It's Friday night...SWF STORM!!!

July 26, 2003

EARLIER TODAY...

"It's wrong, you know..."

The Suicide King looks up from a stack of papers at the man across the desk from him.

"What, precisely, are you talking about now Mark?"

Mark Stevens, dressed to announce, sits back in his chair. "This." He waves a stack of papers. "These plans you're making, some of these matches you want to sign. It's not right."

The Gambling Man sighs and looks back down at the papers in front of him. "It isn't your problem Mark. You're lucky I let you have your job back as Talent Relations Manager after that TBS fiasco. Don't push your luck. Have a good show."

Obviously dismissed, The Heavy Hitter stands, takes two steps towards the door and puts his hand on the doorknob... then stops. "Brian, I can overlook a lot. But these last few months, ever since Stubby left and you got the promotion... you've been out of control. Do I need to bring up Neilsen? And this match tonight with Beezel and Kibagami is ludicrous. It should never have happened."

"No, and were I you, I wouldn't mention it again." King looks up again, anger starting to smolder in his eyes. "Now, I have a lot of work to do, so get out."

Obviously realizing how little impact he is making, Mark Stevens opens the door and steps into the hallway. "Fine, King, fine. I'll just go out and do my job like I always do. Good-bye."

"Oh... and Mark?"

"What?"

"I don't care how ticked off you are that your little face buddies are being treated unfairly, keep your opinions to yourself. Got that?"

"I'm the play-by-play man King. It's my job to give the viewer my opinion. That's what I've always done."

Calmly, King stands up, a wicked smile on his face. "No Mark, the SWF pays you to give the unwashed masses out there our opinion. Nothing more, nothing less. You cross the line out there tonight, and I swear to you, there will be Hell to pay. You can bet on it."

Fury causing his face to redden, Mark Stevens closes the Commissioner's door, maybe with a little more force than necessary, and tears off down the hall past a locker room full of SWF superstars who stare after him with shock on their faces.

Inside the office, King sits back down, the evil grin still etched on his face. "Yes Mark... Hell to pay... and that, my old friend, is a damn promise..."

"What was that all about, Mark?"

"God, do they film EVERYTHING here? I swear, Bobby, I'm checking the bathroom next time..."

"Ooo..."

WHHHHOOOOOOSSSHHHHH!

CRACK OF LIGHTNING!

THUNDER BOOM!

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM!!!!!

The camera pans around the Conseco Fieldhouse, presenting to the world an arena filled to capacity with SWF fans of all ages, races, genders and orientations! WE spin around the massive stadium, stopping occasionally to zoom in one fan-made signs...

[WORLD TITLE passed around more than AMY CRAVEN!]

[Not-So-Wild-CHILD]

[TNT + TBS = RATINGS]

“The Smartmarks welcome you to SWF Storm!” yells an ecstatic Mark Stevens. “Coming to you LIVE from The Conseco Fieldhouse in Indianapolis, Indiana! Coming up tonight, a Tag alicious Double Main Event, a Hardcore Gamers Title defense, the second of five matches between Crow and Janus!”

“Plus, Judge and Ejiro in singles action, Kibagami answers Beezel’s challenge, and Stryke goes one on one with LDP!” notes Riley as the Storm music settle down while the main camera focuses on the stage.

Suddenly, a pleasing melody played on a piano chimes in as the lights dim down once again. The image of a cross slowly rising appears on the SmarkTron while a faint while light beneath the stage begins to grow brighter. A chorus of boos greets the routine as quiet elecrix guitars bring the tune to a climax, giving way to a resounding...

!*BOOM*!

A colossal explosion detonates onstage, leaving behind it a plume of smoke. The white light underneath the stage shines through a grating, illuminating the haze as Lacuna Coil’s “Heaven’s a Lie” resonates through the arena. Amidst the smoke stands the silhouette of a familiar man, the man at whom all these jeers are directed. He emerges out of the cloud, mask on his face, and begins to walk down the ramp...

“Ladies and Gentlemen, from Chicago, Illinois, weighing in at 245 pounds, please welcome... SSEEEAAAAAANNN AAAAATTTLLLLLAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSS!!!”

Sean gets to the ring and begins his walk around to the other side. Coming up to Funyon, he takes the microphone out of his hands and turns back to the ring. Up the stairs and through the ropes, he steps inside and inadvertently cues another round of boos. As soon as these dies down, his music fades away as well and Atlas waits only a few moments before speaking.

“Something happened last week” he says. “Something that had absolutely no right to take place happened. I once again got screwed out of a title shot.”

Shouts of joy echo through the Fieldhouse at the last statement.

“This seems to be a recurring theme for me – set a goal, go after it, get screwed. Last time I had my sights set on the US Title... but someone got in the way. Specifically - Mike Van Siclen and his merry band of asshats. For weeks, Mike and I went at it, him losing to me on an absurdly consistent basis, and finally taking the big loss at 13th Hour. And I have just one question for you all... where’s Mike now?”

The rhetorical question is met with an answer of jeers.

“So fast forward a month or so and I start looking for more gold, trying to get a belt or two back to the Magnificent Seven. I find myself competing for ICTV title shots, having beaten its former holders left and right. I finally get a contendership shot, placed in a situation where I have to beat three guys just to get a chance – A CHANCE – to compete for the belt and who gets in the way this time? One of the aforementioned asshats, Beezel.”

Appropriately, a cheer goes up for Beezel.

“That cretin is booked first against me in the gauntlet match, and because he sees a need to wear a fucking voice modulator, I get disqualified for using it against him? Since when has ring gear become a weapon? And if it is, then who’s the moron that lets him bring it to the ring in the first place? But I digress. It’s really not about the voice modulator at this point as much as it’s about the voice and face underneath. You see, I realized something this week; something important enough for me to come out here and grace all of you with my presence...”

More boos to the last comment.

“Apparently, Beezel cares more about keeping his identity confidential than actually winning a belt. Applauding, isn’t it? Worse yet, he speaks like a goddamn machine and expects us to take him seriously. I mean really, how can you take anyone wearing a mask seriously?”

A mixture of laughter, applause and jeers are directed at Sean as he walks around, jokingly pretending not to know the difference.

“Clearly, none of you do. So, being the good Samaritan that I am, I’d like to take care of that. Beezel, you short, disguised little monkey, I issue to you a challenge: At Ground Zero, you face me, one on one, just like your old pal Mike did. But this time, no gimmicks, no cages, just one stipulation. If you lose, Beezel... If I pin you or make you submit... your mask comes off!

The audience replies with a strange mix of reactions, some cheers for Beezel, some boos at Sean, some supporting the match while others do not.

“Well, Scorchey, what’s it going to be? You want to accept that now or should I wait for you to get your spandex suit on?”

...

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

A lively crowd greets the voice of Rivers Cuomo as a sheet of Red fire emerges on the stage. The song plays on everyone in the Conseco Fieldhouse awaits the entrance of the small masked man, searching through the resulting smoke to find him...

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

Then, microphone in hand, Mr. B himself runs across the stage and to the top of the ramp, looking around the arena, then shifting focus to Sean. His music fades and the fans give him a moment of applause before letting him speak. Once he starts though, he is immediately cut off by Atlas.

“Decided to show up?”

“Indeed I did, friend Atlas. I am here to answer your challenge.”

“And what answer have you for me, oh noble Beezel?”

“I foresaw this coming, and to your offer I say...

No.”

“No? NO?! You little chickenshit, are you so afraid of losing that mask yours that you won’t even fight for it?”

“No. I simply have a better offer for you, sir.”

“What’s that, fruitcake?”

“At Ground Zero, I shall put my own identity at risk, and remove my mask if am defeated... However, if I am victorious, my mask I shall keep, but yours you must remove!”

The loudest cheer of the segment goes up in the arena, with the majority of the crowd supporting the idea off the match.

“Picture it, friend Atlas: Ground Zero, Beezel vs. Sean Atlas, for pride and identity... Mask vs. Mask!”

Another round of applause just as loud goes up in response to Beezel, who now has Sean intrigued at the idea.

“What do you say, sir?”

“What do I say? You’re asking me to give up any chances at SWF gold for two weeks, just to spend one of my Sundays beating you? Especially after that debacle of a decision last week? I don’t know, Beezie, I don’t know... I think you still owe me one.”

“To you, I owe nothing. Do you accept the challenge or are you too, as you put it, a chickenshit?”

Hearing Beezel curse for the first time in what seems like ever, the crowd is taken aback for a moment, just as Atlas is.

“Really? Well, the way I see it, you had your chance. You even had a small run with the ICTV Title. So I figure, if you’re going to take me away from my chance, then you might as well concede something... Tell you what. You’re facing Nathan Kibagami tonight... How about I come to that match, get in the ring, put on a striped shirt as the special guest referee?”

A chorus of boos goes up in the arena, encouraging Beezel not to give in.

“You’re on.”

“What?”

“I said, friend Sean, you’re on. I shall see you there tonight.”

“... Too easy, Beezel. Way too easy. So easy, in fact, that I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll lose tonight, you’ll lose next week, and by the time Ground Zero rolls around, you’ll have nothing left to lose but that little red mask.”

BOOOOOO!!!!!!

Beezel prepares to reply, but Lacuna Coil’s “Heaven’s a Lie” hits the speaker system, cutting off his mic. Standing on the stage, the anger in his eyes is clear as day. Sean, leaning on the ring ropes, is easily amused at the entire deal.

“It looks like Mask vs. Mask is set for Ground Zero, Grand Slam.”

“Indeed, but for the time being, Sean Atlas is the referee to the match between Beezel and Kibagami later tonight, and I have absolutely no idea why King would allow this to happen. Clearly, Sean won’t be a straight-down-the-middle referee, Riley.”

“Sean isn’t straight?”

“No, you moron, he’ll be a crooked ref! It’s not right, Bobby, and it’s not just.”

“Well, while Mark PMS’s, we have to take a short break, but be sure to come back to watch The Judge, William Hearford III take on this weeks Question Mark Man!”

Fade to break.

July 26, 2003

SWF Storm!

July 25, 2003

Live from the Conseco Fieldhouse in Indianapolis, Indiana!

Opening Promo

Again, there is opening promo goodness? What has the world come to?

Singles Match

Judge William Hearford v. ??

Hmm... another question mark man? Must be catching... well, this surprise combatant apparently has something to prove, and wants to show that he has what it takes to go up against one of the most accomplished ring technicians in the federation! Judge isn't about to let just any whippersnapper past him, though...

Rules: Standard singles match, DQ & Countout in effect

Singles Match

Frost v. Jay Dawg

Jay Dawg lost to Flesher, thus failing to become the #1 contender. Frost has his own issues with the Superior One, and perhaps a big win against Dawg would get the message across to Flesher that something big, bad, and cold is coming his way. Like an iceberg, without the warm and fuzzy personality.

Rules: Standard singles match

Hardcore Match

Crowe v Janus

The best of five continues with match number 2! I got five bucks that say all that's left of the Hell Machine and the Antichrist Superstar is a big bloody smear.

Rules: NO rules, just right.

Special Referee Singles Match

Beezel vs. Nathaniel Kibagami

Your Special Guest Referee: Sean Atlas

Kibagami won the ICTV contendership last show, but Beezel may have been finagled out of his shot by Atlas. The solution? Put two faces in a match with a completely partial special referee. That's King's way, baby! We're sure Atlas will know what to do.

Rules: Normal rules, but Sean Atlas is the only referee who may make a decision in this match.

Non-Title Singles Match

"The Sacred One" Andrew Blackwell v. Ejiro Fasaki

Ejiro finally obtained his singles gold, and CC doesn't think he should defend it immediately. Surely he deserve a rest. So, he can wrestle the only man to hold every title in the SWF... without the title on the line. We're saints; we know it.

Rules: Standard singles match

Hardcore Title Match

Va'aiga v. Wildchild

Wildchild won his chance. Va'aiga likes to hurt people. What happens when the Caribbean and the Pacific Rim collide? Well, for one thing, we're all gonna have to redraw a lot of maps.

Rules: none whatsoever.

AND YOUR TAGALICIOUS DOUBLE MAIN EVENT

Tornado Tag Match

"The Superior One" Tom Flesher and Thoth v. International Incident (CIA and Mak Francis)

Flesher was on top of the world... and then Thoth knocked him off it. Thoth was on top of the world... and then Strangler knocked him off it. Tom is the #1 contender. Thoth has yet to have his rematch. Now we make them team up with each other, and they have their work cut out for them against International Incident, the number one contenders to the tag titles! Can Thoth and Flesher co-exist?

Rules: All men in the ring at once, kiddos. Let the ass-kicking commence.

Tag Match

The Unholy Trinity (Dace Night and Danny Williams) v. The Turner Empire (The Boston Strangler and TNT)

The Turner Empire fell just short of the tag contenderships, but now they must face a devastating incarnation of the Trinity. This match is chock full of talent, and frankly it scares me. TBS has more than ever to worry about as his two most fearsome foes are in the match immediately preceding his. I'm sure that Dace and Danny will be able to take his mind off of his problems though... and possibly his head off of his shoulders!

Rules: Standard tag match, use the ropes.

Edited July 26, 2003 by Edwin MacPhisto

July 26, 2003

And we come back from a brief break to the crowded Conseco Field in Indianapolis, Indiana, as we return to SWF Storm! The camera quickly goes down to the Announcer’s Table, where “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens and Bobbie Riley.

“Welcome back to SWF Storm! For our first match of the night we have “Judge” William Hearford and yet another mystery man facing off. So, who do you think it is, Bobbie? A face from the past? Another new acquisition?”

“No idea, Grand Slam, but the list is endless! Fallout, Chris Wilson, Spider Nekura…”

“And how about Rane, Cyclone Comet, or Divefire?”

“Bah, all those guys suck.”

“Just because they all beat on you, Bobbie. Anyways, here’s Funyon for the introductions.”

*DING DING DING*

“The following match is scheduled for ONE FALL! Our first competitor…”

A steady drumbeat filters into the arena as the enter place turns a deep red. It gets louder and louder as a few boos from some fans spark up before-

“NOW TESTIFY!”

RAtM’s “Testify’ starts up in mid song and three rows of red pyros shoot up as one half of Justice and Rule steps out onto the stage to a throng of boos. The old man looks intensely angry, and he quick steps into the ring, ignoring most of the jeers from nearby fans.

“Now entering the ring, weighing in at 242 pounds and hailing from Royal Oak, Michigan…. THE JUDGE, WILLIAM HEAAAAAAAAARFOOOOOORD!”

The old man quickly slides into the ring and walks over to his corner, not even glancing at referee Matty Kivell. He grabs the ropes on either side of the corner and soon begins psyching himself up for the match ahead.

“The Judge is coming off a loss against Va’aiga on SmarkDown, and I’m sure he wants to redeem himself tonight. It may have not been for a title, but losing to a man who took your title doesn’t do much for one’s pride.”

“Exactly, Grand Slam, why I’m picking him for the win tonight. The guy has got to be dead set on destroying whoever is coming out here to face him tonight.”

As the Judge’s music dies down, a guitar strumming along alone, and confused murmurs come out from the crowd; The music is familiar, but the guy who used to use it is long gone. The lights begin to die down as AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” continues on, and on the entrance ramp appears a large silhouette.

“Could this be who I think it is?”

“I certainly hope not…”

A spotlight from the ceiling takes the moment to shine down on the large man as the crowd breaks into an uproarious cheer…

…. And the former SJL Champion, Charlie Matthews, walks down to the ring receiving an ovation from the crowd!

“Now entering the ring, weighing in at 299 pounds and hailing from Kansas City, Missouri, he is a former SJL World Champion and the newest addition to the SWF Roster… CHARLIE ‘GRAPPLER’ MAAAAATTHEEEEEEEWS!”

“Yes! The Grappler got called up from the SJL!”

“Great, that’s just what we need: A hoss that thinks he’s a technical wrestler…”

The cheering continues as the Grappler steps up onto the apron and through the ropes, giving a respectful wave before stepping over to Kivell and giving him a firm handshake. With that, he stoically walks over to his corner and waits for the opening bell to ring on his first match in the big leagues.

*DING DING DING*

The bell rings, and both men step out of their corners. Oddly enough, the Judge is the first out, charging across the ring at the rookie. The Grappler prepares for a lockup, but it becomes pretty clear that’s not his intention…

*THUD*

… Of course, just a little too late. The lariat hits home, and Charlie hits the canvas with a resounding crash. Of course, he’s not down for long, and he gets up… right into another lariat. The crowd boos as the new man is put down to the mat again as the Judge continues the assault, hitting him with boot heels to the head, chest, and whatever else he can.

“Man, the Judge is simply aflame tonight,” notes Grand Slam as Justice yells something at Charlie before backing off and allowing the big man to get up, “I guess he really had a lot of anger to vent.”

“See? I told ya he was pissed. I’m glad King brought up a jobber just for the Judge to kill.”

Charlie, more than just slightly surprised by the Judge’s early ferocity, shakes his head and begins getting back up. Meanwhile, the Judge motions for the rookie to come forwards, saying a few things like “Come on, boy! Aren’t you ready for the big leagues?” while hopping from foot to foot. He moves closer towards the now crouching Grappler’s body, and suddenly Matthews leaps forwards for a massive Steinerliner!... that misses as the Judge sidesteps out of the way. Fans express their displeasure as Charlie stumbles forwards a little, and the Judge quickly takes this opportunity, coming up behind the Grappler and spinning him around to nail him with a knife-edged chop!

CHOP!

WHOO!

CHOP!

WHOO!

CHOP!

WHOO!

CHOP!

WHOO!

With the last chop, Matthews is backed up against the ropes, and Hearford takes the chance to grab his wrist and whip him towards the other side! The big man rebounds, and in all his fury the Judge scoops the massive man and plants him into the mat with a powerslam!

ONE!

T-And Charlie kicks out strong!

“Matthews shows he’s definitely not going to go down that easily, but he’d better start moving. He can’t let Hearford dominate him the whole match.”

“Of course he can! I mean, how many of us really want to see this guy plod around and do his stuff in slow motion?”

Instead of pulling Charlie up off the mat, though, Hearford quickly puts a few forearm shots into the head of the bumpee, stunning him for a moment and allowing Justice to get off the mat, pulling Matthews up with him. He pulls him in close and nails him with a European Uppercut, pushing Charlie back a step or so. Grabbing him again, he nails another one on him and another one before Grappler fights back, smacking him in the face with a forearm! The crowd begins to rally behind Matthews as he pushes back the veteran with every shot, finally leveling a haymaker of a lariat… that never has a chance to connect as Hearford gives him a sharp kick to the gut, cutting off the rally! He turns around, grabbing Charlie’s head in a ¾ Headlock!

“Surprise Witness! Grappler is gonna hold the record for shortest debut match in the WF in a second,” says Riley with sadistic glee as the Judge prepares to leap forward…

… But is denied! Grappler immediately gives him a sharp kidney punch, and the Judge releases the headlock. But Charlie isn’t about to let him go; instead, he quickly ducks his head and shoulder under the Judge’s arm, and he grabs onto the veteran’s arm and leg as he lifts him into the air!

“JUDGEMENT-“

*CRUNCH!*

“-SLAM! The Judge tried to punk out Matthews, and he got dropped right on his head in return!” says an excited Grand Slam over the now-riotous crowd as Grappler quickly moves in for a cover. “You may be right, Bobbie, Grappler may have the shortest debut match in SWF History, and he’s going to win it with one move!”

ONE!

TWO!

THREENO! Foot on the ropes!

“Whew,” sighs Riley, wiping the sweat off his brow, “See? Rookie mistake right there. Grappler pinned him way too close to the ropes.”

“And the Judge trying to finish the match so early wasn’t a rookie mistake as well?”

“… Shut up! Give him another minute and this match will be over!”

“Yes, I don’t think Hearford can last much longer than-.”

“JUST SHUT UP!”

This time, the shoe is on the other foot as Charlie pushes up off the ground, leaving the Judge to shake the cobwebs out. Allowing the still dazed Hearford to stagger up to his feet, Charlie immediately locks up with the old man, pushing him straight back into one of the turnbuckles. The Judge crumples a bit, and Charlie climbs up onto the turnbuckle, grabbing the head of Justice and pounding away with the crowd counting along!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!

With the final count, he climbs back down and pushes the Judge out of the corner, and the old man proceeds to stumble about for a few seconds holding his head, trying to get back his bearings. He turns around as Grappler tries to approach him, throwing a wild an disoriented punch, but Charlie leans back and as the swing misses he wraps his arm around the Judge’s waist, picking him up and planting him into his knee for a pendulum backbreaker! ‘Judge Mental’ is put back to the canvas, his back arched in pain as the Grappler hooks his leg and pins him down again for another cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THREENO! Shoulder up, and the crowd gives a disappointed sigh.

“Hearford looks pretty bad after that head drop, it doesn’t look as if it was too bad now. He should count himself lucky for not getting a concussion or even breaking his neck after that move.”

Grappler, undaunted, gets back up to his feet while the Judge rolls over onto his belly and rises, shaking his head and holding his back. He tries to back away, but Charlie lunges forwards, looking for another tie-up… but Justice has gotten back most of his wits, and he ducks under, trying to lock in a waist lock. But before he can, the Grappler falls straight backwards!

*CRUNCH*

Getting smashed by nearly 300 pounds of wrestler, Hearford gives a loud yell and releases his grip on Grappler, allowing Charlie to shift around on his back to hook a leg and make a lying pin!

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEENO! Another shoulder up by the Judge, but just at the last second.

“A great counter by Matthews there, using his size against the smaller Hearford and turning it into a surprise pinfall was excellent to say the least. He sure looks like he’s on to big stuff.”

“Bah, what skill do you need to fall backwards? The guy is just a lumbering oaf-“

“-Who is about to beat one of the more established men in the fed.”

“Hey, just you wait! He’ll pull it out…. Hopefully…”

This time, Charlie decides to keep control by pulling up Hearford himself, putting him in a side headlock. He raises his fist and in one swift motion puts it right into the back of Justice! The old man grits his teeth while Grappler quickly raises up his arm and clubs him again. Hearford’s legs wobble a little bit, but he’s able to take another big shot on the back to lay out the old man on the canvas.

“Matthews has been concentrating on that back well enough, and that’s definitely going to work against the Judge. He probably already has trouble lifting up the big man for a Suplex, but a sore back won’t help it much.”

With the Judge on the mat, Charlie hits the canvas as well, wrapping his legs around the waist of the veteran and laying backwards for a Body Scissors! The Judge grunts in pain yet again as his ribs are crushed as if they were in a vice. But Hearford draws back on his copious experience, beginning to bridge himself off the ground. He puts his arms under the locked legs of Grappler and bridges himself up as high as he can, putting both of Charlie’s shoulders against the mat!

ONE!

TWO!

THRENO! Charlie releases the scissors

“BEAUTIFUL counter there by Hearford,” gushes Riley, “You won’t something like that out of the Craptacular Grappler.”

“Yes, but I’m sure the Judge exerted a lot of energy on that last move. He isn’t as young as he used to be, and to fight against 300 pounds trying to pull him down has to be tiring.”

Indeed, true to Grand Slam’s words, Hearford rolls away and lies on the mat for a second, panting a little and cursing Charlie for getting out of one of his best counters. The old man pounds the canvas and stands back up, firing off a chop at the rising Matthews in frustration.

CHOP!

WHOO!

But Matthews stands his ground, and responds with one of his own!

CHOP!

WHOO!

And as Hearford stumbles back, he continues the assault!

CHOP!

WHOO!

CHOP!

WHOO!

CHOP!

WHOO!

With that last chop, Charlie quickly lunges forwards, locking in a front facelock. Swinging Hearford’s arm over his own neck, he pulls up the big man up into the air, putting him completely vertical! He holds him for 1….2…..3…..4- But he doesn’t get to drop the old man down, as he instead is given enough time to flip right out of it! He lands on his feet behind Matthews, and as the big man turns around…

CLUTCH-TRIP-THUD!

“Closing Arguments! A big STO by Judge, and he may have saved himself from being hammered even more there!”

With Charlie on the ground holding his neck in pain, Hearford starts to regain control, scrambling on the ground sitting Matthews up as he puts on a Sleeper Hold. The big man tries to fight back as the Judge’s hold begins to cut off oxygen from his brain, and after only a few seconds in the hold he gets a solid foot on the ground. That’s soon followed by another, and soon the Judge is having trouble keeping the hold on with the Grappler’s height… but that’s quickly remedied as he leaps up, wrapping his legs around the waist and body of Matthews! Charlie, under the weight, soon falls back to the mat, much to the dismay of the crowd.

“This is certainly not good for Matthews right now,” says Grand Slam as Matthews continues to struggle, but his movements start to slow down, “That Doushime Sleeper is an incredibly potent move. He can’t last long in that thing.”

Finally, Charlie’s movements cease for a moment, and Kivell walks over to the downed pair of men and starts the standard hand-raising. He raises it once…

It falls. He raises it twice….

It falls. He raises it a third and final time…

And it stays up! The crowd instantly comes back to life as Charlie begins moving again, slowly rolling himself over. He first gets on all fours, slowly but surely working up to a kneeling position and finally getting back up to his feet with the 242 pound man still hanging on his back. He takes a step forwards, towards one of the turnbuckles, then another, and another, and soon he’s up to a run, careening at the turnbuckles….

*CRASH*

…and he turns around just before impact, sandwiching Judge Hearford between himself and the ringpost! He stumbles out, gasping for breath as the Judge falls down to his knees and then onto his belly, an expression of agony emblazoned on his normally stony face.

“Another great counter there, and for a rookie Matthews seems to be giving the Judge a lot of trouble tonight.”

Charlie is the first to recover, and while he still is taking in deep breathes he walks over to the Judge and pulls him up off the ground and locking up with him. The Judge isn’t quite ready for a lockup, and Charlie is quick to give him a knee to the gut before grabbing him around the waist and heaving him to the side for a belly to belly suplex! Hearford gets planted into the mat, and Matthews slowly gets back up again, looking down at Justice as he rests a little bit more. But he doesn’t rest for too long, and he moves over towards the legs of Hearford, pulling them under his arms…

“And it looks like the Judge is in for a spin cycle!”

“What the hell type of move is THAT?”

