Smarkdown! It's PPV time soon, kids!

[Guest Suicide King]

SWF Smarkdown!

August 4, 2003

LIVE from the SOLD-OUT Alliant Energy Center in Madison, Wisconsin!!

 

Singles Match

Dace Night v. CIA (Canadian Intelligence Agent)

 

 

Singles Match

Frost v. Judge "Mental" William Hearford

 

 

Singapore Cane Match

Nathan Kibagami v. Micheal "King of Nightmares" Craven

 

 

Non-Title Singles Match

Va'aiga v. "The Franchise" Mak Francis

 

 

Singles Match

"Deathwish" Danny Williams v. Quiz (W/ Charlie "The Show" Matthews)

 

 

Iron Australian Knockout Challenge Match / Best of Five Series

Crow v. Janus

 

 

Singles Match

"The Sacred One" Andrew Blackwell v. Stryke

 

 

Main Event

Six Man Tag Match

The Boston Strangler & Beezel & Jay Dawg v. Ejiro Fasaki & Thoth & Sean Atlas

[Guest Suicide King]

The crowd in the Alliant Energy Center in beautiful Madison, Wisconsin are alive and rocking as SWF Smarkdown is beamed live across the globe. The always-ravenous Wisconsin fans are in rare form tonight as the entire arena is at a fevered pitch, anticipating Ground Zero, which is just six short days away. A huge sign reading “International Incident Imminent!” is displayed proudly by three fans on the SmarkTron who jump up and down, excited for their 15 seconds of fame. Finally, the camera pans to a shot of Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley, who are seated at their announce table.

 

“Welcome to SWF Smarkdown once agan, folks! As always, alongside Bobby Riley, I’m ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens, and we’re thrilled to be bringing you all a night of nonstop action as we head into one of the year’s most anticipated PPV’s, SWF Ground Zero!”

 

“Stevens, stop shilling for a damn second” snaps Riley. “Sure, this’ll be a great PPV and all, but this marks the first time in MONTHS that Tom Flesher will not be competing in the main event of an SWF PPV! This is a travesty of epic proportions!”

 

“You know, Riley, I’m sure the sun will continue to come up in the morning” reassures Mark in a sarcastic tone. “However, this main event will feature two men at the top of their games, as longtime veteran Thoth takes on another grizzled vet, and the current SWF World Champion, the Boston Strangler.” Riley shudders at the words. “Don’t say that, Stevens. Strangler and SWF Champ don’t sound right next to each other.”

 

“Despite the apparent aesthetic flaw picked up by Riley, most people are highly anticipating this rematch” continues Stevens, undeterred by Riley’s cynicism. “Strangler and Thoth have a LOT of history throughout the years. Strangler has twice been a member of the Clan, which is the organization Thoth has devoted his career to, only to turn on the organization. Strangler still has bitter memories about the times, and when he was able to take down Thoth for that title, you know that it had to be an extremely proud day for him.”

 

“Cut the inspirational bullshit, Stevens. Strangler disobeyed orders and didn’t fit in. They did what was best for the unit, and Strangler proceeded to become whiny, a steroid abuser, he forcefully retired Erek Taylor in his prime, he betrayed the Suicide King upon his return, and then got lucky and took the title from Thoth. Strangler’s a loose cannon who has no respect for authority, and a lack of talent to boot. Hell, he’s hardly worth the breath I’m using to insult him.”

 

Stevens pauses for a moment as he absorbs Riley’s latest rant. “Well, that’s your opinion, Bobby. However, Thoth is sure to be hungry to wrap SWF gold around his waist again. He waited over 2 years to become champion, and then Strangler took it from him in a matter of weeks. Thoth surely hasn’t gotten over the stinging loss Strangler dealt him on the recent Lockdown, and if the Thoth who’s been one of the most consistent performers in SWF history shows up at Ground Zero, this could be a match for the ages.”

 

“I think you’re mistaking that with Tom Flesher’s Ultimate Submissions match with ELM at last year’s Ground Zero, Stevens.”

 

“I know what I said, Bobby.” Stevens shifts in his seat, and the embittered edge drops from his voice. “Anyways, we’ll be moving on with the show now, as our next match is scheduled to begin. We’ll take you down to Funyon fo…” Stevens is cut off in mid-word as the arena suddenly goes dark, and “Godzilla” by Blue Oyster Cult kicks up over the speakers. The Alliant Center explodes into cheers as a huge blast of white pyro explodes from the stage, framing the massive “STRANGLER” logo displayed on the SmarkTron. “And speak of the devil…” mutters Riley as Strangler appears through the billowing smoke. The SWF World Title belt is draped over his shoulder as he steps out and looks over the crowd. Strangler raises his left hand into the air and looks down at the belt slung over his shoulder before starting on his way down to the ring.

 

“Making his way to the ring, from Boston, Massachusetts, he is the SWF World Champion, the BOSTON….STRRRRRRRRRANGLERRR!”

