rushes in, landing on his feet behind him.

 

WHACK!

 

Dace brings his hands up to brace himself, avoiding a head-on collision with the turnbuckles, but the Tropical Tumbler springs back into the air, extending his legs as he nails Dace in the back of the head with a dropkick that send his crashing face-first into the top turnbuckle! Wildchild quickly rolls back to his feet and leaps onto the top rope beside Dace as he begins to stagger out of the corner. The Bahama Bomber springs backwards off the top rope, over the turnbuckle, and down towards the other edge of the ring, grabbing Dace by the back of the head as he descends, and guillotining him off the top rope as he falls to the arena floor!

 

“Nice maneuver by Wildchild,” says Riley as Dace staggers backwards against the opposing ropes. “Even I have to give him credit for that one! He’s really trying to take it to Dace in this match!”

 

“Also give Wildchild credit for exceptional ring awareness,” adds Stevens. “He knew just how close he was to the corner, and anticipated the angle at which Dace was going to back out, allowing him to hit that top rope guillotine!”

 

“Which shows that he’s starting to actually put some thought into some of his offense, instead of just reacting,” Riley throws in. “Some thing that he’s NEVER bothered to do before! You still think that Ejiro’s words have had NO effect on him?”

 

Wildchild reaches underneath the ring and pulls out a couple of folded steel chairs, tossing them into the ring. He then reaches back underneath the ring to grab a garbage can and lid. He tosses the can into the ring and turns to face the crowd, raising the lid in the air to illicit a crowd reaction, but is visibly shocked as the fans shower him with boos. Wildchild’s usually ever-present smile slowly deteriorates into a frown, and he appears to be again fighting the urge to lash out at the fans, when Dace reaches through the ropes, bringing his massive arm in front of Wildchild and grabbing him underneath the chin as he starts to lift him back into the ring.

 

 

CLANG!

 

Instinctively, Wildchild grabs the garbage can lid with both hands and swiftly raises it up above his head, smashing Dace in the face with it! As he staggers backwards into the middle of the ring, Wildchild pulls himself back onto the ring apron, and leaps onto the top rope, lid still clenched tightly in his fist...

 

CLANG!

 

The Caribbean Cruiserweight springs off the top rope and into the ring, bashing Dace in the head with a flying overhead smash with the garbage can lid! The High Priest of Horrorcore remains standing, however, so Wildchild dashes towards the ropes, leaping in the air as he approaches Dace…

 

CLANG

 

… And bashing him the face with a running smash from the garbage can lid!

 

“My goodness,” remarks Stevens. “What has set off this mean streak in the Wildchild?”

 

“I’m telling you,” replies Riley, “he’s finally starting to listen to reason! He’s finally starting to realize just how fickle these fans are!”

 

WHAM!

 

Wildchild races to the ropes, still holding the garbage can lid, and bounces off, leaping into the air as he approaches Dace and clutching the garbage can lid to his chest as he flips forward, smashing into Dace’s chest with a running Shooting Star Press! The referee dives into position to count the pinfall:

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR— KICKOUT!

 

Dace kicks out from Wildchild’s pinfall attempt with authority, but otherwise remains prone on the mat. Wildchild rolls to his feet and looks around the ring at the implement strewn onto the canvas, when his eyes suddenly light up with inspiration.

 

 

CLANG!

 

Wildchild grabs one of the steel chairs as Dace rolls onto his knees, and promptly whacks him over the head with it to give himself more time. Dropping the chair directly behind Dace, Wildchild walks over to the empty garbage can and drags it towards the edge of the ring, lined up with Dace and the chair.

 

“What’s going on in that unpredictable mind,” wonders Stevens.

 

The Bahama Bomber bounces against the ropes behind Dace as the Birmingham Brawler begins to make his was back to his feet. In a blinding flash of speed, Wildchild races from one set of ropes to the other, leaping high into the air as he approaches the edge of the ring to land on the top rope, and curling into a ball as he springs off to blast Dace with his patented Pinball attack!

 

 

WHACK!

 

 

 

Wildchild smacks Dace squarely in the chest with the Pinball, causing him to stumble backwards onto the chair, which practically acts like a banana peel as squirts out from underneath his feet.

 

 

 

CRUNCH!

 

 

Dace, no longer able to maintain his balance, falls towards the canvas, where the back of his head smashes into the garbage can!

 

“My God,” shrieks Stevens. “That was an incredible maneuver! Wildchild is really pulling out all the stops in this match!”

 

 

WHAM!

 

Wildchild rolls to his feet and dashes for the ropes. He leaps into the air as he approaches the edge of the ring, landing on the top rope, and begins to flip forward as he springs backwards off the top rope, crashing into Dace with his Falling Star Press!

 

 

“Falling Star,” shrieks Stevens. “Falling Star! This could be it!”

 

Wildchild reaches over to hook Dace’s leg as the referee dives into position to count the pin:

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THREEEEEE— NO! Dace forces his shoulder up off the canvas at the last possible second! Wildchild looks out into the crowd, desperately seeking their approval, but he is only met by the vitriol of the Los Angeles fans. In a fit of frustration and rage, the Bahama Bomber rolls to his feet and begins pounding Dace’s head with the sole of his foot as the crowd’s boos increase in volume.

 

“Incredible fortitude by Dace Night to still be in it after taking all that punishment,” says Stevens, “but give credit to Wildchild for taking it to him from the opening bell! I said it before, Bobby, but it bears repeating: I’ve NEVER seen Wildchild this aggressive!”

 

“This match has given me a new appreciation for Wildchild,” says Riley. “I’m still not a fan of his flip-floppy offense, but I’m digging the way he’s thinking his moves through; he’s finally trying to take some initiative, rather than reacting to whatever his opponent does, and I think a lot of credit for that belongs to Ejiro!”

 

“I refuse to believe that Wildchild would ever side with Ejiro about anything,” replies Stevens, “but, with the way the crowd has been reacting, I have to wonder; I mean, I know that this is a fairly partisan crowd here in LA, and I know that most Laker fans hate the Kings, but I can’t believe that the crowd would have turned on him this suddenly and completely over a jersey! I guess we’ll just have to wait and see how they treat him on Storm; if the crowd still hates him, then I may have to start believing that something really IS up between him and Ejiro!”

 

Wildchild pulls Dace to his feet and hammers him with right hands to force him back against the ropes. He grabs Dace by the wrist and attempts to whip him across the ring, but the Birmingham Brawler holds fast, hooking his arm over the top rope. He pulls Wildchild back towards him, but the quick-thinking Bahama Bomber leaps into the air as he approaches Dace, stunning him with a flip kick to the chin that nearly knocks him over the top rope. Wildchild grabs him by the wrist again and whips him towards the other side of the ring, but Dace reverses easily.

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

Wildchild hops into the air as he bounces off the ropes, leapfrogging Dace with consummate ease, and leaping once more to land on the top rope, but as he springs off the top rope with his body extended, the Birmingham Brawler snatches him out of the air, twisting around rapidly before planting him into the mat with a brutal powerslam! The referee dives into position to count the pin, and the Staples Center crowd chants along:

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREEE— NO! Wildchild barely gets his left shoulder off the mat, and Dace rolls over onto his knees, trying to catch his breath.

 

“Whoa! Tremendous powerslam by Dace Night,” cries Riley. “Very nearly got a pinfall out of it!”

 

Mark nods his head. “It’s hard to understand just how powerful Dace is, until you see him up close. And resilient, too: Wildchild has dominated this match, practically from the opening bell, and that simple powerslam was almost enough to win the match for Dace!”

 

Dace stands up and walks over to Wildchild, pulling him to his feet. Waving his left arm in a dismissive manner, as if to say, ‘that’s it,” Dace wraps both his arms around Wildchild’s waist and lifts him over his shoulder in a gutwrench.

 

“Dark Star Driver coming up,” shrieks Stevens.

 

“Well, Wildchild can forget about it if Dace hits this,” adds Riley. “NOBODY gets up from that!”

 

Dace tries to shift Wildchild to the proper angle to drop him down to the mat, but the lithe Bahama Bomber wriggles out of Dace’s grasp, sliding off his shoulder and down his back, and hooking Dace’s shoulders underneath his legs as he takes the Birmingham Brawler backwards, rolling him up in a Sunset Flip!

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE— KICKOUT!

 

 

“Two and a half,” cries Stevens. “My God, that was close! Wildchild managed to counter the Dark Star Driver, and almost got a pin out of that Sunset Flip!”

 

 

WHACK!

 

 

Wildchild beats Dace to his feet, and knocks him backwards into the ropes with a shuffling sidekick. He pounces upon Dace and peppers him with a series of rights, then grabs Dace by the wrist and whips him towards the opposite side of the ring, but the Birmingham Brawler reverses.

 

 

WHAAAAAAAMMMMM!!!!!

 

Wildchild bounces off the ropes and ducks a running lariat attempt by Dace, but the High Priest of Horrorcore raises his foot off the air with surprising quickness, nearly decapitating Wildchild as he rebounds a second time with a terrifying Yakuza Kick! The crowd explodes as Wildchild flips through the air and lands on his face!

 

“Yakuza Kick,” exclaims Stevens. “WHAT A MOVE! My God, what a move! He almost took Wildchild’s head off with that shot!”

 

Dace takes a few seconds to catch his breath before walking over to his garbage can, reaching down into the can to pull out two fluorescent light tubes. Holding one in each hand, the High Priest of Horrorcore raises them above his head, to the utter delight of the crowd.

 

“I guess Dace is through playing around with Wildchild,” quips Riley.

 

“Oh my God,” moans Stevens. “DACE IS ABOUT TO GO HORRORCORE!”

 

 

SMASH!

 

Dace swings the tube in his left hand down towards his opponent, but Wildchild rolls desperately out of the way at the last second! The tube shatters against the mat, sending up a spray of glass shards, thumbtacks and wisps of Argon gas.

 

SMASH!

 

Dace slashes downward with the tube in his right hand, but the Bahama Bomber again moves out of the way, rolling to his feet across the ring. Wildchild quickly picks the garbage can up off the canvas, emptying its contents near the edge of the ring, and flings it recklessly towards Dace!

 

 

CLANG!

 

As Dace catches the garbage can in front of him, the super-speedy Caribbean Cruiserweight leaps onto the top rope and races across it towards his opponent, springing off as he draws near and smashing the garbage can into Dace’s grill with a sensational springboard dropkick!

 

“Oh my goodness,” shouts Stevens. “That was a PHENOMENAL dropkick by Wildchild!”

 

“I have to say,” adds Riley, “Wildchild has REALLY impressed me with his ability to think on the fly in this match! Between that, and his aggressive tactics, he’s shown me that he really deserves to win this match!”

 

Mark turns his head to look at Bobby. “I thought you hated Wildchild?”

 

Bobby shrugs in response. “If he’s falling under the influence of Ejiro, I may be forced to change my mind!”

 

Wildchild rolls underneath the bottom rope onto the ring apron, where he pulls himself to his feet and races to the corner. He leaps onto the top turnbuckle and crouches in wait for Dace to return to his feet. As the Birmingham Brawler turns to face the corner, Wildchild pounces from the turnbuckle, stretching his body out to crash into Dace with a flying cross-body block!

 

 

CRUNCH!

 

 

But the High Priest of Horrorcore snatches him out of the air with his massive arms and, before Wildchild has a chance to react, falls backwards, driving the Bahama Bomber into the thumbtack-laden canvas with a horrifying Fallaway Slam!

 

 

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

 

 

Mark Stevens becomes positively apoplectic. “OH. MY. GOD! I don’t BELIEVE what I just saw!”

 

Riley looks on with a shocked expression on his face. “I can’t even come up with a smart-ass response to that one!”

 

Dace rolls forward onto his knees, thumbtacks sticking out of his back. He looks out at the crowd, breathing heavily, his gray-red eyes wide with fury. Getting to his feet, he marches over to where the rope is laying on the mat and holds it above his head for the crowd to see, before stalking over to the Wildchild and wrapping one end of the rope tightly around the Tropical Tumbler’s neck! Jerking Wildchild forcibly to his feet, Dace leads him over to the edge of the ring and tosses him harshly over the top rope, holding on to the other end as he strangles him over the top rope!

 

“My God! He’s HANGING the Wildchild,” croaks Stevens. “He’s hanging him over that top rope! He’s going to kill him!”

 

The referee pleads with Dace to show mercy, but the High Priest of Horrorcore swats him away with his massive paw. Wildchild flails his arms back frantically, clawing for the ropes, the ring apron, anything he can get his hands on in the desperate attempt to alleviate some of the pressure on his throat!

 

“For God’s sake, turn him loose, Dace,” pleads Stevens. “You’ve gotten your payback! Don’t kill him!

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

Wrapping his hand around one of the lead pipes he had dumped out of Dace’s garbage can, Wildchild swings it upwards hysterically, crushing Dace Night in the face with it! Dazed, but unrelenting in his choke, the High Priest of Horrorcore leans over the top rope…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… Leading Wildchild to bash him in the face again with the lead pipe! Dace releases the rope and stumbles backwards, blood spraying from his nose as he drops to one knee in the center of the ring. Wildchild slumps to the arena floor, ripping the rope away from his throat as he gasps harshly, trying to fill his lungs back up with life-giving oxygen.

 

Bobby Riley’s face begins to turn green. “I think I’m going to be sick!”

 

Wildchild slithers in underneath the bottom rope while Dace is still seeing stars in the middle of the ring. The Bahama Bomber walks in front of him, stepping gingerly because of the thumbtacks, and reaches back with his arms to apply a reverse double-underhook. Dace, suddenly realizing what’s about to happen, struggles to try and stand upright…

 

 

 

WHAAAAAMMMM!!!

 

… But Wildchild kicks his legs out from under him before Dace can establish his balance, falling on his posterior as he drives the top of Dace’s head into the thumbtack-covered canvas!

 

“The Wild-Driver,” shrieks Stevens. “After all the punishment he’s endured in this match, does Dace Night have enough to kick out after Wildchild’s finisher?”

 

Wildchild rolls over slowly, plucking thumbtacks out of his rear end as he turns Dace onto his back. He collapses onto the Birmingham Brawler’s chest as the referee dives into position to count the pin:

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

The Los Angeles crowd begins to boo as “The Everlasting Gaze” begins to play once more. Funyon rises from his seat at ringside, and raises the microphone back to his lips. “Here is your winner: The WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

 

Mark Stevens shakes his head. “I don’t know, in my entire career, if I’ve EVER seen anything like we’ve just witnessed! What’s more, we may have witnessed a change in personality for the Wildchild! I can only hope that his attitude was only a product of the violent nature of this match, and that he’ll be back to his regular self by Storm. We’ll be right back folks, with more hot SWF Action!”

 

Wildchild rolls over to the edge of the ring, where he continues to pick thumbtacks out of his body…

 

As we:

FADE OUT

[Guest Suicide King]

Backstage, Ben Hardy is ready with a microphone and begins an interview with SWF superstar Longdogger Pete, casually dressed in a black "True Champion" T-shirt and dark sunglasses. "LDP, on Lockdown Stryke was unsuccessful in his shot at a second ICTV title reign, losing to Mak Francis. According to the stipulation of that match, this means that you get to face Stryke in the ring at any time of your choosing! Do you have any comments on this turn of events?"

 

"Damn straight I've got comments," Pete replies as he turns to face the camera. "Seeing as Stryke's so anxious to face me in the ring and settle things, I say, let's settle it once and for all. And I have no intention of waiting for my match -- I've already spoken to the commissioner and booked the match for this week's Storm!"

 

Pete points a finger at the screen. "That's right, Stryke, it'll be you and me, one on one this week on Storm, and we'll see which one of us is the better man. We will know, once and for all, who is the true champion--"

 

Pete's sentence is suddenly cut off as a steel chair impacts across his back! Pete screams aloud, then drops to the floor, revealing an angry Stryke on camera holding the chair! Stryke swings the chair threateningly toward Ben Hardy, who beats feet out of the way. Stryke then drops the chair across Pete's prone form, then leans over -- and spits on him! The scene fades out as Stryke walks off camera.

[Guest Suicide King]

The camera flashes on to a helicopter shot of the Los Angeles skyline. Tiny lights beam from towers, etched against a darkening night sky.

 

The scene transitions to the commentators’ table ringside and “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens greeting the home viewer with a wink and a smile.

 

“Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley, back with you on Smarkdown. The SWF continues it’s cross country crisscross; last week Philadelphia, this week the Staples Center in Los Angeles.”

 

“A better class of losers to be sure.” Riley grunts.

 

“We’ve already had two winners and two losers tonight and we are about to add to that list with Sacred taking on Frost! These two have never squared off before in any wrestling ring in the world.” Stevens hypes.

 

“Hell,” Riley ponders “the only time I can ever remember Frost and Sacred interacting was when Sacred walked down to the ring for a non-title match between World Champion El Luchadore Magnifico and the Velvet BUTT Slammer last November.”

 

“He did a little more than walk down,” Stevens reminds his colleague. “He bashed ELM with a chair so Frost could earn the win. Blackwell was none to happy with Magnifico taking the World Title from him.”

 

“A win’s a win,” Riley admits with a shrug. “It’s not like Frost did much with it. He’s only had two World Title shots in the SWF and he dropped them both to Tom Flesher.”

 

“One was a triple threat were TNT was a deciding factor and the other was awash in Mag 7 interference,” Mark makes sure to point out. “Frost has never had a clean shot at Flesher and I think that’s what he’s looking for at Ground Zero.”

 

“Tom was the World Champion, he knew what it took to hold Frost off. He’s an ex-champ now, but still has the mind of a World Title holder and so does Sacred.”

 

The camera swings around from the commentators’ table and zooms up the ramp toward the backstage curtain. A thumping bass line drops in over the loudspeakers, followed by the roar of…

 

“DAMN, IT FEELS GOOD TO BE A GANGSTA!”

 

The houselights dim slightly to emphasize the strobes circling the arena in time with the music. Sacred emerges from the back dressed more for the office than a night in the ring. He undoes the top button of his dress shirt and loosens his collar as he walks down the ramp. Most of the crowd cheers for the recently returned superstar although a smattering of boos can be heard due to Blackwell’s longtime heel status.

 

Sacred slides in under the bottom rope and makes his feet to cue Funyon’s introduction. “Now in the ring from Adelaide, Australia at a weight of 228 pounds. He is “THE SACRED ONE” ANDREEEWWWW BLAAAAAAAAAAAACKWEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLL!”

 

Stevens: “Blackwell had a brief press conference recently covering the name change. Our hardcore fans might know that Sacred is the brother of former SJL wrestler Christian Blackwell.”

 

Riley: “Perhaps using the full name is a tribute to him. Although, Christian never demonstrated the intensity of his brother or the…uh…what am I looking for…”

 

Stevens: “Will to cheat and beat people into a bloody pulp of flesh?”

 

Riley: “That will do.”

 

The flash of silver fireworks cut in to shift the scene. The fans pop loud and long for “Snowblind” by Black Sabbath being piped in. The stage is bathed in a blue light, catching the faint glint of snow fluttering from overhead. A lumbering behemoth struts out from the back with a fist in the air and a cigar in his mouth.

 

“And his opponent,” Funyon continues “making his way to the ring from Reykjavik, Iceland at a weight of 296 pounds. THE VELVET HAMMER…FRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSST!”

 

Stevens: “Frost has been up and down lately. He defeated Renegade and Crow recently, but has dropped matches to Va’aiga, Ejiro Fasaki and lost that colossal four way match to the Boston Strangler, which allowed him to go on and become our new World Heavyweight Champion.”

 

Riley: “Frost would have choked anyway. Blackwell is undefeated since his return from presumably being a worm buffet. He’s bested Wildchild and Jay Dawg and looked decent doing it, for a corpse and all.”