“Well, Bobbie, the force generated from the swing generates lots of pull on the Judge’s body, straining his muscles and putting a lot more blood towards his brain. It won’t finish him, but it’ll certainly tire him out.”

He starts off slow, but soon the Grappler is stutter-stepping around like mad as he swings the old man around by his legs, the crowd counting each full circle!

ONE!

wwhhoOOOOOoooshhh

TWO!

wwwhhhooOOOooossh

THREE!

wwhhoOOOOoooosh

FOUR!

wwhhoOOOOooosh

FIVE!

whhoOOOOOoosh

SIX!

whhoOOOOOosh

It goes on and on, the crowd getting into the teens before stopping their count just to cheer, and finally Matthews lets Hearford fly, allowing the old man to roll away on the mat, his whole head swimming and his body aching after the OLD SCHOOL~! move. Of course, this move is equally draining on Charlie himself, and the giant man falls back in a turnbuckle, breathing heavy and a little dizzy from the whole affair. After a few moments of resting, the first to move again is Matthews, who walks over towards the Judge, begins to rise, shaking the cobwebs out of his head. Pulling him up like a rag doll, Charlie begins striking Hearford with forearms, pushing him back into the ropes and slingshotting him to the other side. But instead of standing still, Charlie pushes back against the ropes and goes off himself! He levels an arm at the incoming veteran, and the whole arena begins to swell up with noise, anticipating what’s coming…

“UP IN FLAMES-“

“MISSES!”

The crowd goes silent as the Judge still has enough sense left in his head to duck under the massive lariat coming at him, and stops himself in the middle of the ring as Charlie keeps on moving. Coming back on the rebound, Hearford catches Charlie with a facelock, and he uses the momentum of the gigantic man to lift him up to hit Judicial Review! The crowd boos like no other at the maneuver, but Justice doesn’t have time to waste, quickly maneuvering onto the back of Matthews and locking in another Doushime Sleeper!

“Judicial Review and another Doushime Sleeper! It’s looking grim, but Charlie is still close to the ropes! He just has to concentrate on getting the hold broken!”

“No chance, man! This is it! Grappler was already gasping for breath before this; he can’t have much left now!”

Charlie puts his hands down on the mat again, weakly pushing himself off the mat again. He tries to move forwards, but the weight is too much, and he is forced back down after only moving an inch. Once again, his movements begin to become fainter and fainter, but the fans in Indianapolis haven’t lost hope.

”LET’S GO CHAR-LIE! *CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP!”

The chants soon spread across the whole arena, and Charlie begins to move again! With new determination, he pushes off the mat, and with all the weight on his back and the little air he still has left in his lungs, he slowly begins to crawl forwards, even while the Judge shakes back and forth, trying to put him back to the mat… and he does it! Charlie topples over reaching out for the ropes!

… AND SNAGS ONE WITH HIS HAND! Matty Kivell starts a count on the hold, but Hearford just breaks it up himself, yelling “God Damn it!” and pounding into the mat with his fist in anger and frustration at not being able to put him away a second time! He gets back up off the mat in a rage, and immediately begins laying kicks into the still recovering Charlie. The crowd boos, but the Judge doesn’t hear them as he lays more kicks into Grappler. But Matthews isn’t about to give up, and he catches one of Hearford’s kicks, and holding onto the leg he reaches his feet. Hearford tries to pull it away, but instead Charlie pulls him in, slamming him to the mat with a short arm clothesline! Justice pushes off the mat, but he’s once against slammed down with another big lariat! The crowd begins to rally again as Hearford pushes off the ground and gets ready for another lariat, but this time receives a kick in the gut! Quickly picking him up in to DVD position, Charlie moves into the center of the ring and throws him off his shoulders and puts him stomach first onto his knee!

“Gut Check! Gut Check! Charlie is coming back, and he’s coming back big!”

With Hearford on the ground holding his ribs in pain, Charlie hooks the veteran’s leg and goes for the pin!

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEENO! Barely a shoulder up, but that doesn’t stop his momentum and the crowd’s cheers, as he starts picking him off the ground again. He pulls him right into a lockup, quickly dominating and pushing him backwards. Hearford tries to keep his ground, but it’s just no use as Charlie’s power is just too much for him. Giving Justice a kick to the gut, Hearford doubles over, allowing Grappler to put him in a standing head scissors! The crowd goes wild as he lifts him up into powerbomb position and starts to run forwards.

“This is it! He’s got him in position for the Foreign Star Bomb!” calls Mark, but as Matthews starts running, Hearford pushes himself up and off the rookie’s shoulders, and lands on his feet behind him! Charlie turns around quickly, but as he does he gets his head caught right in a ¾ Headlock!

“Surprise Witness!” says Riley with glee, but Grappler hits him right in the back again, and Hearford’s sore ribs force him to let go, allowing Matthews to put his head and shoulder under Justice’s arm!

“Grappler’s got him set up for another Judgment Slam! Another headdrop like earlier and Hearford will be out like a light!”

Unfortunately, Charlie never gets the chance as Hearford swings himself and Charlie to the mat for a takedown! The Judge ends up under Charlie, and he quickly maneuvers his arms under the Grappler’s chin and his legs around Grappler’s waist as he locks in a THIRD DOUSHIME SLEEPER ON MATTHEWS!

“YES! A BRILLIANT COUNTER OF A COUNTER OF A COUNTER!”

“Matthews is stuck in the middle of the ring, but he’s still trying to move! Come on, Charlie, come on!”

Desperate but panicking, Charlie begins to wheel on his back, using his legs to point himself at the ropes. The Judge tries to stop, but Matthews is giving everything he has left to move now. Pointed at his salvation, he starts kicking against the mat and reaching out for the ropes, trying so hard to make it before he fades…

….Out. His arms start to go limp, and his feet now just slip on the canvas as Charlie just stops inches away from the ropes. Kivell comes over to the fallen man, lifting his hand once….

And it falls. He lifts it twice….

And it falls. He lifts it a final time….

….And it falls! The crowd gives a disappointed reaction as the Judge releases the hold, sliding out of the ring before Kivell can raise his hand. He’s obviously not very happy about how close the match was.

*DING DING DING*

“The winner of the match…. ‘THE JUDGE’, WILLIAM HEAAAAAAAAAARFOOOOOOOOORD!”

“A close, close fought match by Grappler, but the Judge was able to get that last reversal on it that sealed the deal. But breaking out of two and nearly a third body scissors sleeper is certainly a great feat for a rookie in his first match in the WF.”

“Whatever. I think it just means he’s a loser.”

“Well, just stay tuned because we have tons more ahead on SWF Storm!”

*FADE TO COMMERCIAL*

July 26, 2003

The camera fades in to find Tom Flesher walking briskly through the halls of the Conseco Fieldhouse. Sean Atlas, already wearing his referee’s shirt for the special match later on, and Ejiro Fasaki trail behind him.

“What do you mean there’s a box?” Flesher bites off, the group caught in mid conversation.

“I don’t know, Tom,” Ejiro says as he tries to keep up with the Mag 7 leader. “There was this…present…this box wrapped like a present sitting in the dressing room when we all got here earlier today.”

“Did you open it?” Flesher questions as he rounds the corner.

“It has a tag saying, For Tom Flesher’s Eyes Only. We didn’t want to mess with it.” Atlas chips in.

“Was it ticking?” Tom asks with slight trepidation.

“No,” Ejiro replies. “Maybe it’s a gift from a fan.”

They reach the Magnificent 7 locker room and Tom pushes the door open. He promptly throws his bag down and stares at the box sitting on the dressing table.

“Maybe it’s more chocolates from Bobby Riley.” Atlas guesses.

The box is about a foot tall and wrapped in bright silver paper with a dark blue bow on it. Tom jerks off the tag and reads it before throwing it down.

“Let’s…just…see…what we have here…” Flesher mutters as he rips off the wrapping paper. He jerks off the lid and stares into the box. His face blanches white and his eyes grow wide for a split second. He then frowns, with fire raging in his eyes. He picks up the box and throws it hard at Atlas.

“GET THIS GOD DAMN THING OUT OF HERE!” Flesher screams. His two stablemates stare at him confused and he pushes both in the chest toward the door.

“I have to tag with Thoth tonight and I don’t want to deal with this BULLSHIT now, just get rid of it! Throw it away and GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!”

Ejiro and Atlas are shoved out the door and Tom slams the door shut in their faces. Fasaki looks miffed and stares up at Sean. “So? What’s in the box that pissed him off like that?”

Atlas looks down and puts a hand into the box. He wraps his hand around the object inside and brings it out, allowing the box to drop to the floor.

“It’s…it’s a bag of glass?” Atlas says puzzled. Ejiro and Atlas stare at the bag full of mashed up glass, bits of cloth and red streaks mixed here and there with the shards. The plastic bag twirls as Sean holds it by the top, the lights catching the pieces and shining refracted, eerie light through the hallway.

July 26, 2003

The camera fades in from break to find Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley hard at work as usual.

“B3 with a B” Riley calls out with his head buried in some sort of small plastic case on the desk.

“Damn,” Mark screams as he moves to put a piece into place on his similar board, “you sank my Scrabbleship!”

Stevens looks up ticked off, and notice the red light on the camera. He gives a sheepish grin and swipes his game board to the floor.

“Welcome back to SWF Storm, coming to you live from the Conseco Fieldhouse in Indianapolis. We’ve already had some thrilling action to start off the night, some thrilling action yet to come and some thrilling action to take place in just a moment.”

“Yeah, thrilling,” Riley deadpans and throws his board over his shoulder with a crash.

“Frost and Jay Dawg have squared off in two of the most brutal hardcore matches I can remember previously.” Stevens says in covering for Riley.

“Just overlook the last match,” Bobby tells the home viewers. “Drazon misses a suicide dive to the floor and Frost just walks off forcing the double count out. You know why? Because he was scared of JD!”

“Hardly,” Mark scoffs. “This was during the period where Frost was very distraught over losing the World Title match at Battleground to Tom Flesher. He was too depressed to compete.”

“Oddly, my Tommy,” Riley coos the name, “was depressed over losing the belt to Thoth when he faced JD last week too. I guess there’s just something about Jay Dawg that makes people apathetic.”

“Not tonight. Tonight, JD is looking for revenge for last week’s lost and the humiliating double count out of his last meeting with Frost. Tonight, JD will bring out the THRILLING~!”

Bobby purses his lips and stares at Mark. “Take some Prozac.”

The bell sounds to cut off the crowd noise and the shot flashes to Funyon in the ring, ready to announce the next match.

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

The explosion of fireworks from every crevice of the arena silences Funyon. The lights flicker dark and the sudden stillness is pierced by…

“THIS IS MAH HOUSE!”

Rammestein’s “Du Haste” kicks in and the lights fire back up. Drazon emerges from the back and pauses at the top of the entrance ramp with his head down, his hair dangling over his eyes.

Funyon picks up where he left off, “From Vancouver, British Columbia at a weight of 243 pounds, JAMIE “JAY DAWG” DRAAAAAAAAAZZZZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNN!”

Drazon raises his head to look at the booing crowd and then lowers it again as he marches down the ramp

Riley: “Drazon doesn’t have that usual grin he has on his face when he’s going to break his foot off in someone’s ass.”

Stevens: “He seems very intense, even for the Hardcore Maniac. He wants Frost something bad.”

JD slides in under the bottom rope and to his feet. He crouches to put both hands on his thighs and cricks his neck. Instead of retreating to a corner to wait for his opponent, as is the norm, Drazon glares at the entrance curtain.

The fans momentarily forget about the man in the ring due to the silver fireworks exploding overhead. They cheer the sound of Black Sabbath’s “Snowblind” and cheer even louder the man who walks out from the back into the glow of a blue spotlight and snow falling from the rafters.

“And his opponent…” Funyon starts in, but JD hit’s the floor running and the camera traces him up the ramp. “from Reykjavik, Iceland at a weight of 296 pounds…”

Stevens: “JD is attacking Frost before the match even starts.”

Riley: “Always my favorite strategy.”

Frost spikes his cigar down and stands read to receive Drazon barreling up the ramp. Funyon just finishes his intro as Drazon leaves his feet, still more than five feet from his hated foe. “This…is…FRRROOOSSST!”

CRACK!

Stevens: “Drazon just impaled Frost with a spear!”

Even the wall of muscle that is Frost can’t stand fast against the piercing missile that is Drazon. They shoot across the stage and into the curtain! The shimmering, blue fabric is torn off its hooks and envelops the pair as they brawl on the floor!

Stevens: “Referee Sexton Hardcastle is running up the ramp to try and restore some order.”

Riley: “‘Restore order?’ There never was any order and there won’t be! JD is going to murder Frost before they even hit the ring.”

The fans pop for the wild brawl, even though they can’t see much under the curtain. Hardcastle wades into the mess and put his arms around one lump under the curtain. He tugs on it to pull Jay Dawg out of the mess and to his feet. Frost leaps up, the curtain wrapped around him like a toga, and drives a concrete right hand to the bridge of the nose!

Riley: “Good thing JD was born ugly, because that shot would send you to a plastic surgeon real quick.”

The fans ‘ooh’ at the blow, but it only incites Drazon more. He shakes Sexton off and hauls off with a kick to the crotch! Frost bends in half with the wind knocked out of him and Drazon collars him with a front facelock while placing his elbow behind Frost’s head. He pulls up on it for a wicked angle and falls back for a martial arts style, choking DDT!

Stevens: “The JD DDT right on the steel stage! This match could be over for Frost before it even begins.”

Riley: “Dig into that book of clichés and be sure to note that Drazon is a house of fire.”

The audience jeers JD, but he ignores them. He yanks Frost to his feet by wrapping the stage curtain around his neck. Jamie drags him down the ramp, spitting and sputtering the whole way. Frost claws at the fabric around his throat as he trips forward at JD’s command.

Stevens: “His point made, Drazon is leading Frost to the ring by his neck. I don’t think Frost is going to get depressed and walk out of this one.”

Riley: “I don’t think he’ll be walking period after this one.”

Drazon reaches the foot of the ramp and swings Frost around by the bolt of cloth wrapped around his hands. Frost is whipped across the outside ring area and slams back first into the apron. Hardcastle catches up to his charges and barks at Jamie to move it into the ring. JD doesn’t acknowledge the ref, instead he charges to jam a knee into Frost’s throat as he lays across the edge of the ring! JD bars an arm across Frost’s windpipe and slides into the ring feet first. He hauls Frost in over the bottom rope, the bicep of his right arm bulging from the strain of dragging the near 300-pound man. Hardcastle breathes a sigh of relief as he follows the men in and calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Stevens: “This match has officially gotten underway, but JD has a strong upper hand already.”

Drazons stands and measures Frost as he struggles to his knees. Jamie plants his left leg and brings his right around with a stiff, swift roundhouse kick to the jaw. The whack echoes throughout the building and Frost slumps to his side. JD lets an evil grins slips as he drops and hooks the leg.

Riley: “And now this match is officially over.”

ONE

TWO

TH-

Stevens: “Not so fast, Bobby. Frost kicks out with a lot left to give.”

Riley: “All he has left to give is up…damn, that doesn’t make any sense does it.”

JD drags Frost up by the sides of his heads. He flings his head back to get the hair away from his face, but one wonders how he can see with his eyes constantly closed. Jay Dawg has always been a man of instinct and feel, he knows the throat is rubbed raw and to focus his attack there. JD thrusts a palm strike into the Adam’s apple and Frost falls back into the near ropes. As he bounces off, JD jams his thumb into Frost’s throat at a high angle, nearly piercing the skin.

Stevens: “Asiatic Spike from the Hardcore Maniac! He takes Frost by the back of the head…pulls him down…BAM! Frost goes down off of a knee to the neck!”

JD makes a half turn to be to the side of Frost and drops his other knee to the forehead. He rolls down the man’s long body and hooks the leg for a second pin attempt.

ONE

TWO

THR-

Stevens: “Kick out and Drazon does not look pleased.”

Riley: “Actually, I say he’s THRILLED, because he can keep dishing out the pain.”

Drazon pulls Frost up by a front waistlock. He gets behind Frost as they stand up straight and looks to German suplex him over. Frost fires back an elbow to halt the move. JD takes the shot and resets his feet, but Frost fires back another and compliments it by squeezing his right leg between his opponent’s legs and hooking the toe of his boot around one of Jamie’s ankles. Frost jerks forward to send JD to the mat with a trip. Frost rushes for the far ropes as JD quickly hits his feet. Drazon stands still in a game of chicken, then dives for a drop toehold as Frost reaches him. Frost skips over JD, barely avoiding his grasp. Drazon rolls across the canvas and looks to stand, but Frost baseball slides off of a bounce from the opposite ropes and kicks Jay Dawg in the face!

Stevens: “Vicious baseball slide by the Velvet Hammer. He’s going to have to attack JD just as fast and hard as he did to go up here.”

Riley: “Frost is neutered like Bob Barker’s dog. To extend the metaphor, he’s all bark and no bite anymore.”

Frost crawls over to JD and wraps him in a front facelock. He brings him to his feet by the hold while shoving his head under the right armpit and grabbing a handful of tights. Frost bends his knees and grunts slightly in lifting Drazon to a vertical base. He spins on a tight axis before hammering him down face first!

Stevens: “Spinning gordbuster! My God, Frost is going for another one!”

Frost keeps his hold clamped and drags JD once more to his feet. Lift, spin, slam!

Riley: “C’mon, is that little twirl necessary, this isn’t ballet; no matter how gay CIA is.”

Stevens: “Good lord, I think he’s going for a third!”

The crowd pops for Frost bringing JD to his feet with the facelock. He hoists him once more, but this time takes a few stuttering steps toward the near ropes. He bring JD down gut first atop the top cord, then rides the ricochet back up and over to the mat!

Stevens: “Slingshot suplex to cap the offensive flurry! Frost goes for his first cover of the contest.”

ONE

TWO

TH-

Riley: “Kick out! It looks like we’re in for the long haul. Damn, I wanted to play another game of Scrabbleship during the break.”

Stevens shushes Riley for spilling the beans. Frost tows Drazon up by the wrist and whips him crisply to the upper right corner. JD smacks it chest first and stumbles back. Frost freight trains in for a avalanche to the back and Jamie is sandwiched in the corner! Frost takes a few steps back, allowing JD to fall rearward and into an inverted facelock. Frost rides the momentum to the mat with a splat!

Stevens: “Inverted DDT off the splash in the corner! Frost is altering his basic moveset ever so slightly and brutally. Shows you how hard he’s willing to fight Jay Dawg on this go around. The cover!

ONE

TWO

THRE-

The fans groan as JD sneaks the shoulder up. Hardcastle can only shake his head and flash two fingers. Frost pulls JD up by his stringy hair and turns to be back to back with him. He reaches his right arm back to snake across the throat and leans forward to get Drazon’s feet off the mat.

Stevens: “Frost goes to work on JD’s neck with that Icelandic backbreaker.”

Riley: “Hey, working the throat was JD’s strategy! That Frost, he steals from everybody, what a copycat.”

Drazon’s eyes roll into the back of his head and he yelps hoarsely, his windpipe being slowly shutoff. Hardcastle checks the hold to make sure it is within legal bounds, then asks Drazon if he wants to submit. He shakes his head no and punctuates that by burying an elbow into Frost’s kidney! Frost screams and lets loose of JD as he cringes in pain. Drazon hits his feet and reaches back to snag Frost’s head. He snaps off a neck breaker and both men are down!

Stevens: “Nothing technical about that counter, but it did the dirty job.”

Riley: “The Frost brand portion of this match didn’t last too long. JD wants this win.”

The grapplers lie on the mat sucking wind. Hardcastle starts to count both men down, but JD immediately struggles up. He shakes his head to rid it of cobwebs and rubs his throat.

Stevens: “And Frost doesn’t?”

Riley: “All that hoss wants is a bowl of bacon.”

Frost rolls to a sitting position near the ropes and takes the second strand in his hand to start up. He trips forward to drive a knee into the back of the neck and Frost goes down to his back. Drazon grabs the ropes with both hands and uses them for leverage as he quickly drives three sharp knees to the throat. Sexton counts to 3 for a disqualification and Jamie lets go of the ropes. He takes the cords again and drives three more swift knees. Sexton puts a hand on JD’s chest and pushes him back.

Riley: “Calm down Jay Dawg. I know you’re pissed at Frost, but you don’t want to lose by DQ here. Pinning his shoulders to the mat will hurt Frost more than any beating.”

JD glares at Sexton through nearly shut lids and then scoffs at the hissing crowd. Frost clambers up the ropes and JD slips behind him for a full nelson. He drags him off the ropes and bends his knees. JD flings Frost over his head and lets go to let the back of the man’s neck impacts the mat.

Stevens: “Full nelson suplex by Drazon. Not one we see from him often, but Jamie is a suplex machine with surprising strength where those pet moves are concerned.”

Riley: “And I think he’s got the power for one other pet move here too.”

JD yanks Frost up by the sides of his head and spins to be back to back with him. He leans forward, taking a 300-pound load on his back, but holding firm. He clamps both arms over the throat as best he can and squeezes tight. Frost tries to scream, but no sound escapes. Hardcastle checks the holds and asks Frost to quick. His face turning bright red, he shakes his head no and claws at the arms around his neck.

Stevens: “JD uses a hangman’s choke, very similar to the Icelandic backbreaker, but JD uses both arms for extra power.”

Riley: “There Frost goes stealing from JD again. He just plasters “Iceland” on something and it’s like he invented it. Well, let’s see the old Icelandic tap out.”

The fans boo at JD for a few seconds before shifting gears into stomping and clapping to rally Frost. The Iceman attempts to throw an elbow into Drazon’s side, but he’s familiar with that counter and manages to keep his body far enough under Frost’s back at just the right angle so he can’t land a clear shot.

Stevens: “I don’t know how long Drazon can keep Frost up there. He’s giving up nearly fifty pounds to the big man.”

Riley: “Fifty-five, didn’t you see that Steak ‘N Shake across the street? Frost went there for a ‘light lunch’ today, the whole left side of the menu.”

The camera zooms in on JD almost as red faced and fatigued as Frost. He tries to jump up and down to add more torque to the hold, but can’t get his feet off the mat. Jamie stumbles forward and finally has to let Frost slip to the mat.

Stevens: “Drazon is forced to break the hangman’s choke, but it did the damage on that throat that he wanted.”

JD drops to his knees breathing hard and looks over at Frost with his eyes closed. JD drapes himself over his foe, but instead of going for the pin he rubs the knobby point of his elbow into the throat. Hardcastle tells him to watch the blatant choke and Drazon pulls his arm off…only to nail a short, sharp elbow that sends Frost sputtering across the mat with his hand to his neck!

Stevens: “The usual strategy with Frost is to take his legs out so he can’t stand and fully utilize his tremendous upper body strength. However, JD is really going to town quite effectively on the throat and neck area.”

Riley: “Because it hurts like hell and he could paralyze the punk for life. Sound strategy from where I’m sitting.”

JD cups Frost around the shoulders and keeps him bent over as he drags him up. He places his head between his legs and adjusts into a waistlock. JD grunts with supreme effort to get Frost belly to back with his head pointing down.

Stevens: “JAY DAWG IS GOING FOR A PILEDRIVER!”

Riley: “There goes that line of Frost brand hats because he won’t have a HEAD!”

The fans watch with their breaths held. JD’s legs tremor from the effort it is taking to keep Frost up. He lets out a puff of air from the strain and finally plummets down!

BAMMO!!

Frost shoots into the air, a crack emerging from his neck like snapping a twig. His body goes ramrod straight and he comes to rest on his face, unmoving. The audience moans with fear as JD brandishes that evil grin of his in making the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE-

Stevens: “KICK OUT!”

The crowd sighs with relief, then lets forth a cheer at the sight of Hardcastle only holding up two fingers. Jamie rolls to his feet and hauls Frost up with his hands around his middle. He pauses so the audience can fathom what is to come.

Riley: “Jay Dawg is going for a SECOND piledriver! Give him three more on top of that! Do rolling piledrivers! See if Frost steals that from you! He won’t, you know why? Because he’ll be taking all his meals through a straw at the hospital!”

Stevens: “You’re a sick, twisted son of a bitch.”

Riley: “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

The crowd pleas with JD not to do it! He smirks through matted hair and goes to lift Frost. Suddenly, Frost rears back like a bucking bronco and backdrops JD head over heels!

Stevens: “FROST COUNTERED! JD took too long teasing the move and Frost was able to backdrop out!”

Riley: “Damn it! Frost is like Jason. You keep killing him and he keeps coming back…slower, fatter and uglier.”

Both men are down, but Drazon races to his feet while fighting down a look of surprise on his face. Frost is huddled on all fours with his head down. The fans’ warning causes him to look toward JD and Jamie slices in a roundhouse kick. Frost slinks back just a hair to avoid the boot and grabs the foot as he makes his knees! Frost stands with the leg in hand and the crowd pops! Drazon jumps in place twice to build some oomph and kicks off the mat for an enzuiguiri. Frost ducks the leg and grabs that foot too as it comes around. Suspended over the mat, looking down, JD has no escape from the face first power bomb!

KA-BLAM!

Stevens: “Frost comes back with the Snowblind! Frost needs to capitalize, but he’s too worn out.”

Frost slumps with his knees tucked under him and his back to the canvas. He looks up at the blurry houselights with sweat dripping from his skin and air wheezing from his chest. Drazon lies motionless for many long seconds, then slowly starts to stir.

Riley: “The throat is damaged and that’s effecting Frost’s breathing. He can’t put any fuel into his gas guzzling tank.”

Urged by Jay Dawg standing, Frost lopes over and bashes a forearm into the back. JD looks to fall down, but Frost puts a hand on his shoulder and the other between his legs. He picks JD up in a bodyslam position.

Stevens: “Frost is going for the Snowplo…NO!”

Frost twirls JD to the side and he pushes off of Frost’s arms and kicks his feet to flip out of the move. He behind Frost and steps forward with a leg in front of Frost and bars his near arm over the throat. Frost gags from the pressure on his tender esophagus, allowing Jamie to smash him to the mat!

Stevens: “JD had the Snowplow well scouted and flips out into a Russian legsweep!”