 

Stevens: “You don’t need to harp on that, Bobby. To paraphrase Mark Twain, the reports of Sacred’s death were greatly exaggerated. He went through some tough times with the death of his wife and attempted suicide, but he looks in the best spirit I’ve seen him in in ages.”

 

Frost spikes his cigar down and enters the ring. Referee Anthony Michael Hall pats both men down and calls for the bell.

 

DING DING DING

 

The two grapplers charge at one another on instinct and meet in a collar and elbow tie-up. They push back and forth for a few seconds before Frost’s power advantage looks to give him the upper hand. However, Blackwell uses his speed to slip out of the lockup and behind Frost with a hammerlock. He pulls up on the left arm and puts his left leg in front of the Icelander’s. He kicks back and the pair topples to the mat.

 

Stevens: “Nice takedown by Andrew Blackwell. He has shown that he can wrestle if need be and he’s going to have to use his mat skill and speed to get the win tonight. Blackwell uses his free arm to collar Frost in a modified chinlock.”

 

Sacred pulls back with his arm right under the jaw while still torquing that hammerlock. Frost grits his teeth and grunts from the added pressure on his back. Frost pushes against the mat with his free hand and works his leg underneath him. The fans marvel at Frost making his feet with the 228-pound man hanging off his back. Frost rolls to his right, using Blackwell’s own weight to fling him down to the mat for a face first slam!

 

Stevens: “Clever counter by Frost that uses his biggest asset.”

 

Riley: “I don’t see how that move had anything to do with his ability to scarf down 13 chili dogs in under a minute.”

 

Frost stands as Sacred shakes his head and pushes off the mat. Frost brings Blackwell up by the shoulder and adjusts into a half nelson. He brings the other arm across the throat for a Cobra Clutch. Frost lifts Blackwell off his feet and bashes him to the mat with a Cobra Clutch slam! Frost looks to grind the move on the mat, but the ropes are too close and he expertly snags them for the break.

 

Stevens: “Some solid mat wrestling to start. Both men are looking to ground and control the other.”

 

Riley: “Blackwell doesn’t want Frost to use his power and Frost doesn’t want Sacred using his speed. Both men want to control the tempo and if I were Blackwell I’d set it at a bustling salsa rhythm and see if old fat ass can keep up.”

 

Frost takes Blackwell’s wrist as they stand and whips him to the far ropes. He turns to take the cords in the back and spies Frost laying in wait with his arm out. Sacred ducks under and runs for the opposite cords. Frost takes off into the ropes himself and springs off for a running clothesline. Blackwell drops to his stomach and Frost is forced to skip over him. Blackwell pops up and Frost comes off from the other side. Sacred drops back down as he nears him and trips Frost up with an ankle scissors. Frost splats on his face and Blackwell smoothly glides to his feet and takes the ankle with both hands. Frost crawls swiftly to the near ropes and seizes them before the Sacred One can do anything with the leg. Hall calls for Blackwell to let go, but he drives Frost’s knee into the mat before doing so! A few more boos filter in from that. Hall gets in Blackwell’s face and they argue the illegal tactic.

 

Stevens: “Frost was into the ropes. There was no call for that.”

 

Riley: “Sure there was. Blackwell wants to win here you know. You have a count of five to break any illegal holds, so you better damn well use it.”

 

Frost twists on his belly to be behind Sacred. Frost takes him by both ankles and yanks the rug out from under him! Hall just barely misses getting hit as Sacred goes down. Frost stands and turns while pulling up on the feet into a Boston crab. Blackwell yelps from the sudden shock of pain, but rams an elbow into the ribs as Frost sits back with the move. Frost falls awkwardly off of Sacred from the blow. Blackwell leaps to his feet and runs for the ropes.

 

Stevens: “Good quick counter to the Boston crab before Frost had it locked on tight.”

 

Riley: “Just what I was saying, let’s kick it up a notch!”

 

Frost struggles to stand, but Sacred flies off the ropes to knock him down with a seated dropkick. Frost falls into the ropes. Blackwell bounds up and deftly brings his right leg over and across for a blistering roundhouse kick to the jaw! Frost tumbles through the ropes to the apron. Blackwell advances, but Hall steps in the way and shakes his head ‘no’ at the idea of Sacred going after a man tied up in the ropes.

 

Riley: “If Hall doesn’t watch himself, Sacred is going to come down on him like he was Principal Vernon.”

 

Frost slips completely to the apron and pulls himself up by the top cord. Blackwell blows by Hall once he sees his foe on his feet and jams a shoulder through the ropes into the midsection. Frost leans forward and keeps his place on the apron. Sacred places both hands on the back of the man’s head and jerks down hard to nail the windpipe on the rope! Frost flies off the apron and tumbles through the air to smack the outside floor mats with a wet thud! Hall moves to reign Sacred in, but he’s already slingshotting himself overtop the ring and to the floor with a legdrop to the chest of his prone opponent! Sacred sits out and twists to drop a meaty thigh on Frost! Sacred rolls backwards to his feet.

 

Stevens: “What an eye popping spot from the former World Champion! AND HE’S NOT THROUGH YET!”

 

Blackwell ignores Hall’s warnings to get back into the ring as he hops to the outside guardrail. He straightens up with his hands out to the side for balance on the slim, steel pole that makes the top of the restraint. Security rushes in to keep the ringside fans back and Sacred pushes off! He tumbles head over heel in the narrow space of walkway outside the ring. As he comes around vertical, he pulls up a knee and……MISSES!

 

Stevens: “Frost rolls out of the way of a moonsault knee drop! Andrew Blackwell just rammed his knee full force into the floor, and those mats give little cushion.”

 

Riley: “Of all the stupid stunts! Blackwell might just have given away the main thing he had working for him in this match, his speed and flexibility.”

 

Stevens: “Frost was stunned from the fall to the outside, but we’ve all seen the man’s great awareness and recovery ability. In having never faced off before, both men are misjudging the other a bit here and there.”

 

Both men lie on the outside as Hall starts his ring out count. (ONE) Blackwell flips to his back and cradles his busted knee to his chest while grimacing. (TWO) Frost creeps on all fours toward the near ring steps and pulls himself up them to stand. (THREE)

 

Stevens: “Blackwell straightens out the leg and winces, but at least it doesn’t appear to be broken.” (FOUR)

 

Riley: “Good thing, because our insurance doesn’t cover acts of stupidity. Hence, why the SWF didn’t pick up any of the tab on Amy Craven’s pregnancy.” (FIVE)

 

Sacred sees Frost with his back turned and forces himself to stand with aide from the apron skirt. (SIX) Sacred hobbles toward Frost, but the crowd’s warning tips him off and the Icelandic Iceman spins to plant a boot in the gut! (SEVEN) Blackwell bends over and Frost hooks a front facelock. He throws his weight back and drives the crown of his skull into the ring steps!

 

CLANG!

 

(EIGHT) Frost stands up and rolls into the ring as Hall prepares to count nine. Frost lies on his back for a breather with the crowd buzzing around him.

 

Stevens: “Frost keeps his advantage with a DDT to the ring steps. Blackwell might be out cold!”

 

Riley: “Sacred is half reckless and half crazy, all the way unstable. However, he’s a smart grappler, but he’s giving Frost too many opportunities in this contest.”

 

Frost returns to the floor and the referee barks for him to get back into the ring. Frost picks Sacred up and shovels him under the bottom rope. He follows and glides to his feet. Frost leans back into the near ropes and drops with a knee to the nape of the neck. Blackwell flops like a fish closer to the center of the ring. Frost takes a step and drops down to his knees. He lies across Sacred’s chest with a lateral press.

 

ONE

 

 

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

 

TH-

 

Stevens: “Kick out! Frost should have hooked the leg on that cover.”

 

Riley: “I think Blackwell is more rattled by that DDT to the steps than really hurt. The knee is what Frost needs to focus on here.”

 

Frost slides off of Sacred and rolls into a sitting position. He grabs the right leg and bars the knee with both hands while pulling back and up on the leg.

 

Stevens: “He must be listening to the show on a hidden earpiece, Bobby. Frost is working on that bashed knee with a simple, yet effective, leglock.”

 

Blackwell arches his back and screams. He slaps a few weak palm strikes between Frost’s shoulder blades to no avail. Sacred leans up as far as he can and snakes his arms around Frost’s face into a chinlock. Andrew rears back and they fall to the mat.

 

Stevens: “Sacred applies a chinlock in looking for the break, but Frost has an iron grip on his leg.”

 

Riley: “Classic game of chicken, who’s going to blink first?”

 

Blackwell squeezes his free leg out from under Frost and starts awkwardly stomping the arms from whatever angle he can get. Frost lets go of the leg and jerks strong to free his head from Blackwell’s grip.

 

Riley: “Bac-bac-bac!”

 

Frost rolls to the ropes and climbs up them like a ladder. Blackwell wallows on the mat, tending to his bad knee. Frost shoves himself off the ropes and trips back to his fallen foe. He drops with a knee to the bad leg. Frost mounts Blackwell and starts hammering fists into his face!

 

Stevens: “Frost is in control, but he needs to punch up his offense to knock a man like Sacred out for the victory.”

 

Riley: “Punch being the key word for Frosty.”

 

Frost pulls Blackwell up by the wrist as he stands. He whips him to the far corner, chest first. Sacred’s eyes go wide as he sees the turnbuckle coming. He skids to a stop and puts both hands on the top rope to halt himself. Frost charges, hoping to catch the man off guard, but Andrew leaps and kicks his legs back. Frost runs right under the suspended Blackwell and ironically nails the turnbuckle chest first. Blackwell pushes off the ropes to land behind Frost in a crouch. As he falls back, Andrew puts a hand between his legs and upends the Icelander with a schoolboy rollup for the pin!

 

ONE

 

 

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

 

TH-

 

Stevens: “Sacred can’t hold him and Frost kicks out. Both men race to their feet.”

 

Riley: “Nice mule kick to sucker Frost on the charge, but you can tell that leg isn’t 100%”

 

The pair wobbly stands and Frost makes with a straight boot to the knee. Blackwell folds in half to clutch the knee and stumbles right into a front facelock. Frost dips his head under Sacred’s shoulder and takes a handful of tights. He hoists the former World Champion up with little effort and hangs him out to dry! The fans scream at the sight of all the blood rushing to Blackwell’s head! Frost takes a step forward to steady himself and then spins in a tight circle. He falls and pulls Sacred down as he completes his revolution!

 

WHAM!

 

Stevens: “Spinning gordbuster from the big man! Will this do it?”

 

ONE

 

 

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

 

THR-

 

Riley: “Nope, Blackwell gets the shoulder up. Sacred has had wars in that ring; Frost has only been playing D&D with nerdlingers. He can survive this pounding.”

 

Frost tows Blackwell up by a front waistlock. He shimmies his arms down to the right knee and dead lifts him vertically into the air! The fans pop at the awesome sight of Frost staggering to the upper right corner with Sacred held aloft by that fragile knee. Frost throws Sacred straight up with a grunt, mustering all of his colossal strength! Blackwell flutters in the still night for a moment before falling to jam his knee into the top turnbuckle. The audience audibly cringes from the wicket shot! Sacred bounces slightly back up into the air and starts falling rearwards. Frost moves up to collar him around the waist and goes with his motion to swing Blackwell out of the corner, facing down the length of the ring. Frost pushes Sacred out and down. He grabs the legs around the bottom of the thighs and rides gravity to the mat!

 

SLAM!

 

Riley: “Ok, now that move will f*ck your day up.”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE-

 

Stevens: “Foot on the ropes! Wow! Frost gives Sacred a knee breaker to the top turnbuckle and catches him on the ricochet for the Snowblind! Just astoundingly inventive ring work.”

 

The fans jeer, but Frost has no quarrel with Hall. He simply tugs Sacred away from the ropes and hooks the leg for a second attempt.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE-

 

Stevens: “Shoulder barely up! Frost thought he did enough damage to still get the victory, but those two near falls have given Andrew way too much time to rest.”

 

The fans jeer more, but Frost stays calm. He lifts Blackwell up and straight into an inverted facelock. He swishes his hips to the left to start the Rock ‘n Roll the Dice. However, a reawakened Sacred grabs Frost’s beefy arms with both hands and tugs on it like a chin up bar. He kicks his feet off the mat and uses his upper body strength to vault over Frost’s arm to land on his feet behind him! The counter stuns Frost and that gives Blackwell enough time to hook a rear waistlock. He bends his knees and grits his teeth, his second wind coursing through him! Blackwell gets Frost a few inches off the mat and slings him over his head as he arches his back for a German suplex!

 

Riley: “Glorious counter by Sacred! What did I say, Mark? He’s fought wars in that ring, he’s seen it all and can counter all.”

 

Stevens: “Both men are down and out on the mat. Frost from impaling the back of his neck into the canvas on that German suplex and Sacred from the leg buckling on the strength it took to get the big man off his feet.”

 

Sacred lies with his right leg tucked under him. He slowly unfolds it and gingerly stretches it out. Frost lies sprawled out with his eyes closed. Hall studies both men in deciding to start a double count out or not. Sacred sits up and rolls to his knees, then his feet. Hall nods his head and points at the standing Blackwell to signal him up. Andrew trips to the side and holds onto the ropes for support. He walks down them closer to Frost.

 

Stevens: “Sacred is on his feet. I’m not sure how much more he can do on that bad leg. He needs to try to end this fast or wear Frost down with a submission move.”

 

Riley: “Make him tap like the bitch he is!”

 

Sacred limps off the ropes at Frost and bends over to take his right arm. He walks around the body to flip Frost over on his stomach. Blackwell traps the arm behind his knee and crouches over the lower part of his opponent. He yanks back the right leg into a half crab and reels back; ratcheting both the leg and arm.

 

Stevens: “Be delighted, Bobby, it looks like he’s taking the submission route with the Tequila Sunrise.”

 

Riley: “Yipee! It’s only a matter of time now.”

 

Sacred is greeted with a very mixed reaction to his efforts to make the Velvet Hammer tap. He tunes them out to focus on working the half crab/armlock combination. Hall drops to all fours to be eye to eye with Frost and asks him if he wants to submit. Frost peels his face off the mat and hollers “no.”

 

Stevens: “In the past weeks Frost has shown himself quite adept at escaping submission holds through a combination of power and brains.”

 

Riley: “Muscle he’s got to spare, brains is another matter. Sacred has him out smarted like Deep Blue on Kasparov.”

 

Frost continues to grunt and spit in the move. He reaches out with his free left arm for the ropes, but they are way too far away. Sacred hops on Frost’s back a bit for extra injury and screams, “Give up! Crocodile Dundee’s coming on TBS! Thompson got a projector and he’s going to show the movie on his back!”

 

Stevens: “Didn’t Kasparov win most of those games?”

 

Riley: “How should I know? I don’t follow chess! I can barely keep my eyes open during a Mak Francis match.”

 

Frost starts searching for alternatives, his biggest advantage at this point being that half his body is free to move. He does a one armed pushup and gets his leg underneath him to keep his body bridged.

 

Stevens: “Look at that raw power! Frost does a one arm pushup with a 228 pound man on his back!”

 

Riley: “Ha! Frost has eaten whole hogs that weighed more than that. But look at Sacred going with flow and turning the move into a standing half crab.”

 

Blackwell releases Frost’s arm and seizes the right leg with both hands. Frost bucks off the mat and puts his leg between Andrew’s. He sweeps to the right to bump the bad knee. Sacred grimaces and flops off balanced to the turf. Frost crawls out from under Blackwell to a pop from the fans and claws his way toward the ropes.

 

Stevens: “Another solid technical break by Frost. He used his strength to get Sacred to tweak the move, then got just enough of a hit on that bad leg to upend Blackwell.”

 

Riley: “Seemed pretty foolish and sloppy to me. Frost has about as much finesse as the Hville Thugg at the opera.”

 

Frost lies wheezing in the ropes as Blackwell shuffles over, nearly dragging his bad leg. Hall one again tries to keep Sacred at bay, but he blows past him to lay the boots to Frost! The Iceman tries to put his hands up to block, but they don’t stop much getting through. Frost slips to the outside apron and Hall finally steps in the middle to back Sacred off.

 

Riley: “Let him go, Hall! I’m beginning to think Frost slipped the ref some of that taco money of his under the table.”

 

Sacred shoves Hall to jeering from the crowd. Frost is rising as Sacred reaches over the ropes to put a hand on his short, white hair. Frost slices a shoulder though the cords to catch Sacred in the gut and he backs off with the wind knocked out of him. Frost leans back with the aide of the ropes and slingshots himself forward and over the strands! Frost’s massive body tumbles head over heels to an enormous pop and flashbulbs going off. He wraps his arms around Blackwell’s waist and yanks him along for the ride and a pin attempt!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE-

 

Sacred claps his feet together around Frost’s ears to make him break. Frost falls back and Sacred rolls away from Frost and to his knees.

 

Stevens: “Frost couldn’t hold the sunset flip! Quite a move, but Frost has shown that his flexibility and agility is more than what one might think on several occasions.”

 

Riley: “You couldn’t stand the guy six months ago, now Frost is the second coming of Lou Thesz. When I hate a guy, I hate a guy.”

 

Stevens: “Yeah, but you used to love Frost and now you hate him.”

 

Riley: “See? I hate him, when I hate a guy, I hate him.”

 

Sacred pulls himself up by the ropes and rests with his head down. Frost shakes his head as he stands to clear the cobwebs. He turns toward Blackwell, but the former champ was playing opossum and just waiting for the right opportunity. He explodes across the ring in a blur! He flies off his feet and leads with his shoulder into Frost’s ribs. The crowd pops as the duo hit the turf in a mangled pile!

 

Stevens: “Sacred hits the Kamikaze Super Spear out of nowhere!”

 

Riley: “That’s what’s so effective about the move! The cover!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE-

 

Stevens: “Kick out! It caught Frost off guard, but not enough.”

 

Riley: “Blackwell doesn’t look too happy with Hall on that count.”

 

Blackwell shoots the ref the evil eye as he drags Frost up by the sides of his head. He clamps on a front facelock and kicks off the mat. Blackwell twists and twirls around Frost’s body as if it were a pommel horse! He nudges Frost a quarter turn and then drives his skull to canvas! Frost flips to his back and Sacred hooks the leg for a cover.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE-

 

Stevens: “Shoulder up! Another near fall off the tornado DDT and it looks like Blackwell is getting more frustrated with Hall.”

 

Blackwell leaps to his feet and shoves Hall as he stands. Hall gets right into Sacred’s face and the two start yelling.

 

Riley: “TURN AROUND!”

 

Frost drags himself off the mat and grabs a rear waistlock from his knees. He throws his weight back and sits on top of Andrew’s legs for a reverse rollup!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE-

 

Sacred squeaks an arm free and grabs the near rope!

 

Stevens: “Not strong enough to kick out, Sacred has the presence of mind to snag that rope.”

 

Riley: “And he needs to have the presence of mind to stop fighting with Hall.”

 

Hall calls for the break and Frost does so. Sacred kicks as Frost gets off and he stumbles forward. Blackwell leaps up and dives with a flying forearm to the back! Frost staggers into the ropes and bounces off. Sacred turns him around with both hands on his shoulders into a front facelock. He grapevines left arms and looks to kick his left leg out.

 

Stevens: “Sacred is going for the Cruel Fa…NO!”

 

Frost rears up like a bunking bronco! He puts his free arm on Sacred’s head to help get him vertical. With the facelock still applied and the arm trapped, Frost falls back with a makeshift suplex!

 

Stevens: “Look at that counter to the Cruel Fate! This place is going nuts!”

 

Both lie on the mat for a moment then turn as they start up to face each other. Frost nails a European uppercut! The blow sends Sacred into the ropes and he pops off into Frost’s arms. Frost picks him up and turns him for a body slam.

 

Stevens: “Frost shifts Sacred out to the side, it’s the Snowpl…NO!”

 

Blackwell flips out of the move to land behind Frost. He smacks hard on his feet and his face is a mask of pain as his bad knee gives out! Frost twirls and dives with his arm extended! Sacred flips over the appendage, does a tumble in midair and splashes down!

 

Riley: “The Hell Freeze’s Over! That knee and arguing with Hall is sealing Sacred’s fate!”

 

Frost tows Sacred up by the shoulder and wraps a big mitt around his throat. Frost looks at the crowd for approval and they give it loud and clear!

 

Stevens: “The chokeslam should lock that fate tight and throw away the key!”

 

Frost lifts Sacred up with a hand on his back to steady him. He holds him aloft for what seems like hours to the man in his grasp. Frost finally pivots his arm downward and crams him into the canvas with more hellacious might! Frost jumps and sits out with a spin!

 

KA-BLAM!

 

Stevens: “Spinning leg drop for good measure and here’s the pin!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

DING DING DING

 

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

 

Frost stands winded and sweating. Hall hoists his arm and points to the winner. The audience erupts with joy!

 

Stevens: “Hell of a match from both men, but as you said earlier Bobby, Sacred just allowed Frost too many opportunities to stay in this one.”

 

Riley: “It’s always the minor elements that are the difference between a win and a loss. 99 times out of a 100 Sacred has Frost dead to rights. This was just that 1 in a 100 shot.”

 

Stevens: “Like the Unholy Trinity beating Justice and Rule for the tag belts?”

 

Riley: “That was more like 1 in a kajillion.”

 

Stevens: “And we have a match for number on contendership for those belts coming up next. The Turner Empire vs. International Incident! The World Champ vs. the ICTV Champ!”

 

The camera catches Frost sliding to the floor and holding up a fist to the crowd before fading to break.

[Guest Suicide King]

SWF Smarkdown is back on the air, camera panning the excited audience, and catching such gems of wit as ‘SWF Title’s in a STRANGLEhold!’, ‘International Incidents of Excitement!’, and the ever popular ‘Watch me explode~!’. Finishing it’s quick scan, the camera returns to the announce table, and the familiar face of Mark Stevens.

 

“Welcome back, fans, to SWF Smarkdown! I am Mark Stevens, alongside Bobby Riley, and we’re all set to present a tremendous matchup for every one of you.” Stevens smiles, and Riley just shakes his head. Mark waits, but Riley doesn’t say anything, so Stevens swings back into things. “And it has been quite a night so far, with the Hardcore champion, Va’aiga starting us off against the Magnificent Seven’s Judge Hearford in a magnificent match up, something of a continuation of the tensions between their respective groups, the Unholy and the M7.”

 

Again, Stevens waits, and again, Riley says nothing. Stevens frowns, once more recapping quickly. “Not to mention, we’ve crowned a new #1 contender to the hardcore title, and seen Frost take on all time SWF great Andrew Blackwell in an amazing outing. But now, we’ve got a match that everyone should love…”

 

Here, Riley finally makes a sound, snorting in derision. Stevens looks at him, and frowns again. “Something to say about this next match, which includes the current ICTV champion, two of the most exciting tag teams in recent memory, a former AND a current world champ, Riley?

 

Riley slides a piece of paper to Stevens, and Mark sighs, reading it aloud. “Due to the sad state of the SWF’s championship holders, and the patently unentertaining match-up we are about to see, I, Bobby Riley, have taken a vow of silence.”

 

At these words, the small section of fans within listening distance let up a huge cheer, causing Riley to shake with rage. Short moments thereafter, a rather deplorable chant about Riley’s sexual escapades begins, and the ambiguous one quivers with hatred. After nearly fifteen straight seconds of chanting, Riley turns in his chair, exploding at the audience. “Oh, shut the hell up! It was only one time, in college!”

 

Stevens chuckles. “I thought you weren’t talking, Bobby?”

 

Riley frowns and slumps down in his chair. “Yeah, well, I guess I forgot that it’s still my job to educate the ignorant. It’s really rather charitable, as I’m MUCH smarter than the rest of you.”

 

“Well then, perhaps an opinion on our next match?”

 

“Gladly. In our next matchup, two losers with an amusing name will be taking on two boring, untalented never-weres for a shot at titles held by two men who COULD be interesting, but just plain aren’t. You’re better off switching over to the other channel.”

 

“Despite my announce partner’s lack of enthusiasm, this should be an ASTOUNDING match, and I for one want to get it underway, right now.”

 

 

There is a loud buzz of static, and the Smarktron flickers to life, showing a grainy, scratched looking shot of a news anchor behind his desk. “This just in. There are reports of tensions rising, and fighting on all sides. It looks like we’re on the way to a full blown International Incident.”

 

At these last two words, the picture blinks off the screen, and the beats of ‘Double Trouble’ by The Roots fill the arena, Smarktron now showing a shot of two smiling faces in profile, looking towards each other from either edge of the giant screen. The words ‘International Incident’ fill the empty black space between them in bright red letters, columns of pyro rising all along the length of the stage. In the center of it all, a masked figure rises, kneeling, arms bent at his side in a flex. The Smarktron flashes with images of CIA flying through the sky, as he rises, and then show Mak Francis locking in holds on various opponents, current ICTV champ emerging through the entryway.

 

Francis moves in behind CIA, hands straight out to his sides, camera flashes bathing both men. As the flashes die down, CIA pops up onto his feet, and both men move down the aisle towards the ring, the Canadianplaying to the crowd, Francis looking much more serious. Once in the ring, both men turn to look down back the ramp, eyes locked on the entryway, waiting for something. Or someone.

 

The familiar strains of ‘TNT’ by AC/DC immediately fire up, signaling the arrival of the explosive one himself. TNT makes his way through the curtain from the backstage just as the singer’s voice reaches it’s peak on the line ‘Watch me explooooode!!’ and there is another huge cheer from the audience.

 

“And so far, all three men have received huge ovations, Riley. What I want to know is, how much bigger will it be for our brand new World Champion?”

 

“If the fans are smart, we’ll be able to hear a pin drop.”

 

The arena goes dim as the opening chords of “Godzilla” by Blue Oyster Cult start to play. As the song launches into the opening guitar riff, the SmarkTron lights up with the name “STRANGLER” in big white letters ands a massive burst of white pyro explodes from the stage. As the pyro begins to die down, Strangler emerges, gold glittering around his waist, that most coveted prize, the World Heavyweight title. The fans ARE silent, waiting for something, and Strangler smiles.

 

One fist rises into the air as he looks out onto the crowd, and the explosion is gigantic, everyone cheering and clapping. The camera cuts away from Strangler long enough to settle on the smiling face of TNT for just one moment, and then on Francis and CIA, both of whom are clapping their hands, CIA making his way around the ring, motioning for the crowd to cheer even louder. They do, and it takes almost a minute before the cheers die down, Strangler standing still in his place until they do. Finally, the noise is at a reasonable level, and Strangler walks down the ramp. He slides into the ring, and climbs to the second turnbuckle. He raises both arms into the air, fists closed, before returning to center ring and waiting for the match to start.

 

The referee approaches all four men in the middle of the ring, Francis and TBS removing their belts. Handing them to the ref, who makes his way to the timekeeper with the coveted gold, e all four men taking one step towards each other. CIA and Francis extend one hand each, and their opponents quickly reach out, shaking hands with the duo. All four men turn away, making their way back to their corners. A few seconds of conversation occurs, and, bell ringing, CIA and TNT step out of the ring, the current ICTV and World champion looking across at each another.

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

“Here we go folks.” begins Stevens, as Francis and Strangler turn the proverbial squared circle, “These are two of our premier singles competitors, in the ring right now. The current World and ICTV champions, about to face off for the first time in their careers’.”

 

The resounding vibrations of Francis shuffling his feet against the mat, gives the SWF World Heavyweight champion a chance to move forward in search of a grapple and stop the feeling out process. With a clear head and quick feet, the SWF Intercontinental Television champion darts forward, completing said collar and elbow tie-up! Mak pushes against the weight of the Boston Strangler, but his near seventy pound and six inch height advantage, allows him to easily overpower the self proclaimed Franchise, backing him up slightly, before tossing him aside like a rag doll, towards his tag corner! Francis is sent tumbling head over heels, ending up on his BUTT, back to his corners’ turnbuckle. While Strangler receives a pop for his dominance from the Los Angeles faithful, Francis converses with his International Incident brethren. TBS looks on at the apparent attempt of CIA to lighten the mood by saying, “At least he didn’t toss you completely out of the ring…”, and tries not to chuckle, holding his stone cold look.

 

“Francis needs to realize that he has a definitive advantage over Strangler on the mat and it would be in his best interest to get the big man off his feet and onto the canvas. That way he can use his superior mat technique on the World champ.”

 

Not to be deterred, Mak hops up to his feet, and lunges forward into another tie-up, putting everything he has behind it. Francis runs through everything he can do and decides to shift into a rear double leg takedown from the tie-up – but this time is no different from the last, as Francis bounces off the canvas like a superball, before regaining control of his body, and sliding to one knee, and then his vertical base, in a neutral corner. Meanwhile, the Boston Strangler calmly moves forward, stalking his prey, while Mak tries to shake the cobwebs out. Without a second thought, TBS drives the sole of his boot into Francis’ weakened rib cage, again, and again stomping the proverbial mud hole and walking it dry.

 

“Even this early in the match-up, The Boston Strangler is showing why he is World champion! A dominating force that scouts his opponents’ strengths, weaknesses and most importantly, injuries.”

 

“Wow, Strangler looked at some tape. Give him a prize! Besides, any idiot can see that Mak’s been favoring his ribs, right from the get go!” While Bobby Riley does everything in his power to run down the World champ, Strangler grabs the slumped over form of the Franchise, by the wrist, pulling him out in a cross corner whip…

 

…Or what would have been a cross corner whip, as TBS never releases Mak’s hand and yanks him back with fever, causing Francis’ eyes to get as wide as dinner plates, squashing the Franchise with a scintillating short-arm clothesline!! Strangler immediately drops into a lateral press, as the referee drops to make the count…

 

ONE…!

 

 

 

TWO…!

 

 

T

H—

 

No! The Franchise gets a shoulder up, with a not so forceful kick out!

 

“Even though it’s early in this contest, Mak Francis is already having trouble pushing out from under the three hundred pound plus Boston Strangler! Kicking out of all that weight is a task in itself, let alone doing it after one of the SWF champs high impact moves!” comments Mark; on an aside, as TBS stands, grabbing Mak by the neck and dragging him towards the Turner Empire’s corner.

 

“I disagree Mark.” begins Riley. “We all know that Stranglers’ fat and that does pose a problem for people kicking out… but you overlooked one thing..”

 

“That being…?”

 

“Francis sucks!” adds Bobby, with a straight face, as TNT, tag rope in hand, makes the tag, signaled by the ref clapping his hands together. TBS stretches Francis as TNT enters through the ropes, so that Taylor can take control after a solid toe kick to the mid-section.

 

TNT takes the hunched over Francis by the neck and snapmares’ the ICTV champ down to the canvas. Mak lays there in a seated position, as Thompson, using the near ropes for momentum, dashes forward and lands a sniff knee strike to the back of his opponents’ neck! Mak winces and tries to blink away the pain, as Taylor lambastes him with a sharp kick to the back! While the Franchise arches his back, TNT loops around in front of him and snitches in a front facelock, before yanking his opponent up to his feet, only to quickly toss him back down in a snap suplex! TNT moves from his knees into a cover, while the ref drops into position…

 

ONE…!

 

 

TWO…!

 

 

T

H—

 

No! The Franchise wiggles free and shoots a shoulder up!

 

“As you can see TNT and Stranglers obvious weight advantage is really making it difficult for Francis.”

 

“It’s not their weight Mark… it’s the fact that Francis sucks! I mean, he’s a crowd whore and it’s a fact that crowd whores suck.”

 

“But Bobby, that doesn’t make sense. You were never a crowd whore.”

 

Riley fumes in his seat, malcontent, as the explosive one stands after the kick out, and pulls Mak over towards team Turner’s corner once again, tossing him into the pads and slapping hands with his partner. As Strangler steps over the top rope, TNT drives his shoulder deep into the Franchise’s gut! TNT gives Francis one more deep shoulder thrust for the road, as TBS enters the ring completely. Mak tries to stumble out of the corner, but Strangler will have none of that, mauling Francis with a clubbing blow to the head that sends him back into the buckles! The Superstation pummels Mak with a few body punches, before he rears back and—

 

*Smack!* WHOOOOOOOO!

 

—Blasts the ICTV champ with a blistering knife-edge chop! Mak covers his chest and dances out of the corner, but he only gets to a neutral corner, as TBS snags him, tearing Francis’ arms away from his chest and—

 

*Smack!* WHOOOOOOOO!

 

—Hitting another knife-edge, the “smack” reverberating, loud and clear! Mak dances away, this time towards the International Incident corner… but Strangler latches onto Mak’s wrist, tossing him away in an Irish whip! Francis runs the ropes, and bounds back towards TBS, who swings over top with a lariat! The Franchise hits the cables quickly, and feels a light slap on his shoulder, as his Canadian partner, stretching the tag rope to it’s fullest, makes a blind tag! Mak continues on his way, as if nothing has happened, baseball sliding underneath Strangler’s legs, making the big man whiff his next attack, while the ref signals the legal tag!

 

Mak rolls over to his stomach, popping up in a position rather reminiscent of an amateur stance, as CIA mounts the turnbuckles. Strangler steps towards Francis, but sees the telltale smile on his face, and spins around, both hands reaching up to catch hold of the Canadian’s flying bulk as he soars across the ring in a crossbody, comfortably hefting CIA in front of him. Lifting CIA up a bit, as if to drive him down in a powerful gutbuster, Strangler is caught off guard as Francis lunges, arm driving into the back of Strangler’s knee with a diving chopblock. This hard hit on his leg, along with CIA’s high weight, causes him to stumble backwards, crashing to the mat, Canadian landing atop his chest, and hooking the leg.

 

“Beautiful move by International Incident, showing off their tag team experience. Even though Strangler seemed to have them scouted, you never turn your back on Mak Francis, and now CIA has the champ in a pinfall situation!”

 

ONE…!

 

 

TWO…!

 

 

T-

 

No! Strangler kicks out powerfully, shoving CIA up into the air like a benchpress weight, Canadian’s body colliding with the lowermost rope as it is shoved up and away from Strangler’s form, the big man immediately sitting up.

 

“And Strangler’s stupidity almost got him beat, but once again CIA’s ineptitude screwed it up for him. With TNT’s inanities, and Francis’ overblown amateur wrestling attempts, this promises to BORE ME TO TEARS.”

 

In the ring, CIA and Strangler both come quickly to their feet. Strangler looks towards his corner, where Taylor is clapping his hands, calling for the tag, and begins to march in that direction, hand extended, while his Canadian foe rises on the outside ring apron. Seeing Strangler head for the fresh man, CIA grabs hold of the top rope, and leaps into the air, planting his feet just long enough to launch himself, hoping his high flying skill might gain him an advantage over the massive Strangler. Both the Canadian’s feet drive forward, coming hard into the back of TBS, but as Strangler falls forward to his knees, Thompson stretches into the ring as far as he can while his fingers still grasp the tag rope, and slaps his larger partner’s hand.

 

“And the tag made to TNT! The explosive one enters this match, giving Strangler a moment to rest, although he seemed to be holding off Francis and CIA thus far.”

 

“Gee, the world champ holds his own in a tag match. Next thing you know you’re going to tell me they make SLICED BREAD.”

 

The masked Canadian rises to his feet just as TNT enters the ring. The explosive one looks CIA up and down, and in the split second this gives him, the kooky Canadian drives his whole body forward, pistoning out an elbow to crack across the jaw of TNT, spinning him halfway around and sending him to one knee. Not hesitating even for an instant, CIA draws his fist back, and—

 

*CRACK!* “Ooooooh!”

 

Strangler’s massive fist comes flying across the ropes, crashing into the Canadian’s jaw and dropping him to the mat like a sack of potatoes. Thompson turns back to CIA as the referee admonishes Strangler, who is rubbing his fist and shrugging, and the explosive one grabs hold of the Canadian’s blond locks, dragging him up to his feet.

 

“The smartest thing Strangler’s done in months combined with the dumbest thing CIA’s done in ten minutes. NEVER keep the fight going in the opponent’s corner.”

 

Riley’s voice seems smug, and Stevens unwittingly must agree with him. “A tactical error on the ‘Dream’s’ part, but it IS hard to keep a man ANYWHERE, when he’s six foot nine, and over three hundred pounds.”

 

Indeed, Francis and CIA give up a tremendous size and power advantage to their foes. This doesn’t keep the Canadian from fighting back, trying to pull himself out of TNT’s grip, throwing elbows back at the face of the explosive one, staggering him slightly. It seems TNT’s hand has loosened itself from the tight knot it has made in CIA’s hair, and he lunges forward, trying to break free—

 

--only to be jerked back hard, slamming to the mat, TNT somehow even managing to make the standard hair pull into a power move. Francis yells at TNT, but the explosive one merely lifts CIA, locking him in a front facelock and smiling across the ring at ‘The Franchise’, giving the same kind of shrug Strangler gave to the ref just moments before. Leaning down and grabbing hold of CIA’s tights, TNT readies himself to hoist the masked marvel into the air for a suplex, looking up just as Strangler yells a warning, and meeting a—

 

*CRACK~!*

 

—Yakuza kick from the running Franchise, dropping the Explosive one back to the mat. Francis leans forward over TNT and gives TNT a shrug of his own, before quickly retreating to his corner at the referee’s beratement.

 

“I guess Francis didn’t take to kindly to TNT’s disposition…”

 

“Well, at least Francis still knows how to cheat properly. I was beginning to think he couldn’t even do that anymore.” notes a fairly indifferent Bobby Riley.

 

The crowd looks on at both competitors as CIA, given a few seconds, gets to his feet, TNT forcing himself up to a knee. The Dream quickly takes advantage, moving to his adversary and snitching in a front facelock. CIA wrenches away, stretching the neck, head and shoulders, as Thompson attempts to power out and push his way to his feet. With a nod from his partner and a smile on his face, CIA throws his weight around, more specifically down, in a semi-leap, dropping the Californian on his head in a DDT! But surprisingly, the Canadian does not release the facelock. Instead, he gets up, pulling and dragging TNT towards his corner, where the explosive one attempts’ to shoulder tackle out. Mak, tag rope in hand, slaps his partner on the back as TNT pushes him into the buckles. ‘The Franchise’ lets loose a few clubbing forearms to the back, and then CIA exits the ring.

 

Francis grabs TNT about the waist, looking for a German suplex out of the corner, but TNT relentlessly holds onto the ropes, forcing Francis to continuously pound away with blows to back and neck! Taylor shrugs off the offense attempt, with a back elbow for Mak, followed by a punch to the face of CIA! Mak holds on for dear life, while TNT alternates between elbows and punches, before finally blasting CIA with STIFF elbow strike that, had he not been holding the top rope, would have knocked him off the apron! TNT swings away again, one last elbow to the Franchise to break the hold—

 

—Only to swing over top and rotate around in perfect position for Francis to flip him overhead, causing Thompson to land on his neck in a release Northern lights suplex!! Holding his jaw for only a second, from his seated position, Mak quickly reaches up and tags CIA, who, as TNT attempts to rise, cradling his neck, slingshots over the top rope in a senton atomico! TNT lets out a strangled “oof”, as CIA crawls back towards his body and covers…

 

ONE…!

 

 

 

TWO…!

 

 

 

 

T—

 

No! TNT, much like his television nicknamed partner kicks out with some force, rolling onto his stomach, while pushing CIA off him, though not as high into the air. Grand Slam comments, as CIA plans out his attack. “TNT, remembering what happened to CIA only moments ago, brought the fight to both men, trying to eliminate any double teaming, but a release Northern lights suplex and senton atomico combinationshuts him down!”