Riley: “Look at that coward roll to the floor! Frost is running off again!”

Frost rolls to the outside with his head down and one hand on the apron. JD looks at the scene with a sense of déjà vu and heads for the ropes.

Stevens: “This is just like their last match! JD is going for that suicide dive to the floor. He pretty much missed it last time, can he hit it now?”

Riley: “NO! Frost is suckering you! NO!”

Jamie springs off the ropes at a breakneck pace. He rushes ¾ of the way across the ring and then throws himself into the air with a gasp of shock from the crowd. Frost hears the exclamations of amazement and lifts his head. The camera catches the trace of a grin on the Icelander’s mug as he takes a step closer to the steel ramp, something trailing from his left hand. Drazon soars over the ropes, his body straight and pointed like a missile, honing in on its chosen target of the Icelandic Iceman. Drazon sticks his arms out to tackle Frost as he nears him. Frost brings up the cloth in his hand and brandishes it like a matador’s cape! Drazon flies into the curtain from the start of the match and is bundled up as he collides with the base of the entrance ramp!

CLANG!

Stevens: “Frost used the torn down entrance curtain to blind Jay Dawg and avoid his dive to the outside. Frost isn’t running this time, he’s staying and fighting.”

Riley: “Frost knew JD couldn’t stop going for the suicide dive if the opportunity came up. Damn!”

Frost hoists a fist into the air and the fans pop wildly. Hardcastle yells at Frost to get back into the ring and starts a count out. Frost picks JD up, who is groggily struggling to free himself from the curtain. Frost gets Drazon in a bodyslam position with the curtain completely covering him. JD is twisted out to the side, this time without the ability to counter the move. The crowd erupts as Frost falls back and down to obliterate Drazon’s head into the thin floor mats!

BANG!

Stevens: “Snowplow on the floor! JD has to be unconscious!”

Riley: “That curtain is an illegal object! Why isn’t Hardcastle disqualifying him? Stupid patsy!”

Frost ruffles through the curtain to extract JD’s body and picks him up in front of him with a frost waistlock. Frost wallops JD’s back into the edge of the ring and he cringes. Frost haphazardly tosses JD under the bottom rope and slides in after him to break the ring out count at eight. Drazon arches his back and puts a hand on it from the smack to the apron. Frost jerks the hand off the back by the wrist and wrenches JD up. He twists the wrist and holds the arm out to the side, exposing the ribs. Frost steps into JD and bends down slightly to thump a tightly balled fist smack to the heart!

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

Frost pulls Drazon’s head down and between his legs. He grabs the arms for a double underhook then looks to the crowd for their approval. They deafeningly give it and Frost flips JD up and around against his chest with a snap. He jumps up and sits out to ride gravity to the turf with ring shaking results!

KA-BOOM!

Stevens: “EARLY WINNNNTERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!”

The audience goes bananas! Hardcastle slides into position and slaps the mat while watching the shoulders with an eagle eye!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Funyon: “Here is your winner by pinfall…THE VELVET HAMMER… FRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSST!”

Frost jumps up and Hardcastle lifts his arm into the air. The fans erupt, not a person in their seat, not a voice silent!

Stevens: “Frost got JD to attempt the risky dive to the outside and he paid dearly for it. Their last battle had a controversial double count out finish, but this one is decisive, in favor of the of Chief Engineer of the Job Train!”

Riley: “Bah! You don’t count the illegal use of that heinous and dangerous curtain as controversial?”

Stevens: “Frost was playing JD by rolling to the floor, knowing he would go for that dive. He didn’t hit him with the curtain.”

Riley: “He used it to blind the man! It’s a foreign object! These referees let Frost get away with murder!”

Frost drops to the floor and lifts a fist to the crowd as he trips up the ramp. He rubs his throat with his other hand and looks very pained. Hardcastle is tending to JD in the ring when the grappler snaps too and shoves Hardcastle down. Drazon slips under the ropes to the floor and limps up the ramp fast!

Stevens: “Turn around Frost! Listen to the crowd warning!”

Frost is too tired to really grasp what’s happening behind him and takes a charging forearm to the back. Drazon continues to bash forearms into Frost’s back as they disappear into the now open backstage area. Frost throws an elbow into JD’s gut and twirls around to hammer a fist into his chest! The two continue brawling through the backstage area and out of sight as the camera fades to commercial.

Stevens: “These two men have a blood feud that will never die! Not uncommon for Frost, as another man who also has loathing for the Velvet Hammer, former World Champion Tom Flesher will be in action later tonight! But coming next, Crowe vs. Janus! Best of five, match two! Stay tuned!”

July 26, 2003

Fade in from commercial break.

...

*BOOOOOOM!*

A single loud blast of pyrotechnics exploders off the ramps, and the familiar tune of the SWF Smarkdown theme song seeps out the arena speakers... for SWF Storm is back on the air! As usual, the camera swings around to various sections of the crowd, show casing the numerous fans holding up their stupid, generic and occasionally clever signs. But if you think I’m going to list any, you’ve got another thing coming. Cut and set onto a shot of ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley sitting at the commentary position.

“And welcome back to SWF STORM!” Steven bellows before settling, “Wow, what a show we’ve seen so far, some great matches being fought in typical SWF style. But stick around, because the best is yet to come...”

Riley cuts in, “That’s right! Next up we have the pleasure of witnessing the death of the Antichrist Superstar at the hands of the greatest big man wrestler in history!”

“...well no. The following match up is the second match in the Best of Five series between Crow and the Hell Machine, the monster we know as Janus. The first match was won by Janus after he crushed Crow in his arms... twice!”

“It was obvious Janus was going to win, Mark, I mean come on, Crow doesn’t hold a candle to Janus. It was a squash...” Bobby adds.

“A squash!? Crow -just- gotten beaten out, and do I need to remind that Crow got up after TWO Knuckle Bombs!? He’s the only wrestler to ever do that!”

Riley looks at Mark, “...what are you talking about?”

“Sigh...” Grand Slam shakes his head, “Let’s go over to Funyon for the introductions.”

The camera cuts to a medium shot of the impeccably dressed Funyon as he lifts his microphone and begins to speak...

"The following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL...and is the SECOND MATCH of a BEST OF FIVE SERIES! It will be under hardcore rules, meaning that no holds are barred and there is no disqualification... however, the pinfall must occur inside the ring. Now, introducing the participants..."

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, cracking 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 competitor, 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!

“As per usual, the Hell Machine looks all business. He has the advantage of one win going into this match, but I wouldn’t think the stipulation is in his favour...” Stevens reports.

Bobby quickly retorts, “Nonsense! Janus is a former HCG Champion and has had his fair share of hardcore matches!”

“Duly noted,” begins Grand Slam, “However Crow is probably on the same level as Dace Night when it comes to experience and skill in ‘horrorcore’.”

The commentators continue to discuss as the lights dim again. The beginning of Dimmu Borgir’s "Burn In Hell" whistles through the speakers... before exploding into a heavy riff! The crowd's 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 clears 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 and his entourage make their way down the ramp as ‘Burn In Hell’ continues to roar over the arena.

"YOU'RE GONNA BURN IN HELL!

OH, BURN IN HEEEEEELLLLLLL!"

"And his opponent! Being accompanied to the ring by Dante Crane and Jessica... hailing from Anchorage Alaska, he 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, looking up into the awaiting figure in the ring. Slowly ascending the steps, Crow takes one last drag and exhales before stubbing his cigarette against the ring post. His entourage walks to the other side of the ring, where Jessica takes a seat next to Mark Stevens whilst Dante stands near the ring.

"And it looks that we’re going to be joined by Crow’s female friend here... Jessica, how are you?" Stevens politely asks.

Jess smiles, “I’m doing quite well, thank you, Mark. What about you two, boys? Behaving yourself, I hope.”

Bobby quickly replies, “I’m fine, and of course I’m behaving myself, otherwise Grand Slam would spank me...”

“Too bad it’s not Tom Flesher, huh?” Jessica asks with a smirk.

“Yeah, too bad... hey, wait! Are you saying I’m gay!?”

Keeping himself in-between the two wrestlers in the ring, Eddy Long makes sure that both men know that pinfalls must occur in the ring and then rings the bell, quickly ducking out of the way...

*DING DING DING!*

...as the Hell Machine lunges forward with arm outstretched for the clothesline! But you’re not going to catch a Crow napping, as he easily ducks under and avoids. Catching his opponent off guard, Crow connects with a toe kick to the stomach and backs up into the ropes. Janus is doubled over for a split second but manages to stand vertical and catch the Antichrist Superstar coming back off the ropes and trying for an uplifting kick. Holding on to the leg, Janus taunts Crow as he hops on one leg. However, Crow manages to regain his balance, jump and spin and nail a mule kick enzugiri! The Big Monster is rocked but he doesn’t fall, and simply snarls at Crow. The Gothic Warrior uses his hands and motions ‘bring it’, but he may have been asking a bit too much as Janus shows a surprising burst of speed, thrusting forward and nailing an elbow smash! Immediately, the Hell Machine whips Crow into the ropes and drops down, readying for a back body drop. Not a chance in hell as Crow realises and slides through Janus’ legs and jumps straight, and then turning around, he kicks the big man in the testicles!

“Hey, that’s illegal, why isn’t Eddy Long doing something about this!?” Cries Bobby.

Grand Slam rolls his eyes. “I told you before! This is a hardcore match... anything goes!”

“This is an outrage! This is total BS!”

“...they don’t pay you enough, Mark.” Jessica remarks.

Janus clutches at his crotch as Crow pulls his legs out from under him and goes to work, lifting up a leg and driving the knee into the canvas. The Hell Machine rolls away and out of the ring, not ready to have his standing base taken out. But with a bird, not even the outside of the ring can save you, as Crow runs and jumps onto the turnbuckle and launches to the outside with a plancha! Janus saw it coming however, and catches Crow in his arms like a little rag doll! He steadies... and slams Crow back first onto his knee! Janus lifts him up again and impales him on the knee one more time! Letting Crow drop to the canvas, Janus smiles briefly before thrusting both his hands down and grasping around his opponent’s throat. The Gothic Avian kicks his legs in struggle as Janus lifts him up like dead weight... turns and THROWS Crow into the aisle in the crowd!

“Dear god, this match has just started and already it is spilling into the more dangerous areas of the arena!” Stevens exclaims. “There’s no padding out there, that’s solid concrete!”

Bobby Riley claps for Janus before asking a question, “Jessica, don’t you worry that Crow will get himself killed in these types of matches, especially against -big-, strong and muscly... men like Janus?”

“I do worry about him getting hurt, but ultimately... he knows what he’s doing, and I think you’d find that even in disadvantage... he’s in control.” Replies Jessica, providing some insight which Bobby mocks, but hey.

The Antichrist Superstar lands roughly on the concrete as security files in, keeping fans away from the action. Janus stalks over the railing and stares at Crow...before stepping over the railing with his huge legs. The security guards keep fans back as the Hell Machine selects a chair like a posh bastard would select a wine. Without any preamble, the monster holds it high and SWINGS it down at the fallen bird...who rolls out of the way! The giant simply steps forward and swings the chair again, providing an almost comical scene with Crow rolling aside to avoid each shot. Getting frustrated, Janus drops the chair and leans down to fasten his hands around his foe's head and drag him up....

...*DING!*...

...and gets ballshotted! The crowd winces sympathetically, and Bobby Riley as ever squeals with outrage.

"That's TWO kicks to the testicles! Jessica, your man is such a pussy!"

Before Grand Slam can counter his co-announcer, Jessica smiles sweetly and puts Bobby Riley in his place with ease.

"I quote the legendary H-Ville Thugg. 'It's not a bitch move if your opponent is over 6'7"..."

Riley sputters at that, as Crow picks up the discarded chair and winds up, blasting it into the Hell Machine's head with full power! The giant reels back and straightens up just in time to get nailed AGAIN with the chair, sending him stumbling back towards the barrier. The giant shakes his head to clear it as the Antichrist Superstar charges forward with the chair raised, but the Hell Machine gives no ground and lifts his arms, grabbing the chair in mid-swing! The chair is brutally ripped from Crow's grasp, and the Antichristian Phenomenon eats steel as Janus brings it down on his head! Rather than let his opponent collapse, Janus throws the chair over the barrier, cinches in a front face lock and lifts Crow into the air. Posing with his dazed prey, the Hell Machine commences turning around...

...turning the suplex into what looks like a modified body slam, throwing the Antichrist Superstar back over the barrier and back-first onto the steel chair! The crowd winces at the impact, as Janus steps back over the barricade with a scowl on his face. Leaving his avian opponent on the ground, the seven footer crouches by ringside and rummages for something.

"Janus taking advantage of Crow for a moment there and now he's going under the ring!"

"Whee! He's going to pull out something painful, I hope!" Riley giggles.

Standing by Jessica at the announce table, and out of reach of Bobby Riley, Dante Crane watches with a frown as Janus pulls a table from under the ring and pushes it aside, before reaching under again. Finally, he smiles and pulls out a familiar looking weapon. A weapon covered in barbed wire. The crowd boos – ‘cause it's Janus - and roars - because of the weapon's brutality. Janus has the Equalizer. Before he can use the weapon, however, a blistering pain erupts in his lower spine and he slumps to the apron...and behind him, a bloodied Crow pivots back to a standing position after a Das Wunder Kick! No-selling the pain, the giant begins to rise again, not pleased. Beside him, Crow sets up the table as quickly as possible, but as he turns around....

*SMACK*

...Janus hoists him into the air for a chokeslam! Thinking fast, the Antichrist Superstar throws a leg forward, kicking the giant square between the eyes! Dropping to the ground as Janus attempts to find his bearings, Crow spots the dropped Equalizer and smiles, picking up the weapon...and SLAMMING IT INTO THE GIANT'S KNEE! Collapsing to the ground as his leg is knocked from under him, the Hell Machine can do little but suffer as Crow ties his legs up with a figure four and drops back! The monster immediately comes out of his pained dullness and roars!

"By god! Equalizer shot to that knee, and now Crow has the same leg locked up in the figure four! Like the last time, the Antichrist Superstar is taking Janus' knee apart!" Stevens hollers.

"But Janus is going to come back and beat Crow like the last time!" Riley snickers. Jessica just shakes her head.

Janus is writhing, slapping his hands against the floor with tremendous power, but all he’s doing is wasting valuable energy. The Gothic Warrior’s face is one of concentration. It’s taking all he has to keep the monster from struggling and breaking loose from the hold, but it’s worth it because the Hell Machine is roaring in agony. Not for much longer though! As Janus snarls in his contempt and starts to turn the hold over! He’s trying to reverse the move and put the pain on Crow! Janus’ face turns a bright shade of red as he powers and turns Crow onto his side, inching closer and closer with each bellowing roar...

...

AND HE’S GOT IT OVER! Janus has turned the move against the Antichristian Phenomenon and is getting some payback on the knee! Crow feeling the immediate daggers in his leg quickly lashes forward and desperately attempts to untangle the knot! He succeeds! Janus is not experienced in the art of submission wrestling and had the inverted figure four sloppily applied, and now the two men are lying on the floor taking a breather. The Hell Machine snarls as he grasps at his knee and stares at the now rising Crow. The Gothic Avian is up first and leans on the table he set up earlier for support, and looking up at this is Janus. He stares up, his glare penetrating and intense... frighting. Sucking it up like the monster he is, Janus powers up to his feet using the railing and gets nailed straight in the face by a Crow right hand. It doesn’t have any effect however as Janus shakes his head and thrusts his clenched first forward, knocking Crow back into the table! The Monster limps forward and grabs his opponent’s hair with both hands and starts beating it into the table! He does it repeatedly, prompting the crowd to count along, not in support, but in pure habit.

*BANG!*

(ONE!)

*BANG!*

(TWO!)

*BANG!*

(THREE!)

*BANG!*

(FOUR!)

*BANG!*

(FIVE!)

*BANG!*

(SIX!)

*BANG!*

(SEVEN!)

*BANG!*

(EIGHT!)

*BANG!*

(NINE!)

Janus quickly stops (BOOOOOOOOO!) much to the annoyance of the crowd and latches onto an arm, turning around and whipping Crown at full speed into the steel steps!

*CLANG!*

The Antichrist Superstar however managed to turn around on the way and connect back first, avoiding any damage to his arms and face, but still hitting HARD!

Steven cringes, “Dear lord! The force behind that whip was amazing, and whilst Crow may have avoided damage to his shoulder that was weakened in match one, he hit back first. It-”

“And the back is Crow’s notorious weak spot, which is weakened with every shock!” Bobby Riley cuts in.

“But what about Janus? That knee isn’t looking so good, in fact, he’s limping now, Bobbie!”

Steven’s words are true, because the big man is stalking after Crow with a bad limp, but he’s sucking it up for now and trying to not show the pain. He pulls the bird up to a vertical base and scoops him up into the air, slamming him across the dislodged steel steps. The Gothic Warrior cries out upon connection, the echoing noise sending shudders down the spines of everyone in the arena. But Janus isn’t done yet, do you think this is all Crow is going to get? Good god no. Crow instinctively squirms off the steels steps and falls onto his knees, allowing Janus to easily pick him up and roll him into the ring. Ducking under the apron, the Hell Machine squats and scrummages through the mess until he finds something he likes...

Jessica doesn’t like what she sees, “Oh no... come on, Markus!”

...it’s a piece of wooden board covered in razor wire.

“AHAHAHAHA! GOOOOOO JANUS! You feeling worried now, Jess!? Are you!? AHAHA!”

“...” Grand Slam is speechless, “I always thought the homosexual tendencies were the reason you never date women... now I see why.”

The crowd is mixed at the sight of the board, booing against Janus but cheering for the mayhem that is sure to come. The Big Man slides the razor wire board into the ring, but he’s still not happy and turns around, looking for the simplest of all weapons. Pushing the timekeeper off his seat and clutching the chair, Janus recklessly throws it into the ring and goes to grab another, pushing a member of the crowd and grabbing that seat. After launching that chair into the ring, he limps over to the ring and steps up onto the apron with rope assistance. Whilst Janus steps into the ring, Crow attempts to stand but is understandably shaky upon reaching vertical. He tries to comfort his back by sticking a hand there for support, but seeing the doom entering the ring, Crow looks in front of him to see a chair lying on the ground. Quickly, he rolls forward and grabs onto the chair and rolls back up to his feet. The Hell Machine attempts to catch his opponent off guard but he hits nothing except the ropes because Crow moves out of the way just in time! This leaves his guard open, and Crow swings around, unleashing a blistering chair shot upon Janus’ weakened knee!

...

But this only makes Janus angrier. The Big Man turns around, limping, and snarls, staring at Crow, he raises his chair and throws it forward! However, the Gothic Warrior throws his own chair forward and a clash of steel echoes through the arena. No! Janus steps forward and kicks Crow in the stomach, causing him to double over... and to take a vicious chair shot across the back! The bird cries out and flies up vertical in reflex action, leaving him exposed to a BRAINING CHAIR SHOT TO THE FOREHEAD!

“Jesus! Talk about the chair shot heard around the world, Marky Mark!” Bobby cheers.

Stevens notices a trickle of blood, “And Crow is busted wide open, he’s bleeding everywhere from what looks to be a rather nasty wound on his head.”

“Oh ho ho ho! And now Janus is bringing the razor wire into play, I can’t wait to see this!”

Jessica remains silent. The Hell Machine has the razor wire board in hand and places it a bit off center in the ring. Picking the Avian up, Janus latches onto an arm and whips him into the ropes. The Antichristian Phenomenon comes off the ropes, but is quickly doubled over and pulled into a standing headscissors. The Hell Machine spins around and locks his arms, then powerbomb gutwrenches Crow into the air, looking to powerbomb his opponent onto the board...

...

NOOOOOOOO! CROW LOCKS HIS LEGS AROUND JANUS’ NECK! HE FALLS BACKWARDS AND MANAGES TO GRAB THE HELL MACHINE’S LEGS, CAPTURING HIM IN A PINNING PREDICAMENT ON THE RAZOR WIRE!

The referee jumps into action for the first time tonight!

ONE!

...

....

.....

TWO!

...

....

NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“Ooooooooh! So close, Bobby! Crow almost had it right there! And Janus, oh my, he looks to be in agony.” Stevens says.

“Dammit! I need to sooth him, let me go to him! LET ME GO!”

Jessica holds Riley back, “No wonder they’re thinking of firing you.. harassing the wrestlers.”

Crow jumps off the seven-foot Monster and immediately heads straight for the chair, it’s payback time. Janus grimaces as he gets off the razor wire board, and a sickly image is displayed when the wire won’t come loose since the razor has penetrated the skin. Lunging forward, the Gothic Warrior chop blocks Janus, sending face first into the canvas and following up, he unleashes a chair shot down on the weakened knee. Crow throws his arms out in the crucifix pose to the crowd’s huge response, and turns Janus over onto his back.

It’s time for the Evenflow Moonsault.

Crow steps up on to the first rope. He steps up onto the second ropes. And finally he steps up onto the top rope, he has finally ascended. He throws his arms out in the crucifix pose once again, and the crowd’s response is even louder because they know the end is near.

...

Or is it?

Suddenly, the cheers turn to rampant boos as Janus was playing possum! He’s gotten up and dived for the ropes, causing Crow to unfortunately lose balance and crotch himself on the turnbuckles. The Hell Machine wastes no time in continuing the attack... as a sadistic, hellish, almost demonic smile spreads on his face.

He has an idea.

Shaking his very sore leg, Janus steps through the ropes and onto the apron. He places his good leg on the first rope and thrusts an arm up and grasps around Crow’s throat. Using his free arm, he points to the commentary table...

Jessica knows what’s up, “No! No! Don’t do it, Janus!”

“....no. He’s not gonna do it.” Stevens say in disbelief.

Bobby Riley suddenly starts screaming, “YES HE IS! MOVE! MOVE AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE!”

The Hell Machine roars as he summons all his strength...

...

AND CHOKESLAMS CROW THROUGH THE COMMENTARY FROM THE APRON!

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Crow’s just been chokeslammed off the apron and straight through our announcing table! GOOD GOD! He’s a bloody mess right in front of us!” Grand Slam bellows.

Bobby Riley squeals, “Forget him! Forget him, Stevens! Janus’ leg, his leg buckled once he landed from jumping off the apron! He’s clutching at his knee.”

Jessica throws her headset down and tends to her man. Crow is motionless with his eyes closed, breathing heavily, the numbing pain that’s distributing throughout his body is atrocious. Dante Crane quickly rushes over to help Jessica tend to the injured phenomenon. Janus isn’t much better, crawling away, clutching at his leg, slowly moving past the steel steps and to the opposite side of the ring. Both men are down and out, their blood and flesh staining the canvas and floor. Replays of the move are shown on the Smarktron, and the crowd cheers and boos for the unbelievable move from Janus. Time passes, and Crow is starting to stir with the aid of Jessica and Dante.

"I.... I need to.... stand up.... help me up," is Crow's whispered request.

Dante and Jessica both lift him up and support him to a standing base, the quick action causing the Antichrist Superstar to cry out and grasp at his back. They let him stand on his own against the apron and allow him some time to gather his wits and such.

...but unfortunately, Janus isn't that patient! Reaching down from above, the Hell Machine's hand closes around the hair of the 'Sick Boy' for helping Crow, lifting him up onto the apron where Janus just floors him with a stiff punch before moving away from the ropes! Dante collapses to the ground, but when Crow looks up at the ring, there's no one there at all. He frowns, and still half-holding onto Jessica, looks around...everywhere but behind him.

Mark Stevens is getting very involved, "Crow, you better turn around! You're going to lose if you let this monster sneak up behind you while you're in such a weakened state!"

"Ahaha! Crow is stupid, Mark! He's stupid, and this is why Janus will beat him with 3 straight wins, because he's smarter!"

Almost as if he hears Grand Slam's words, the Antichrist Superstar begins to turn around, stepping away from the apron to do so...and he sees a flash of white hair, hears a roar of anger...and THROWS HIMSELF ASIDE! The attempted Gore seems to go wide, but there's a sickening crunch as the Hell Machine hits something. Crow turns his head. Both the announcers stand up from the announce table.

“Oh.....my god. Jessica, Crow’s loving girlfriend has been broken in half. This isn’t good, you monster, somebody get the EMTs out here now!” Stevens demands, in a sorrowful tone.

Bobby Riley distastefully remarks, “Bah, just leave her there. She deserved that for what she said to me, maybe that’ll teach her a lesson!”

“You sicken me sometimes, Bobby... this is serious.”

Jessica lies on the ground, unmoving. The Hell Machine looms over her, his hair obscuring his face from view as he exhales deeply.

What has Janus done? He’s gored an innocent female. He stares down at Jessica’s unconscious body.

He just stares.

Ignoring the suffering, the Antichrist Superstar pulls himself to a standing base. Adrenaline and HATE surging through his veins, Crow lunges forward and drives a forceful forearm into Janus’ bloody back to attract his attention!

But Janus is unmoving.

Crow unloads a flurry of forearms, but the monster is still unresponsive even through the wounds bleed even more with each connection.

Screaming out in anger, Crow grabs a chair and SMACKS the back of the seven foot monster, and finally, the seven foot monster turns around! The Gothic Warrior swings the chair back one more time, looking to level but he stops as he looks into the big man’s eyes...

...for a split second, not visible to the crowd’s eye, Crow sees...

It’s Terrence.

Those calm and gentle eyes stare at him for a moment through the red contacts...then they move to view the chair he's holding. A faint smile begins to move onto his face....but HATE floods into his eyes. Janus has returned.....with a vengeance. The Hell Machine roars and thrusts his closed fist forward and KNUCKLE BOMBS the chair straight into Crow’s face!

Grand Slam bellows, “Janus! Janus after being in some sort of a trance, comes roaring back with a Knuckle Bomb! But Bobby, Crow couldn’t had him right there, but he hesitated... why did he hesitate?”

“It’s obvious, Marky Mark, the aura that Janus projects was just TOO MUCH! Crow got too aroused and couldn’t bring himself to hit such a sexual human being.” Bobby giggles.

“Remind me never to ask you a question again.”

The Antichristian Phenomenon is lying on the floor, his nose now bleeding profusely... but Janus’ vengeance isn’t complete. The Big Man picks up and rolls Crow into the ring and drags him by the hair across the canvas, clumps of hair being ripped out as Janus mercilessly pulls. Janus stops on the opposite side of the ring... there’s a table set up right next to the apron here...

With a smile on his face, the monsterous Australian gets an idea. He looks at the table, then leans down to get a better grip on Crow and hoist him up onto the apron. It's cramped as the giant tries to balance, and Crow futiley throws a punch or two that is no-sold. The giant has Crow standing right next to him on the apron, and wraps a hand around his throat. As he lifts the bird up and everyone rises for the expected chokeslam...they're disappointed as the Hell Machine lifts Crow over in front of himself, and attempts to flip the bird around. The commentators look on curiously as they try to figure out what Janus is up to.

"Why would Janus be holding Crow and trying to......oh.....god."

“What? What is it Stevens!? Why does he have Crow held up like that?"

As the giant tries unsuccessfully to turn the resisting bird around into a belly-to-belly position, the crowd recognises the move setup. Almost as a reflex, the crowd begins to chant for a move that debuted so long ago, back in the Junior Leagues...

"DARKNESS FALLS!"

"Darkness Falls....if I remember it's a tombstone piledriver off the top rope. But with his battered leg I doubt Janus could climb.....so he's going to do it off the apron!" Stevens realises.

"YEEEEES~! GO GO, GO JAAAAANUS!" Riley squeals.

The giant tenses his muscles, heaving with all his might.....and Crow stops resisting. The sudden -lack- of resistance causes the bird to spin around into belly-to-belly position - and back out of it as the momentum causes the giant to lose his grip on the twisting Antichrist Superstar! Crow drops to the matted ground as Janus tries to figure out what's happened. Without wasting a breath, the under-dogged Antichristian Phenomenon leaps up onto the apron, then springs on to the middle rope...

.....Janus turns his head at the movement, and Crow wraps an arm around the giant's head, twisting his body around with all the momentum he can muster...

"MURDEROUS DDT!" Stevens screams

"NO! HE'LL BLOCK!" Riley responds.

....Janus falls off the apron and goes down.......down.......down.......

...

...AND BURNS IN HELL AS CROW DRIVES HIM RIGHT THROUGH THE TABLE WITH THE MURDEROUS DDT!

“HOLY SHIT!”

“Oh my god! What a crazy, CRAZY, CRAZY MOVE from Crow! This is just insane, this match should be stopped!” Stevens exclaims.

Bobby Riley is upset, “NO! NO! It can’t be stopped, Janus has to have time to come back and win!”

Replays from every single angle imaginable are played to give the two wrestler’s time to recover.

"LET'S GO CROOOOW LET'S GO!" *stomp stomp!*

The chant for Crow continues, and finally there are signs of life. The Hell Machine is moving, as he rolls onto his back and exhales, then tries to sit up. He flops back a moment later, pain vibrating through his body. Next to him, Crow grabs the mat with clawlike hands and begins to slowly crawl away from the giant, towards the apron. Janus tries again, sitting up slowly and staring ahead before turning around and pushing himself up to hands and knees, crawling to the apron.

"They're both up! They're on the move!"

"And they're heading for the ring! Janus will rise first and kicketh Crow's ass!"

"Kicketh?"

"Sorry, got a bit carried away."

Almost simultaneously, the Antichristian Phenomenon and the Hell Machine lift themselves onto the apron and roll under the bottom rope into the ring. The crowd begins to heat up, but there's a resounding 'awww' of disappointment as, once on their backs, both superstars seem to collapse in on themselves and try to regain energy.

Even Riley awwws, "Janus is out on his back. I should help him get it up...."

"......."

"Err...GET UP! Ahh.....nevermind...."

“Sigh...” Grand Slam quickly changes the topic, "This match has been....incredibly brutal so far, hasn't it, Riley?"

"No kidding, Stevens...Janus showed Crow's pansy friends who's boss! Dante is helping that weird girl Jessica to the EMTs..."

Meanwhile, as the commentators talk, the attention slips back to the ring, Janus and Crow sprawl on the mat, both chests heaving in air. The Antichrist Superstar slowly crawls over to a corner, leaving a patch of blood on the canvas. The Hell Machine, across the ring, grabs the ropes and begins to pull himself up to his feet, grimacing in pain as one of his legs nearly collapses underneath him. Leaning on the ropes, the giant seeks out his opponent and spots him sprawling in the corner. Meanwhile, on the outside, Dante Crane rubs his head as he watches EMTs carry Jessica away, then looks up at the ring.

"Hey...where's Dante going, Riley?"

"I dunno, Stevens...he's going around the ring for some reason..."

The reasoning behind Dante's movement is blatantly obvious as the Sick Boy climbs up onto the apron and ascends the turnbuckle opposite Crow's. The Hell Machine lumbers across the ring, slowly on his bad leg, eyes locked only on Crow, something makes him pause. This is the fact Dante yells at the giant to get his attention. Not pleased at being interrupted, the Hell Machine turns towards the turnbuckle with a growl...

...as Dante leaps gracefully off the turnbuckle. Silence descends on the arena as Crane gracefully spins in the air...

*KAAAAAAAA.....FUUUUUUUCKING.....RAAAAAAAACK!*

"DANTE'S INFERNO! DANTE'S INFERNO!" Stevens bellows in surprise.

The entire crowd is on their feet, chanting "HOLY SHIT!" as Janus collapses to the canvas like a sack of meat. Dante rolls across the mat and out under the bottom rope, as the fans cheer wildly. In the ring, Crow blinks the blood out of his eyes and stares across at Dante, then over at the fallen Hell Machine. Using the turnbuckles to pull himself up, the Antichrist Superstar pushes himself out of the corner and promptly falls over. For about a full two minutes, there is no action in the ring save for Crow crawling towards his opponent, before draping an arm Janus in a pinfall attempt.

ONE!

...

....

.....

TWO!

...

....

.....

THREE....HEEEEEEEEEEELLNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

"THAT WAS THREE! CROW HAD IT WON!" Stevens bellows.

"Through cheating interference from that 'Scum Boy' or whatever he is, Dante!" Riley shrieks girlishly.

"But Janus kicked out! If Dante hadn't jumped in, I think the bird would be DEAD right now!"

Dante hits the apron several times, trying to rally Crow and stares at Janus' arm as it's lifted off the canvas out of pure instinct. Rather than suffer another attack at the hands of the Hell Machine, Crow rolls off the giant and under the bottom rope, dropping out of the ring. Taking a breather, Crow flips up the apron and looks underneath, looking for anything that could help him. In the ring, the Hell Machine inhales deeply, and slowly, as if moving pained him, begins to sit up. Finding nothing under the apron, Crow crawls on hands and knees around the ring, and finally spots something.

As Janus uses the ropes to drag himself up, the Antichrist Superstar hides something behind his back and rolls into the ring - far away from the giant and moving away from the ropes. The Hell Machine sees his foe, and he also sees red - and that's not just the fact Crow is bleeding like a bitch. At a limping run, the Hell Machine moves across the ring, lowering his shoulder. The Antichristian Phenomenon falls flat on the canvas... letting something roll from his hand as he catches Janus’ legs with his own, looking for the drop toe hold! The giant falls....

...his red eyes widen....

...AND HIS FACE MEETS A GLASS LIGHT TUBE!!! Dragging himself up to his feet, Crow stomps on Janus' head once, twice...and smiles. And it's not a pleasant smile, it's a rather sadistic one, as the Antichristian Phenomenon laps up the praised from the crowd before stepping forward and lifting the monster's legs.

"Get up Janus! Get up!" Riley claps as he tries to chant, but the crowd ignores him.

"Janus is down after that surprise use of a glass light tube from Crow...and it looks like the Antichrist Superstar is...yes...it's...."

Crow steps between the monster's legs, locks them around his knee, and heaves back! Janus roars in pain, and not only because of the agony going through his leg - his face and chest are grinding into the glass as he squirms and tries to make the bird release the hold! Crow’s back is weak, very weak and has taking a tremendous pounding, and with Janus, he screams in agony as he struggles to maintain the hole. Grand Slam looks mildly ill, and Riley looks like he's about to faint. Roars of agony are all that come from Janus' throat as the referee tries to find out if he wants to submit. The giant ignores him entirely, but he's not having much luck with ignoring the pain.

"Janus is going to have to tap here, Riley...no doubt." Stevens' voice is soft. "Crow is grinding him into that glass as he holds the sharpshooter, and I doubt anyone, not even the bird himself could live with that."

"No, Stevens, you're hallucinating! Janus isn't really in the sharpshooter! I mean, Crow’s gonna lose grip because his back is screwed!" Riley panics. But what happens in the ring has the crowd cheering, because the Hell Machine lifts his huge arm off the mat, seemingly about to claw at the Antichrist Superstar.....but no.

Tap. Tap. TAPTAPTAPTAPTAP!

*DING DING DING!*

The referee forces Crow to release the submission, and the Antichrist Superstar collapses and rolls out of the ring, where Dante helps him stay upright. The words of Funyon are the sweetest thing to come to his ears at the moment, along with the riffage of Dimmu Borgir's "Burn In Hell".

"The winner of this bout...ladies and gentlemen, the Antichrist Superstarrrrrr....CRRRRRRRRROOWWWWWWWWWW!"

Crow and Dante exchange words, and then the Sick Boy begins to help the Antichristian Phenomenon up the ramp. From the look on the bloodied bird's face, he wants to check up on Jessica. The camera swivels away from them to look at Janus, who is sitting in the ring with glass and blood staining his face and body. Finally, we swivel over to the announce table where 'Grand Slam' Mark Stevens and 'Ambigiously Gay' Bobby Riley sit.

"Crow wins one over Janus, tying their Best of Five score at one each so far, Riley. Some innovative offence from the Antichrist Superstar forced the Hell Machine to tap out or be bloodied beyond human recognition...."

"Bah! The only reason....the ONLY reason...Crow won tonight is because Dante saved his ass with that pussy roundhouse kick. If that hadn't happened, Crow would be DEAD right now."

"That may be so Riley..."

The camera briefly pans over to the ring where Janus has rolled out under the bottom rope, and he nearly collapses on his bad leg. He shoves away officials and referees who try to help him, limping up the ramp under his own power with a scowl on his face. The camera focuses on his bloodied visage as 'Grand Slam' makes one last comment.

"And Janus looks none too pleased about it. We have to go to break now folks, and when we return we'll have Beezel taking on Nathaniel Kibagami, with Sean Atlas as the supposedly impartial guest referee..."

Fade to black...

July 26, 2003

BOOM!

BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM!!

“Welcome back to SWF Storm, ladies and gentlemen! We’ve got quite the show for you tonight; a double main event that features three of the hottest tag teams in the federation and two former World champions! Tensions are running high as we approach Ground Zero, and sparks are sure to fly tonight – perhaps setting off the proverbial power keg in the process!”

“You never really run out of clichés, do you, Mark?”

”I take a lot of pride in my profession, Riley.”

”That’s what worries me. Next up, we’ve got a singles match between Beezel and Nathaniel Kibagami. Kibagami has shown a great deal of spirit as of late, establishing himself as the number one contender for Mak Francis’ ICTV title, but Beezel was eliminated from the contendership match thanks to interference from Sean Atlas. So now we have this match, which our commissioner has wisely decided to let Atlas referee. I think it’ll be an interesting contest, don’t you, Mark?”

Mark Stevens shifts in his seat, an uncomfortable look on his face. “Of course it will, Bobby.”

”What’s wrong? You don’t sound convinced.”

”Well…” Stevens takes a deep breath. “I’m tired of seeing talent abused this way. Beezel and Kibagami are two of the brightest stars in this federation, and it’s taken them this long to get a shot at any kind of gold. I think this is actually Nathaniel’s first title shot in almost a year, Bobby. Any worker on the roster that doesn’t meet King’s idea of what a wrestler ‘should’ be has to work twice as hard to receive half the recognition. It’s reflected in the paychecks, it’s reflected in our promotion, it’s reflected in the merchandise we offer --“

”Mark, I really don’t think you should –“

“I’m not interested, Riley! I’m sick of this! It’s ridiculous! King can’t wrestle anymore, and he’s taking it out on the people who can! It isn’t right, damn it! Look at this match. Kibagami and Beezel wrestled a gauntlet match five days ago, and now they’ve got to face each other with one of King’s Magnificent Seven toadies refereeing. This is the sort of thing that cost me my career, Bobby, and I don’t like sitting idly by and watching it happen to somebody else.”

Bobby Riley sits dumbfounded. “I…Mark, we’ve live. I don’t think you should’ve…I really don’t think you should’ve said that.”

“Well, you asked, Bobby.”

”I’ll bring home the turkey if you bring home the bacon…”

BOOM!

A sheet of red pyro shoots up from the entrance ramp, and Beezel makes his way through the flames, singing softly to himself behind his mask as he makes his way to the ring.

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

“Ladies and gentlemen, this matchup is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, hailing from Phoenix, Arizona, weighing in at two hundred and five pounds…BEEZEL!”

El Scorcho slides into the ring as the lights dim down, and the SWF logo on the SmarksTron is replaced by a ankh surrounded by fire…

”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…”

”Introducing second, also hailing from Phoenix, weighing at two hundred and sixty-eight pounds…”

”I want to feel the changes coming down,”

“NATHANIEL KIBAGAMIIIIIIII!”

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

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

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

“Kibagami’s looked a lot more focused in recent weeks; his confrontation with Thoth and Janus at 13th Hour seems to have sparked something inside him. Whatever it is, it’s been winning him an awful lot of matches lately.”

”I’m not sure if that’s really a good thing, Riley. Kibagami has also looked a lot more vicious in the ring as of late, and while I think a certain amount of killer instinct is necessary to succeed in this business…it’s certainly possible to have too much of a good thing.”

The arena suddenly goes dark, just as the notes to "Heaven's a Lie" by Lacuna Coil play through the arena. Blinding white light shines through the grating on the ramp, illuminating the set. As the soft notes come to an end, just before the drums kick in, a gradually louder electic guitar brings the start of the song to a climax, and...

BOOM!

A colossal explosion goes off onstage leaving behind a misty haze of smoke. As it dissipates, the silhouette of a man appears, and is soon revealed to be Sean Atlas. Sean walks down the ramp, staring out into the crowd with confidence while the fans show their apathy toward him.

“Currently making his way to the ring, from Chicago, Illinois, the special guest referee for this match... SEEEEAAAANNNN ATLAS!”

Atlas climbs into the ring, his mask contrasting oddly with his referee’s shirt. He crosses the ring, not even bothering to glance at either Kibagami or Beezel, and signals for the bell with a dismissive wave of his hand.

DING DING DING!

Sean Atlas stands in the corner of the ring…and removes a copy of Beyond Good and Evil from his back pocket. He opens it to a random page and begins reading, seemingly oblivious to the hostile reaction from the crowd.

“I can’t believe Atlas has the gall to totally ignore this match. He could at least try and do some justice to the position he’s been appointed to.”

”Well, Mark, nothing all that illegal happens in the early part of a match. Sure, there’s some hair-pulling here and a closed fist there, and maybe somebody mistakenly grabs a handful of tights, but nothing significant. I’m sure Atlas feels the same way and just wants to catch up on his reading instead of going through the motions of ‘refereeing’. He’s a busy man, you know.”

Back in the ring, Kibagami throws a quick roundhouse at his masked opponent, but El Scorcho steps deftly to the side and sweeps Kibagami’s leg out from underneath him! Nathaniel crashes to the mat, and Beezel stuttersteps towards him, looking to connect with his signature Shining Wizard, but the ex-Clannite wisely rolls towards the safety of the ropes to prevent Beezel from connecting with the maneuver.

Kibagami gets to his feet, expecting a chance to reassess the situation, but Beezel surprises him with a flying forearm, knocking Kibagami over the ropes and out onto the floor! Not one to waste an advantage, however slight, Beezel grabs hold of the top rope and slingshots himself over it, crashing into a dazed Nathaniel with a beautiful pescado! The Indiana fans applaud Beezel’s high-flying as both men tumble into the barrier separating the crowd from the ringside area.

“Beezel’s taking it to Kibagami early in this matchup, Riley! The man has something to prove here, despite the obviously biased referee!”

”I think you’re letting your personal feelings affect your work, Stevens. Atlas hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“The man is sitting at the timekeeper’s table reading a book, Riley.” A quick shot of Atlas, seated outside the ring next to an obviously uncomfortable Funyon, confirms this.

“Alright, he hasn’t done anything to affect the outcome of the match. Better?”

Beezel pulls Kibagami to his feet and attempts to whip the larger man into the ropes, but Nathaniel refuses to budge…

CRACK!

A sharp kick to the ribs shakes Kibagami’s resolve, and makes Beezel’s plan of attack…

SLAM!

…much easier to execute!

”The masked man is all kinds of fired up tonight! He wants that ICTV title as badly as Nathaniel does, Riley – maybe more so!”

El Scorcho pulls Kibagami to his feet by his hair and rolls him back into the ring. The masked man hops up onto the ring apron, and without so much as a glance at Nathaniel to see if he’s going to stay in place, hurls himself up and over the top rope, landing with a thud on Kibagami with a slingshot senton! Beezel quickly turns and hooks Kibagami’s leg for the pin…and notices that Atlas is sitting outside the ring reading a book! The masked man bolts up from the mat and stalks towards the ropes, shouting indiscriminately at Atlas, who pretends not to notice as he turns another page.

“This is ridiculous! I don’t care what King’s reasons are; this is not going to be a match. Atlas is the only person who can count the pin, and he obviously has no interest in doing so!”

”Calm down, Mark! He’s just marking his page before he gets in the ring! The man doesn’t want to lose his place – is that a crime?”

Beezel turns around, frustrated by Atlas’ lack of interest in the match, and barely manages to duck a lariat from his opponent! A pair of sharp kicks doubles Kibagami over,

CRACK!

And a third lays him out flat on the canvas! Beezel turns and hops onto the turnbuckle…

CLANG

…only to be sent flying off and back to the mat by a vicious chair shot from the ‘impartial’ referee!

”What the hell was that?!?” cries Stevens, and the fans are in an uproar as Sean Atlas slides into the ring with the timekeeper’s chair in his hand. “This is despicable! I can’t believe King’s allowed something like this to take place!”

CLANG!

The fans’ boos turn to cheers as Nathaniel Kibagami wrenches the chair out of Atlas’ hand! The ex-Clannite raises it high above his head…and Atlas slides out of the ring to grab a microphone, narrowly avoiding a vicious blow from Kibagami!

”Hold on a second, Nathan,” says Atlas, barely pausing to adjust his mask. “Let’s be reasonable, here. I want Beezel hurt, and I want him to lose. There’s nobody else in the building that can count the pin for you but me. So, unless you want to stay here all night, I suggest you put that chair to good use. If you do, I’ll even give you a submission win. What are you waiting for? Go on, hurry up. I’ve got a book to finish.”

Atlas barely has time to finish his speech before he’s forced to duck – Kibagami hurls the chair at him, much to the delight of the crowd! Nathaniel turns back to Beezel and pulls him to his feet…

….hooks his arms…

….lifts him up….

SLAM!

…and drives him into the mat with the Union Jack! The crowd sits in stunned silence as Kibagami flips the masked man over and hooks his leg for the pin.

“Fair enough,” says Atlas, and he slides into the ring.

ONE!

TWO!

…three.

DING DING DING!

”Your winner by pinfall…NATHANIEL KIBAGAMIIIIII!”

Atlas attempts to make a show of raising Nathaniel’s arm in victory, but Kibagami is already halfway up the ramp by the time his music hits the speakers. Shrugging to himself, Atlas slides out of the ring, picks up his book, and makes his way back up the ramp, leaving Beezel to the attentions of the ringside staff.

“This is an absolute travesty,” Stevens mutters through clenched teeth. “Atlas’ antics I expected, but I’m certainly disappointed to see Kibagami playing along with him.”

”Well, what did you expect him to do? Atlas is the only one who could’ve counted the pin.”

”I know that, but Nathan didn’t have to use the Union Jack…he didn’t have to…this entire situation just doesn’t sit well with me at all, Riley. Not very well at all.”

”I think we’ve all gotten the point. Stay tuned for more fast-paced SWF action, ladies and gentlemen! We’ll be back after these messages.”

July 26, 2003

“And we are back and better than ever here on SWF STORRRRRRRRRM!” hypes Mark Stevens as the crowd begins to show signs of life once again. While at the same time, a number of meaningful signs that say such things as “FOCK FEAR” and “S*CK IT” skirt around obscenity laws that we really do not care that much about.

“This next contest is going to just be a real contrast in styles there, Stevens,” pipes in Bobby Riley with his usual high-pitched tone.

“You are actually correct for once. You fans are really going to see a clash here between the conventional and the unique as the new United States Champion Ejiro Fasaki will try and keep the hybrid style of Andrew Blackwell under control. Will the tried and true catch-as-catch-can grappling be able contend with the almost improvisational? What do you think Riley?”

“Well first off I think that you got my whole statement completely wrong! This is a contrast of styles because Ejiro doesn’t completely suck like Sacred does. And why is Fasaki so great? You guessed it!”

“Tom Flesher,” mutters Stevens as though he’s heard this a million times, and what do you know, he has.

“TOM FLESHER!” shouts Riley in agreement.

“Let’s go to the ring for this non title affair.”

“Not featuring Kobe Bryant.”

Almost strutting into the center of the ring, our man Funyon happily waves the fans on as they give the tuxedo clad announcer a happy little ovation. Bringing the microphone up to his lips, Funyon yells to the crowd.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this next match is scheduled for ONE fall and is a non title match. Introducing first…”

JUSTICE!

RULE!

POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOP!

Stepping through the curtain as his fireworks explode on high, Ejiro Fasaki happily wears his newly won SWF United States title proudly around his waist and over the top of his Justice and Rule retro yellow and black football jersey. Laughing to the crowd as he walks down the aisle, Fasaki takes a moment to share his feelings with a particularly venomous fan. Finally ending the brief argument by pointing out that he was getting paid to be there and the fan paid to see him, Fasaki heads back onto his path into the center of the ring. Rolling underneath the bottom rope, Ejiro Fasaki turns around in a circle to make sure that everyone in the arena has gotten an eye full of his shiny new gold. And as he does so, the ring announcer calls forth his name.

“Introducing first, he hails from Sarasota, Florida and weighs in tonight at 189 pounds. Representing the Magnificent Seven, he is the NEW SWF United States Champion EEEEEEJIROOOOOO FASAKIIIIII!”

“NO! NO! NO!” shouts the offensive champion as he approaches Funyon and takes the microphone away from the happy little announcer. “You know, Funyon, that announcement would have been fine and dandy a week ago. But as the champion of all of the contiguous United States as well as all of Puerto Rico, that announcement requires a bit more zing, a bit more feeling. So I want you to work on that for next week. And speaking of weeks, wow was that a long two where I wasn’t packing any gold. But now the situation is normal once again for Ejiro Fasaki. And it will only be a matter of time before everyone else in the Magnificent Seven does the same exact thing. Why? Because we’re better than you and we WILL prove it! Thanks for the microphone.”

Handing the microphone as pleasantly as possible to Funyon once more, Fasaki bounces back and forth from foot to foot to keep the hot blood flowing through his veins. Looking at Ejiro after that brief little speech, Funyon sort of shrugs before completing his announcing duties.

“And his opponent…”

Damn it Feels Good to be a Gangsta!

The lights of the arena dim as strobe lights begin to flicker and give people headaches. That is until ‘The Sacred One’ Andrew Blackwell makes his appearance before the throng of Indianapolis faithful. Cheered this evening because of his opponent, the unorthodox Blackwell still pays little to no mind to the crowd as he makes his way to the ring. Unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt as he goes, Blackwell hops up to the apron and steps into the ring and right into the face of the Unites States champion.

Pressing up to Blackwell almost as soon as he enters the ring, Ejiro yells loudly enough for the crowd to hear the words, “Hey, where’s your belt? Oh that’s right! You don’t have one! HA! HA! HA!”

Laughing as he turns his back on Andrew, Fasaki holds his gold belt up high for the people once more. But although Blackwell does not possess a SWF sanctioned title at this time that does not mean he’s not wearing one. Pulling the leather strap tied around his waist that he normally just wears for wearing sakes, ‘The Sacred One’ wraps the belt around Ejiro’s throat!

“What the hell?” mouths Riley. “That can’t be legal!”

But with the match not underway officially as of yet, Blackwell freely chokes the air right out of Ejiro while the mouthy midget gets choked like a naughty chicken. Using the belt to yank Fasaki about the ring by the throat, Sacred finally just uses his hold to send Fasaki tumbling right through the middle ropes and to the floor. Stepping away from Ejiro at the request of referee Nick Soapdish, Andrew Blackwell just sort of looks to the crowd and raises an eyebrow to confirm the irony that he indeed had a belt of his own. And as Ejiro tosses that belt over his head while lying on the floor, Sacred gets the chance to enjoy the sound of his own announcement.

“And his opponent! From Australia and weighing in tonight at 228 pounds, this is ‘THE SACRED ONE” ANDREWWWWWWWWWW BLACKWELLLLLLLLLLLLL!”

Continuing to bar the path of Blackwell from getting to his prey, Soapdish continually keeps Fasaki safe enough to get him to roll back inside the ropes so the bell can ring and officially get this match underway.

DING! DING!

“I sure hope Fasaki hasn’t underestimated Blackwell here,” remarks Stevens. “Because although Sacred has won every major title here in the SWF, he has not done any of that while Fasaki has been around. You have to wonder if Fasaki will be taking this a little too lightly.”

“By the same token,” replies Riley, “Ejiro can’t get scared in there because he’s facing a legitimate Hall of Fame member in Sacred. You get intimidated in that ring and you’ve already lost a crucial part of the match.”

Starting back off at square one, Blackwell and Fasaki circle each other for a few moments as Fasaki tries to work the kinks out of his neck from the lynching that happened just a few moments before. Finally coming together, Fasaki moves in first and quickly snaps Blackwell right into a wristlock that immediately sends Andrew down to a knee for just a moment before he stands right back up to regain his vertical base. But he does not stay vertical for long before rolling forward to the mat in order to lessen the pressure on his wrist. But unsatisfied with just an escape, Blackwell continues to keep a grip on Ejiro as he rolls to the mat again and reverses the pressure onto his opponent. Rolling forward with the wristlock yet again, Blackwell flips Fasaki over and to the mat as well with a really unique style takedown that receives an appreciative round of applause as Andrew solidifies his advantage with an armbar.