 

“Could this be any more boring…? The crowd is so out of this match that it isn’t even doing that annoying “TWWWO!” thing, those Canadians fools started. I’m sure these fans want the Judge back! Listen to how apathetic they sound!”

 

The crowd, unsure of whom to cheer for a minute, decide to cheer for both crowd favorites!

 

“…”

 

“You were saying, Riley?”

 

That shuts Bobby up, returning him to his earlier promise, if only for a single GLORIOUS moment! Taylor, wise beyond his years in tag experience knows he needs a tag, and attempts to rise. He is helped by CIA, who seems to have some idea, but whatever that may have been gets interrupted by a toe kick! The former world champ measures the partially hunched over Canadian, and then blasts him with a stiff right hand to the jaw! Thompson catches his breath for a second, before exploding forward and destroying CIA with a STIFF high angle STO!! The Dream hits the mat, hard, and TNT stumbles around, clutching his neck, before going towards the Turner Empire’s corner for the tag—

 

—And getting jerked down by his dreadlocks, by the self proclaimed Franchise! TBS shouts across the ring, but Francis shakes the tag rope in his hand and smirks! “The Franchise proving for the second time is this match that you don’t turn your back on him.”

 

TNT rolls over onto his belly after the hair pull and tries to push himself up as the Canadian, who has recovered slightly, strikes, briefly stunning TNT with a forearm to the back, before latching onto his waist and hoisting him up into the air! The Dream pauses, looping his arm in between TNT’s legs and then releasing him at the top, dropping him callously to the canvas in a release belly to back suplex!! CIA stalls, still feeling a rather large twinge in his neck from the STO, before he takes the pin, hooking the far leg…

 

ONE…!

 

 

TWO…!

 

 

 

T

H

R—

 

No! CIA gets two and a half, as TNT gets a shoulder up! CIA sits on one knee, and slaps hands with Mak, who, in a feat not seen from him since his return, also slingshots over the top with a senton atomico!

 

“International Incident, once again showing that tag team experience by isolating TNT in their corner and using quick tags and pins to maintain control.”

 

Mak immediately rolls through to his feet and lifts TNT off the canvas, punching him in the face with a right hand before—

 

*Smack!* WHOOOOOOOO!

 

—Hitting a blood vessel bursting knife-edge chop! That last strike allows the Franchise to whip TNT across the ring! Mak steps forward and bends at the waist prematurely, looking for a back body drop, but TNT holds onto the ropes! Francis looks up, perplexed; and then, realizing his error, dashes forward directly into a toe kick! Thompson slides into a standing headscissors and lifts the Franchise up onto his shoulders, snapping him down with a quick standing powerbomb!!!

 

“Oh man, what a snap powerbomb by “TNT”!! He absolutely spiked Francis into the mat!”

 

TNT blinks and stumbles about, falling into the ropes as the World champ hollers his way for a tag! Francis stays sprawled out on the mat, not really moving, except for one arm protecting his rib cage! TNT staggers towards his partner, CIA yelling for Mak to get up, but Francis only makes it to one knee, when TNT—

 

*Slap!*

 

—Makes the tag!!! And the monstrous World Heavyweight champ, the Boston Strangler, blitzes into the ring!!

 

“And it looks like trouble for Francis and CIA, as the fresh, and DANGEROUS, world champ makes his way into the ring!”

 

A hint of curiosity in his voice, Riley speaks up. “Wait a second, Mark? Is Francis…. He’s begging off!”

 

Indeed, Francis has both hands up in front of himself, and he is inching back towards his corner on both knees, wanting no part of the World Champ. Backing away, he is followed closely by Strangler, who takes just a half a second to crack the knuckles on both his hands, and roll his neck from side to side, before marching in to grab hold of Francis’ head, pulling his arm back for a fierce clubbing blow to the face.

 

On the apron, CIA sees this, and quickly mounts the turnbuckle, looking right into Strangler’s eyes. The Champion sees this, and releases Francis, urging the Canadian on. CIA leaps, flying through the air, but is caught around the throat by a single massive hand, his legs kicking and writhing as Strangler holds him up in the air, looking for a chokeslam. Francis, on the mat, kicks out hard, driving his foot into the back of Strangler’s knee, causing the champ to stumble towards the ropes, CIA still dangling in his grasp. Dropping his weight forward over the top rope, Strangler releaseas CIA, but the falling Canadian grabs hold of Strangler’s arm as he drops, and Francis rises behind the champ, shoving his upper back hard.

 

Together, both men’s pull forces Strangler to pitch over the top rope, the world champ and the ‘Canadian Dream’ tumbling to the mats on the outside. TNT, enraged, rushes in through the ropes, coming up behind Francis and slamming his fist into the ‘Franchise’s’ head.

 

“And it’s all breaking down in the ring, Riley, as Francis and CIA manage to topple the world champ to the outside, but TNT is right back in, and now all four men are brawling in and outside of the ring!”

 

Riley rolls his eyes, and you can tell just by the way he sounds when he speaks. “Great. This thing is NEVER going to end.”

 

CIA and Strangler rise on the outside, both men holding onto their necks, and they look into each other’s eyes, glaring deeply, the World champ raising both fists…..

 

 

And CIA runs away. Strangler curses and quickly begins to pursue CIA around the ring, as inside the ring, TNT locks Francis in a crossface chickenwing, tying the Franchise up tightly. Crouching down, TNT powers his body up, and LAUNCHES the Franchise up overhead, the Explosive one’s body arching just before he releases Francis, the Franchise’s body being jerked down and driven hard into the mat, neck and head taking all the impact, ring shaking with as his weight is slammed down, body folding up like a switchblade. The fans wince with sympathy, and TNT slides over towards Francis, flipping him down onto his back, and sliding on top for the cover.

 

“That’s it, Mark, it’s over now, Francis’s skull just exploding onto that mat, courtesy of TNT.”

 

ONE…!

 

 

 

 

TWO…!

 

 

 

THREE…!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO! Just as the Referee’s hand is about to hit the mat for the third time, CIA reaches in from the outside of the ring, and jerks hard on TNT’s ankle, causing the explosive one to lose his cover. Unfortunately, this allows Strangler to catch up to the Canadian, FLOORING him with a clothesline. TNT yells out at the Canadian, telling him he got what he deserved, before turning to Francis, dragging him up off the mat to finish him, once and for all.

 

“And amazing ring presence, or… out of the ring presence, as it were, as CIA JUST barely makes the save for his partner, but with both members of international incident reeling, this looks like the end.”

 

Indeed, as Strangler rolls CIA into the ring, and TNT pulls Francis to a standing position, things look grim for the duo. Seconds later, nothing has improved, as Strangler has pulled himself onto the ring apron, and, reaching down, tugged CIA to a standing position, massive hands around the Canadian’s throat, and TNT has jerked Francis down, head between his legs, preparing him for a mushroom cloud to finish the match. The ref turns his eyes to the two men in center ring, and Strangler and TNT over in unison, both hefting their foes into the air. The members of international incident are both lifted as high as they can go, and, just as they’re about to be slammed into oblivion, both men lash out in desperation! CIA’s foot kicks out, flailing once more, and catches Strangler in the crotch, the inadvertent low-blow going unseen by the ref, and causing Strangle to drop the Canadian to his feet. Meanwhile, Francis drives his forearm into the head of CIA, stumbling him.

 

Strangler reaches out once more for CIA, who has fallen to one knee, but the Canadian lurches forward, driving his shoulder into the gut of Strangler and sending him back off the ring apron, World Champ barely managing to land on his feet on the outside. TNT tries to power Francis down, but the Franchise manages to get his legs free, and comes down on his feet in front of the Explosive one.

 

“And both men fight their way out! A last ditch effort, but will it be enough?!”

 

TNT whips his arm out in a hard clothesline, but the Franchise ducks, TNT’s body spinning around before him. Standing quickly, Francis hooks his arms around the waist of TNT, and CIA, with barely a look, runs off towards the ropes, loking to rebound so he will be running by behind Francis. Powering upwards, Francis pops his hips, getting TNT high overhead with a release german suplex, the Explosive one’s body arching into the air as Francis collapses from the exertion. CIA bounces off the ropes, and, just as it looks like TNT will come down right on top of him, he leaps into the air, hooking both arms around the neck of the former World Champ, both men falling to the ring with a colossal crash as the ‘Dream’ hooks a falling neckbreaker in midair.

 

The ring shudders with the impact, a loud echoing boom exploding through the arena. CIA rises to his feet a second later, and sees Strangler rising on the ring apron. Diving over Mak and TNT both, CIA grabs hold of Strangler’s legs, just as Francis rolls over and throws his arm overtop of the downed TNT.

 

“And that’s Defcon One! Mak Francis and CIA have practiced that move together in training for some time, and I’m told the results are purely devastating! Impressive assault from both men, will this net them the win, and the shot at tag team gold?”

 

ONE…!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO…!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE…!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

YES! Though Strangler has broken free of CIA, he reaches his partner just a moment too late, ref’s hand hitting the mat for that fateful three count, ending the match. The crowd explodes, raucous cheers going up all through the arena. All four competitors rise in the ring, slowly, fans still cheering madly. All four look at each other, holding various parts of their bodies in pain, and, after what seems a long time, Strangler and TNT nod their heads, reaching their hands out this time. Francis and CIA take hold of the outstretched hands, and the Former and Current World Champions raise their hands in the sky, fans letting up another round of cheers for all four men.

 

“And what an amazing matchup, Bobby. CIA and Francis advance over two of the most brilliant competitors the SWF has ever seen, but all four men were still fighting strong. And what a show of respect, too.”

 

Bobby Riley sounds queasy, and he shakes his head in disgust. “I think I’m ill. Can we just move on to a match with some real action?”

 

“Yes, Bobby. We can.”

 

With that, the shot fades, all four tired men making their way up the aisle, together.

[Guest Suicide King]

BA-BOOM~!

 

A single loud blast of pyrotechnics erupts into the air, and the theme song of SWF Smarkdown rings through the air. We return to the arena and the myriad of cheering fans within, the camera as usual panning about the crowd, picking up almost every sign. From "Insert Sign Here" to "Taamo 3:16 Is Superior" to "AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE! CROW! CROW! CROW!", the signs are many and different in their detail. Finally, the camera swings down to ringside to the faces of our most beloved commentators, 'Grand Slam' Mark Stevens and 'Ambiguously Gay' Bobby Riley.

 

"Welcome BACK to SWF Smarkdown, folks! Everyone's been wondering why there's a match scheduled here tonight, and earlier this evening we got that answer!" Stevens shills.

 

"Damn straight, Stevens!" Riley, for once, is not acting gay. "Crow and Janus had it out in a war of words at the beginning of the show, and the bird laid down the challenge...a Best of Five series!"

 

"Correct, Riley! The last time we saw one of these, it was Tod deKindes and Annie Eclectic - now both retired - and the pain and punishment they went through pales to what the Hell Machine and the Antichrist Superstar are going to do to each other..."

 

Bobby smirks, “Well... it pales in comparison to what Janus is going to do to Crow.”

 

The camera swings over towards the impeccably dressed Funyon as he lifts his microphone and turns to address the crowd.

 

"The following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL...and is the FIRST MATCH of a BEST OF FIVE SERIES! This match's rules are as standard, and I'd like to now introduce the challengers..."

 

Each and every light in the arena drops out. The familiar face of a white-haired young man appears on the Smarktron, and blue pyrotechnics fountain up the sides of the ramp. The crowd boos heartily as the opening strains of Fear Factory's "Resurrection" ooze forth from the speakers, and the image on the Smarktron begins to crack as Burton C. Bell sings.

 

"Consumed with memoriiiies...

That preceded todaaaaay...

Given a chance to bereaaaave...

Life that's slipping A-WAAAAAAAAY!"

 

As the heavier riffs burst out across the arena, the face on the Smarktron shatters, revealing Janus' snarling visage. A spotlight swings around to focus on the stage as the seven foot monster steps out from behind the curtain, cricking his neck to both sides. He strides down the ramp through the shower of blue sparks, red eyes locked on the empty ring as Funyon lifts his microphone.

 

"And the first challenger...hailing from Sydney Australia! He stands at SEVEN feet, TWO inches, and weighs THREE hundred and FIFTY pounds...the Hell Machine....JAAAAAANUUUUUUUUUUUUS!"

 

The giant takes little time to get to the ring, climbing up onto the apron and stepping over the top rope. The crowd continues to boo as "Resurrection" begins to fade out of existence. The Hell Machine thrusts his arms into the air, silencing the boos as blue fire explodes from the turnbuckles, cutting off the song entirely and bringing the lights back up!

 

"There's the man so many have feared since he first showed up in the SJL. Janus is a pure monster, Riley, and he's not afraid to prove it."

 

"I bet he's a monster when he's out of the ring, too!" Riley giggles.

 

Stevens just shakes his head, and the lights dim again as the beginning of the song "Burn In Hell" by Dimmu Borgir echoes over the speakers. The crowd's subdued booing of Janus turns to outright cheers as the lyrics wind up to their favourite's entry.

 

There's just five words to say...

As you go down...*BONG*

Down...*BONG*

Down...*BONG*"

 

The voice on the speakers cleared its throat, and suddenly, a sheet of fire explodes along the stage! Promptly, the crowd cheers like a horde of ravening females, as a black-haired figure stands with his arms spread in a crucifix pose amid the flames. Taking a drag from his cigarette, the sexy figure makes his way down the ramp as his theme continues to roar over the arena.

 

"YOU'RE GONNA BURN IN HELL!

OH, BURN IN HEEEEEELLLLLLL!"

 

"And his opponent! Ladies and gentlemen, he hails from Anchorage Alaska, and stands at SIX feet TWO inches, weighing TWO hundred and THIRTY one pounds...he is the Antichrist Superstar....CRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!"

 

The crowd whoops and cheers as the Antichrist Superstar stops at the bottom of the ramp, staring up at the hulking menace inside the ring. Slowly ascending the stairs, Crow exhales a cloud of smoke before stubbing his cigarette on the turnbuckle. Referee Eddy Long keeps himself between Janus and his foe, as Crow leisurely climbs into the ring and paces around a little, loosening up.

 

"You know, Stevens, Crow's choice in music is rather ironic, isn't it?" Riley questions.

 

"Dimmu Borgir’s ‘Burn in Hell’... given his opponent, Riley, you actually made an interesting point!" Grand Slam remarks.

 

Informing the two superstars in the ring that it's a straight singles match, and that he won't hesitate to disqualify them, Eddy Long steps back and waves to the timekeeper, and the crowd descends into an almost respectful silence...

 

*DING DING DING!*

 

The instant Eddy Long is clear, the Hell Machine charges across the ring and swings up his leg for a big boot! Crow sees the move coming a mile away however, and falls to the mat, taking Janus down with a drop toe hold into the ropes! The giant's throat slams into the middle rope, and he clutches at it as he falls onto his back. Aiming to keep up the quick offence, Crow slams a few boots into Janus' gut, before grabbing his leg and twisting around it in preparation for the figure four leg lock.

 

Despite his throat being sore, the Hell Machine plants his boot into Crow's arse and sends him stumbling away before sitting up! As the Antichrist Superstar gains his balance and spins around, Janus rises from a crouched position and just BRUTALLY lariats his opponent, his thick arm slamming into the Antichrist Superstar's ribs! Crow doesn't go down however; he merely tries to get air into his lungs as the Hell Machine looms in front of him!

 

*SMACK!*

 

"...." said Stevens.

 

"...Crow...just slapped...Janus. In the face." Even Riley seems stunned.

 

The seven foot giant seems like it too, staring incredulously at the Antichristian Phenomenon. Crow flashes a brief smile, before rearing back and slamming a knife edged chop into the monster's chest! Janus stumbles slightly, and Crow fires off another shot!

 

*SMACK*

 

And another!

 

*SMACK*

 

Janus staggers only a little, as it finally gets into his head that the Gothic Avian slapped him, and is still attacking. Seeing his chops having little effect, Crow tenses his hand and throws it forward in a thrusting claw strike at the Hell Machine's face...

 

...but Janus' hand blocks the strike, locking around it like a vice. Slowly squeezing, the seven-footer just growls as the Antichrist Superstar tries to pull his hand free, grimacing a little at the pain. The monster doesn't relent, increasing the pressure on his foe's captured hand, and the discomfort on Crow's face grows...at least until Janus drives a HUGE knee into his stomach and releases him! The Antichristian Phenomenon's freedom is short lived as the Hell Machine scoops him up, twists him around, and drops him across a knee with a pendulum backbreaker!

 

"Oooo! Janus and Crow exchanging harsh blows here...the Antichrist Superstar's back is a notorious weak spot, and I think Janus knows it, Riley."

 

"Of course he does, Stevens! He's going to take Crow apart piece by piece!"

 

"We'll see. Crow is equally notorious for winning when you least expect it."

 

Not even bothering to hook a leg, Janus throws himself into the air, extending his leg for a thunderous leg drop that hits nothing as his foe has the sense to roll out of the way! Springing back up and wincing only slightly, the Antichrist Superstar bounces off the ropes...and drives both feet into the sitting Janus' head with a running dropkick! The Hell Machine falls flat on his back, and Crow once more attempts to tie the monster's legs up with the figure four! But yet again, Janus kicks the Antichrist Superstar away - sending him stumbling towards the turnbuckle. Crow however, manages to grab on the ropes and maintain his balance, then turns around and charges. The big man is quickly back up, but is instantly taken straight back down by a flying bird and his plancha! Cover!

 

No!

 

Janus powers Crow immediately off and they both rise, the bird just being a little quicker. Using his slight advantage, the Gothic Warrior lunges forward and takes Janus to the canvas with a single leg takedown. Following up, he quickly captures it with his arm and turns the Hell Machine over, locking on a single leg boston crab! Feeling the sting in his leg, Janus powers to the ropes and gets there very quickly, as they were not too far away. Crow relinquishes the hold and backs off, letting the big man get back to his feet without any harassment. They're both standing now and circling around each other, Janus occasionally shaking his leg to remove that niggling pain. Suddenly, The Antichrist Superstar lunges forward and dives for Janus' leg, but no, the big man steps out of the way and throws a huge arm down on Crow's back before pulling him up and whipping him to the ropes. The Machine from Hell waits and throws a wild arm out, but it's ducked and Crow runs into the opposite and comes off again. Janus ducks down, looking to nail a back body drop, but the Antichrist Superstar sees it coming and slides underneath Janus' legs...

 

...and thrusts an arm up into the crotch on the way through!

 

"What the hell!? What a sneaky move from Crow! Did you see that, Riley!? Your precious Janus won't be able to have children." Steven remarks.

 

Bobby shrugs. "I didn't plan to impregnate him anyway."

 

The Hell Machine' eyes spread wide as he clutches as his bruised testicles, but he's allowed no solace as Crow jumps straight back up and DDRRAAAGGGGSSSS his long fingernails down Janus' back!

 

"Oh good god!" Grand Slam marks.

 

Trails of blood are now present on Janus' back and Crow has flesh built up on his nails. This action however, acts as a wake up call, because the big man turns around surprisingly quickly and fires a high-powered, explosive right hand straight into Crow's face! The Gothic Warrior falls to the canvas like a stack of bricks, most likely dead...

 

...

 

But he gets up straight away! Surprised, Janus rears back his arm and throws a second full-fisted punch straight into Crow's face again!

 

"KNUCKLE BOMB!" Riley screams. For the second time, Crow collapses to the canvas, quite possibly with a broken nose. Janus starts to lift an arm in the air for victory, but the cheering of the crowd prompts him to look down...

 

...

 

CROW STANDS UP AGAIN! Janus is shocked...

 

"Try harder..." begins the Antichrist Superstar in an eerie tone, "...try again!"

 

Something snaps in Janus' body. "You want me to try harder...?" After his question, the Hell Machine grabs an arm and whips opponent into the turnbuckles with so much force that Crow spins around to hit back first and falls to seated position. The Gothic Warrior is shaken and begins to get up, but Janus moves closer and lines up...

 

...and KNUCKLE BOMBS CROW'S HEAD INTO THE TOP TURNBUCKLE!!!

 

Bobby Riley cheers in glee, "Wooooo! Did you see that, Stevens!? Janus plowed Crow's head into the top turnbuckle whilst he was on the way up! That damn bird ain't gonna get up now!"

 

"Yeah I saw it, Riley..." begins Grand Slam, "Crow might not be getting up now, but he took two knuckle bombs and stood up after both of them! I think he's the only one to do that!"

 

"That's because he's so high he can't feel anything, Marky Mark... duh."

 

Blood seeps down Janus’ back and stains his pants and drips to the floor, but he ignores, as he’s a machine. Crow's in a daze and is back in the seated position, leaning back against the turnbuckle, that is, until the Hell Machine grabs a clump of his hair with BOTH hands and LAUNCHES him across the ring! His body slides along the canvas in a less than pretty manner. Janus walks along, absorbing the boos coming forth from the crowd, and wrenches Crow back to a standing base. Latching onto an arm, he whips the bird into the ropes. Off he comes and doubled over he goes as Janus' leg connects with a toe kick to the stomach, before applying a tight as all hell front face lock and DRIVING Crow's head into the canvas with a standard DDT! Lateral press...

 

ONE!

...

....

.....

TWO!

...NOOOOOOOO! KICK OUT!

 

The Antichristian Phenomenon gets an arm up and is showing life once again, he's regained some of his sense and with the 'help' of Janus is getting up. The big man notices this and acts quickly, bullying Crow to the corner with his huge arms and unleashing a flurry of head shots!

 

Left!

 

Right!

 

Left!

 

Right!

 

DOUBLE AXE HANDLE!

 

"I haven't seen that one in a while..." mutters Stevens.

 

The Antichrist Superstar is dazed once again, and blood is seeping from his lips. He spits onto the canvas, and it stains red as Janus grabs an arm and whips him towards the opposite corner. The big man stops a step, but then follows the path whilst Crow runs into the turnbuckle at such a speed that his upper body flips into it and he flips in such a way he lands on the apron outside! Janus changes his direction in an attempt to catch Crow on the off step, and so, he throws out his arm for a clothesline! No! Crow ducks it and grabs Janus' head and using the momentum available, slams it into the top turnbuckle! This shot sends the Hell Machine stumbling back a couple steps, and this allows Crow to sit himself on the turnbuckle and pull Janus into a front face lock...

 

...a twirl of the finger...

 

...and he jumps off and swings around... and around, and DRIVES THE MONSTER'S HEAD INTO THE CANVAS TO A HUGE POP!

 

"The Murderous DDT! IT CONNECTS!" Stevens marvels, "And now both men are down and out! Though, I still think Crow is worse for wear..."

 

Bobby Riley is distraught, "Nooooooooo! Get up, Janus! Get up and beat that idiot down for using such a poor move."

 

"A poor move!? That's a high risk, crowd pleasing move which takes a lot of skill to successfully pull off! Have you been into Crow's stash!?"

 

".....................no." Denies Riley suspiciously.

 

Both men are sprawled on the canvas are the move, and some time passes before a movement is made... and it's Crow shimmying over to Janus. He throws his arm on top!

 

ONE!

...

....

.....

TWO!

...

....NOOOOOOOOOO! KICK OUT!

 

Janus thrusts his arm into the air... and scowls, uh oh, he's pissed off. Very pissed off. Crow rolls over to the ropes and uses them as a ladder to a vertical base whilst Janus turns onto his stomach and bench presses himself up. The Antichrist Superstar is struggling a little, his reflexes may still work, but he's still quite groggy. The Hell Machine however is up... and by god, he's fuming. He rushes forward and drives a high knee into Crow's stomach and almost pulls an arm out of socket with the force of his irish whip. Off the ropes comes the bird... and to the canvas he goes after running face first into a big boot! Janus stomps his foot down and immediately picks Crow up and whips him into the ropes again! Off he comes and...

 

*SMACK!*

 

...into the big boot the Gothic Avian goes! He falls down to the canvas like a stack of bricks yet again. The Hell Monster snarls and stands over his opponent. He smirks... and throws his arms out to the side in the crucifix pose, mocking the crowd's fallen favourite. The boos that are thrown forth from the crowd are deafening...

 

"Yeah, you show em who's -really- from hell, Janus!" Bobby squeals.

 

Grand Slam shakes his head, "What a terrible display from the Hell Machine here, he's just show casing what a heartless monster he really is. That's why you love him, right, Bobby?"

 

"Yeah, he's a great dommie."

 

"..." Stevens looks.

 

"Uhh.. I mean, he'd make a great dommie... yeah... that'll do."

 

Janus absorbs the boos like he did cheers when he was the Anti Heel Machine back in his SJL days, but that soon stops... his expression suddenly changes as he feels a moist, warm liquid slap against his back.

 

...

 

A fan threw a cup that was not full of Coca Cola and not full of beer... but a cup full of off yellow urine. It connected with the back of Janus' neck and splattered all over his back.

 

Mark Stevens shakes his head, "Uh oh..."

 

The anger within has reached new heights and with a new found rage; Janus grabs Crow around the throat with both his hands and THROWS him into the turnbuckle! Following up, he grabs Crow around the throat again and throws him into the opposing corner, and then, stepping back a couple steps, charges forward...

 

...

 

GORING CROW IN THE CORNER!

 

"YES! GOOOOO JANUS! He damn sure showed the crowd and most of Crow who the hell is BOSS!" The colour commentator gloats.

 

"What a sickening move, I could feel that connection. Crow's being beaten out right now..."

 

The Hell Machine pulls the stumbling Crow into the middle of the ring... and wraps his huge, hoss arms around his opponent's arms and body, ensnaring him in the ARM CAPTURE BEARHUG! Instantly, the Antichrist Superstar desperately tries to get loose but to no avail as Janus SQQQUEEEEEEEEZZZZEEEESSSSSS!

 

"Oh dear god! Janus has got Crow in the bearhug, that move is damn near impossible to get out of!" Mark Stevens reports.

 

Bobby cheers, "That's because you're arms are captured, hence the name 'Arm Capture Bearhug'!"

 

The Hoss Monster continues to SQUEEZE and SQUEEZE Crow in his arms, eliciting numerous cries of agony from his smaller competitor! The bird writhes and writhes, but it's too late, as the pain becomes too much and his body falls limps...

 

"And now the referee is coming in to get one of Crow's arm free for the three drop test..."

 

An arm is free, and the referee lifts it up!

 

...

 

IT DROPS!

 

"ONE!"

 

The arm is lifted again.

 

...

 

IT DROPS!

 

"TWO!"

 

Bobby Riley is getting excited, "Yes! He's done it, Crow's arm is gonna drop one more time and the bell is going to ring!"

 

The arm is lifted for the last time.

 

...

 

..

 

.

 

NOOOOOOOOOO! CROW LIFTS IT UP INTO THE AIR, HE'S STILL ALIVE! The crowd roars in approval of their gothic male coming back to life! Crow is struggling to get free and using his now free arm, he starts to unload some punches! Janus though, isn't budging and continues to squeeze harder and harder! The Gothic Warrior is in agony, and it's in his agony that he shoves his nails into Janus' face and starts scratching like mad! The Hell Machine roars in pain as Crow goes insane and just -has- to let go if he ever wants to see again!

 

"The Antichristian Phenomenon is free from Janus' demon grip!" Stevens bellows.

 

"NO! NO! NO!" Riley whines.

 

Clutching at his face, Janus stumbles away, blood oozing from between his fingers. Dropping his hands, he smiles as the crowd gasps - the cuts from Crow's extra-sharp nails run almost straight down his face, barely missing his eyes. With the look of a monster that's going to murder his opponent, the Hell Machine lifts his arm into the air and turns around to scout the Antichrist Superstar's position....

 

...or he would have, if a stunning roundhouse kick hadn't connected with the side of his knee! With a roar of pain, the giant's leg crumples, and he finds himself on Crow's height level as the Gothic Avian pivots around and nails a second roundhouse kick to the side of the giant's ribs! The Hell Machine grimaces in pain and takes a deep pained breath as Crow lines up his third kick. With a smile on his face, the battered Antichristian Phenomenon pivots around.

 

Stevens stands. "DAAAAAAAS WUUUUUUUNDER KIIIIIIIIIIICK!"

 

Riley stands. "I DON'T THINK SO!"

 

The crowd roars their approval of the kick, but the approval turns to surprise as Crow finds himself suddenly hopping on one foot! Inches from his head, Janus has blocked the third Das Wunder Kick and has wrapped his arm around the Antichrist Superstar's leg! With his limb caught, Crow hops up and down and bunches his leg for an enzugiri, but he's stopped as the Hell Machine starts to stand and pulls his opponent's leg forward...

 

...Crow stumbles and almost falls against the monstrous being before him...

 

...and the giant spreads his arms wide before locking them around Crow's body again, reapplying the dreaded Hell Crush! Crying out in obvious pain, the Antichristian Phenomenon writhes in the powerful grip of his foe, kicking his legs wildly. Or not so wildly, as one boot finds the testicles of the seven foot monster and Janus releases the hold to stagger back and clutch his family jewels! Wheezing and catching his breath, Crow steps over to the giant and hooks his head and leg...and drops him back into the canvas with a russian leg sweep! By reflex or choice, the Hell Machine rolls away after the impact, under the bottom rope and to the floor, where he nurses his family jewels.

 

"And Crow escaping a possible second experience of the Hell Crush there, with perhaps an ill-timed kick to the groin, Riley."

 

"That was blatant cheating! I demand that Crow be disqualified this instant!" Riley whines.

 

"I guess Eddy Long missed the low blow!"

 

In the ring, said referee is asking Crow if he deliberately kicked Janus in the groin, because he saw the giant holding his precious parts. The Antichrist Superstar shrugs as if to say "I dunno" and reluctantly, Eddy lets him off. Seeing the Hell Machine still on the outside, our beloved avian gets an idea and darts to the ropes, ducking between them and standing on the apron. Looking over his shoulder at the slowly rising monster, Crow smiles...

 

...leaps up onto the middle rope...

 

...and springboards back, spreading his arms into the air crucifix-style as he does so, executing a BEAUTIFUL Asai Evenflow Moonsault! The crowd goes up on their feet again in appreciation...at least until Janus catches the flying bird and hoists him over one shoulder like a sack of meat! Finding his position compromised, the Antichrist Superstar attempts to wiggle free. And the giant follows up by bracing himself, getting a grip on the struggling Crow...and THROWING HIM INTO THE RINGPOST SHOULDER-FIRST LIKE A JAVELIN!

 

"Crow's attempt at offence failing as Janus recovers in time to just BRUTALLY throw Crow into the ring post!" Stevens marvels.

 

"Go go, go Janus!" Riley cheers. "Kill the birdy!"

 

The Antichrist Superstar curls up on the ground, clutching his shoulder and grimacing in pain. Dragging the bird unceremoniously to his feet by YANKING on his arm, the Hell Machine rolls Crow back into the ring and rolls in after him. Still clutching his shoulder, the Antichrist Superstar works his way to his feet, only to have his arm hooked and nearly ripped out of its socket as Janus whips his opponent across the ring! As he comes back and sees Janus hunching to catch him...Crow drops and does a skid across the mat, ending up almost directly under the hunched giant!

 

He and Janus stare at each other for a moment, before the bird nails a thrusting claw straight into Janus' face! The Hell Machine roars and stumbles back in pain and the Antichrist Superstar bounds to his feet and hits the ropes to the side of the giant, dropping low and slamming full force into the giant's bad leg with a running dropkick! With a cry of pain, Janus feels his bad leg, tortured by the kicks and earlier figure fours, crumple and he collapses to the mat. Bouncing back to his feet, adrenaline pumping through his veins, Crow throws his limbs out in a crucifix pose, much to the crowd's delight! Following up, he grabs the Hell Machine’s tortured leg up and places one leg behind the knee and places the other over the ankle... and then jumps into the air, driving Janus’ leg into the mat with the knee drop knee breaker! The monster cries out at the impact and before he has a chance to react, Crow sets it up again... and drives the leg into the mat again! The crowd is cheering like mad and the adrenaline is rushing through Crow as he lifts Janus’ legs and steps through them, and turns him over...

 

"SHARPSHOOTER! CROW HAS THE SHARPSHOOTER LOCKED IN ON JANUS!" Stevens hollers!

 

"Come on, Janus! That move's a freaking simple hold! Get out of it and kick his ass!" Riley screams.

 

Alive and in pain, Janus grits his teeth and presses his body off the canvas, growling at the agony going through his tortured leg. Eddy Long asks if he wants to quit, but the giant ignores him. Un-noticed by referee or Hell Machine, Crow has an expression of pain on his face too - the damage done to his shoulder only minutes ago is getting worse the longer he holds the sharpshooter in place. With both men in obvious pain...something has to give.

 

And it does.

 

"CROW'S ARM SLIPPED AND LET GO OF JANUS' LEG!" Stevens cries!

 

With his good leg freed from the hold, before Crow can transition it into something like a single-leg crab, Janus kicks his foot back and for the umpteenth time that match, kicks Crow's ass! Stumbling away and rubbing his shoulder, the Antichrist Superstar turns around as the Hell Machine uses the ropes to pull himself up. The two superstars stare at each other...and making the first move, Crow rushes to the ropes and comes running back, preparing to slide down into another leg-targeted dropkick.

 

Unfortunately for him, Janus steps forward and drives a massive knee into his stomach! Wheezing, the Antichristian Phenomenon is doubled over and the Hell Machine hooks in a front face lock, hauling Crow off his feet and waaaaay up into the air!

 

"It's Rage Unleashed time, Stevens!" Riley crows. If you excuse the irony.

 

"Wait! Crow's kicking free!" Stevens cries.

 

Indeed, as Janus strains to turn Crow around before he can get loose, the bird looks to be slipping free. So the Hell Machine does the next best thing...he leans back to change the angle of the suplex...and uses his remaining leg force to jump into the air! Everyone watches as the giant falls back in slow motion...the announcers are on their feet, and they shriek simultaneously.

 

"NAAATURRRRRRRAAAAAAL BORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRN CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAOSSSSSSSSS!"

 

The boos of the crowd are immense as Crow crumples to the canvas, and Janus sprawls next to him, grimacing in pain.

 

"Holy HELL! Janus couldn't turn Crow around into the Rage Unleashed...so he used the Antichrist Superstar's own finisher against him!" Stevens cries.

 

"YES! Poetic justice, Stevens! Round one goes to Janus, no harm, no foul!"

 

Flopping an arm over the bird, Janus looks up as Eddy Long counts.

 

ONE!

...

....

.....

TWO!!

...

....

.....

THREENOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoo!!!!!!

 

"WHAT THE HELL!!? JANUS HAD IT WON!" Riley bawls.

 

"NO! CROW KICKS OUT!" Stevens cheers.

 

The Hell Machine's eyes go wide, and fire lights up in them. As both he and Crow struggle up to their knees, the giant lunges forward, and wraps his arms around the avian's arms and body in the Hell Crush! The dazed bird comes back to life in an instant, shrieking in pain as the giant's powerful arms compress his body and ribs. Given the punishment he's just received, it's not long before the Antichristian Phenomenon collapses in Janus' arms...and like before, Eddy Long works one of the bird's arms free.

 

He lifts it once!

...

....

.....

No response. He lifts it TWICE!

...

....

.....

Again no response. He lifts it a third time...

...

....

.....

 

...

 

AND IT DROPS!

 

*DING DING DING*

 

As "Resurrection" blazes out from the speakers, Janus lets the battered body of the Antichrist Superstar collapse to the canvas, and Eddy Long lifts the giant's arm in victory as Funyon raises his microphone.

 

"Here is your winner....of the first round of the Best of Five match......The Hell Machine...JAAAAAAAAAAAAAANUS!"

 

Rolling out of the ring, the seven foot monster ignores attempts by officials to aid him, limping up the ramp under his own power. Once he reaches the stage, he turns around to glare at the ring before heading backstage. The cameras switch back to 'Grand Slam' Mark Stevens and 'Ambiguously Gay' Bobby Riley.

 

"Well that match was unexpected...and rather impressive! Crow kicked out of his own finishing move, but couldn't recover quickly enough to escape the dreaded Hell Crush!" Grand Slam comments.

 

"Pfft, we all knew Janus had it in the bag, Stevens. He's going to total Crow again, and again, and again, just to prove he IS the best of them!"

 

"Whether that's true or not Riley, we'll be back after this commercial break, and we have one half of Justice and Rule, the magnificent Ejiro Fasaki versus the King of Nightmares himself, Michael Craven!"

 

We fade out on Crow, who is only now starting to stir in the ring...

[Guest Suicide King]

“Ladies and gents, welcome back to yet another sense staggering version of SWF Smarkdown!” shouts out Mark Stevens as the crowd roars in response to the little red lights on the cameras turning back on. “We are just moments away from is sure to be a battle of the different as the SWF United States Champion Michael Craven defends his title against the tag team specialist, Ejiro Fasaki.”

 

“As always, the key to this match simply has to be Tom Flesher. If he had time in his busy schedule to give Ejiro the pointers needed, then ‘The King of Nightmares’ better get ready for some nocturnal emissions.”

 

“Good gravy,” shudders Mark Stevens at the thought, “Let’s go to the ring for the introductions.”

 

-Click Clack Click-

 

C:\dir\SWF

 

-Enter-

 

TheSuperiorOne.exe

WatchMeExplode.exe

VelvetHammer.exe

 

“Hold on.”

 

OneManWreckingCrew.exe

Franchisable.exe

KingofNightmares.exe

 

“I said hold on!”

 

Flashing out through the ring curtains comes the challenger for this contest, Ejiro Fasaki. Smiling broadly, the former SWF Tag Team champion walks out far enough down the aisle to turn around and get a full view of the video wall. Shrugging at the sight of the wall, Fasaki places his hand on his head in almost disbelief, as the crowd grows restless at his seemingly pointless antics.

 

“You know, I’ve heard a great deal about Michael Craven from a whole lot of people, and pretty much all of it was pretty bad. But never in my life did I ever think that the guy still ran on DOS! Christ man, buy a mouse or something. Double click like your life depended on it. Now I know that you’ve always listened to your inner child, Mike, but that doesn’t mean you have to keep the Atari 2600. So why don’t you just go park your Gremlin and get on OUT HERE.”

 

Tossing the microphone he brought with him today, Ejiro steps into the ring as Funyon happily ends the open microphone night at the comedy club.

 

“This contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the Smarks Wrestling Federation United States Heavyweight Title. Introducing first, the challenger. He hails from Sarasota, Florida and is a member of the Magnificent Seven. This is EEEEEEJIROOOOOO FASAKIIIIIIIIII!”

 

Bowing to the crowd, Ejiro receives all the catcalls he always wanted. Still smiling, Fasaki bounces back and forth on his toes to keep his blood warm as Funyon brings the microphone back up to his lips to bring the champion into the ring.

 

“And the CHAMPION.”