“Interesting variation on the classic counter to the wristlock there by Sacred,” recalls Stevens as Blackwell continues to grind away at the arm. “While most people just use the roll to escape, Blackwell continued it and turned the tables on the hold entirely.”

Fighting up to his feet underneath the pressure of the armbar, Fasaki strains his way back up to his feet when he gets his center of gravity low enough to force Blackwell into the ropes. Immediately stepping in with a warning, the referee demands a clean break only to be sorely disappointed as Ejiro uses the break to slam a shoulder into Blackwell’s open ribcage. Seeking to make something out of this momentary advantage, Ejiro presses against Andrew for a moment before sending him into the ropes for a reverse elbow. But the quicker Blackwell easily ducks underneath the outstretched arm of the United States champion and continues to run into the ropes as Fasaki turns back towards his opponent. Thinking quickly, Fasaki leaps up and into his charging foe with a monkey flip, but before he can even start to roll backward, Sacred changes the game once again! Slapping one of Ejiro’s hands away with apparent disdain, Andrew hooks the other one and uses it to flip Fasaki right overhead and into the canvas once again!

“What a counter!” notes Stevens, “I don’t think I have ever seen anyone counter a monkey flip in that… Wait a minute he’s not finished!”

Continuing to hold on tightly to the wrist, Sacred uses it to pull Fasaki onto his stomach before scissoring it between both of Blackwell’s legs. Reaching down as Fasaki groans from the pressure, Blackwell gets a mitt around Ejiro’s ankle and pull it upward into a half Boston crab to complete the Tequila Sunrise! Almost immediately, Fasaki uses his free leg and arm in an attempt to pull himself free from his opponent’s submission maneuver as the referee checks in to see if he wants to give it up. Shaking his head no emphatically, Fasaki manages to wiggle free enough for Andrew’s base to be broken down to a less painful position. Giving up on the hold almost immediately, Blackwell releases the straining United States champion and gives Fasaki a moment to catch his breath. But not much longer than that before Blackwell pulls the stunned Ejiro off the mat and slams a forearm into his face in order to often him up. Tossing Fasaki into a corner with a neutral corner, Blackwell follows his opponent in only to have Fasaki use the top rope to sling himself over the charging Sacred. Well, maybe he didn’t get quite so over.

“Sacred caught Fasaki in the middle of that move!” calls ‘Grand Slam’ as Sacred quickly turns his back to Ejiro as he continues to hold onto the legs.

Pulling Ejiro free from the turnbuckles for just a moment, Sacred slings Fasaki forward and SPIKES him into the canvas with a slinging spinebuster slam! Holding onto the legs, Blackwell rolls forward with both legs in hand for a pinning attempt as Soapdish counts away…

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEENOOOOOOOOOOOOFASAKIGETSAWAY!

Slamming both of his fists together and into Andrew’s ribs, Fasaki manages to find an escape from that pinning combination. But still, Blackwell is on the attack as he is the one that makes the first move by shoving a rising Ejiro back into a corner. Leaning in with forearms, Blackwell rings Fasaki’s head back on a swivel as Soapdish tries to get some sort of break out of the former champion of everything in the history of the SWF. Finally pulling Sacred back a few steps, Soapdish allows Blackwell to continue to his assault on the United States Champion only to have Fasaki rake Blackwell across the eyes.

Mistake.

WHAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!

“Oh WHAT a kick! Blackwell might be scraping Fasaki’s guts off his shoes after that one! I’ve never seen such a hard boot before.”

Flopping down into the corner from the impact of just that one shot, Fasaki sure as hell does not welcome the opportunity Blackwell is about to give him to compare against a whole lot of other ones.

WHAM!

“My god in heaven, he’s trying to kick Fasaki to DEATH! I can NOT believe this!”

“The referee has to get in there and stop this,” pleads Riley to no one in particular. “Someone has to stop this!”

Finally breaking off the attack on his own, Blackwell backs out of the corner and raises his hands to a way too happy crowd.

SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED!

Walking all the way to the other side of the ring, Sacred slashes a thumb across his own throat to let the people know what he thinks of Ejiro’s chances of getting out of here alive tonight might be. Leaning down with his hands on his knees braced wide, Blackwell calls for the hammered Fasaki to get up to his feet where Blackwell can strike once more. Finally, bleeding from a busted lip, Fasaki stammers up to his feet and wanders closer to the center of the ring to meet a charging Andrew Blackwell!

And step aside!

CRASH!

“OHHHHHH! Fasaki sidestepped the spear and Blackwell just did a kamikaze into the turnbuckles with his face!” reports Stevens. “Now the referee is counting both men out!”

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

“Get up Ejiro!” cheers on Riley. “Get up and RUN!”

“What?”

FOUR!

FIVE!

“Blackwell is out for blood tonight, Stevens. Fasaki has a whole country to support as United States champion. He should just forget about this match and go home!”

SIX!

SEVEN!

Ejiro is the first to rise with Blackwell only a moment or two behind. But for Fasaki, tasting his own blood proves to be an interesting form of motivation, as he is the first to make a move as he snags Blackwell from the side and hoists him up. Quickly extending a knee as he comes down, Fasaki grinds up Sacred’s insides with a measured gut buster that sends The Sacred One scrambling for breath. Quickly trying to capitalize on his advantage, Ejiro waits for Blackwell to crawl up to his knees before kicking him square in to the ribs and knocking him flat on his back and near to the ropes. Grabbing a hold of the top rope for leverage, Fasaki returns the favor from a few minutes ago (although with less dramatic effect) by stomping down on his opponent’s chest time and again.

“Well its pretty obvious what has happened here fans,” remarks Stevens. “Fasaki has painted a target on Blackwell’s ribs and is making his strategy revolve around that.”

“And not only will that hurt Sacred,” interrupts Riley, “but it will also make it harder for Blackwell to breathe in there. And for a guy with already questionable wind, having your ribs busted up only makes everything all that more difficult.”

Finally breaking of the almost ineffectual stomping of a mud hole, The United States Champion pulls Sacred off the canvas in order to deliver a sliced elbow across the forehead. But Blackwell immediately responds with a forearm off his own!

ELBOW!

FOREARM!

ELBOW!

FOREARM!

ELBOW!

Shouting out in rage, Blackwell swings with all of his might right at Fasaki’s ugly, bleeding face. But Rule almost calmly ducks forward out of the way while at the same time spinning inside his opposition to deliver…

“A SCREAMING ELOWAAAAAAAAAAAAA~! RIGHT TO THE BACK!”

“Ejiro modified his patented strike so it collided with the back of Blackwell. Actually, it might have been a shot to the kidneys… and everyone knows just how much that can hurt. Want to be an example for the people Stevens.”

“Touch me and you’ll pull back a nub, Riley.”

Suitably driven off for the time being, Bobby Riley sits back in his chair and watches on as Fasaki continues his assault on Blackwell. Driving Andrew all the way down to the mat on his stomach with a clubbing forearm blow, Fasaki maneuvers Blackwell into position to where he can continue to wear his adversary down. Mounting Sacred from behind, Fasaki pushes his hands together and rips backward with a camel’s clutch that further bends and twists Blackwell’s ribs into an uncomfortable position. But Blackwell just refuses to give into the pressure as referee Nick Soapdish checks in to see if he wants to give this match up. Sensing that this move will be countered rather sooner than later, Fasaki forgoes the chinlock and simply leaps into the air so he can come crashing down on Sacred’s back and knock him flat on his stomach once again. Getting on the attack immediately, Fasaki hauls the gasping Blackwell off the mat and tosses him against the ropes. On the rebound, Blackwell feels all of Ejiro’s strength underneath him for just a moment as he is suddenly propelled high into the air before dropping strait down on his chest once more with a modified backdrop. Quickly scrambling on top of the pile, Fasaki hooks the far leg as Soapdish counts away…

ONE!

TWO!

THRENOOOOOOOOOOO!

“Not yet,” calls Mark Stevens into his microphone, “Andrew Blackwell is not just going to lay down on the mat and let Fasaki beat him quite that easily. Although you can see that Ejiro brings a solid game plan into this contest, not every match is decided in the locker room. You have to get in that ring and execute that plan.”

“Oh, like a Tom Flesher plan could ever fail. Look at it this way, Stevens. There is nobody in this company with less physical gifts than Ejiro Fasaki, but he’s been a complete success all because he has ‘The Superior One’ in the back calling the plays.”

And being a good soldier, Fasaki continues to follow the orders let down by his leader as he gets to his feet only to stomp right back down on the injured ribs of his opponent. Pulling the injured warrior of the mat like a sack of really large groceries, the United States Champion seemingly departs from his strategy for a moment by winding Sacred over with a wristlock. But even that small move is a part of the larger goal as Fasaki uses the torque from the wristlock to absolutely BLISTER Sacred into the turnbuckles with an Irish whip!

WHAMMMMMMMMMMMM!

“He hit the turnbuckles with his chest!” shouts out Riley as Sacred rebounds strait back to the mat.

“And that’s a really bad sign if you’re a Sacred fan,” reports Stevens. “When a wrestler is so beat that you can not even turn into a corner and take it with your back, you know that he is really struggling in there.”

Happily continuing his assault, Rule continues to drive kicks into Blackwell’s ribs at virtually every opportunity. Pulling Sacred up to his feet once more, Ejiro almost laxly lifts a knee into the short ribs to double over his foe. Taking Andrew by the arm once more, Ejiro slings him across the ring and lowers his head for another chest breaking backdrop.

KRACK!

“BLACKWELL KICKED HIM RIGHT IN THE THROAT!”

Stopping just as he got within range of his foe, Sacred launches a desperation kick right into Ejiro’s windpipe! Holding onto his throat from the strike as he stands baffled for a moment, Ejiro barely holds onto his feet and sooner wishes he hadn’t as Sacred leaps onto his head while swiftly rotating his body and SPIKING Fasaki into the mat with Tornado DDT!

SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED!

Both men lay on the mat for a moment or two before Sacred shakes his way up to his feet with a look of murder in his eyes. With a hand on his ribs the entire time, Sacred grabs the stunned Fasaki and winds up his wrist before sending him flying right into the turnbuckles at a million miles per hour! Hitting the turnbuckles at that speed with his back, Ejiro feels the world turn upside down as he goes flying right over the top rope and to the arena floor. Hot on his heels, Blackwell soon chases the stunned Fasaki down and taking the technical wrestler by the head; does something very non-technical to him. With a handful of hair in hand, Andrew slams Fasaki’s jaw across the guardrail and causes a fresh stream of blood to drip from his already bloody mouth. Falling to the floor, Fasaki tries to by himself some time as the deadly Blackwell slowly stalks his prey. Grabbing the unresisting member of the Magnificent Seven, Sacred lifts him up high in position for a belly-to-back suplex. But instead of falling backward, Andrew comes forward and JAMS Fasaki’s groin right into the ring post!

SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED!

Loosening a few more buttons on his shirt as he goes, Sacred collects the suddenly high pitched United States champion and tosses him back inside the confines of the ring well in time to avoid the count out from referee Nick Soapdish. Pushing Fasaki into a corner, Andrew once again begins to fire away with his forearm blows where Ejiro cannot defend. Another solid kick the gut doubles Ejiro over as Sacred takes the opportunity to whip him across the entirety of the ring to the opposite corner. Taking a moment to suck in a big old mouthful of air, Blackwell comes flying forward with a cartwheel only to find his path barred as he lands on his feet!

“SPEAR!” calls out Stevens as Fasaki explodes out of the corner the moment Blackwell’s feet touch the mat once more. “Blackwell was going for the tidal wave cartwheel flying kick, but Ejiro cut him down!”

Rolling all of Sacred’s weight over his shoulder, Fasaki hooks the legs deeply as Soapdish makes a rapid count…

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENOOOOOOOOOOSACREDKICKSOUT!

“Still not enough! Even with that catastrophic impact to the chest, Andrew Blackwell refuses to quit here tonight.”

Riley quickly says, “Well he better get used to the idea because Fasaki is not about to just stop because you kick out every once in a while.”

Indeed not as Fasaki immediately gets up to his feet and wipes the blood from his mouth before reaching down and pulling down the kneepad to expose the hard joint below. Immediately hopping as high as he can get in the air, Rule comes down like a hammer with a knee that crashes deeply into the chest of his adversary. Again! And AGAIN the knee finds the mark as it drives into Blackwell’s ribs with an almost surgical precision. Leaning across Andrew with a lateral press, Fasaki holds on as Soapdish once again makes a count…

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Kicking out with even less force than a moment ago, Sacred barely gets his shoulders off the mat before Soapdish can count him down for three. Shuddering in boiling anger, the bloody United States Champion refuses to allow this sort of attitude to continue as he pulls Sacred off the mat and pushes him backward into a corner. Lowering a shoulder, Ejiro rams himself into Blackwell with all of his weight. Again and again, Fasaki places his shoulder right into the breadbasket of his wounded adversary. Until finally, Blackwell cannot even support his own weight and he collapses strait down to the canvas. Not giving Blackwell even a moment to recover, Fasaki immediately picks The Sacred One and whips him hard into the canvas with a wicked snap suplex. Rolling over with the head still in his grasp, Fasaki pulls Sacred right up and back to his feet and slowly raises him up and sets him on the top turnbuckle.

“Oh my! One has to assume that Fasaki is going to go for something huge off the top! If he slams Blackwell to the mat from that high in the air, this match is going to be over right now!”

Climbing right up after Sacred, Fasaki hooks him by the head once more and looks to send him flying backward to the mat with a superplex. But even with all of his wind gone, and his ribs busted, Sacred is not going to go out like that! Punching from underneath, Sacred catches Ejiro in his ribs with a shuddering blow. Shaking his head loose of the suplex, Sacred simply pushes Fasaki strait back to the canvas where the United States champion makes a HUGE IMPACT!

WHAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!

Almost landing head over heels, Fasaki stands right up almost by the sheer force of the momentum. Wobbling like a bobble head doll, Fasaki almost falls back towards Blackwell, who is only so happy to provide a wake up call with a blistering slap across the face! Hooking Fasaki up from the middle rope by the head, Sacred pushes off the middle ropes and once more SPIKES Rule into the mat with a Tornado DDT! Rolling over the stunned U.S. Champion, Andrew hooks the legs as Soapdish makes with the three!

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHHHSOOOOCLOSEEEEEEEE!

Shifting a shoulder off the mat almost by instinct, Fasaki manages to stave off the loss as Blackwell looks at the referee as if to ask if he was serious about the move not ending the match right then and there. But being the professional he is, Blackwell continues onward as he hauls Fasaki off the ring and sends him flying into the ropes. Springing into the air, Blackwell snaps Fasaki’s head back with a textbook dropkick that sends Fasaki slamming into the mat once again. But even that small amount of impact to the ribs is enough to make Blackwell to slightly wince at the pain of it all. But since this is not ballet, Blackwell gets right back on Fasaki as he slams a forearm right into Ejiro’s bloody face once again.

“This has become a war of attrition here, Bobby Riley,” calls out Stevens. “This match might just come down to who gets lucky, who will make the most of a given situation. And right now, it looks like the veteran Andrew Blackwell is well on his way.”

Shaking off the pain in his chest, Andrew heaves Fasaki into the ropes once again and catches him around the waist on the rebound. Showing almost shocking power, Sacred revolves Fasaki all the way around his body before slamming him strait down on Blackwell’s knee with a crushing tilt-a-whirl backbreaker! Spasms rack Rule’s body as he goes rolling off the canvas and rolls into a fetal position on the mat. Sensing that this might be his time, that this is his moment, Sacred runs right at the corner nearest Fasaki. Up to the middle rope he leaps, and then to the top, before finally flinging himself backward and right on top of his foe!

“TRIPLE JUMP MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONSAULT! What impact! What velocity!”

“What a moron! He hurt his own ribs in the process!”

“Sometimes you got to give a little to gain a lot!”

But even with that cliché hanging in the air, Sacred is slow to take advantage of his devastating move on Ejiro Fasaki. Clutching at his own ribs as Fasaki lies still on the canvas, Blackwell slowly manages to roll himself on top of the heap as Soapdish makes the count!

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEENOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“Too much time!” chides Bobby Riley. “Sacred might have beaten Fasaki there but it took him too long to shake off the impact of his own move. Just like I said. Score one for me!”

Stevens replies, “This match is not over, Riley. Only time will tell just how much that move will have on Blackwell.”

But still every move has a meaning and that moonsault makes it so Fasaki and Blackwell both manage to scramble up to their feet at about the same moment. But it is Sacred who moves in first as he locks onto Fasaki from behind and heaves him backward to the mat with a savage German suplex that dumps Ejiro strait to the mat on his back. Quickly rolling over, Sacred plucks Fasaki off the mat and quickly gets in from behind before snatching the staggered United States champion in a double chicken wing!

SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED! SAY-CRED!

“He’s going for the Narcosynthesis!”

Pushing Fasaki down onto the mat with the chicken wing, Sacred forces Fasaki’s bloody face into the mat before flipping over the top and locking down with a bridge! With his variation of the cattle mutilation locked on, Sacred bends Fasaki’s shoulders apart as the member of the Magnificent Seven screams out in pain and frustration. But even now not is all lost for the United States Champion as Sacred suddenly loses the bridge and has to roll back over.

“His ribs couldn’t take the bridge! Blackwell’s going back to it though!”

But this time as Blackwell sends himself over the top, Ejiro is able to get his knees underneath and give himself a chance to escape the hold! Fighting both his own ribs and Fasaki’s pressure at the same time, Sacred braces as hard as he can but is unable to keep from being lifted right out of the bridge! Hooking Sacred around the head from behind, Fasaki heaves him backward with a crushing reverse suplex that leaves both men out on the canvas once again!

“Good god what a counter!”

Riley suddenly laughs into the microphone, “HA! You know what I just realized? Of course Fasaki can counter out of the Narcosynthesis, his former partner Fugue used that move as a finisher as well!”

“That being said, I don’t know that Fasaki would have been able to free himself from the hold if Sacred didn’t have to reapply it a second time!”

Slowly pulling themselves together out of their shattered parts, Sacred and Fasaki once more find each other waiting as they climb up to their feet at almost the same exact time. But as Blackwell throws a shaky right hand at his foe, Fasaki ducks underneath and buries him in the mat with the STO! Rolling up to his feet and seeing Sacred in perfect position, Fasaki heads to the ropes and springs right back at Blackwell!

“LIONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNSAULT! THIS COULD BE ALL!”

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

“Another shot to the ribs and Sacred could take no more!”

DING! DING! DING!

“The winner of this contest, the United States Heavyweight Champion…. EEEEEEEEEEEJIROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO FASAKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!”

July 26, 2003

“It’s just about time for the Hardcore Title match,” says Mark Stevens. “In the only scheduled title match of the night, Wildchild will get a chance to regain the only title’s he’s held so far in the SWF, when he goes up against the Maori Badass, Va’aiga!”

“We just got done seeing Ejiro Fasaki and Sacred in a spectacular wrestling classic,” adds Bobby Riley, “and now we get to see the young man who just might be Ejiro’s newest protégé try to knock off the SWF Tag Team champions in successive matches, and pick up a little gold for himself along the way!”

Grand Slam snorts indignantly. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself with this whole protégé business; so far, all we know is that Ejiro has been offering a few words of encouragement to Wildchild before his matches lately. Now, I’ll admit that’s kind of a far cry from the wars they used to wage in the JL, but I can’t believe that Wildchild would go so far as to join up with his most hated rival!”

“You go ahead and believe whatever you want to believe,” states Riley, “but unlike you, I know how to look at facts and reach an informed conclusion!”

“Your ‘informed’ conclusion,” replies Stevens, “is something along the lines of saying that this table has four legs, so therefore I must have had cheese on my baked potato!”

“Well you did, didn’t you?”

Mark rolls his eyes. “No, Dumb-lock Holmes; I didn’t even HAVE a baked potato today! My point is that your so-called facts don’t have any relation to your (making quotation marks in the air with his fingers) informed conclusion! You’re just throwing crap against a wall, and passing off whatever sticks as an informed conclusion!”

“Look,” says Riley, “we’ve seen Ejiro talking to Wildchild for a couple of weeks now, offering encouragement and advice to the kid; what would you call that?”

“I’d call it mind games,” replies Stevens. “Just in case you didn’t happen to notice back on Smarkdown, Wildchild was an emotional wreck! He didn’t react very well at all being booed by the fans, and as much as you want to believe that he’s decided to ignore them, I think that he was really upset about it!

“Uh-huh,” says Riley in a condescending tone. “So how do you explain this viciousness against his former partner, Dace Night, then?”

“I think that Wildchild was just being aggressive because he wanted so badly to break out of his streak,” replies Stevens. “And, let’s not forget that they were fighting under Hardcore rules! He wasn’t exactly breaking the rules or anything; he was just doing unto Dace before Dace could do unto him!”

“Do you think that he has a shot to regain the Hardcore title tonight?”

Grand Slam nods his head. “I do; Wildchild has an exceptional record in Hardcore matches. Furthermore, the stipulations inherent in these types of matches give Wildchild the edge over larger opponents.”

“How so,” asks Riley.

“Think about it. Wildchild is the fastest guy in the SWF; he’s also the most athletic and the most agile, by far. But, he’s not very strong compared to the majority of his competition. His offensive style depends of him to use his speed and agility to wear down his opponents using hit-and-run tactics.” Mark stops to rub his chin in a thoughtful manner. “But, in a Hardcore match, Wildchild has the ability to use weapons that help him to make the playing field more even, at least in hitting strength, if not in overall power!”

“I’ll give you that,” concedes Riley. “He definitely made the playing field more even against Dace with that lead pipe!”

“He did, indeed,” agrees Stevens. “Now, let’s go to the ring, and find out whether or not Wildchild can make it two in a row, or whether or not Va’aiga can avenge his tag team partner here tonight. Take it away, Funyon!”

Funyon stands in the ring, resplendent in a shiny metallic blue tuxedo. Raising the microphone to his lips, he says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a thirty-minute time limit, and it is for the SWF Hardcore Championship!”

The fans in the Canseco Fieldhouse come to their feet as Smashing Pumpkins’ “The Everlasting Gaze” begins to pump through the speakers. They sustain their cheers as Wildchild bursts out from behind the curtain, dressed in aquamarine jump pants and matching facepaint, as well as the now familiar t-shirt. Also conspicuous by its presence is a lead pipe, being clutched tightly in his left hand.

“Look at that,” cries Riley. “You think that’s the same pipe that he used on Smarkdown?”

Mark shrugs. “I don’t think it’s unlikely, but I don’t think it means anything in particular.”

“Making his way to the ring at this time,” says Funyon, “the challenger! From Morgan’s Bluff, in the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds, the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

Wildchild raises the lead pipe up close to his chest, clutching it in both hands as he bangs his head in time with the music. He spies a fan at ringside, holding a sign which reads, “I Came to See De Wildchild” in bold letters, and runs over to him, posing for a photograph with him. He then removes his t-shirt and hands it to the fan before continuing onto the ring.

“It looks as though Wildchild is trying to get back in the fans’ good graces,” notes Stevens. “I think your theory has even more holes than your underwear!”

“Shows what you know,” replies Riley. “I don’t WEAR underwear! I wear crotch-less… HEY!”

“On second thought,” says Stevens, shaking his head, “forget I said anything…”

“I don’t,” stammers Riley, “I mean… I… I…”

“Is there a neuralizer in the house,” groans Stevens. “Where are agents J and K when you really need them?”

Wildchild stops short of the ring and bends down to reach underneath the ring apron, pulling out a couple of chairs and a garbage can, and throwing them into the ring. He reaches underneath the ring once more, and pulls out a fifteen-foot high steel ladder, eliciting a loud pop from the crowd. He stands the ladder up and opens it out, positioning it so that the rungs face the ring, but glances back and forth between the top of the entrance ramp and the ring, before deciding to position it sideways, instead. After pushing the ladder a little closer to the ring, Wildchild dives into the ring, somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes, and springing to his feet. He races to a neutral corner, where he leaps onto the top turnbuckle banging his head in time to the music as the crowd cheers him on.

“Looks like the crowd is still behind the Bahama Bomber,” says Stevens. “Wildchild may not be very well liked in Los Angeles, but he’s as popular as ever in Indianapolis!”

“You think he threw enough weapons into the ring,” asks Riley.

“Against Va’aiga,” replies Stevens, “who knows? I can’t help but be a little curious about his repositioning of the ladder, though.”

“Yeah,” Bobby replies snidely, “it’s almost as if he were trying to use a little strategy! Now, who do you suppose could have taught Wildchild about strategy, hmm?”

Grand Slam shakes his head. “Give it a rest, will you? Wildchild and Ejiro are not in cahoots. Dial back the medication, or whatever it is giving you these insane thoughts!”

Wildchild props the pipe up in the corner between the top turnbuckle and the ringpost, and hops back into the ring, bouncing against the ropes anxiously as his music fades out. Suddenly, the lights are turned out throughout the arena, and a smooth bassline beat can clearly be heard…

DUM… DUM-DUM-DUM…

BASICALLY, CAN’T FUCK WITH ME…

Method Man’s “Bring the Pain” kicks into high gear over the speakers, and a bright red light shines from behind the entranceway, highlighting the silhouette of the Hardcore Champion. Va’aiga throws a few shadow punches in time with his music before stepping through the curtain, red lights illuminating the stage as he steps onto it.

“His opponent,” continues Funyon, “from Rotorua, Aotearora, in New Zealand, and weighing two hundred eighty-five pounds… he is one half of the SWF Tag Team Champions, and the reigning, AND DEFENDING, SWF Hardcore Champion, VA’AIGA!”

The Maori Badass stands at the top of the ramp, one of his championship belts slung over each shoulder, and throws a few more phantom punches in the air, before pointing menacingly into the ring at his opponent. Wildchild stares back uneasily, a panic-ridden expression on his face as the Va’aiga begins to make his way down to ringside.