 

-Click Clack Click-

 

C:\dir\SWF

 

-Enter-

 

TheSuperiorOne.exe

WatchMeExplode.exe

VelvetHammer.exe

OneManWreckingCrew.exe

Franchisable.exe

KingofNightmares.exe

HighPriestofHorrorcore.exe

 

-Click Clack Click-

 

C:\>Run “KingofNightmares.exe”

 

-Enter-

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

 

Blue and white fireworks explode near the ring entrance and leave a wall of smoke in their wake. But soon the wall is broken by a battering ram known the United States Champion. Spinning as he breaks through the smog, Michael Craven turns around twice in rapid succession before he brings a bicep up to his lips. Planting a kiss against himself shows everyone that either he didn’t watch Ejiro’s entrance or simply just does not care about Fasaki’s attempt at mind games. Strutting through the white spotlight, Craven hops up to the apron before he steps up to the middle rope and raises his title belt high into the air to gain the further anger of the populace, who shower both wrestlers with a happy little chant.

 

“YOU BOTH SUCK! YOU BOTH SUCK! YOU BOTH SUCK!”

 

Without even a Craven Section appearing tonight, Michael simply shrugs at the response and hops off the top and into the center of the ring where Ejiro stands almost stoically except for an extremely arched eye brow. Side stepping around Rule, Craven leaps to the opposite turnbuckle and spreads his arms wide to receive the bright lights and loud boos that the city of Los Angeles is happy to provide. Leaping off the buckle once again, the US Champion steps into the center of the ring once again as Funyon calls out his name.

 

“He weighs in tonight at 278 pounds and hails from Tampa, Florida. He is the current reigning Smarks Wrestling Federation United States Heavyweight Champion. He is the KING OF NIGHTMARES MICHAEL CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVENNNNNN!”

 

Stevens says, “Looking at these two right now standing next to each other, it looks like a complete mismatch. Craven has almost a hundred pounds and nearly a foot of height over his challenger. And unlike your normal cruiserweights, Ejiro does not posses the speed to stay away from The Chimera. But Fasaki has proven time and again that’s he is more than able at overcoming those problems and still coming out ahead.”

 

“And speaking of head,” replies Bobby Riley, “Tom Flesher…”

 

“Stop I beg of you.”

 

“What? Tom Flesher has the gift of getting his wrestler’s heads together. He’s a very motivational leader.”

 

“Anyway, Fasaki has proven a very interesting knack for using the ring and the ringside area as a friend in order to get the job done time and again. So if you’re Michael Craven, you have to keep this match in the ring and as far away from the ropes as he can keep it.”

 

Referee Eddy Long signals both men into the center of the ring and takes the strap away from the champion in order to show both men just what they will be fighting for in just a few seconds. Giving both men a thorough reading of the rules that neither man will adhere to, Eddy Long sends both men to their corners so this match can get underway.

 

DING! DING!

 

Meeting in the center of the ring in a collar-and-elbow, both men struggle against each other for almost an entire second before the much stronger Craven simply exerts his will and shoves Ejiro strait down to the canvas. Rolling as he hits the mat, Fasaki seeks the sanctuary of the ropes as Craven merely stands in the center of the ring and smiles a sly little smile. Extending his hands, the US Champion urges Fasaki to come and try out his power once more. Slowly finding his feet with a wary eye on The King of Nightmares, Ejiro tries to work the kink out of his shoulder that smacked against the canvas. Moving in on Craven once again, Ejiro again locks into the collar-and-elbow only to have Michael almost easily pull him into a side headlock. Cranking down on the hold for a moment, Craven easily drops down to a knee and pulls Fasaki over to the mat with a takeover. But on the canvas, Rule is law and he easily counters out of the headlock and snaps Craven into a leg scissors as the crowd lets both men know just what they think of this exchange.

 

“BOOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOORING!”

 

Struggling with the vise now tied around his head, Craven begins to kick wildly with his body before he finally manages to kick loose and hurdle up to his feet with one swift motion. And as soon as Fasaki is up to his feet, The Chimera lifts the smaller grappler and slams him against the canvas. Quickly placing his boot against Ejiro’s face, Michael rakes downward across Fasaki’s eyes in order to blind the tag team specialist. Pulling the blinded challenger up and off the canvas, Craven heaves Fasaki backward into a corner. Quickly grabbing the top rope, Michael leans in and delivers a number of shoulder tackles into the ribs of his adversary. Taking Fasaki by the wrist, Craven sends him across the ring and quickly follows in with a mammoth clothesline that rocks Fasaki right off his feet and down to his seat on the canvas. Placing his boot quickly against Ejiro’s throat, Craven chokes away on his challenger as referee Long struggles to break the choke. Finally agreeing to follow the rules for the time being, Craven stops his assault and grabs Fasaki by the foot before dragging him away from the ropes where Michael can apply a cover.

 

ONE!

 

TNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“There is simply no way that Craven was going to get Fasaki down that quickly,” notes Stevens. “But I think The Nightmare knew that. He’s just trying to get into Ejiro’s head at this point.”

 

Locking down on Fasaki’s head as it peaks off the canvas, Craven goes with his typical strategy of wearing the opponent down before going in for the kill. Pulling Fasaki’s head in close to his chest, Michael holds on tightly to his reverse chinlock and forces Ejiro to carry all of his weight. Struggling against the neck hold, Fasaki continually scrambles about the mat trying to find a way out of the lock on his head. Finally getting his legs underneath him, Ejiro manages to use his lower center of gravity to fight up to his feet as Craven continues to hold onto the chinlock. But before Ejiro can effect an escape, Craven happily grabs a handful of hair and drags Fasaki strait back to the canvas where The Chimera can once again apply the full pressure of the chinlock. And once more the crowd lets both men know that they simply aren’t happy with the pace of the match thus far.

 

“BOOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOORING!”

 

 

Pulling his attention to the fans for a moment, Craven lets everyone know that he simply doesn’t care about their audit of his excitement quota. But even that momentary distraction gives Fasaki enough of an opening to allow Fasaki another chance to fight up to his feet. But this time once he is on his feet, Ejiro does not waste anytime before slamming an elbow into the breadbasket of the US Champion. Burying the elbow again and again, Fasaki loosens the grip against his chin enough to run free and into the ropes. But on the rebound, Craven almost casually steps aside and uses a hand to the back of the head to send Fasaki flying over the top rope and to the arena floor. Slamming against the floor, Fasaki rolls into a fetal position just as Craven brushes past the referee and goes to the outside.

 

“This is what we talked about earlier folks,” says Mark Stevens, “We said that Fasaki would have an advantage near the ropes and outside of the ring. We will have to see if that stands to be true or not.”

 

Picking up the wounded member of the Magnificent Seven, Craven slams Fasaki’s head against the top of the metal ring railing in order to further stun his adversary as Eddy Long calls in vain for both men to return to the ring. Turning Fasaki’s back to the railing, Craven once more tosses a number of short shoulder tackles that continually rams Ejiro’s kidneys into the steel. Satisfied by this amount of damage, Craven tosses Fasaki back inside the ropes before Long can reach the ten count needed to signal for a disqualification. Sliding into the ring behind his adversary, Craven turns quickly in place to once again draw the ire of the fans before going back to work on his opponent.

 

“And the first time to the outside and Craven seemingly has no trouble containing the ring awareness of his adversary,” remarks ‘Grand Slam’. “But Michael has to be careful not to play to Fasaki’s strengths anymore than he really has to or he could end up in a serious world of pain.”

 

Continuing with the theme of working Fasaki over a bit before going for something a bit more serious as far as impact is concerned, Craven picks Ejiro up for a slam once again before driving him strait down with a backbreaker. Without releasing, Craven heaves Fasaki right back up to chest level before once again driving the knee strait into Ejiro’s lower lumber region and sending the struggling body of his opponent sprawling away towards the ropes. Almost laughing as he goes back to work, Craven hammers down on Fasaki’s back with a hard forearm and follows that with a swift knee as Ejiro tries to cover himself up against the ropes. Finally pulling Ejiro back up strait, Craven sends the member of the Magnificent Seven across the ring and snaps a kick strait into his breadbasket that doubles Fasaki over at the waist. Smiling like the cat that got the canary, Craven bounces backward into the ropes and lets loose his patented Craven kick!

 

SMASH!

 

“GRAHHHH!”

 

“What a counter by Fasaki! As Craven lifted his body into the air, Fasaki immediately rolled backward to the canvas so when Craven came all the way down with the scissors kick his calf ended up almost impaled on Ejiro’s knees!”

 

Immediately popping up to his feet, Fasaki slams away at Craven’s face as the US Champion sits against the canvas grasping at his injured knee. Blasting away time and again, Fasaki finally gets the heat of the crowd moving as they wince along with the shuddering smashes against Craven’s forehead. Quickly going back the leg of the exposed United States Champion, Ejiro slices into The Nightmare’s calf time and again with precision kicks that resound throughout the Staples Center with their impact. Snagging the limping Chimera off the mat, Ejiro quickly steps inside his larger adversary and pulls him overhead with a snap suplex that knocks the wind further out of Craven’s sails. Floating over with the impact, Fasaki grabs Craven by the hair and yells loudly into his face while smacking him across the mouth perhaps in retaliation for getting shown up for the first few minutes of this contest.

 

“Ha! I love it when Fasaki gives a lecture while he’s beating people up,” calls out Riley in his normally shrill voice.

 

“Well, he better stop giving his dissertation and get about winning this match if he really wants to show everyone that he can win singles gold,” answers back Stevens.

 

Picking Craven off the mat by the arm, Ejiro quickly winds up the wounded Chimera with a wristlock and stands him up strait for just a moment before once again taking aim as his opponents knee with a series of swift kicks to the back of the knee.

 

SNAP!

 

SNAP!

 

SNAP!

 

THUD!

 

Finally knocking Craven back down to the mat with a devastating kick, Fasaki plans out his next move. Diving back on the joint, Ejiro twirls around the knee with a spinning toehold as Michael shouts out from the pain. Spinning once more, Ejiro uses the torque to further do damage to his opponent’s appendage but Craven refuses to submit to a hold that hasn’t earned a submission in over twenty years. Instead, Michael reaches up to grab a hold of Ejiro by the hair and pull him down to the mat with a surprise small package that nets him a…

 

ONE!

 

TNOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Releasing Ejiro from the cradle at the first sign of resistance, Craven uses the package more to counter the toehold than to actually net a near fall. But it surely is not enough to keep Fasaki off him as one half of Justice and Rule gets right back on the knee with a glancing kick to the calf. Pulling Craven up to his wobbly feat, Ejiro slams a forearm into the side of the Nightmare’s head before looking to whip him across the ring. But the heavier champion still manages to have the weight and strength to reverse the flow of the whip and pick Fasaki strait up in the air before dumping him on his face with a mile high flapjack counter!

 

“Even with just one usable leg,” notes Stevens, “Craven still has the strength to lift the relatively small opponent. And to be quite honest, if Ejiro wasn’t just 188-pounds, Craven would not be able to use the majority of his offense at this point.”

 

Pulling himself up almost entirely by the ropes, Craven manages to get behind the stunned body of Ejiro Fasaki as the tag wrestler stammers up to his feet. Darting behind his challenger, Craven hooks him up from behind for a German suplex but as soon as Fasaki feels the body of his opponent, he reflexively tosses an elbow behind him in order to counter out of the grapple. But even then, the deceptively quick United States Champion is able to duck underneath the elbow and reposition Fasaki well enough to take him up and over with a bridging fisherman’s suplex.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THRNOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Stevens says, “Craven couldn’t hold that bridge with the wounds to his knee. And without the bridge a fisherman’s suplex just does not have the impact that person using it could want.”

 

Still limping, Craven manages to get up to his feet regardless before his stunned opponent. Coming up behind the staggered Fasaki once again, Craven once more tries to take Fasaki over with a German suplex. But once again the crafty Fasaki has enough of a ring presence to quickly reach down between his legs and pull Craven’s wounded knee out from underneath him. Swiftly tying Michael’s leg in between his own, Fasaki drops down to the canvas with a Hennig shinbreaker! Screaming out in pain as he feels his knee once again bent in a way nature did not intend, Michael places his hands against his face. With the referee in his view however, Craven refuses to submit to the pain and give up his precious United States title. But perhaps Ejiro can make him reconsider as he drags Craven by his wounded leg and places it against the middle ropes. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, Fasaki runs across the ring for momentum before leaping into the air and coming strait down on the knee with a Bossman straddle!

 

“Good god!” shouts Stevens. “That could easily hyper extend the knee fans. And the way Ejiro has been attacking that limb, you have to wonder if that is his goal or not. He might be trying to put Craven out on a permanent basis.”

 

Taking Craven by the leg once more, Ejiro applies a cover while hooking up the wounded knee.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THRNOOOOOOOOO!

 

Grabbing out with his arm, Michael manages to snag a hold of the bottom rope in order to get out of the pinning predicament. But Fasaki is simply not effected by the anguish of a narrow escape and simply goes back to work in the same methodical style he has been using all match long. Taking Craven by the ankle, Fasaki slides underneath the bottom rope to the outside of the ring and drags Craven’s leg over the edge of the apron. Picking the leg up, Ejiro savagely slams the limb back down across the edge of the apron with as much force as he can muster. With ruthless effectiveness, Ejiro quickly twists the leg so that Michael’s knee would now be bending in the opposite direction against the apron. Heading towards the ring post, Ejiro comes roaring back at his opponent and drives an elbow strait into the back of Craven’s knee with a surgical precision that causes even more pain to the wounded limb. Sliding back inside in order to break the ten count, Fasaki lifts his arms to the crowd and they respond in kind.

 

FUCK YOU FASAKI! -CLAP, CLAP, CLAP- FUCK YOU FASAKI!

 

Laughing at the fans’ anger, Fasaki goes back on the United States Champion with a solid kick across the face that sends Craven flat against the canvas. With Craven virtually at his mercy, Fasaki takes a walk about the ring before he climbs up to the middle turnbuckle for what is sure to be a high impact blow. Raising his hands to the crowd once more, Ejiro waits patiently for Craven to stagger up to his feet. Finally in position suitable to Fasaki’s needs, Craven stands near the center of the ring as Ejiro takes flight. But as Ejiro comes down with an ax handle, he is met with a desperate kick to the chest! Quickly working through the pain of his own maneuver, The Nightmare grabs Fasaki about the head and SPIKES him into the mat with a perfectly executed DDT! Shuddering from the impact, Fasaki finally lands on his side as Craven only need give him a little nudge so that the member of the Magnificent Seven is lying flat on his back. Place his arm over his challenger, Craven hopes for the best as Long makes the count…

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THRENOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“At the last moment, Ejiro Fasaki got the shoulder up in time!” reports Stevens as Riley visibly hops up and down in his seat.

 

“That was a close one, Stevens. But Craven just really is not going to get anywhere just taking one shot at a time. He is going to need a combination of moves to put the tough Fasaki down.”

 

Hobbling all the while, Craven plucks Ejiro off the mat once more and sends the tag team wrestler into the ropes so that The Nightmare can once again plant a boot into Fasaki’s breadbasket. But this time, Fasaki has the move well scouted and catches Craven by his injured leg. Smiling broadly at his success, Fasaki looks out to the people with an arrogant smirk, that is until…

 

CRACK!

 

“ENZIGURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRI!” calls out Stevens as Craven’s good leg collides with Ejiro’s orbital occipital protuberance.

 

Sending Ejiro spinning to the mat like a top, Craven tries to shake some of the pain out of his injured wheel so he can capitalize on this latest rally. Slowly getting to his feet, Craven hears the fans reacting in a most unexpected manner.

 

CRAY-VEN! CRAY-VEN! CRAY-VEN!

 

But the King of Nightmares just won’t allow these fickle bastards to turn him into the de facto face. Raising two middle fingers to the populace, Craven happily ruins the day of anyone that was pleased with this latest turn of events. And once again, a familiar chant blasts through the air.

 

YOU BOTH SUCK! YOU BOTH SUCK! YOU BOTH SUCK!

 

Much happier about that sound than the one he heard before, Craven goes about his business by climbing up to the top turnbuckle. Slowly scrambling up to the top, Craven balances himself carefully due to his injured leg before launching himself at Fasaki with a stunning missile dropkick into the chest. Blasted with so much weight moving so very quickly, Fasaki goes flying head over heels after such a terrific blast. Slowly rolling Fasaki over after the impact, Craven hooks a leg as Eddy Long makes the count once again for…

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THRENOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“Still not enough!” reports Stevens. “But Craven is getting ever more close to knocking Fasaki out for good. A few more blows like that dropkick and even the leather tough Ejiro Fasaki will not be able to continue.”

 

Slapping the canvas after such a close near fall, Craven goes back to work on his challenger by pulling him down and into position for a reverse DDT. But instead of simply dropping Fasaki strait down, Craven reaches over the top and hooks a handful of Ejiro’s tights. Arching back Craven looks to bury Ejiro with a reverse suplex only to have the oily competitor weasel out of Michael’s grip and land directly behind Craven’s back. Quickly ducking low, Fasaki hooks Craven’s injured knee and lifts The Nightmare just high enough to put him totally off balance. Surging forward with the leg in hand, Ejiro jams it into the turnbuckle knee-first with all of his weight and power behind it. Stammered by the pain in his leg, Michael Craven can provide no defense as Ejiro ducks low once more and lifts Craven for what looks to be a belly-to-back suplex. But instead of dropping Craven backward, Ejiro leans forward once more and ties the United States champion to the tree of woe.

 

Stevens says, “Oh this does not look good! With Craven’s injured leg trapped against the top rope, he won’t be able to sit up and free himself. He is totally at the referee’s mercy as to how long he is going to be tied up there.”

 

But Eddy Long does not step in right away as Ejiro backs out into the center of the ring to give himself enough room to get a head of steam going. Charging ahead, Fasaki leaps into the air and crashes into Craven’s knee with a leaping knee of his own!

 

BOOM!

 

“Good GOD WHAT A BLOW!”

 

Knocked free of the ropes by the ferocity of the strike, Craven wilts onto his face as all the color drains loose from his face. Stammered at the pain in his knee, Craven tries to crawl away from his determined adversary only to have Fasaki right there to push his throat down across the middle rope. Hopping into the ropes immediately, Fasaki comes roaring back with a leaping Bossman straddle across the back. Immediately lowering his head, Fasaki slides in between the ropes to stand on the apron and with an open shot at Craven’s face. And if you don’t think Fasaki is going to use that… you haven’t been paying attention…

 

CRACK!

 

A snapping kick to the face knocks Craven strait back and into the center of the ring where Fasaki immediately follows. Dropping the kneepad to expose the bone below, Fasaki hops into the air and smashes into Michael’s face with all of his 188-pounds. Leaping up to his feet with an air of superiority around him, Ejiro brings his arms out and down to let all the people know that he is going to try and win this match right here and now. Pulling the stunned Craven up to his feet, Fasaki plants a boot in his belly to double over the United States Champion. Quickly placing Craven’s head in between his legs, Ejiro grabs a hold of a double arm and looks to bury Craven with the Ejirocation!

 

“This could be all! We could have a new champion!”

 

But even at this late a stage in the match, Craven still has enough weight and balance to avoid being pulled vertical by his challenger. Muscling his arms together, Craven breaks free of Fasaki’s double arm and twists loose to the side with an armbar. Quickly placing his weight down on Ejiro’s shoulder, The King of Nightmares forces Rule to the mat with…

 

“CROSSFACE! CROSSFACE!”

 

Locking down on Ejiro with his long arms, Craven tries to pull his neck out of joint and retain the title by submission. But with his leg injured, Michael cannot keep his grip on Fasaki’s shoulder and gives Rule an avenue of escape. Hooking up Craven’s injured leg; Ejiro rolls backward and pulls Craven into a pinning combination!

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THRENOOOOOOOOO!

 

“What a counter by Fasaki! Not only is that leg giving Ejiro a target on offense, its providing him with a way out of the tightest spots that The Chimera can place him in!”