“Va’aiga definitely appears to be pumped up for this match,” notes Stevens. “He also looks like he may be wanting a little revenge for his tag team partner.”

“Well, if this turns into a fist fight,” replies Riley, “there’s no question that Va’aiga would win hands down, but I doubt Wildchild will let him get that close; he does, after all, have a master strategist in his corner, now!”

“I thought I told you to knock it…”

CLANG!

Mark and Bobby’s bickering is interrupted by the sound of the ladder clattering against the ramp, as Wildchild pushes it down at Va’aiga, but the Maori Badass jumps out of the way. Unfortunately for Va’aiga, the sudden ladder attack causes him to turn his attention away from what’s going on in the ring…

CRASH!

… As Wildchild races from one end of the ring to the other, bouncing off the ropes, and leaping high into the air as he approaches the edge of the ring, flipping though the air and landing on top of Va’aiga, crushing him against the arena floor with a sensational tope con hilo!

“Sensational Somersault Plancha by the Wildchild,” exclaims Stevens.

“Nice, aggressive start to the match,” adds Riley, “to catch the larger man off guard; a very intelligent strategy, considering what Wildchild’s strengths are. Admit it, Stevens; you know I’m right about Wildchild and Ejiro! Fasaki’s probably been feeding him tips for weeks, now!”

“Is THAT why Wildchild just managed to break a month-long losing streak?”

“That was probably him trying to resist Ejiro, but you can’t say ‘no’ to a guy like Ejiro for long; I mean, he’s just so dreamy…”

“Stop,” barks Stevens, waving his arm in front of Riley’s face. “Concentrate on the match, please!”

BANG!

Wildchild picks the ladder up off the ground and holds it overhead, running towards Va’aiga as he starts to stand up, and smashing him in the face with it! The Massive Maori slumps back down to the floor, and Wildchild tilts the ladder down towards the ground, as he proceeds to bash Va’aiga in the chest with it!

BAM!

“Wildchild’s not giving Va’aiga an inch,” says Stevens, “as he continues to press his advantage!”

“Wouldn’t you,” replies Riley. “Once Va’aiga gets to his feet, this match tips dramatically in his favor! I mean, Wildchild can’t outwrestle him; he certainly can’t outmuscle him! What ELSE is he gonna do?”

Wildchild steps away from Va’aiga and sets the ladder down, leaning it upright against the ring barricade. He reaches down to his trunks and folds down the top inch as he unties a thick, black leather strap from his waist and pulls it off, hoisting it in the air for the fans to see.

“Uh-oh,” says Stevens uneasily, “Wildchild’s got a leather strap! There’s no telling what he plans to do with this!”

“Maybe he plans to tie Va’aiga up and…”

“BOBBY!”

Riley blinks suddenly, having momentarily forgotten where he was. “Sorry…”

Wildchild places both ends of the strap with his left hand, as he adjusts his tights with his right. He raises the strap above his head as he walks over to Va’aiga, swinging it down sharply towards his chest before the Maori can cover himself…

WHACK!

Wildchild smacks the Maori Badass across the chest with the heavy leather strap! Va’aiga, whose chest is fairly well protected due to the fact that he is still wearing his hooded pullover, rolls over onto his stomach in order to protect his face, leading Wildchild to kick him sharply in the ribs! He walks over to where he left the ladder, and jumps onto the ring barricade beside it.

“What do you suppose he’s about to do here,” asks Stevens.

Bobby shakes his head. “I don’t know, but it’s bound to be something stupid!”

Wildchild sets the flattened-out ladder up near the barricade as Va’aiga starts to stand up, turning it so that the rungs face the ring. Wildchild waves one arm through the air to get the crowd excited as he holds the ladder steady with his other hand, then jumps from off the barricade onto the ladder as Va’aiga starts to get up, riding it as falls in an attempt to crush the ladder and his own body against his opponent…

CR-ACK!

CRASH!

… But the Maori badass spins around and surprises Wildchild with a burst of speed, raising his right leg in the air and blasting the ladder with a Yakuza kick that send the Bahama Bomber falling backwards, crashing into the arena floor, with the ladder landing on top of him!

“Oh my God,” shouts Stevens. “That was a TREMENDOUS kick by Va’aiga!”

Va’aiga walks over to the discarded leather strap and picks it up, raising it high into the air as Wildchild struggles to push the ladder off of his chest.

“Wildchild is used to taking some pretty spectacular dives,” says Stevens, but I don’t think that he was ready for that one

CRACK!

The Maori Badass swings the strap downwards viciously, striking it repeatedly against Wildchild’s chest. He stands over the Bahama Bomber as he bends down, turning him onto his stomach, before wrapping the strap around his neck and jerking him harshly to his feet!

“He’s choking him out,” cries Riley. “What’s the deal with members of the Unholy Trinity wanting to choke out Wildchild?”

“Surely you don’t mean to suggest that Va’aiga wasn’t provoked, do you,” asks Stevens.

Referee Sexton Hardcastle stands besides Va’aiga, imploring him to release the choke. “Take it into the ring,” he says.

Va’aiga replies by whipping around suddenly, swinging his arm intensely, as though to hit the referee! “Back off,” he roars. With the Maori Badass distracted, Wildchild takes the opportunity to flee from his aggressor, strap still dangling from his neck, into the ring. Va’aiga turns around and, realizing that Wildchild had escaped, makes his way towards the ring.

WHAM!

Wildchild rolls to his feet and runs to the corner as Va’aiga climbs onto the apron, leaping onto the middle rope as the Massive Maori steps between the ropes, and extending his right leg as he springs off the ropes, draping it over Va’aiga’s head and driving it into the canvas with a springboard guillotine legdrop!

“Nice springboard guillotine,” notes Stevens. “That was almost like a version of the Caribbean Cutter!”

Wildchild scrambles to his feet and steps out onto the ring apron. He leaps onto the middle rope and stands over Va’aiga, who is still dangling with half his body inside the ring and half out. The referee motions to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the ‘official’ start of the match.

DING! DING! DING!

“Bell’s gone,” says Stevens, “and now, this match is OFFICIALLY underway!”

“Why did the referee take so long to start the match,” asks Riley. “I mean, this is a Hardcore Rules match; they didn’t have to get into the ring at all!”

Unsure of the answer himself, Grand Slam shrugs. “I guess it’s the referee’s prerogative, Bobby. They probably get to make the call of whether or not to start the match before or after they get into the ring…”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard of! What happens if Va’aiga had hit the Maori Drop outside the ring, and tried to pin him; the ref wouldn’t have counted?”

“I dunno, Bobby! That sounds like something that should be taken up with senior referee, Mark Hebner. Maybe he can get an answer for you!”

The Bahama Bomber removes the strap from his neck and drops it inside the ring, looping it over Va’aiga’s head to rest across his throat, and arching back sharply, using the ropes as leverage to help him choke the Maori Badass out with the strap!

“That strap’s getting a lot of mileage in the early part of this match,” Stevens says idly.

“What do you have to say about Wildchild turning the tables on Va’aiga,” asks Riley. “Tell me that’s something that Ejiro would do!”

“Bobby, for the last time, let it go, already!”

SLAM!

Wildchild pulls back for all he’s worth and then releases the strap, dropping to the arena floor, where he lands on his feet, as Va’aiga slams face-first into the canvas! The Bahama Bomber slides back into the ring and picks both ends of the strap back up, making one more loop around Va’aiga’s throat before dragging him away from the ropes into the ring. He pulls Va’aiga to his feet and uses the strap to lead the Massive Maori as he races towards the edge of the ring, leaping over the top rope and pulling down on the strap as he falls to the floor, clotheslining the Maori Badass on the top rope! Va’aiga flops onto the canvas as the Caribbean Cruiser drops safely down to the padded arena floor.

“That was a clever move by Wildchild,” claims Stevens. “Good job of using his leverage to clothesline Va’aiga over the top rope!”

“He might as well,” adds Riley. I mean, it’s not as if he’s going to be picking the guy up any time soon!”

Wildchild slides back into the ring and grabs both ends of the straps, pulling Va’aiga back to his feet. He pulls the Maori Badass along behind him as he races to the opposite edge of the ring, and once again leaps over the top rope…

SLAM!

… But Va’aiga grabs onto the strap in front of him with both hands and, in a jaw-dropping display of power, pulls Wildchild back over the top rope, over his head, and down to the mat!

HOLY SHIT!

“What awesome power by the Maori Badass,” shouts Stevens. “Wildchild was half-way down to the arena floor, and Va’aiga just snatched him out of the air, and threw him back into the ring!”

Riley nods his head in disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that.”

“BOO-YAH!”

Va’aiga finally manages to find time to remove his hooded sweatshirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the crowd as he gestures to get them pumped up. He walks over to Wildchild and grabs him underneath the arms, hauling him forcibly off the mat. He backs Wildchild against the ropes and hammers him with a series of brutal body shots. Grabbing Wildchild by the arm, Va’aiga whips him across the ring, raising his arm to shoulder level as he bounces of the ropes to deliver a lariat, but the Bahama Bomber ducks underneath and comes to a sudden stop behind his opponent, leaping into the air as Va’aiga spins around, and blasting him in the face with a gamengiri!

WHACK!

Seeing that Va’aiga did not fall down, Wildchild rolls onto his feet and races back towards the ropes, leaping high into the air as he bounces off and smacking the Massive Maori in the face with a running dropkick! Va’aiga staggers backwards a few feet but remains standing, so Wildchild pops up and runs to the ropes again. Va’aiga ducks down as Wildchild rebounds, and the Tropical Tumbler leapfrogs him easily. Bouncing off the ropes again, Wildchild leaps into the air, extending his body as he cruises towards Va’aiga, but the Maori Badass snatches him out of the air!

“Oh no,” cries Stevens. “Could we be about to see the Maori Drop?”

Va’aiga begins to run forward, but the flexible Bahaman wriggles his legs out of Va’aiga’s grip before the Maori could leave the air, wrapping them around his neck and taking him down to the mat with a scintillating headscissors takeover!

WHAM!

… But Va’aiga rolls immediately to his feet, charging towards Wildchild and whipping his arm out, smashing it across Wildchild’s throat with a vicious lariat! “BOO-YAH,” exclaims the Massive Maori, as Wildchild rolls over onto his stomach in pain.

“What an awesome lariat by Va’aiga,” marvels Stevens. “It’s like he didn’t even feel any effects from that headscissor takeover!”

“Eh, Va’aiga’s too dumb to know he’s supposed to feel pain, anyway!”

Va’aiga drops down to his knees and rolls Wildchild over, applying a lateral press as the referee dives into position to count the pinfall:

ONE!

TWO!

THREE— NO!

“That was close,” says Stevens. “Va’aiga very nearly had him after that lariat!”

Va’aiga pulls Wildchild to his feet and bends over to apply a waistlock, lifting Wildchild into the air and over his shoulder in a backbreaker, but the Bahama Bomber slips out of his grasp and lands on the mat behind him.

BANG!

Wildchild thrusts his heel backwards, clipping Va’aiga in the back of his knee, then darts towards the ropes, bursting through the air as he rebounds and blasting Va’aiga in the face with an elbow to the temple! Va’aiga spins around and drops to one knee, prompting Wildchild to race back towards the ropes in an attempt to score a knockdown…

WHAM!

… But the Maori Badass grabs Wildchild as he bounces off the ropes, spinning him through the air and driving him into the canvas with a tremendous powerslam! Va’aiga leans back on his knees, holding the side of his head as Wildchild arches his back off the mat in pain.

“POWERSLAM,” cries Stevens. “He could have him right here!”

Va’aiga drops down across Wildchild’s chest as the referee dives into position to once again check on the pinfall attempt:

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEE— KICKOUT!

Va’aiga pulls Wildchild to his feet, bending his body around his outstretched thigh as he applies an abdominal stretch. The lithe Caribbean quickly escapes, surprising Va’aiga by reversing the hold, but the Massive Maori takes him over with a hiptoss.

“Amazed as I am that Wildchild actually knows how to apply and abdominal stretch,” says Riley, “there’s no way that he was going to be able to hold it on Va’aiga!”

Pulling his opponent back to his feet, Va’aiga forces him back into a neutral corner, forcing the wind out of him with a series of heavy knee lifts. “Get ready to say g’night, mate,” Va’aiga growls into Wildchild’s ear before grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him across the ring, but the Bahama Bomber leaps onto the top turnbuckle, and bends down to grab the lead pipe he had stashed there earlier as the Maori Badass charges towards the corner behind him…

WHAM!

Wildchild leaps off the top turnbuckle, swinging the lead pipe as he swings around, and bashes the unsuspecting Va’aiga in the forehead with it! The Massive Maori stagger backwards into the ring, out on his feet, but still standing, prompting Wildchild to race towards the ropes, still wielding the pipe…

WHAAAAAM!!!

Wildchild slides the lead pipe down across the length of his forearm as he bounces off the ropes, and glides through the air, swinging his arm sharply towards his foes’ head and smashing him in the forehead once more with a pipe-assisted flying forearm! Wildchild rolls over onto his back and nips up as the Massive Maori falls to the canvas.

“Oh my God,” shrieks Stevens. “The lead pipe comes into play as Wildchild smashes Va’aiga with a flying forearm! That may have changed the tide of this match!”

“Down goes Va’aiga,” crows Riley. “Down goes Va’aiga!”

Wildchild cycles his arms above his head, in a tumbling motion, giving the signal for the Falling Star Press. The Indianapolis crowd responds with a split reaction, with half cheering and half crying out anxiously as Wildchild races to the ropes.

“Falling Star Press coming up,” shouts Stevens as Wildchild leaps into the air. “If he hits this, we could have a new Hardcore Champion!”

WHAM!

The Bahama Bomber springs off the top rope, flipping forward in a 450 motion as he falls backwards, slamming into Va’aiga’s chest with his patented Falling Star Press finisher!

“He hit it,” shouts Riley. “It’s over! New Champion!”

Wildchild reaches over to grab Va’aiga’s massive leg and pulls it up towards his chest as Hardcastle dives into position to count:

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

NO!

“He kicked out,” exclaims an excited Grand Slam. “My God, he kicked out of the Falling Star Press!”

“And look at Wildchild,” adds Riley. “He can’t believe it!”

Wildchild looks wearily up at Sexton Hardcastle, clapping his hands in front of him to indicate he thought he had the match won, but the referee firmly holds two fingers in front of him. Pulling Va’aiga to his feet, Wildchild picks the lead pipe back up and races towards the edge of the ring, sailing through the air as he flies towards Va’aiga to deliver another flying forearm…

BOOOMMM!!!

… But the Maori Badass snatches Wildchild out of the air reflexively and runs across the ring, leaping into the air as he nears the ropes and driving the Bahama Bomber into the canvas with a Running Maori Drop! Eighteen thousand plus in the Canseco Fieldhouse explode into cheers as Va’aiga rolls away from Wildchild onto his stomach, still feeling the effects of Wildchild’s earlier attack!

“Running Maori Drop,” shrieks Stevens. “Va’aiga snatched Wildchild out of the air, and scored the Running Maori Drop! And Wildchild is out cold!”

“It’s over,” agrees Riley. “You’ve got him! Just roll over, and you’ve got him!”

Va’aiga continues to lie face-down on the canvas, breathing heavily, as Wildchild lay motionless a few feet from him. Referee Sexton Hardcastle stands between the two men, and begins to administer a ten-count:

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

The crowd cries out excitedly as Va’aiga stirs at the count of eight. Wearily, he rolls over until he is lying atop Wildchild, and the referee drops down to his knees to count the pinfall attempt. The crowd shouts out in unison along with the referee:

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

NO!

“Foot on the rope,” shouts Riley. “Wildchild got his foot on the rope!”

“That time that Va’aiga took to recover was surely the only thing that saved him,” replies Stevens.

Va’aiga pulls Wildchild to his feet and leans him against the ropes, mauling him with heavy right hands to the face. Turning away from his opponent, Va’aiga slaps his thigh as he runs across the ring, bouncing off the ropes to build up steam. The Maori Badass lifts his leg into the air as he draws near his opponent, hoping to blast him right out of the ring with a devastating Yakuza Kick, but the Bahama Bomber drops to the mat out of desperation, pulling the top rope down slightly as Va’aiga speeds towards him, and releasing it to smack the Massive Maori in the groin!

“Oh no,” groans Stevens. “Wildchild moved out of the way at the last second, and Va’aiga just crotched himself on the top rope!”

Wildchild rolls to his feet and races towards the corner behind Va’aiga, leaping onto the top turnbuckle and springing back off, landing in a seated position on the Massive Maori’s shoulders…

WHAAAMMM!!!

… And spinning his body around to face Va’aiga, locking his legs behind the Maori’s neck and arching backwards, pulling Va’aiga off the ropes and down to the arena floor with a breathtaking spinning Dragonrana! The back of Va’aiga’s head bumps crudely against the arena floor as both men crash down to earth!

HOLY SHIT!

“OH MY GOD,” exclaims Stevens. “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life!”

“Holy (bleep),” shouts Riley. “He could have killed BOTH of them with that stunt!”

Referee Sexton Hardcastle, powerless to do anything to affect the match at this point, climbs out of the ring to check on the two competitors. Seeing that both men are still breathing, he simply stands back and waits. Wildchild, the less fatigued of the two manages to raise himself onto his knees. He uses the ring apron to pull himself to his feet, and slides back into the ring. As he stands up, he looks across the ring, where he spies one of the steel chairs that he had earlier thrown into the ring.

“Uh oh,” says Stevens as Wildchild stalks over towards the chair. “What do you think he’s got planned?”

Wildchild waves his arms in front of him, as if to say, “That’s it!” Picking up the chair, he walks briskly back over to the corner, and scales to the top turnbuckle. He unleashes a feral scream into the rafters as he holds the chair above his head, prompting a loud cheer from the crowd.

“Wildchild’s up top,” cries Stevens excitedly. “there’s no telling what he’s gonna do up there!”

Wildchild leaps off the top turnbuckle and down towards the arena floor, holding the steel chair underneath his bottom with both hands as he lands in a seated position…

… On Va’aiga’s FACE!!!

BOOOOOOOMMMM!!!!

HOLY SHIT!

“HOLY (BLEEP),” Mark and Bobby exclaim in unison.

“My God,” shrieks Stevens. He just hit an Arabian Facebuster off the top rope to the arena floor!”

Wildchild clutches his tailbone as he inches backwards collapsing onto Va’aiga as the referee drops down to count. The crowd once again chants along in unison as the referee slaps his hand against the padded floor:

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

DING! DING! DING!

The Canseco Fieldhouse erupts as “The Everlasting Gaze,” blasts through the speakers again. Referee Sexton Hardcastle walks around the ring and retrieves the Hardcore Championship belt from the timekeeper. He drops it down on the motionless Wildchild’s chest as Funyon rises from his ringside seat to make the official announcement:

“Here is your winner… and NEEEEEEW… Smarks Wrestling Federation Hardcore Champion… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

“What a gutsy performance by the Wildchild,” screams Mark Stevens hoarsely. “He’s gone through both of the Tag Team Champions to become a two-time Hardcore Champion! We’ll be right back, folks, with the first half of our Double Main Event, right after this!”

As we:

FADE OUT

Edited July 26, 2003 by Edwin MacPhisto

July 26, 2003

As SWF Storm comes back from commercial break, the camera pans finding a few choice signs like, “We have just reached DEF CON ONE!”, “GO TO HELL… no really, go to hell…”, "Ribbed for her Flesher!", and the ever popular “MARKS!” with arrows point everywhere, yes, everywhere, even down. Not very bright, eh? The camera finally finds the commentary booth where “Grand Slam” Mark Steven and Bobby Riley sit.

“Well Bobby,” begins Stevens, “We’ve already seen a hot opening match up between William Heardford and our mystery man that you had to see to believe, a Hardcore title match, and Beezel versus Kibagami with Atlas as special guest referee,” continue Mark, going up and down the card, “but we were just getting started, as we’re about to start part one of our Storm double Main Event, and this one much like are final match of the night will be quite the contest!”

“SURE, it will Mark… I’m sorry, but I just don’t see it.”

“We’ve got the number one contenders to the tag title versus Tom Flesher and Thoth, two former tag and World champions! How can you not SEE this?”

“It’s a total blowout. If it was just Flesher versus CIA and Mak it’d be a blowout! Look at who International Incident beat... Strangler and TNT! That's hardly anything the likes of Tom Flesher or even Thoth for that matter!"

"Well, how about this fun fact Bobby. Thoth and Flesher have had numerous problems in the past, not to mention Thoth stopped Tom's title reign. Wouldn't that make you think that these two won't be the smoothest of partners?"

"Sure, try to rain on my parade Steven, but Tom's going to pull this one out with or without Thoth's help!"

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” starts Funyon, as the crowd turns it’s complete attention to him, “this Tornado tag match is scheduled for ONE FALL and is one half of tonights’ DOUBLE MAIN EVENT!”

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 Canadian playing to the crowd, Francis looking much more serious.

“Introducing first, weighing in tonight at a combined weight of FOUR hundred and SEVENTY THREE pounds, they are the team of CIA and Mak Francis, INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT!”

Once in the ring, both men turn to look down back the ramp, eyes locked on the entryway, waiting for their, would be opponents, for this tornado tag…

“Here are the number one contenders to the tag titles, fresh off a win over some of the best this business has to offer in Strangler and Taylor Nicholas Thompsom!”

“If Strangler or TNT are, “the best this business has to offer”, then I’m Martha Stewart.”

"Well you'd probably like it in jail, Bobby." mubbles Stevens, as his announce partner sits blissfully unaware, waiting for his Superior One.

After a few seconds, KMFDM’s “Go to Hell” plays, and you can hear and audible sigh of discontent from Bobby Riley, who was expecting Flesher, as the drum beats start. From all different angles, red strobe lights to flash through the arena and Thoth comes out, business suit long gone, as he is now in his ring attire. The fans attempt to rile him, but Thoth will have none of that, as he just sneers and continues on his way. A wicked smile crosses his face, as he slides into the ring showing no signs of backing down, even though he’s in the ring two against one.

“And here is the former SWF World Heavyweight Champion Thoth, who lost last week in stunning fashion to the Boston Strangler, who is in the next match of our double Main Event!”

When suddenly, 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 slides into ring and poses in the center, occasional glancing at Thoth as he awaits—

*BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP!*

—A machinegun-like burst of blue and white pyro from each corner. CIA and Mak point across the ring, while referee Mark Hebner in between the two teams Flesher golf-claps for himself, ignoring the crowd's boos, and then strips off his warmup suit.

“There’s the real challenger, no, TRUE, World champ right there! Flesher’s got his fire back and nobody can stop him… not TNT, not Strangler and especially not that M7 cast away, Frost!”

Still keeping a wary eye on both Thoth and his opponents, the Superior one folds it, sets it in the corner and goes through a cursory stretch before the bell rings.

“And their opponents!” bellows Funyon, attempting to speak over the crowds booing, “Weighing in tonight at a combined weight of FOUR hundred and FIFTY EIGHT pounds, “The Superior One” TOM FLESHER and THOTH!”

Hebner finishes checking Flesher and asks for the bell, moving aside. Tom continues to glance over towards Thoth, as the bell sounds…

*DING! DING! DING!*

Mak and CIA charge Flesher and Thoth respectively, Tom eating a right hand from the Franchise, while Thoth, being the accomplished fighter he is, doesn’t let his guard down and blocks CIA’s blow. Thoth counters into a stiff right hand of his own, as Mak continues to put the pressure on ‘the Superior one’ with repeated right hands, backing him into the ropes. Meanwhile, Thoth has backed CIA into the center of the ring with a devastating combination of quick strikes! As Mak readies Flesher for an Irish whip, Thoth backs the other International Incident member into the ropes for a whip of his own!

“What a start to this tornado tag, which has already degenerated into more of a brawl than anything else!”

“Tom’s my… err, a lover and a fighter! He’ll get back in control soon!”

The two warriors crisscross, Flesher just missing a collision with CIA! They both hit the ropes at nearly the same time, and both wrap themselves in the ropes to stop their momentum. While Thoth stays cool and calm, Mak, relied up by the chance to get at his one time mentor, surges forward blindly…

And Tom makes him pay, bending at this waist and arching his back, sending Francis up and over the top rope!! The self proclaimed Franchise, luckily holds onto the top rope and lands on the apron!! Tom thinking he’s gotten the upper hand taps his forehead and mocks the crowd, as Francis stands behind him waiting to pounce!!

“Thoth, is finally looking to take CIA out with surgical precision!”

Meanwhile, Thoth has finally decided the best course of action against CIA, and CIA in turn, quickly brings the fight to the balancer, dashing off the ropes and laying him out with a shoulderblock! The ‘Dream’ looks down and drops an elbow, but Thoth rolls out from underneath him, as at near the ropes, the, oh so superior Tom Flesher, turns around and eats a stiff right hand! Flesher absorbs the blow though, and strikes back with a palm blow to the Franchise’s mouth! The two wrestlers’ trade blows back and forth, as in the center of the ring, CIA gets up to one knee, as Thoth, having bounced off the ropes, dives forward and pops him in the masked covered face with a knee!! Thoth quickly covers, and Hebner drops to the canvas…

ONE…!

TWO—

No! Only a one count, as CIA quickly lunges a shoulder off the mat. Thoth picks CIA up and backs him into the ropes with sharp kicks to the body, while Herbner stands up and immediately rushes over towards Flesher, as still at the ropes, Mak scores a knee to the gut that hunches Tom over, before snitching in a front facelock and attempting to lift Flesher up, but he blocks and falls back to the mat.

“…Francis is trying to suplex Tom TO THE FLOOR!!”

The Franchise lifts once again, but Tom blocks for a second time, and this time he yanks Mak over top in a picture perfect vertical suplex. Tom floats through and slides into a quick lateral press cover, as Hebner hits the mat to count…

ONE…!

TWO…—

No! Just barely a one count on this occasion! Mak pushes a shoulder off the mat and Flesher rolls with it, snitching in… wait for it, wait for it… the dreaded side headlock of doom and destruction!

BOR-RING! BOR-RING!

Mak tries to pry his way out of the hold, but Flesher just sits on the hold and readjusts, basically—

“He’s just sitting there, lying on the mat, Bobby!!” comments Grand Slam, as the crowd continues to get on Flesher with chants of boring! “Please Stevens, this is a KEY part of Tom’s strategy and once again proving that he’s superior to Mak on the mat! Francis may be able to counter out of holds from the likes of Michael Craven every now and then, if CRAVEN feels like letting him, but Tom’s superior and will NEVER give him a chance to counter!”

Flesher grinds in the ‘feared’ submission hold, even going so far as to yell, “Ask him Hebner!”, while Mak runs through every counter to a grounded side headlock that he knows, but he’s about as grounded as you can get. In the ropes, Thoth goes for an Irish whip, but fails to realize, that he’s sending CIA right into Flesher’s submission holding path, and the ‘Dream’ takes full advantage, regaining control of his body, before darting both feet out in a low dropkick, that hits the Superior one straight on!!!

“Well that’s one way to counter, eh Riley.”

“Don’t you start speaking Canadian too! I’ve already had to see enough of this Canadian for a lifetime!”

Mak takes this opportunity to roll out of Flesher’s hold and finally get back into control, pinning Flesher to the mat in a odd modified school boy, it takes him a second, but Hebner slides to the canvas and counts…

ONE…!

TWO…—

No! Flesher reaches out and grabs the middle cable breaking the count! Meanwhile, CIA stands up and Thoth is immediately on him with a sharp kick to the body, but CIA catches the leg and pounds away with a mix of forearm strikes and right hands!! As Thoth gets stunned enough, CIA pushes him into the ropes and Irish whips Thoth off. The balancer rebounds off the cables and takes a right hand to the kisser, from the kooky Canadian! Thoth stands up again and catches a power walking masked wrestler in a drop toe hold! Thoth grabs CIA by the waist band and shirt before tossing a sliding CIA under the bottom turnbuckle and into the steel post!!

“Yeah Thoth kill that crowd whore! Then you can help Tom with the other one!”

Back near the ropes, Tom stands up, using those same ropes as a crutch, attempting to clear his head, when Mak loops behind him and snitches in a back waistlock!! Thoth takes a quick look at the scene and then goes back to working on CIA.

“Damnit, go help Tom and leave CIA alone Thoth! He’s in trouble”

The crowd pops huge for this turn of events, but Flesher grasps the ropes with all the strength he has, clearly having scouted International Incidents devastating double team move from last match, which makes him wary of taking any German suplex while CIA is in the ring at the same time, so Mak sweeps Tom’s legs from under him and slides up to his upper body, locking in a cross arm breaker!

“Juji-gatame! What a change of pace by Mak Francis, after going for that German suplex!”

“But he’s way to close to the ropes Mark!”

And that’s very true, as Mak makes the rookie mistake of attacking with a submission hold way to close to the ropes. But Francis doesn’t let go as the referee has to check on both groups of action and can’t keep up. Flesher yells out for Mark Hebner, who looks back and forth between the two groups and finally realizes Tom’s in the ropes, before rushing over and asking Mak for a rope break!

“One…

Two…

Three—”

And Francis breaks at the count of three, using the count to his full advantage in a match of this magnitude against a opponent at Flesher’s level. Francis rolls away, as Flesher lies in the ropes, protecting his nearly hyper extended arm, while Mak dashes up behind Thoth, who is busy stomping the crap out of CIA, nailing him with a Yakuza kick to the back of his head!!

“And a save by Francis for his partner, CIA, who was having a bit of trouble dealing with Thoth’s direct method of offense.”

“He was kicking the hell out of him, Mark. You don’t get much more direct than that!”

Indeed, as thoth tumbles forward to the mat, Francis stepping in over the Balancer, CIA is still clutching at his shoulder, clearly in some pain from the shot to the post he took only moments before. Francis backs Thoth up against the ropes, pulling the former champ’s arms back from his chest and driving the back of his hand across the exposed skin, a resounding crack sounding out. Thoth grasps his chest and leans forward, just as CIA comes to his feet, but Mak stays on the offensive, once again pulling Thoth’s defenses down, and slapping the back of his hand across the Balancer’s chest.

Stumbling forward off the ropes, Thoth cradles his chest, and Francis reaches out to grab hold of his red hair, getting a handful. The Franchise begins to turn Thoth around, slowly, but Thoth spins around in a fit of rage, sending his forearm crashing into the face of the Franchise in a brutal high clothesline, sending him tumbling over the top rope and to the outside. CIA rushes forward just as this happens and drives his own arm into the back of Thoth’s skull, looking worriedly over the top rope at Francis, on the outside. Not hesitating too long, CIA turns Thoth around and begins to pepper his face with rights and lefts, punches increasing speed until his hands are flying into Thoth’s face, drawing a large cheer from the crowd, finally drawing back for one huge—

*CRACK!*

--Yakuza Kick to the back of CIA’s head, sending the Canadian crashing face-first to the mat, a risen Tom Flesher looming over the masked marvel.

“And Tom Flesher is back up, taking a page out of Francis’ book, and flooring CIA with that Yakuza kick to save his partner, CIA now effectively isolated on the inside with both his opponents.”

“Oh, please. Mak Francis stole that move from Tom back in the good old days of the East Coast—“

“Careful, Riley.”

“Yeah, well, he did, and he’s just showing these two how it’s done by a true champion.”

Laying in a hard boot to the back of CIA’s head by way of following up on his attack, Tom is stopped in his assault for just a moment as Thoth rises to his feet, and both men stare a each other, both former champions, one seemingly the only man to hold any recent victory over the other. The fans sense the tension, and let up a bit of a cheer for the impending fireworks as Flesher and Thoth stare each other down, anger etched on the features of both men. For a few seconds, it seems the fans will get the showdown they are waiting for, when, suddenly, Flesher points down at CIA and yells for Thoth to get him on his feet, both men kneeling in concert to drag the Canadian to his feet.

The fans let out a loud boo, but Flesher and Thoth, perhaps accustomed to such response, ignore them, instead backing CIA up against the ropes and whipping him off hard, together, sending him sailing across the ring. CIA bounds across the mat as his opponents step to center ring, both positioning their outside foot forward as they move to mid ring, CIA spinning and catching his back against the ropes, rebounding hard. CIA’s entire body rushes forward at high speed, but the upper half is stopped by a hard Shotei to the face from both men, the force of the stepping palm blows not slowing his legs momentum, and resulting in a backwards flip from the Canadian so swift that he goes completely over backwards in midair, crashing down on his face, and, to a lesser extent, his chest.

“What POWER from Flesher and Thoth, who show that they can both do impressive things when they work together.”

Riley chuckles, and claps politely. “Oh, that was beautiful. CIA was turned inside out, then back again, by the force of those shots, and ooooh, did you see the way his neck snapped backwards? It gave me shivers all up my spine, Mark.”

“Please don’t share with me when you get ‘shivers’, Riley, unless you think it’s the onset of some wasting disease.”

CIA’s body gives a feeble twitch in center ring as both men move to lift him off the mat once more, Flesher grabbing a handful of hair. Thoth drops his grip on the Canadian’s arm and rushes away, and the leader of the Magnificent Seven looks up just in time to watch Thoth flip over the top rope, clotheslining the risen Mak Francis off the apron and back onto the floor, both men managing to tumble over to the outside, just seconds after he had managed to pull himself up off the floor. Flesher frowns for a second, but then, hefting the almost limp form of CIA, he lets a smirk cross his countenance, tugging the Canadian back towards the corner as he points out to the outside, yelling something at the referee about Francis cheating.

The ref looks at Flesher oddly for a second, but heads to the outside of the ring, just as Flesher spins CIA around, scopping him up as if for a bodyslam, turning and spiking the Canadian’s back into the top turnbuckle. A large number of the fans let out cries of foul, but the ref is tied up on the outside with Francis and Thoth, who have made it to their feet and begun to brawl, and Flesher smirks once more, letting CIA drop till he is hanging upside down in the tree of woe, ‘The Superior One’ hooking the Canadian’s legs under the turnbuckle.

Riley seems aflutter with glee, his voice a bit more… excited than usual. “I don’t know EACTLY what Tom Flesher is planning here, but I do know I like it. He knows the ref is gone, and so he’s tying the Canadian up, and he’s going to pound the mother canucker to death!”

“This is deplorable behavior, Riley, and I don’t think there’s anything right, or fair, about it at all.”

“EXACTLY!”

Glancing back, Tom spies the ref, tied up with Francis and Thoth as the Balancer blatantly chokes at Francis on the outside, either attempting to keep the ref’s attention away from Flesher, or inadvertently assisting him, at least. Flesher leans down over CIA, grabbing the Canadian’s head and lifting him up just enough to draw his hand back, BITCHSLAPPING the Canadian across the jaw. The fans let out a magnitude of boos now, But Flesher has already released CIA, sliding on his back under the bottom rope and wrapping his good arm around the Canadian’s throat, in a modified version of the ‘Bow Down to Glory’, stretching the Canadian’s back and spine across the turnbuckles, bending him like a bow and arrow.

Another huge chorus of boos goes up from the audience at this blatant cheating, prompting Tom to reach his legs out for the ringpost, locking his feet together around it, and pulling with all the strength his legs can muster, causing CIA to cry out as the audience can almost hear the Canadian’s bones snapping and cracking. Outside the ring, the ref is still tied up, as Thoth has managed to maintain his advantage, blatantly using small forms of cheating whenever the ref is about to turn back to check on Tom and CIA. His bag of tricks is running low, unfortunately, as the ref makes to turn once more, and the Balancer thrusts his hand forward to jam one thumb into the eye of Mak Francis. Fortunately for ‘The Franchise’, his own experience on the heel side of things has provided a ready counter for any sinister maneuver, and his time as CIA’s partner has provided a sense of humour to go with it.

Francis’ hand blocks Thoth’s thumb, and Mak’s other hand flies forward, fingers making a V, and jamming into the Balancer’s retinas, motion very reminiscent of a three stooges episode. Or EVERY three stooges episode. Not to leave a good thing half finished, Francis grabs hold of Thoth’s nose with his fingers while the former champ’s eyes water, and jerks hard, spilling Thoth back towards the guardrail.

Mark Stevens seems flabbergasted, holding back a slight chortle. “Some… unique offense by Mak Francis on Thoth, saving himself from a further beating at the hands of the Balancer.”

“Unique? I want to know where Larry, Curly, and Shemp are, all of a sudden. This is ludicrous, Mark. That was blatant cheating.”

“Like Thoth and Tom have been doing for the last few minutes?”

“No, not executed with nearly as much Balance or Superiority.”

The referee admonishes Francis, before quickly leaning towards the railing and checking on Thoth. Francis rushes off as soon as the ref turns his back, running around the ring, and towards Tom and CIA. Flesher is busy bathing in the boos of the crowd, using the strength of his entire body to wrench at the back and neck of CIA, and he doesn’t notice Mak’s approach, even as the philly native comes flying around the corner and towards both of them. Suddenly, Mak yells out ‘HEY TOM!’ and Flesher spins his head, noticing the oncoming Franchise, grip slackening slightly in his surprise, legs trying to unwrap themselves from around the post. Reaching down, CIA pushes at the mat with both his hands, managing to pry himself out of Tom’s grip just as Francis seems to leap PAST Tom, except that he quickly spins his body, hands grabbing hold of the ankles of Flesher, all the momentum of his run jerking Tom out along the mat, into a crushing impact of testicle against steel post.

Many fans cheer, many wince in agony, and the voices of Tom Flesher and Bobby Riley rise in unison in terrible screams of agony. As Flesher clutches himself in pain, Francis slides in under the bottom rope, and CIA frees himself from the turnbuckle, flipping over to the mat, clutching his back in obvious pain. Francis quickly pulls Flesher out from under the turnbuckle, dragging him all the way to center ring. Tom reaches up for Francis, but the self proclaimed Franchise drives his foot into the chest of the Superior one, pushing him back down to his back. Stepping over to CIA, Francis drags him over and lays him atop Flesher, CIA instinctively reaching out to hook the leg, before Francis whistles loudly for the ref, dog-piling on top of CIA for even more weight on Flesher.

“No way! They can’t do that, can they, Mark? Two men laying on top of Tom Flesher? That must be against the rules!”

“I think the rules are that any legal man can make a pinfall, Riley, and in a tornado tag situation, both men ARE legal.”

The ref rushes away from Thoth, and frantically slides in under the bottom rope, raising his hand to make the pinfall count, fans letting out cries of encouragement, a gaggle of voices counting along out loud.

ONE…!

TWO…!

T

H

R

E

.

NO! Thoth slides in under the bottom rope and jerks on the Referees ankle just in time to stop the count, Ref’s fingers nearly brushing the mat as he feels the sharp tug jerk him back to slide outside the ring. The fans let out a loud boo, as it looked like their favorites had things well in hand. Outside the ring, the ref is arguing with Thoth, who seems not to care at all, and in the ring, Francis has risen off of CIA and Flesher, the latter quickly rolling the Canadian off of himself, both men holding themselves in pain, slowly coming up to their feet. Soon, all three men are standing in mid ring, as Mak turns back towards the now risen Tom Flesher, and CIA is standing, off to Flesher’s other side. The fans spirits rise again as they realize Flesher is alone in the ring with both members of International Incident. Flesher apparently realizes this as well, as he moves tremendously swiftly, in that most difficult of technical maneuvers….

The retreat and bail out of the ring. Mak makes quick chase, as CIA grabs hold of his back, leaning over the top rope and egging Mak on, needing to take a moment to rest his back. Mak exits the ring just in time to meet a hard shot from Flesher, though the Franchise immediately fires back. Both men trade shots back and forth, neither one seeming to gain the advantage, and Thoth comes around the outside corner of the ring, moving in towards his tag team partner and one of his opponents, looking to take Mak down. Francis sees Thoth coming, and backs away towards the ramp slightly after a swift shot to the cheek of Flesher, and both the Balancer and the Superior one turn to follow him.

“Looks like CIA needs time to rest himself, and now Francis is in trouble on the outside. A colossal moron in the lion’s den, if I may coin a fitting phrase.”

Mark Stevens’ voice is almost a chuckle as he speaks. “And if I may coin a phrase, CATCH!”

Indeed, all three men on the outside would be well served to follow this advice, as CIA sees his partner in trouble, and leaps up, alighting on the top rope just long enough to leap into the air, hurtling like a rocket towards all three men. Flesher and Thoth turn, and the impact of that masked man, up there in the sky, crumples all four men to the protective mats outside the ring, absorbing the impact of the Canadian missile. All four men lay prone as the fans let out an appreciative round of applause, beginning to stir a few seconds later, and then all beginning to make their way up to their feet.

Upon rising, Tom Flesher grabs hold of Mak Francis, as CIA gets his hands on Thoth, the Franchis and the Balancer being slid into the ring under the bottom rope. Turning to face each other, the Canadian and the Former Champ immediately grab hold of each other, amazingly, both men trying to hook in some sort of move on the other on the outside, CIA attempting to hook Flesher in any move that will work his hyper-extended arm, Flesher trying to attack the back of his Maple Leaf masked foe. Though it may be the fatigue, both men seem well matched, and look to keep each other occupied for some time.

In the ring, Francis and Thoth are rising to their feet, The Franchise seeming to be in better condition. Seeing his only opportunity, Francis rushes forward, only to have Thoth step aside, executing a powerful armdrag, Flipping Francis up into the air, and even causing Thoth to come up a bit, and crash down on his stomach.

“Looks like all four men have paired off once again, and these two pairing seem familiar. Thoth and Francis have been fighting for most of this match, and Francis seemed to have the upper hand on Thoth, or at least to gain it at the most opportune times.”

“Yes, but, when alone with CIA, it seems Flesher has been outclassing him in every way, locking him in brutal holds and striking with a true champion’s prowess.”

“I can’t argue with you Bobby, but all four men have taken a great deal of punishment, and I must say, Francis and CIA have been showing much more continuity as a team, which I think will be the difference maker here.”

All four men continue to struggle, CIA and Flesher tying each other in knots, slipping from one hold to the next, as Thoth rises to his feet, and reaching down to lift up Mak Francis. Francis allows himself to be lifted onto his feet, and then quickly throws off Thoth’s hands, lashing out with a hard punch. Thoth gets his arm back up in time to block this, and fires back with a shot of his own, sending his elbow across the forehead of ‘The Franchise’, staggering him back towards the center of the ring. Stepping in, Thoth fires another fierce elbow into the skull of Francis, but Mak stands tall, taking the blow as best he can and shoving Thoth off towards the ropes. Stepping in closer, he moves in to grab hold of the Balancer, but the former world champ grabs hold of Francis, hefting him into the air and cradling. The fans let out a loud boo, as they know what is coming next.

“The riot of the blood! Thoth has Francis up, and when he hits this, it’s all over! There’s noone who can save you from this one, Big Mak!”

Outside the ring, Tom Flesher floats around CIA’s body with a technical expertise almost unmatched, finally defeating his Canadian foe, locking him in a rear waistlock, putting one foot forward to trip CIA and bear him down to the ground. CIA struggles, finally firing his leg back and upwards, scoring on the already tortured testes of Flesher, managing to get him to break the hold. Breaking out of the hold, CIA dives under the bottom rope, thrusting his hand out and catching the leg of Thoth, causing the Balancer to stumble.

Always prepared, Francis takes this opportunity to kick out with is legs, braking Thoth’s grip, and falling back onto his feet. Leaning in quickly, Francis lifts Thoth up on his shoulders, getting him overhead in preparation for his own finisher. Stepping back once, Thoth’s weight balanced on his shoulders, Mak spins slightly, flipping Thoth’s body into the air, and spiking him down on his head in a modified Fisherman’s buster better known as the Franchise Tag! The fans go wild, and Mak rolls over, throwing his arm over Thoth’s body. Flesher makes his way towards the ring, reaching out to try and save his partner, but CIA dives low, grabbing hold of Flesher’s legs in a weak approximation of a football tackle, and holding on for dear life. Struggling and kicking, Flesher breaks free, but all he can do is watch as the referee counts…

ONE…!

TWO…!

T

H

R

E

!

*DING DING DING~!*

The fans explode as the music fires up once more, and Francis rolls off Thoth, exhausted, CIA collapsing as Flesher drives a knee into his face, one last time, for good measure.

“Amazing, Riley! Thoth had Francis set up for a REAL fall, but thanks to some timely intervention by his tag team partner, the SWF’s favorite Canadian import, CIA, International incident has managed to be victorious in tag team action two shows straight, against four different men, all of whom have held the SWF championship! Can anything stop the runaway momentum of this team?”

“Yeah, hopefully a bus when they leave the arena. Not only did they cheat, which, as we know, is only acceptable when the RIGHT people do it, but Francis and CIA were outclassed every step of the way in this match.”

“Tag team ability is what netted this tem the win,a s they have so much more experience together than Thoth and Flesher, who actually managed to co-exist fairly well, I might add.”

“Well, I’m sure THIS match will forever stand as a disappointment to fans everywhere, amazing, since it had Tom Flesher AND Thoth involved. Let’s just move on to our other Main Event, shall we, so I can wash the bad taste out of my mouth from this one?”

“Absolutely, Bobby. Up next, fans, we’ve got the Turner empire, which includes current SWF champion The Boston Strangler, taking on two thirds of the unholy trinity, members of whom hold both the tag team and hardcore titles. It should be an amazing matchup, and it’s next!”

With that, the shot fades out, Francis and CIA having managed to separate themselves from Flesher and Thoth, marching back up the rampway with hands raised as their music plays through the arena.

July 26, 2003

The camera fades in on Tom Flesher tripping through the door of the Magnificent 7 locker room. He is winded and sweaty from his match, just a few moments over. He slumps into a chair in the empty room, breathing hard and trying to cool down from the contest. He looks over to the table on his right and remembers the mini-fridge under it. He opens the door, rooting around for a beer, when something else catches his eye.

Sitting on the table is a long, narrow box. It’s wrapped in dark blue paper with a silver ribbon on top. Flesher picks the box up absentmindedly with a grimace rising on his lips. He rips off the top of the paper and pries off the lid. He stares into the box and lets rip and tortured, aggravated cry.

“GAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Flesher pulls a bottle out of the box and wings it with all his might toward the door of the dressing room. It smashes against the door and breaks. A brown, thick liquid splatters everywhere, staining the door and near floor.

The camera zooms in over Flesher’s shoulder and focuses in tighter on the broken glass lying on the floor. The label is torn and soaked with steak sauce, but still legible. It simply reads “A-1.”

July 26, 2003

Stevens: Welcome back ladies and gentlemen for tonight's main event on SWF Storm!

Riley: The main event which should include Tom Flesher, but doesn't. So it's just wrong. Either way, these two teams can kick each other's heads in, and everyone wins.

Stevens: How positive. Well, you might not enjoy this Riley, but our fans certainly will.

Riley: What would they know. Look at the people they boo for no reason at all.

The Indian crowd is packed into it's seats as Funyon steps into the ring to announce the main event.

Funyon: The Main Event of the evening will be a Tag Team Match for One Fall!

And the fans comes to life, anxious to see a battle of hosses the likes of which has never been seen before!

Funyon: Introducing firstly, from Anaheim, California, at two hundred and seventy five pounds ... TAYLOR NICHOLAS THOMPSON!

TNT kicks into life through the speakers as TNT himself steps out of the entrance way with the cry from the speakers...

"WATCH ME EXPPLLOOOODDDEEEE!"

Climbing the ring apron and making his way up the turnbuckles, he raises his arm to the crowd to a returning roar. Jumping down into the ring, he paces around, waiting for his partner.

Funyon: And his partner, from Boston, Mass. weighing in at three hundred and three pounds ... THE SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION ... THE BOSTON STRANGLER!

Godzilla rifts into life over the speakers as a huge burst of white pyro lights up the stage. The World Champ strolls up from the pyro, raising his arm and Title Belt in the air to the chanting fans.

“TBS! TBS! TBS! TBS! TBS!”

Climbing into the ring, he throws his arms up to the crowd, before handing over his Title, and exchanging words with TNT.

Funyon: And their opponents, at a combined weight of four hundred and ninety five pounds ... representing THE UNHOLY TRINITY ... DACE NIGHT AND DANNY WILLIAMS!

Under the clouds of smoke and red laser light that cover the entrance way, Deathwish and Horrorcore step out onto the entrance ramp as the music kicks in.

"LET FREEDOM RING WITH A SHOTGUN BLAST!"

A shower of red pyro explodes as Danny and Dace stride through the smoke and strobing red lights towards the ring. Stepping onto the apron, they throw their fists into the air.

“TRIN-ITY! TRIN-ITY! TRIN-ITY!”

Stevens: The Turner Empire certainly have the size and power advantage going into this match, but can they match the technical skill and sheer force of Dace Night and Danny Williams?

Riley: The Boston Strangler is the World Champion, so he has an advantage anyway. And a win here will only serve to make The Turner Empire look like a credible Tag Team threat.

As Williams and TNT move into their respective corners, Dace and Strangler head towards each other in the middle of the ring, extending their arms slowly, they lock hands in a Test of Strength. Pushing all their weight against each other, the World Champ and Dace Night tries to force each other down and back across the ring to gain an advantage. Struggling and straining against each other, they try to gain the upper hand, but neither Strangler or Dace will move an inch.

Stevens: And the match opens straight into a deadlock between these two power houses. The man to gain the first advantage here could help decide a lot of outcomes later into this match.

Snapping his arms down and launching his body forwards, Dace tackles himself into The Boston Strangler's mid section, driving him backwards towards the ropes. The World Champ counters by lock his arms around Night's waist and digs in to haul him off the mat. Bringing Dace up and over, Strangler places him on his shoulders for a Powerbomb!

Riley: Dace is in trouble!

Pushing off with his hands, Dace forces himself backwards and drops to his feet on the mat, slapping a Front Facelock on TBS as he drops down! Now Strangler uses his arms to shove Night away, before rearing up to his hull height and driving the edge of his hand into Dace's chest with a Knife Edge Chop.

SMACK!

Not moving or flinching, Dace fires back with one of his own!

SMACK!

Not backing from down from some young punk, The World Champ comes back with a another Chop!

SMACK!

Once more Night fires back!

SMACK!

Stevens: We've got a Chop down! Dace and Strangler just standing in the middle of the ring, exchanging Knife Edge Chops to seemingly no effect.

The Boston Strangler launches out yet another Knife Edge, but this time Dace is waiting on it! He dives under the blow, rushing forwards to deliver an elbow, but TBS cuts him off, wrapping one huge hand around his throat!

Riley: And once again, Dace has got himself in trouble!

Dragging the Hardcore Goth from his feet, the Champ looks to Chokeslam him all the way down to the mat, but reaching out, Horrorcore locks his arms around the one grasping to his throat, and swings his weight in mid air, pitching Strangler forward in an effort to tackle him down into an Armbar Takedown! Dace makes the dive to pull Strangler to the mat, but the bigger man has other ideas. Twisting his body to the side, he dips his shoulders under Night's torso and hauls him up across his back, before quickly dropping backwards, slamming Dace into the mat with a Samoan Drop!

Boom!

Stevens: Despite Dace’s best efforts, the World Champion has scored the first blood of the match!

Soapdish slides into position as the World Champ stays down to makes the cover.

ONE!

Kickout!

Stevens: Dace making an easy kickout at one, and now Strangler appears to be looking for the tag.

Riley: Oh god, don’t tell me he’s blown up already.

Tagging the out stretched hand of TNT, Strangler steps onto the apron as Taylor moves in to face off with Dace Night, who has staggered to his feet. They tie up and TNT quickly shots Dace across into ropes. The Tag Champ sends his elbow lashing out for the face of TNT, but Taylor ducks under the blow! Diving off the other set of ropes, Night flies back at TNT, right into his waiting arms! With a dip of the legs, TNT launches Dace straight up into the air!

KA-BOOM!

Stevens: THUNDEROUS RAILGUN SUPLEX!

Bouncing off the mat and straight to his feet, Dace dives right back at turning Taylor and drives his boot square into his face!

CRACK!

TNT goes down like a sack of bricks, while Dace momentarily drops to his hands and knees! The crowd responds to the hard hitting action with a brief but loud ovation.