 

Kicking loose out of the roll up, Michael Craven rolls up to his weakened feet just in time to eat a forearm tossed from Ejiro Fasaki. Cracking into Craven’s head once more with a heavy elbow, Fasaki provides himself an opening wide enough to propel himself backward and into the ropes to launch another big shot to the head. But as he comes racing back towards Craven, The US Champion ducks a shoulder and jerks Ejiro high into the air and crushes him against the canvas with a staggering powerslam! Staggering up to his feet after the slam, Craven hurriedly pulls Ejiro off the mat and wraps his arm around his head before slamming Fasaki’s head into the mat with a reverse DDT.

 

“PERPARE YOURSELVES!” shouts out Craven at the top of his lungs.

 

“Oh fans,” says Stevens, “He’s setting it up! It could be time for the Kingdom Come!”

 

Slowly but surely, Craven begins his assent to the top of the mountain. Taking extra care not to loose his balance in any way, The Nightmare hauls himself to the top turnbuckle. Aiming with precision, Craven looks to put Ejiro away once and for all only to find that the target is no longer where he thought it was. Almost leaping to his feet, Fasaki gets to Craven in time to deliver a swiping blow to Michael’s knee and knock it from its perch. Falling strait down, Craven is groined on the turnbuckle and can only watch as Fasaki begins to climb up and after him. Hooking Craven by the head, Ejiro looks to send him off the top rope with a superplex. But once again, The King of Nightmares is simply too large for Ejiro to maneuver overhead. Blocking the suplex with all he has, the United States Champion grabs a hold of the top rope between his legs to block all of Fasaki’s efforts. Given the opening he needs, Craven sends a hard right hand into the solar plexus of his enemy and pulls his head free of Rule’s harsh grip and immediately turns the tables with a grip of his own.

 

Stevens reports, “Craven has Fasaki by the throat! Oh my god! He’s not going to!”

 

“HE IS! HE IS!”

 

“CHOKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESLAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM OFF THE TOP ROPE!”

 

Jerking Fasaki right off the buckles by the throat, Craven gets as much height on Ejiro as he can before simply allowing Fasaki to crash into the canvas! Rolling into an unconscious heap, Ejiro looks to be out of it as Craven leans still perched on the tope turnbuckle as the crowd chants in unison!

 

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

 

“Craven needs to get down right now and make the cover!” calls Stevens. “Ejiro is out of this one!”

 

“Oh no,” replies Riley. “Michael Craven is going to make a statement here! He’s not going to come down unless it is at a high rate of speed onto Fasaki’s head!”

 

Getting his footing once again, Craven pushes his body up all the way to the top rope. Steadying himself against his bad wheel, Craven looks out to the people that he just doesn’t care for that much with a sick smile before he turns his attention back to his intended target. Finally settled on the top rope, Craven takes to the air… flipping as he falls!

 

 

 

 

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

 

 

“HE DIDN’T MAKE IT! HE DIDN’T MAKE IT!”

 

“CRAVEN JUST BROKE HIS OWN NECK!”

 

Not getting the spring needed off his wounded knee, Craven collides with the canvas headfirst! Rolling over to his back from the force of his own impact, The King of Nightmares hovers at the point of unconsciousness as Eddy Long checks in immediately to see if he requires immediate medical assistance. Checking Craven’s eyes for any sense of recognition, Long considers carefully what to do next as Ejiro Fasaki slowly crawls over … and places an arm against Craven’s body!

 

“This is over… its over.”

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEJESUSCHRISTNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“How in the hell did he get a shoulder up?” asks Stevens rhetorically, “HOW?”

 

Amazingly not paralyzed from the botched Kingdom Come, Craven moves almost under his own power as Fasaki drags him up to his feet. But once there a harsh forearm to the side of the head knocks Craven right back down to his back. Like a vulture, Ejiro swoops in on his opponent and pulls him off the mat again so he can once more bury an elbow into Michael’s face, staggering the United States Champion. Stepping back a bit, Fasaki takes aim once more and tosses out a flashing…

 

“SCREAMING ELBOWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA~!”

 

 

 

 

“BLOCKED!”

 

Ducking out of the way of the fatal blow, Craven ducks his head and scoops Fasaki up on his shoulders!

 

“GULF COAST CRUNCH!”

 

 

 

 

“HE CAN’T HOLD HIM!”

 

Whether it be because of the possible concussion or the damage to the knee, Michael Craven simply cannot hold Ejiro Fasaki up on his shoulders for more than a moment before dropping to a knee and allowing Rule an opening to escape off his shoulders. Quickly capitalizing, Ejiro Fasaki slaps on a cobra clutch and sweeps Craven forward to the mat, where a moment later…

 

“COBRA CROSSFACE IS ON!”

 

Yanking back on the hold, Ejiro screams along with Craven as he yanks back on the head while having both arms tied up. Ripping and tearing at Craven’s head, Ejiro feels no resistance as he continually applies the pressure!

 

“And Craven can’t push off the mat with his legs to escape! There’s nothing he can do! NOTHING~!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

But…

 

 

 

 

 

 

TAP! TAP! TAP!

 

“It’s over! It’s over! We have new champion! We have a new champion!”

 

Slamming Craven’s face off the canvas as he releases the hold, Fasaki climbs up to his feet just as Funyon calls into the house microphone the official decision…

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the winner and NEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW SWF United States Heavyweight Champion… EEEEEEEEEEEEEEJIROOOOOOOOOOOO FASAKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!”

 

Receiving his new title belt, Ejiro yanks it away from the referee. Lifting the belt high over his head, Ejiro climbs up the middle ropes and shows the fans that he is not just a master of tag team wrestling but a man to dealt with in every regard, in every type of match. He is Ejiro Fasaki… the new SWF US Champion.

[Guest Suicide King]

We find ourselves backstage, in the halls of the Staples Center where SWF Superstars can be found preparing for, or recovering from their respective matches. As we proceed down a lone corridor, the recently-returned Stryke merges form one of the doors, dressed in his standard ring gear - baggy pants featuring his name on the sides.

 

He continues down this corridor, our view of him from behind, and stops at another door, half open, to look inside. As we shift around over his shoulder, we are revealed to the humble form of Nathan Kibagami, sitting on a bench in his locker room. He laces up his boots while Stryke watch, in anticipation, the man that could possibly stand in his way later tonight. As Nathaniel reaches the top of his boot, he sits up, but before he can look through his open door, the Australian former-ICTV champion leaves the scene, walking out of view.

 

None the wiser, Kibagami walks towards the door and exits his locker room, then strolls down the corridor, opposite of the way Stryke went. We watch him from behind as well as he makes his way down the other path towards the entrance stage, as there are two of them.

 

But as he walks past one specific door, he suddenly stops and backs up a bit. Turning to the side, we see that this is actually the door to the locker room of the Magnificent Seven. His curiosity getting the best of him, Kibagami turns the knob and slightly opens the door to peer inside. But unfortunately for him, he sees nothing but a reflection in the mirror, the reflection being that of Sean Atlas.

 

Donning his mask and ring attire, Atlas concludes his pre-match routine by pulling his elbow pads down his arm, towards the joint they help to protect. We wacth, over Kibagami's shoulder as he finishes with one pad, then takes the other. Nathaniel takes a look around, hopefully looking for any other M7 members but finding none. He pulls away, closing the door as he does and continues walking down the hallway, towards the entrance.

 

Immediately, the Mag Seven door swings open, Sean Atlas storming out through it.

 

"What was that? Who just closed this door?"

 

He looks all around the corridor for a sign of life, but finds none. Shutting the door behind him, he walks down the hallway, opposite of the way Kibagami went. He peers into doors left and right, trying to find anybody who may have had an interest in peering into his locker room. Coming to one door, he peeks through the slight crack in the doorway and stops, then takes an interest in the person inside.

 

Watching over his shoulder, we zoom in to see Beezel, man of mystery, putting on his mask. The solid red mask is pulled over his head, and from behind we can only see what seems like dark hair. The mask slides on around the contours of his head, including the voice modulator portion of it that's strapped around. Clasped under the chin, the facemask is finally on and Beezel checks himself on all point, ready to do battle in the ring. As he turns around, Sean sidesteps and stands at the wall, waiting for El Scorcho to emerge.

 

As Mr. Beezel walks out of his room, he instantly sees his fellow masked man, standing next to the open door.

 

 

"Hey, Beezie"

 

"Mister Atlas. How long were you standing at my door? Have you been peering inside?"

 

"Maybe I was. What would it matter to you, anyhow?"

 

"It matters to me, friend Atlas, just as much as your identity matters to you."

 

"In that case, I think I'm keep what I saw, to myself."

 

"Please do so. If you compromise my identity, I may have to take drastic measures."

 

"Such as?"

 

"Would you like a demonstration?"

 

"Please."

 

"Then I will provide one for you in the ring."

 

 

Turning around, Beezel walks away, taking the long way to get to the entrance. Atlas, meanwhile, stands looking at the short, red form of the masked man, secured in the knowledge that he may have Beezel convinced that the secret of his persona has been slightly compromised.

 

 

"Oh yes." says Sean to himself. "In the ring is where we all find out, Mister Beezel."

 

He walks away from the view, leaving down the other end of the corridor.

[Guest Suicide King]

Back from commercial, we fade in on the view of the Staples Center crowd, surrounding the comparatively small ring in the middle of the arena. The camera swings wildly across the arena, leaving the television audience unable to make out all but the most colorful signs that dot the audience.

 

Bored by the commercial break, the fans suddenly snap back to life when the voice of Rivers Cuomo sings out...

 

"I'll bring home the turkey if you bring home the bacon...."

 

A sheet of red fire explodes on the stage as the music continues, fans applauding the soon-to-emerge wrestler. Then, through the smoke left behind by the pyro, the masked man himself, Beezel, emerges. His voice masked by the modulator, he sings along to the chorus as he strides down the ramp.

 

“I'm a lot like you, so please, hello... I'm here... I'm waaaaaiting.”

 

He reaches the ring and continues to sing, the voice barely picked up by boom mics on the cameras.

 

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

 

At ringside, Funyon introduces El Scorcho to the Los Angeles crowd.

 

Ding-Ding-Ding!

 

“The following match is a Gauntlet Elimination match for Number One Contendership to the Intercontinental Television Title! Introducing first, standing in the ring, from Phoenix, Arizona, weighing in at two hundred and five pounds... BEEEZZZZEELLLLLL!”

 

The sound of his name lights up the fans as Mr. B strolls around the ring, preparing to face his challenger. The music fades and gives way to the sound of notes played on a piano. The crowd recognizes it as Lacuna Coil’s “Heaven’s a Lie” and the atmosphere quickly becomes negative. The lights slowly dim down as the music comes close to a climax, led by the ever-increasing sound of electric guitars...

 

!*BOOM*!

 

An enormous white explosion goes off onstage, leaving behind a thick cloud of smoke. Blinding white light form beneath the grating shines through, illuminating the haze through which the form of a man can be seen. As he makes his way through the cloud, he’s quickly recognized as Sean Atlas, briskly walking down the ramp.

 

“The first of three opponents, making his way to the ring, from Chicago, Illinois, weighing in at two hundred and forty-five pounds... SSSEEEEEAAAANNNN AAATTTLLLAAASSSS!!!!!!”

 

Sean gets to ringside and walks to the corner, stepping on the steel stairs to get to the apron. Keeping his eye on Beezel at all times, he ducks under the op rope and steps inside, nothing between him and his fellow masked man but the referee.

 

” Some animosity has been brewing between Sean Atlas and Beezel, and as luck would have it, the two of them get to face each other tonight. But that’s not all, as Nathan Kibagami and Stryke will follow, and face whoever wins the first part of this match.”

 

“The ICTV title has been passed around like a hot potato of late, and two of these guys are former holders of that potato. My money is on the newest of the four, Atlas, to come away with the contendership and eventually, the title belt.”

 

“Former holders of that potato?”

 

“You want to do the color tonight, Mark? Be my guest.”

 

Slowly, his music begins to fade away, revealing the enormity of jeers aimed at him. As the two competitors get ready, the ref steps out of the way, giving the signal to the bell ringer...

 

DING-DING-DING!

 

One of the masked men charges at the other, speeding towards his opponent. Though unexpectedly, it’s Beezel that initiates the attack as he chares into Atlas with his shoulder. Sean falls to the mat, but quickly rebounds and stands up. But just as he turns around, El Scorcho takes him by the hand and whips Atlas to the ropes. Sean bounces off while Beezel plants his feet, then ducks down while Atlas attempts a running lariat. Sean runs past him and towards the other ropes, springing off them while Beezel sprints at him, leaves his feet, and hits a superb flying clothesline!!

 

Mr. B rolls through it and stands up while Atlas’ body recoils off the canvas. He gets himself standing as well and looks for the red-suit-wearing man in the ring, but meets his shiny black boot with his gut instead. Atlas doubles over while Beezel swings his arm over Sean’s head, locking his neck in, and SLAMS him down with a DDT! The referee drops down as Mr. B rolls Atlas onto his back and covers...

 

O

 

N

 

E

 

!

 

 

T

 

W

 

O

 

!

 

NO!

 

”Atlas gets his shoulder up just as the referee’s arm came down for the two-count. Beezel’s making short work of this match, Bobby. Lightning fast offense and unexpected strikes seem to be working here in the early going.”

 

” The early going, Mark? Since when did the early going dictate the outcome of a gauntlet match?”

 

” Well in this one, it decides who gets to continue and face the next two opponents.”

 

” Boooring. Atlas already beat everyone on the list, why bother even having the match?”

 

“Because he’s lost to Kibagami in singles competition, and I’m not sure if he’s faced Stryke one-on-one or not…”

 

”Look, that’s not really the point I was trying to make.”

 

Beezel gets himself standing, then pulls Atlas up as well. Taking him by the hand, El Scorcho whips Sean into a corner, where Atlas collides with the pads back-first. From the middle of the squared circle Beezel handsprings off the mat, turning his back to Atlas as he followed up with the elbow... But Sean sidesteps out of the way!

 

As El Scorcho collides with the turnbuckle pads, Sean faces him again and lowers his shoulder, driving it into the gut of the masked and suited Beezel. Grabbing the middle rope, Atlas backs up... and thrusts his shoulder in again. Backing away a third time, Sean yanks on the rope again and drives the air out of Beezel once more.

 

”Like I said, there’s Atlas taking the upper hand already. He’s thinking ahead, Mark; that was my point.”

 

” He ought to slow down the pace of this match; he’ll need the energy if he pins Beezel and ends up facing a fresh Nathaniel Kibagami.”

 

” That’s what he’s trying to do – Keep Beezel in check with a controlled, powerful offense so he doesn’t have to overexert himself. It’s genius.”

 

He finally stands upright and takes Beezel by the hand, whipping him to the other corner... But Sean doesn’t let go and El Scorcho snaps right back to him, face to face. Atlas quickly wraps his arms around Beezel, pops his hips and elevates the 205-pounder into the air, hurling him towards the turnbuckle...!

 

But he lands on top of it! Atlas Belly-to-Belly Suplex sent Beezel flying into the corner where he clumsily landed, sitting on the top turnbuckle! To the crowd’s sudden burst of liveliness, Beezel gets his feet higher and onto the top pad, then springs off the rope and towards the standing Sean Atlas in the ring, hitting a Moonsault to take him down!

 

”Tremendous acrobatics from Beezel, turning the results of Atlas’ offense against him!!!”

 

”Bah. A lucky landing and fortunate timing. It’s nothing we haven’t seen in every Wildchild match, ever; you don’t have to orgasm every time a guy flips and lands on top of another guy.

 

”Really? So why do you?”

 

”...”

 

Beezel stands up, hoping to build on the growing momentum. He gets Atlas standing again, but just before he fully situates himself, Beezel quickly kicks him in the knee once... no, twice... no, three times! It takes Sean down to the mat, resting on his own knees. Meanwhile, Beezel runs to the ropes, springs off, and to the delight of thousands of screaming Los Angeles fans, swings his foot at Sean Atlas’ head...

 

 

”Shining Wizard!! Beezel Douses The Flames once again, hitting the Shining Wizard on Sean Atlas!”

 

”He’s covering....”

 

O

 

N

 

E

 

!

 

 

T

 

W

 

O

 

!

 

 

 

NO!

 

 

”But Sean Atlas kicks out at the count of two! It’ll take more than that to stop one of Flesher’s students! And even if you do, you’ve got two more on the way, BeeZee.”

 

”So does Sean, if he can pull this one out.”

 

Growing frustrated but not willing to slow down at any cost, Beezel stands and runs towards the ropes once more. This time he jumps forward, lands on the second one and springs off, soaring through the air as his body flips back, and collides with...

 

The knees of Sean Atlas!

 

” A desperate defensive move by Atlas; lucky for him that Beezel chose to go with an Asai moonsault on that occasion.

 

”That’s how Sean should approach this match, Mark. Catch Beezel off guard and evade his attacks.”

 

”That is, if Beezel doesn’t evade his first.”

 

Lying on the mat, clutching his gut after missing the Asai Moonsault, Beezel finds himself getting lifted up to his feet. He stands and before he can orient himself, a pain of massive proportions emanates from his chest...

 

*SMACK*

 

 

*SMACK*

 

 

*SMACK*

 

 

*SMACK*

 

Ending the barrage of chops when Beezel’s back reached the ropes, Atlas takes him by the arm and whips him across the ring. Beezel runs, bounces off, and makes his way back towards Sean when suddenly, his feet are snatched right out from under him and Sean Atlas elevates him higher... higher... and then...

 

*SLAM*

 

Lower and down into the ring with a massive Spinebuster! He immediately gets himself upright and dashes for the ropes closest to El Scorcho’s feet. Springing off, Atlas ducks down, grabs hold of Beezel’s legs and flips over, using the Jackknife Hold to pin the masked man down...!

 

O

 

N

 

E

 

!

 

 

T

 

W

 

O

 

!

 

 

...NO! Beezel gets his shoulder off the canvas!

 

 

”Beezel must avoid situations like that if he wants to win this match. He’s clearly experienced enough to know that, possibly moreso than Sean Atlas.”

 

”Maybe, Mark, but Atlas knows what he’s doing as well. Anybody that’s trained with the Superior One certainly knows their way around a wrestling ring. I think you’re underestimating Magnificent Seven’s masked man on the basis of his associates. Not very professional, Mark.”

 

”And I think you’re overestimating him based on how tight Flesher’s singlet is, Riley. I suppose we’ll find out which one of us is right soon enough, don’t you?”

 

Sean rolls off Beezel and sits up on his knees. Rolling Beezel over onto his chest, Atlas stands up and places his feet around the body of the smaller masked man. Grabbing around his waist, Atlas latches on tightly, then gets him off the ground for a better grip and finally, with one powerful heave, tosses Beezel over his head and back down to the canvas with a Wheelbarrow Suplex!!!

 

”Huge suplex from Atlas as Beezel is forced to roll onto his chest.”

 

”He’s doing that so Sean doesn’t pin him...”

 

”Sure, sure. Believe me, if anyone knows why a man would roll over onto his chest, it’s me.

 

”...”

 

The force of the suplex forces the less-than-six-foot Beezel to roll onto his chest upon impact, preventing Sean from immediately covering him. Instead, Atlas takes Beezel’s arm and extends it, yanking him to a doubled-over position as he steps over the extended hand.

 

Facing away from El Scorcho’s body, Sean positions the arm between his legs and flips forward, catching Beezel with the back of his knees and forces the young masked man over onto his back, covering him with his outstretched legs.

 

”A beautiful Stepover Legdrop from Sean Atlas, pulling it off perfectly as he pins Beezel’s shoulders to the mat...”

 

O

 

N

 

E

 

!

 

 

T

 

W

 

O

 

!

 

 

T

 

H

 

R

 

 

 

 

…NO!

 

 

 

Beezel forces Atlas’ leg off to a rousing ovation!

 

”Dammit! After so much brutal punishment that little secretive prick still kicks out!”

 

”Just goes to show you that he’s just as resilient as Sean Atlas is.”

 

Punching the surface of the ring out of frustration, Atlas gets himself standing, though much slower than before. He steps to the near corner to catch his wind, waiting for Beezel to stand up. The fans nearby show their hatred towards him, heckling and jeering the man who claims to have a past connection with these very fans. Sean replies with no words, instead using his common middle finger-crucifix salute. While this rouses the crowd, Atlas turns away, staring out at Beezel who is nearly standing.

 

He sidesteps to the middle of the ropes and charges at the standing Beezel... ducks for a Spear... but Beezel evades it! He saw it coming and jumped over Sean, who now runs to the other ropes, comes off them and returns to Beezel, leaping in the air for a Thesz Press...!

 

And Beezel greets him with the dropkick to the chest!

 

”What elevation from Beezel!”

 

”That had to hurt him as well as it did Sean...”

 

As Atlas crashes onto the ring mat he rolls onto his stomach, feeling the pain from Beezel’s dropkick. Mr. B, meanwhile comes over to him, building up whatever momentum began to flow and puts on a gutwrench. Making sure his grip is on tight, Beezel lifts... and swings Atlas over onto his shoulder for Canadian Backbreaker!

 

”You know what’s coming, Riley? Do you??”

 

”By the sound of it, you are.”

 

”Nope. It’s the FIRE THUNDER BOMB! And Atlas is in trouble now!!!”

 

But Atlas reaches around Beezel’s neck, working on something near his facemask. .Atlas manages to pull something out, which forces Mr. B to drop the masked man, now holding something in his hand...

 

”What the hell???”

 

”Is that...?”

 

”IT’S THE VOICE MODULATOR!”

 

”Beezel’s voice mod is out!”

 

Trying to speak, but knowing he shouldn’t, Beezel charges towards Sean, trying to grab his prop back. Atlas evades him however, swinging the modulator around like a toy. Beezel turns around, trying to focus on Atlas in a desperate attempt to regain his item, but before he even sees his adversary, the item in question....

 

 

!*CLANK*!

 

 

... strikes the side of his head!

 

 

”What the...???”

 

DING-DING-DING!

 

”What’s with the bells?”

 

”I think... Yes, in fact, Sean Atlas has been disqualified!”

 

”FOR WHAT???”

 

”For hitting Beezel with a foreign object!”

 

”His voice modulator??? Beezel brought that to the ring! It’s not a foreign object, it’s ring gear! You can’t be disqualified for that!”

 

“Apparently, you can.”

 

”Beezel should be disqualified for bringing a weapon to the ring, then! Nick Soapdish is holding Atlas down! This is ridiculous, damn it!”

 

Standing in mid-ring, Atlas looks bewildered as he stares at the fallen masked man, then at the referee who made the dubious call. Funyon makes the announcement...

 

“As a result of disqualification, Sean Atlas is eliminated!”

 

A rousing cheer goes up in the Staples Center as Atlas angrily throws the voice modulator at the official. He sidesteps it and avoids impact however while Beezel tightens his mask around his head. Two additional referees step to the apron to remove Sean Atlas from the ring as another piece of music is cued...

 

“I’ve been crawling on my belly,

Clearing out what could’ve been,

I’ve been wallowing in my own confusing

Insecure delusions

For a piece to cross me over,

Or a word to guide me in...”

 

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...

 

“Nathaniel Kibagami has been on a tear for the last week or so, Bobby. His victory over TNT on Lockdown has propelled him into this match, and he seems much more focused than he has in recent memory.”

 

“He’s trying to prove to himself, and to everyone in the back, that he hasn’t burnt out or lost his touch or whatever. It’s a futile attempt, but I’m sure he sleeps a little better at night, so more power to him.”

 

Kibagami slides into the ring, only to be met by Beezel’s boots. The masked man stomps away on the ex-Clannite, doing his best to keep his fresh opponent at a disadvantage. Despite Beezel’s best efforts to the contrary, Nathaniel manages to shrug off the blows raining down on his shoulders and gets to his feet. Beezel aims a kick at Kibagami’s ribs, but the bigger man casually blocks…

 

CRACK!

 

…and drills Beezel with a roundhouse to the side of the head! El Scorcho stumbles back, his ears ringing, and Kibagami presses his advantage, but the masked man bounces deftly off the ropes and catches Kibagami unaware with a flying forearm! Nathaniel crashes to the mat, and Beezel tries to shake the cobwebs out…and Atlas comes running back out from backstage, two referees trailing at his heels!

 

”What the hell is Atlas doing back out here??”

 

”He’s probably just trying to protest his removal from the match. It’s probably not too late to restart, you know. I’m sure that’s what he wants.”

 

The Magnificent Seven’s masked man leaps onto the ring apron, clearly irate…only to be knocked back off by a springboard dropkick from Mr. B! Atlas topples back into the arms of Nick Soapdish and Matthew Kivell amidst the roar of the crowd, and Beezel rises to his feet, having dealt with the unwelcome intrusion…

 

CRACK!

 

…only to be knocked into the ropes by another stiff roundhouse kick!

 

”Kibagami takes advantage of a momentary lapse in concentration thanks to Atlas!”

 

”Atlas had nothing to do with it! Beezel’s been in that ring for a while; I’m sure he’s just overly tired.”

 

Beezel wobbles on his feet, the ropes the only thing keeping him upright, and offers no resistance as Kibagami applies a full nelson and heaves the smaller man backwards, planting the former leader of Catch 22 headfirst on the canvas with a bridging Dragon suplex. A smattering of boos can actually be heard from the front row as the referee makes the count…

 

O

 

N

 

E

 

!

 

 

T

 

W

 

O

 

!

 

 

T

 

H

 

R

 

E

 

E

 

!

 

DING DING DING!

 

”Beezel has been eliminated by pinfall!”

 

Beezel rolls out of the ring, his body language clearly conveying his frustration, as LL Cool J’s “Mama Said Knock You Out” hits the soundsystem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stryke walks out, his mama knocks him out, Kibagami hits a rolling schoolboy on Stryke after Cardboard Comet pushes Stryke into the ring, one, two, boom, explosion, everybody dies except thoth, three.

 

 

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

”The winner by pinfall….NATHANIEL KIBAGAAAAAMI!”

 

Kibagami exits the ring to “Forty-Six and Two”, oblivious to the mixed reaction from the fans as he makes his way back up the entrance ramp.

 

“Nathaniel Kibagami certainly seems to have recaptured some of his former glory tonight, Riley, establishing himself as the newest contender for the ICTV title at the expense of some backlash from the fans…”

 

”Let’s not forget the real issue here, Mark. Atlas was screwed out of this win thanks to Beezel and his ridiculous ring gear. I doubt he’ll be quick to forget something like that.”

 

”If you say so. Stay tuned, ladies and gentlemen! The main event is coming up next!”

[Guest Suicide King]

We return to SWF Storm and go to a shot of the Suicide King, sitting in his office and going over contracts.

 

"Whose idea was it to sign David Arquette to a one-time appearance deal at five hundred grand? Terminated..."

 

A knock at the door takes King out of his element, and he looks up at the oak door. "Come in!"

 

King goes back to reviewing contracts as the door opens and Quiz walks in, his black hair combed neatly to one side and tonight in a black suit with red trim. Grinning, Quiz begins to speak.

 

"The answer is: This man would like to take a seat!"

 

King stops writing, looking up slowly with a please-God-you-can't-be-serious look on his face. "Uh... who is Quiz?"

 

"You are correct, sir!"

 

Quiz sits down, and King looks at him slowly, obviously not sure how to approach this black-haired, game-obsessed man. Talking slowly, King says, "Why are you here?"

 

Quiz grins. "Close, but wrong. The question we were looking for was 'Why you are here.' We do have some..."

 

"What was the question, exactly?"

 

"The question was why you are here, Mr. King. Now, if you're looking for the answer, it was," Quiz clears his throat, speaking with a dramatic air, "'To get a contract'."

 

"Quiz, you already have a contract..."

 

"Actually, that was just an appearance contract."

 

"...well, you're appearing, so obviously you don't need a contract. Now, if you'll be excused..."

 

"No, Mr. King, you don't understand. Out of 100 men, 86 of them said that they'd like to see Quiz wrestle, and as a result, I'm here, looking for a contract stating that I can wrestle."

 

"...I'm sorry, Quiz, but we're not really interested in new..."

 

"Well, Mr. King, if you'd like to buy a vowel, I am interested in a career as a wrestler, and if you'd like to buy another vowel, U could use a fresh face to boost ratings."

 

"Boost... Quiz, we're the highest-rated show on cable!"

 

"If you'd like to buy another vowel, O, I think you're mistaken, good King. You see, a recent poll of one hundred females said that the trait they like most in a wrestler is slicked-back black hair, pearly white teeth, a suit and tie and a love of game shows, and if your question is 'Who is Quiz', then your answer is most definitely 'The person who fits all of those requirements'."

 

King is silent for a few moments, and then...

 

"I don't know what the hell you just said, but if I give you a contract will you get out of my office?"

 

Quiz shakes his head, a sad grin on his face. "Afraid you are incorrect, King. You see, the survey says - I want an SWF contract."

 

"Fine, fine." King pulls out a sheet of paper from one of his drawers. "This right here is a contract..."

 

"If I may ask a question, why do you have a contract drawer?"

 

"Because situations like this occur far too often. Anyway, here's a six-month contract stating that you will wrestle every show you are able to, at $20,000 downside, for the next two months."

 

"I'm sorry, King. I'll take contracts for $30,000."

 

"Fine." King pulls out a black marker, hastily crossing out the "$20,000" and replacing it with "$30,000". "There. Are you okay with this contract?"

 

"Pretty much, yes."

 

"Sign here, then."

 

King points to an X, and Quiz signs it - "Quiz". Grinning, he stands up, offering King a handshake.

 

"Survey says you won't regret this decision!"

 

"Please... leave. Just... leave."

 

Quiz smiles, turning around and leaving. As he walks out of the Suicide King’s door, the camera pulls back to reveal Jay Dawg in warm-up clothes watching on a monitor.

 

“Heh,” he snickers. “F**king game freaks. It’s all fixed anyway.”

 

Jay Dawg turns around, heading toward the caterer’s table. As he turns, though…

 

 

BAM!!!!!!!

 

 

Tom Flesher slams into him with an absolutely vicious double-leg takedown! Drazon, caught off-guard, lands hard on his back, and Flesher stays on him, hammering him with palm strikes! Drazon tries to wriggle away, and when he can’t, instinctively starts defending in the judo guard position. Flesher backs away, though, knowing he can’t win. As Drazon sits up, Flesher charges into him and nails his seated enemy with a Yakuza kick! Drazon flops back onto his back, and Flesher turns to the table. Angrily, he starts clearing it off! He leaves the table bare and pulls it out, ready to slam Jay Dawg right through it!

 

Instead, road agents William Hannon, Chris Belcourt and John Trudel step in to pull Flesher away! He tries to fight them off, but in the meantime, Jay Dawg starts to regain his senses. He stands up, throwing wild punches and catching Flesher with a right hand straight to the head! Flesher staggers backwards, and JD tries to nail a Thai roundhouse kick. Flesher ducks it, though, and Drazon ends up facing the wall opposite the table! As the crowd gasps, Tom Flesher grabs him from behind, ducks his head under Drazon’s arm, and lifts him into the air! Jay Dawg struggles and tries to fight his way out, but before he knows what’s happening, Flesher sends him straight through the wooden table and to the tile floor with a backdrop driver! Drazon lands hard and flops on his stomach.

 

As the road agents dive in to check on Drazon, Flesher stands up and dusts his hands off, then trash-talks his fallen opponent. “So I’m a pussy, eh? So Thoth cut off my balls and my dick? You just better be glad you’re in no shape to wrestle tonight, little man, because I’d take you to the woodshed and beat your ass six ways to Sunday.”

 

With that, Flesher walks off, a small smirk on his face.

 

Bobby Riley remarks, “Well, he may have gotten some of that killer instinct back,” just before Smarkdown fades.

[Guest Suicide King]

The Staples Center is buzzing as we return from a commercial break, and the fans know that the only match left on the card is the contest to determine the #1 contender to the SWF World Championship.

 

“You have to wonder,” says Bobby Riley. “Tom Flesher just took it to Jamie Drazon backstage like a bully stealing a third-grader’s lunch money. Will Jay Dawg even make it out for this match, or will Tom Flesher just win the #1 contendership by default?”

 

“You know as well as I do that Jay Dawg won’t give up without a fight,” replies Mark Stevens. “But will the SWF’s medical staff let him compete?”

 

“Of course not! He took a damn backdrop driver through a table! How do you expect him to take on the Superior One?”

 

“Only time will tell!” says Stevens. “Let’s go to Funyon!”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says the venerable ring announcer, “the following contest will determine the #1 contender for the SWF World Title, and it is your MAIN EVENT!” He pauses for the crowd to pop briefly, then continues, “The first competitor…”

 

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

 

As the music fades, Flesher motions for the microphone.

 

“Here we are,” he says, “in the City of Angels. Without a doubt, one of the most polluted cities in the world… but let me tell you, I took it upon myself tonight to get rid of one of the biggest pieces of garbage in the SWF. As I’m sure you all saw, I nearly broke Jay Dawg’s neck earlier, so I think it’d be nice if Jamie would just come out here, let me pin him and get things over with. Come on, JD. Let’s do this the easy way.”

 

Multiple Fireworks explode around the arena, rafters and entrance ramp. The lights go out...

 

"THIS

 

IS

 

MAH

 

HOUSE!!"

 

The voice, obviously pre recorded, echoes through the arena. Rammstein's 'Du Haste' plays without the lyrics... The heavy beats thunder 360 degrees all over the arena... JD steps through the curtains, his head down. His neck is obviously still sore, as he pauses to rub it for a moment before continuing to the ring. He is, however, decked out in wrestling gear, and as Mark Stevens notes, “He looks like he’s ready to fight!”

 

“What an idiot!” says Bobby Riley. “Doesn’t he know Flesher’s going to absolutely murder him?”

 

“I don’t know,” replies Stevens. “When Jamie Drazon gets that adrenaline pumping, it’s VERY hard to keep him down.”

 

“And his opponent,” says Funyon, “from Vancouver, British Columbia, and weighing in at 243 pounds, this is HIS house… Jamie “Jay Dawg” DRAAAAAAAAAZON!”

 

Jay Dawg slides into the ring, but before he has a chance to do anything, Tom Flesher slides into him with a baseball slide dropkick! Drazon tries to shake the blow off, but Flesher stays on him and slams a pair of palm strikes into his temple!

 

“What the hell is he doing?” asks Mark Stevens. “This isn’t fair!”

 

“I’ve got news for you,” says Riley. “There’s no way in hell this is going to be a fair fight, no matter what Flesher does. He’s got it all over Drazon, like it or not.”

 

“Not true. Remember, Jay Dawg does hold a clean win over Flesher from just a month ago.”

 

“Oh, you’re always dredging up ancient history.”

 

Flesher grabs Jay Dawg by the shoulders and rolls him to his back! Referee Matthew Kivell drops down and counts

 

 

ONE!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

Kickout! Jay Dawg gets a shoulder up, and the crowd cheers!

 

“Jay Dawg’s too tough to go down to a dropkick,” points out Mark Stevens. “There’s no way you’re going to get him to lay down to a half-hearted attack like that.”

 

Flesher stands up, debating his next attack. Jay Dawg sits up, but Flesher kicks him hard in the chest to throw him back to the mat! He drops down and covers him again!

 

 

ONE!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KICKOUT!!!!!!

 

 

“Come on,” says Riley. “Why won’t Jay Dawg just lay down and get this over with?”

 

“Because he’s too proud,” says Mark Stevens. “And besides, it looks like he’s got a damn good chance to take this one.”

 

Drazon sits up again, and this time Flesher decides to grab him in a front facelock. As he throws a knee strike, though, the Canadian hardcore specialist grabs Flesher’s left arm and pulls it through, escaping the tight hold! Flesher, his balance thrown off by missing the knee strike, is easy prey for a knee of JD’s own! He staggers backwards as the shaken but still fired-up Jay Dawg stands up, gets his senses back and fires off an incredibly stiff Thai roundhouse kick! Flesher collapses to the mat and tries to scoot away, but the former Dawg Pound member drops onto him and starts raining fists onto his face and head!

 

“Jesus!” says Stevens, “Jay Dawg’s just being ruthless!”

 

Flesher tries to put up his guard, but Jamie Drazon continues hammering him with stiff right hands as Bobby Riley says, “Of course he his. He’s trying to make the most of catching Flesher off-guard.”

 

He nails one especially hard punch, and Flesher slumps to the mat. Jay Dawg covers him, but Flesher kicks out even before Matthew Kivell can make a count! The crowd boos loudly as Flesher rolls to his stomach. Jay Dawg stands up and backs away, taking a moment to shake off the cobwebs. Flesher stands up, then grabs him in a collar-and-elbow tie. He attempts a duck-under, but JD blocks it and instead drops down to grab Tom by the calf! He stands up with the leg across his stomach and quickly falls to the side, taking Flesher to the mat with a dragon screw leg whip! Flesher hits the mat, and Jay Dawg segues seamlessly into a spinning toehold!

 

“Well, for a guy who’s supposed to just lay down, Jay Dawg is certainly taking charge!” says Stevens forcefully.

 

As Jay Dawg rotates through the toehold, Flesher winces in pain… but reaches up and grabs the Vancouverian by the head, pulling him into a small package! Matthew Kivell counts

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE- NO!!!!!!!!

 

 

JD rolls through, and Flesher backs away. Jay Dawg comes at Flesher for a lockup, and Flesher counters by throwing an exceptionally slow kick to the abdomen. As Bobby Riley makes a confused grunting sound, Jay Dawg easily catches the half-hearted, soft kick. Flesher, however, quickly jumps into the air, nailing Jay Dawg with an absolutely sickening enzuigiri! The fans boo as Flesher picks JD up and whips him to the corner, then lifts him to the top rope!

 

“Tom hits the enzuigiri again!” says Bobby Riley. “I tell you, there’s nothing this boy can’t do!”

 

“Well, let’s start with playing fair…” says Stevens. “Flesher’s only taking advantage of the fact that he ambushed Jay Dawg earlier tonight. There’s no way he’d be slaughtering Jamie Drazon like this if he hadn’t taken a backdrop driver through a table half an hour ago.”

 

Flesher looks up at Jay Dawg and starts to climb, but makes a split-second decision. Instead of going for his finisher right away, he jumps into the air and nails Jay Dawg with a spinning shotei! With his opponent neutralized on the top rope, Flesher then safely climbs up to the top rope and applies a front facelock. The fans boo their hearts out, but they, unfortunately, can’t stop Tom Flesher from lifting Jay Dawg off the top turnbuckle, stalling with him upside down for a few seconds, and then crashing to the mat with the avalanche-style brainbuster known as the Boilermaker! Jamie Drazon crashes into the mat headfirst, then flops impotently onto his back. Flesher nonchalantly rolls onto him for

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!!!

 

 

“Your winner, and number-one contender to the SWF World Championship… TOM FLESHER!”

 

Flesher stands up, smirking at the fallen Canadian.

 

“That wasn’t a Boilermaker win,” says Mark Stevens bitterly. “Tom Flesher won because of his attack earlier tonight, plain and simple.”

 

“And it looks to me like he’s getting a little of that killer instinct back,” adds Riley. “We’ll see where this goes next week! Tune in just five days from now when SWF Storm is live! See ya then, you bunch of boobs!”

 

As Smarkdown fades out, Riley leans over and whispers to Stevens, “Man, don’t you wish Tucker Carlson and Paul Begala had flown in for this one?”

 

FADE~!

[Guest Suicide King]

Results! Read the matches your damned selves, you vultures!

 

Card forthcoming.