Stevens: What he lacks in experience, Dace makes up for in raw determination, finding the energy to level TNT with a Yakuza Kick despite taking a hellaish suplex!

Riley: The only thing exploding about TNT right now is the stars in front of his eyes.

Standing over TNT, Dace drops down, hammering his knee right into the chest of one half of The Turner Empire. He follows up by leaning forwards into a lateral press for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

Shooting a shoulder off the mat at two, Taylor fights back to his feet. Night steps behind him and snaps on a Rear Waistlock with a yell, but TNT breaks his grip and swings around into of his own, but Dace smashes the back of his head into TNT's face with a Headbutt!

CRACK!

Spinning his body around, Dace throws himself forwards, taking Thompson off his feet and straight to the mat with a Double Leg Takedown. Keeping the hold on his legs, Dace rolls over and leans back, clinching in a Boston Crab.

Riley: And here comes TBS to try and break up the hold. Is he going to save his partner, or just make things worse for him?

Sure enough, Soapdish steps into the path of The Boston Strangler as he tries to aid his partner. Dace leans back into the hold one last time, before releasing TNT and flipping off the World Champion!

“Booooooooooooooooooooo!”

Strangler makes his move, but Soapdish holds his ground, ordering him back to his corner.

Riley: Ha, ha, ha, good one Dace.

Stevens: Dace, showing no respect for the World Champion.

As Strangler is sent back into his corner Dace moves over to his and tags in Danny Williams.

Stevens: Danny Williams joins the fray. TNT better hope he can get back on his feet and hold his own.

Riley: Bah, the ref was distracted but the Trinity don't do anything about it. Hasn't taking on the Mag Seven taught them anything about how to work a tag match?

As Taylor forces himself back up from the mat, Danny lays a stiff punting kick into his back!

SMACK!

“Oooooooooooooh!”

Rolling back into the ropes, TNT clings onto them and drags himself up with their aid, but Deathwish is right on him, planting a boot into his gut and snapping on a Front Facelock. Slinging Taylor's arm over his shoulders, Danny drags him up into the air for a Vertical Suplex!

Riley: Look at the power of Danny Williams!

Frantically kicking his legs, TNT tries to reverse the momentum! With one last push, he manages to turn himself around in mid air and land on his feet behind Williams.

Stevens: But look at the agility of TNT, very rare do you see a 6'6" man who can escape a Suplex like that.

Rapidly throwing his arms out, he pulls Danny's head back into an Inverted Facelock, looking for an Inverted DDT, but Deathwish drives him elbows backwards into TNT's ribs, breaking the hold. Raising himself back up from bridging backwards, Danny Williams turns back around towards Thompson, but TNT swings his arms out and catches Danny for an Exploder Suplex, but once more Danny brings his elbows into play, smashing them into the side of Taylor's head to beak free.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Taking advantage of the close quarters, Danny traps TNT with a Side Headlock, cutting off all his movement. TNT tries to crawl and force his way free of the hold, but Danny won't budge an inch. Rocking back and forth on his feet, Taylor tries to make a push for the ropes to escape. Wrapping his arms around Williams' mid section, he drags him backwards, forcing Danny to follow him or be thrown backwards. Bouncing off the ropes, TNT shoots Deathwish off, freeing himself from the hold. Following after Danny, TNT extends his arm for a Lariat, but to his surprise, Williams leaps up on the second rope with cat like agility! Camera flashes light up the squared circle as Danny springs back at TNT, catching him in the chest with a Reverse Elbow!

Stevens: BEAUTIFUL SPRINGBOARD ELBOW FROM DANNY WILLIAMS!

Riley: I will give credit when credit is do, and I must say that Danny Williams moves alright for a mutant.

Impressed with Williams athleticism, the crowd erupts into a “DAN-E!” chant. Back on his feet, Williams drags TNT back to his corner and tags Dace Night back, as The Boston Strangler can only look on from across the ring and watch helplessly. Hauling TNT to his feet, Dace and Williams whip TNT into the ropes, and catch him on the rebound with a double Hiptoss! Moving in perfect unison, Williams and Dace leap high into the air, dropping sharp elbows across TNT’s chest!

Stevens: Nice double team work from the Unholy Duo, and here’s the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

Kickout! Even as Strangler is heading across the ring to break the cover up.

Riley: Watch him ref, the Strangler looks a little more than anxious to get in there.

Stevens: What were seeing is a very sound strategy from Williams and Dace, isolating TNT, while keeping the World Champion out of the match.

Keeping a hold on Thompson, Night pulls him back to his feet while driving a hard knee into his gut, forcing the air out of his lungs. Dragging him into a Standing Headscissors, Dace pulls him up into a vertical position. He turns around slowly, giving TNT a full upside down view of the ring and the crowd before dropping back sharply with a Piledriver!

CRUNCH!

Stevens: PPIIILLEEEDDRRIIIVVAAAHHHH!

Riley: You've been taking those pills like Axis again haven't you Mark. What have I told you man. You'll have a heart attack commentating like that.

Rolling over Taylor's body, Night looks his leg for a cover as Soapdish dives into place.

ONE!

TWO!

TWO1/2....

NO, Strangler breaks up the pin with a whelping Double Axehandle!

Stevens: The World Champ dives into the ring and makes the save!

Riley: In the nix of time, as ever. But now he's gotta face that lecture from Soapdish, which leaves the Trinity free to wail like all hell on his tag partner.

Once more pulling TNT to his feet, Dace drives another stiff knee into his mid section before whipping him off towards the corner, but TNT slams on the breaks, swings himself right around, and launches Night off into the corner instead! Charging across the ring, he slams into the corner, Clothesling Horrorcore's chest and throat!

SMACK!

TNT than bounces out of the corner, wrapping his arm around the back of Night's head, dragging him forwards for a Bulldog, but Dace smoothly shoves him off. Flying across the ring, TNT crashes chest first into the turnbuckles on the other side of the ring as Dace stalks along behind him. Turning around slowly, clutching at his chest, Thompson turns straight into the waiting arms of Dace Night. Sweeping TNT up from his feet, Dace spins around and slams him down into the mat with a Release Spinebuster.

Stevens: Once more TNT tries to mount a come back but ends up being cut off and driven into the mat. He needs to get out and make the tag to Strangler.

Riley: The fresh man, but Danny and Dace seem to be zoning it right now. It might be hard to knock them off. What am I talking about.. someone just run in and stop this madness!

Standing over the fallen body of Taylor Nicholas Thompson, Night drops to his knees and starts to rain down Elbow Smashes into his face!

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

“Boooooooooooooooooo!”

The Boston Strangler starts beating his hands into the turnbuckle, building the crowd up and trying to drive TNT on to fight his way out of the situation.

“TNT! TNT! TNT!”

Stevens: Strangler rallying the crowd behind Taylor, but will it be enough to help him make a come back?

Ending the flurry of Elbow Smashes by dropping a knee into TNT's chest, Dace pulls his dazed opponent into a sitting position. Moving behind him, he signals with a hand in the air before locking his legs around TNT's throat and falling back, trapping him in a Figure Four Sleeper.

Stevens: Horrorcore locking in a Figure Four Sleeper. That's going to further wear down the battered TNT. If he doesn't tap or pass out from it, he'll be much easier to pin.

Riley: What happens if the crowd passes out first, Mark? Do they get a refund or something like that? Or does the World Champ prove himself a worthy draw by making the save.

Grabbing onto his ankles, Night pulls back on his own legs, keeping the hold clinched in tightly, preventing TNT from easily forcing his legs apart. Soapdish steps in besides TNT and starts asking him if he can carry on or if he wants to give up. Clenching his teeth, Taylor starts to struggle, rolling from side to side and pushing on Dace's legs at any angle, trying to force his way out of the Figure Four Sleeper or to reach the ropes.

“TNT! TNT! TNT!”

Suddenly, Strangler enters the ring, but Williams speeds in as well, ducking behind him, and grabbing a Sleeperhold! Williams jumps up on the Strangler’s back, pulling him to the mat with a body scissors! Sensing that the end is on the horizon, the fans pop out of their chairs and make some noise!

Stevens: AND THE TURNER TOWERS ARE IN TROUBLE!

Riley: TNT IS ON HIS OWN NOW, IT’S THE ROPES OR BUST!

Fading fast, TNT successfully completes two rolls, and extends his arms, reaching for the ropes....but they are just out of reach! His eye lids growing heavier with each passing second, TNT attempts another roll, but it’s not as easy this time around as the energy is being drained from his body! Beginning to lose consciousness, TNT starts struggling less and less until he is completely limp and incoherent.

Riley: HE’S OUT, TNT’S OUT!

Since TNT appears to be sleeping like a baby, Soapdish slides to the mat, and frantically administers the arm test. Soapdish raises TNT’s dead arm, and releases it, letting it flop lifelessly back to the mat. Meanwhile, Williams is violently twisting Strangler’s head from side to side, hoping to put him out as well.

Stevens: I think your right, Riley. This could very well be the biggest win in Dace Night’s young career, a pinfall victory over a former World Champion!

Looking to capitalize on TNT’s lack of consciousness, Dace frantically untangles his legs from around his head, and scrambles on top of him for the pin attempt!

Riley: IT LOOKS LIKE TNT IS GOING OFF THE AIR!

Heating up, the crowd counts along with Soapdish!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

.............

TNT weakly kicks out! The crowd celebrates the near fall with an explosive pop! Williams releases the drowsy World Champion, who sluggishly rolls out of the ring, while a worn out looking Dace returns to his feet. Soapdish restores some order, forcing Williams to return to his corner, cooling of the crowd ever so slightly.

Stevens: Thanks to TNT’s resilience, the Turn Towers survive a close call.

Riley: But their not out of the clear yet, Stevens. Strangler is still discombobulated from the Sleeperhold, and I guarantee you that Double D are gonna take full advantage of this opportunity.

After dragging TNT up by his tights, Dace ducks his head under his crouch, and lifts up on his shoulders, positioning him for an Electric Chair Drop! Struggling to keep the big man balanced, Dace carefully walks back to the Trinity corner, and makes the tag to his fearless leader! The fans rise out of their seats in ah as Williams scales the turnbuckles, making his way to the top rope! His body silhouetted by the blue flashes of camera lights, Danny Williams soars off the top rope, slamming a forearm into Dace’s jaw!

CRACK!

At the moment of impact, Dace releases TNT’s legs, letting him belly flop on the mat!

Stevens: DIVING ELBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!

Williams scrambles on top of TNT, pulling back a leg for the pin!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

..........

“THRE-OOOOOOOOOH!”, gasps the crowd as TNT manages another weak kick out!

Riley: I’m telling you, they need to quit fooling around and take TNT out while the Strangler is still licking his wounds.

Stevens: That’s proving to be easier said than done, Riley.

Disappointed, Dace returns to his corner, while Williams scoops TNT up, ....

Boom!

planting him near a corner with a scoop slam! Moving with a sense of urgency, Williams skips over TNT’s body, leaps up on the second rope, and jumps off....

CRACK!

dropping a sickening knee across TNT’s forehead!

Stevens: DEAR GOD, WHAT A KNEE DROP!

Instead of going for the cover, Williams astounds the crowd by stepping through the ropes, and climbing up the turnbuckles!

Riley: What the hell is he doing, he hasn’t have time for this high risk bull?

To the delight of the crowd, Danny stands at his full height on the top rope, carefully eying his prey below! With a rare display of elegance, Williams boldly dives off the top turnbuckle, dropping a picture perfect elbow across TNT’s throat!

Stevens: BEAUTIFUL ELBOW DROP, I haven’t seen Danny use that in over a year!

Now Williams goes for the cover, hooking a leg and pulling it back to the point that he is laying belly up on top of TNT!

Riley: THIS LOOKS LIKE IT COULD BE IT!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

.........

“THREE!”

NO, Strangler drops his huge tree trunk of a leg across Danny’s throat, breaking up the pin! Gagging and coughing, Williams rolls of TNT, holding his throat, while kicking his legs in the air.

Riley: Ouch, I think he may have crushed Danny’s wind pipe!

Stevens: And for the first time in a while, the World Champion makes his presence felt!

Soapdish orders Strangler back to his corner, and after some hesitation, he finally exits the ring. Meanwhile, Danny rolls to the sanctuary of his corner, smacking hands with his partner. Dace hurries over to TNT, helping him half way up, before backing up against the ropes. Once TNT stumbles to his feet, Dace explodes off the ropes, thrusting out his leg with a High Kick....

Stevens: YAKUZA KICK!

that is caught! However, Dace simply pulls back his boot, and swings out his arm for a Lariat, but TNT fires one as well!

SMAAAASMAAAAAAAAACK!

Dace ends up laying lifeless on the mat, his eyes closed and his mouth lifelessly hanging open. TNT on the other hand is still on his feet, he’s hurt, but he’s still able to walk.

Stevens: BURNING LARIAAAAAAAT!!!

Riley: Stupid move by Dace, you got to stick to your strengths, not your opponent’s.

The fans get rowdy as TNT slowly staggers to his corner, dramatically collapses to one knee, and slaps hands with the Strangler!

Stevens: HERE COMES TROUBLE!

The fans blow the roof off the place as the larger than life World Champion steps over the ropes, stomping his way towards the still motionless tag champion! Without warning, Williams rushes into the ring, driving the surprised World Champion into the ropes with a flurry of Elbow Smashes!

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Danny takes the Strangler by the wrist, and whips him off the ropes, but the World Champ is too strong, effortlessly reversing the Irish whip! Williams speeds back at the towering hoss...

CRAAAAAAAACK!

running right into a high kick!

Stevens: THE BOOOT, THE BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!

Delirious, Danny rolls out of the ring, prompting the fans to once again, get off their asses and pump the volume!

Riley: THE STRANGLER HAS DACE ALL TO HIMSELF NOW!

The fearsome World Champion peels Dace off the mat, and secures him in a rear waistlock! The fans go ballistic as the Strangler easily tosses Dace over his head with inhuman power!

THUMP!

Dace lands face down, on the opposite of the ring!

Stevens: WHAT A THROW, DID YOU SEE WHERE HE LANDED?!

Riley: That’s got to be a record or something, I bet TBS would be a killer at midget tossing contest.

As the standing fans chant his initials at the top of their lungs, TBS yanks Dace up by his hair, and muscles him down in a double underhook. The Strangler kicks his legs out, driving Dace’s face into the mat with an absolutely brutal DDT!

Stevens: LIGHT’S OUT!!!

The Strangler rolls Dace’s corpse over, and casually hooks a leg for the pin!

Riley: Who needs partners, the World Champion has just won this one all by himself!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

.............

“THREE!”

NO, Dace somehow wiggles a shoulder up, sending the crowd into a frenzy! Not discouraged, the Strangler simply helps Dace to his feet, and claps a huge a hand around his throat, sending the already molten crowd overboard!

Stevens: CHOKESLAM COMING UP!

Riley: AND I DON’T THINK DACE IS GONNA WEASEL HIS WAY OUT THIS TIME!

TBS slings Dace’s arm over his shoulder, and bends his knees for the lift...

Smack! Smack! Smack!

when Danny Williams starts slamming forearms into his back, forcing TBS to release his prey for the time being!

Stevens: WILLIAMS, COMING TO THE RESCUE OF HIS YOUNG STABLEMATE!

His eyes lit up with rage, the Strangler turns around, unfazed by Danny Williams’ surprise attack! Williams looks unnerved, but shrugs off his self doubt, and goes back to work, hammering the Strangler with Elbow Smashes! But they have no effect on the intimidating World Champion, who just slings Williams into a near by corner, where he precedes to work over his body with a barrage of rib cracking punches!

Riley: This is the guy who wants to move up to the World Title scene, do your self a favor Danny, stick to the damn ICTV title division.

Having tenderized Danny Williams, TBS turns his attention back towards Dace Night, who is attempting to climb back to his feet, but too little avail. The Strangler calmly returns to his corner, tagging in the Dynamic One! TNT enters the ring to a massive pop, nodding his head as the World Champion lays out a brief battle plan. Both men make their way over to Dace, straining to get him upright. Once they do, TNT shoves Dace’s head between his thighs, trapping him in a standing head scissors!

Stevens: What have we here?

Riley: I got a feeling that Dace’s number is up.

With a scream of effort, TNT rips Dace off the mat, lifting him on to his shoulders! In that instant, TNT sits out, while the Strangler catches him by his throat, and spikes him into the mat!

KA-BOOOOOOOOOM!

The fans are going nuts as Soapdish starts the count!

Stevens: A MUSHROOM CLOUD/CHOKESLAM COMBO, THIS HAS TO BE IT!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

............

“THREE!”

NO, Williams dives into the picture, knocking TNT over at the last possible micro second! The fans are literally running in place, feeling the arena with the sound of rumbling feet!

Riley: IT DOESN’T GET ANY CLOSER THAN THAT!

Stevens: Williams is refusing to let down the Trinity, as long as there is breath in his body, he will be their to break up the pin! That’s why in most of his tag defeats, he was the one that had to be pinned.

Once again, Soapdish is faced with the difficult task of getting the World Champ back in his corner. Williams willingly goes back to his, not wanting to make things any harder on his already brutalized partner. With everybody out of the ring, TNT quickly blankets Dace for another pin attempt!

Riley: Hey, why not? Dace still may not have the strength to kick out!

Realizing that someone is being pinned, Soapdish swiftly slides into position, starting another count!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

Williams is back on the scene, breaking up the pin with an elbow drop! Springing back to his feet, TNT gives Danny the evil eye as he scampers back to his corner.

Stevens: There’s a lot of animosity between these two.

Riley: That’s right, they want the same thing, they want Strangler has, and the only to do that, is to go threw each other!

Keeping his eyes locked on Danny, TNT guides Dace to his feet, and controls him up into another standing head scissors!

Stevens: HE’S GONNA GO FOR ANOTHER MUSHROOM CLOUD!

TNT wraps one arm around Dace’s waist, and than the other, but before he can link his hands, Dace trips him up a surprise Double Leg Takedown! Free, Dace frantically takes off for his corner on his hands and knees! Stretching out the tag rope, Danny leans into the ring, but just as Dace gets within in reach, TNT catches him by the tights, and pulls him up into a rear waistlock!

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Dace pops TNT with elbows, hoping to free himself, but the Dynamic One brides back instead!

Stevens: GERMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!

Before he’s released into head dropping hell, Dace desperately kicks off the ring ropes as TNT falls back!

THUMP!

Dace lands smack on top of TNT, squishing him into the canvas! The Strangler shakes his head, not happy with the current turn of events. Frantic, Dace crawls away from his pan caked opponent, desperately trying to reach his corner! Still on the mat, the numb faced explosive one latches on to Dace’s boot in a last ditch effort to prevent him from slapping with Danny!

Riley: Having cost his team the pinfall in their last match, TNT doesn’t want to make another crucial mistake, he doesn’t want the mortally wounded Dace to make the hot tag on his watch!

In mule like fashion, Dace starts thrusting his boot back into TNT’s face, kicking the beejezus out of him! After a few boots to the face, TNT has no choice but to release Dace or risk a trip to the dentist! Finally free, Dace dives forward, touching the hand of his partner!

Stevens: HERE’S THE TAG!

The fans raise the roof as Danny Williams comes a steam rolling into the ring, grabbing TNT by the dreads so that he can lift him up for an elbow smashing good time!

CRACK!

But it is Danny who eats the first elbow smash! However, Williams is quick to respond with his own Elbow Smash!

CRACK!

TNT wobbles, but manages to swing a mean forearm in turn!

CRACK!

Williams of course returns fire, and the next thing you know, their trading shots like it’s the Thriller in Manila! Stomping their feet and cheering for their favorite, the crowd goes totally ape shit as both men knock each other silly with cringe inducing shots that are so hard they are scaring the hell out of the people close enough to hear them!

Riley: THIS IS CROWD IS DEAFENING......SHUT THE HELL UP!

Stevens: THIS IS SHOWDOWN WE’VE BEEN WAITING FOR! STUDENT AGAINST TEACHER, FORMER FRIENDS, NOW THE WORST OF ENEMIES!

As expected, the intense brawl only lasts a couple of seconds before one man start reeling, and that poor soul is TNT! His heart is strong, but not as strong as the elbow smashes that are tearing him to pieces!

“GET OUT OF THERE, MAN!” screams Strangler, realizing that his partner is getting killed on his feet!

Hoping to turn the tide, TNT clings to Williams, holding him close, while slamming knees into his gut! However, Williams just pushes him off, pulls his head down by his dreads, and starts busting him up with some knees of his own! The explosive one can only absorb so much punishment, before his legs finally cave in, leaving him vulnerable on his back! Half the crowd explodes, while the other half let out a collective sigh.

Riley: Now what did I say earlier, about staying away from your opponent’s strength?

Stevens: Indeed, Riley. TNT may have enough heart to stand toe to toe with Williams, but there’s no way he can match him elbow for elbow. He had a good idea with the knees, but that was too little too late.

Barely able to hold his eyes open, TNT stumbles to his feet, and pitifully hobbles towards Williams....

CRAAAAACK!

But Danny has no mercy, completely leveling him with a mean spirited Rolling Elbow! TNT spirals to the mat, and starts twitching his leg like a dying animal.

Stevens: TNT’S OUT!

Riley: OUT MY ASS, THAT FOOL’S DEAD!

Refusing to a bystander any longer, Strangler swings his big leg for the top rope...

CRAAAAAAACK!

but Williams is to quick, nailing him with a Running Elbow before he can even enter the ring! The Strangler drops down to the floor, crashing into the guardrail, damn near giving the front fans a heart attack! Taking advantage of the World Champ’s absence, Danny barks some orders at Dace, who quickly enters the ring, and takes position in a far corner on the opposite of the ring. Williams some how manages to get his rubber legged rival into a rear waistlock, prompting the curious fans to remain on their feet.

Riley: Now this is just overkill, pin the sonuvabitch and be done with it, so I can go back to my hotel room and watch some porno!

With a grunt, Danny pops out his hips, and bridges back at a beautiful high angle, tossing TNT”s huge 6'6 frame into the air! In that instant, Dace explodes off the ropes, catching TNT directly under the chin with the Yakuza Kick!

CRUNCH!

TNT lands hard on his upper back, and folds over on his stomach, where he lies motionless and vulnerable.

Riley: NOW THAT WAS PRETTY COOL!

The fans are now giving a constant pop as Danny crawls over to the Dynamic’s carcass, rolls it over, and drapes an arm over it for the pin, while Dace stands guard, keeping an eye out for the World Champion!

Stevens: DEAR LORD, A YAKUZA KICK ASSISTED GERMAN, TNT IS TRULY FINISHED!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

His face wrinkled with determination, TBS comes plowing into the ring, running threw Dace like he wasn’t even in there!

“THREE!”

In that instant, Strangler stomps Williams in hopes of breaking up the pin......

but...

unlike last week, he’s on time!

Stevens: THE BOSTON STRANGLER HAS REDEEMED HIMSELF, SAVING HIS PARTNER IN THE NICK OF TIME!

Overcome with the joy, the fans erupt with a ear bleeding pop! But Dace doesn’t give the Strangler an opportunity to join in on the fun, bashing him with some elbow smashes! But the World Champ has had enough of this crap, clubbing Dace within an inch of his life with his paralyzing hammer punches! TBS grabs the stunned tag champ by the tights and hair, and tosses him out of the ring like garbage! With Dace out of the way, Strangler turns his rage towards Williams...

Riley: It looks like TBS once some payback for that cheap shot!

but suddenly, Horrorcore reaches back into the ring, grabbing Strangler by the boots! Dace trips Strangler up, and clings to his boots with all his might, anchoring him in place! Realizing that the Strangler is currently got his hands full, Williams wastes little time in yanking TNT up by his dread locks! Williams shoves TNT’s head between his legs, and links his hands around his stomach, damn near inciting a riot!

Stevens: DANNY’S GOING FOR THE POWERBOMB!

Riley: You got be kidding, TNT weighs what...280?

In preparation for what is sure to be a strenuous lift, Danny takes several deep breaths, and dips his knees extremely low to the mat! With a scream of effort, Williams shockingly lifts TNT into the air...

“HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYAH!”

Williams flips TNT on to his shoulders, and doubles over!

KA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!

The ring nearly breaks apart, as TNT’s big ass gets slammed into it like a meteor!

Stevens: HE HIT IT! POWERBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMB!!!!!

Maintaining his grip on TNT’s legs, Williams leans over on his tippy toes, folding the no longer explosive one up for the pin! The Strangler starts clawing at the canvas like a mad man, trying to wiggle himself free, but it’s no use!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

Finally, TBS frees himself, and lumbers at Danny with all the grace of an elephant!

“THREE!”

Strangler pushes Danny over, which would have saved his partner, had he not been in a micro second late!

DING! DING! DING!

Upon the sound of the bell, TBS collapses to his knees, and buries his face in his hands. The music hits, and Soapdish raises Danny’s hand to make it all official.

Funyon: The winners of the match by pinfall at 17 minutes and 34 seconds......DANNY WILLIAMS AND DACE NIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!!!

Dace starts jumping and down with joy, while Williams remains on his back and out of breath, his stomach rapidly pumping up down. The crowd blows the roof off the place, applauding the efforts of all four men.

Riley: The World Champion may be able to achieve individual glory, but he’s struggling to do the same in a tag environment.

Stevens: The thing to remember is that the Turner Towers are still a relative new team, chemistry will come with time, and they certainly gave the Unholy Duo a run for their money. Well fans, I’m sorry but we are all out of..........

SWF Storm©©

July 25, 2003

July 26, 2003

Results:

A lot of good promos for the two steady storylines. The opening promo sets up what should be an awesome Mask vs. Mask match at the PPV, and short vignettes involving Tom Flesher seem to hint at Frost Brand © Shenanigans. Very excellent tag matches from both winning teams, which has assured me that a nice big tag-fest will probably be goin' down at the PPV. Plus, an exciting debut, and the first interim bump we've had in eons!

Bottom line: what was on the show was largely good. A lot more no-shows than I expected, though. Some of you let us know, some of you didn't; in the future, please try to let us know so we can prepare. Card will be up shortly, and hopefully we'll have the hardcore title decision sooner rather than later.

It's Friday night...SWF STORM!!!

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