 

“Ah, shut up, Funyon. Don’t waste even more time on this clown.” Riley’s request goes unheeded as Strangler rolls into the ring and immediately heads for the turnbuckle. He steps up and raises both fists into the air, with the SWF World Title belt clasped securely in his right hand. Flashbulbs explode throughout the arena, capturing the image of Strangler and the belt raised high while Strangler holds the pose. Finally, he hops down off the turnbuckle and grabs the microphone from Funyon. “I wonder what he has to say, Riley” wonders Stevens aloud as he looks down at the champion. “Whatever it is, odds are none of the words have more than one syllable” retorts Riley in his customary bitter tone. As Stevens and Riley finally fall silent, Strangler raises the microphone to speak.

 

“First off, I want to thank you for that wonderful ovation.” Strangler is immediately cut off by another round of applause from the jazzed-up fans, who seem to be popping big for just about everything tonight. Strangler allows the cheers to subside once again, and then raises the microphone once again. “This is the first chance I’ve had to speak to the people since I won this here championship belt, and I have a few things that I wanted to say. First off, this is a dream come true. Ever since I got kicked out of the league a year ago, there were two things on my mind. One was to get revenge on the guys who betrayed me.” Riley snickers. “That sure as hell didn’t work for him, did it Stevens?”

 

“Shut up, Riley” snaps Stevens as Strangler barrels right ahead. “And the second thing was being able to come back and become the SWF Champion. And to have actually accomplished that, to have made this return into the greatest achievement of my life….it means an awful lot. And I couldn’t have done it without the fans. You guys were the ones who put me over the top, and I’ll never forget it.” The fans cheer once again, appreciative of Strangler’s support for the people paying his salary.

 

Strangler takes a deep breath before continuing headlong into his speech. “But winning the belt isn’t enough. Sure, I proved that I was better than Thoth on one night. But I’m not gonna be happy until I prove that I’m the goddamn best that the SWF has to offer. And the only way to do that is….well, maybe you’ll see. First up is Ground Zero. I need to show that my title win wasn’t some fluke. Thoth and I, we’ve had our differences in the past, and when we meet at Ground Zero, there’s gonna be a TON of bad blood, just like there was in July when I won the belt. But Thoth, this time, Strangler wins the battle. You jerked me around in the Clan, you abused me, you ridiculed me, you made me feel worthless. You started me down the path I was on, that self-destructive spiral of mine. But I got your belt, Thoth. And at Ground Zero, I’m gonna keep it, any way I can. And on that note…”

 

Strangler never gets to finish his thought, as “Go To Hell” hits over the speaker system. The upbeat crowd immediately switches over to a massive chorus of boos as the Balancer, Yuuichiro Kaesame, Thoth, steps out onto the stage, with a microphone ready in his hand. The red strobe lights frame Kaesame’s face with the harsh lighting, adding a devilish tinge to his already-evil appearance. Thoth pulls on the lapel of his suit as the music dies down, although the boos remain loud. Thoth raises the mic to speak, but an “ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE!” chant picks up in the audience and silences Thoth for a moment longer. Finally, the Madison crowd relents, and Thoth raises the mic to speak.

 

“Strangler, you know what? I did manipulate you. I used you. I belittled you. You were a puppet on a string to me, putty in my hands. And you know what else? I LOVED it. I’d do it again if I had the chance. You’re a worthless human being who’s never fit in wherever he’s gone. You’ve never lasted three months in a stable! The Alley, both of your stints with us, and the Magnificent 7…all attempts for you to prove your value. Instead, they only showcased your gaping weaknesses, the holes in your game, your inability to ever prove that you belonged.” The crowd is silent as Thoth speaks calmly, his eyes never once leaving the 300-pounder in the ring. “And then you went out, and you took that title from me, Strangler. You actually proved yourself. And you consider that to be your greatest achievement, the best thing you’ve ever accomplished. Strangler, you might not know it yet, but you, my friend, are DEAD wrong.”

 

A buzz zips through the crowd as Thoth breathes in and continues. “You see, when you took that title away from me, you reawakened my competitive spirit. Winning the belt…it pacified me. I became content with what I had…I became weak, and soft…much like you had been for your entire career, actually. In a matter of days, the brute force of my will dissipated, and became my greatest weakness. But when you took that title from me, you taught me a great lesson. Nothing is ever, EVER safe. Even if you make it to the top of the mountain, if you beat the man considered by many to be unbeatable not once, but TWICE, you still have to remain at the top of your game. And when I didn’t, you made me suffer.”

 

“However, Strangler, I’ve learned my lesson. And now, you’re about to learn yours. Because Strangler, it’s not about that piece of leather and gold around your shoulder. You still think it is, and all those ignorant sheep out there in the audience still think it is.” The fans boo, offended by Thoth’s remark, but the Balancer pays no attention to the detractors. “You see, now that I’ve won it all, and then lost it right back, I see things for what they truly are. And all that matters now is pride, Strangler. I have my pride. I’ve been successful, and I’ve helped others be successful. I’ve held damn near every belt this dump has to offer. I’ve led the longest-running stable in SWF history. You have nothing but that belt, a win over me, and a suitcase full of mistakes and blown second chances. And come Ground Zero, I’m taking that win back, and that title with it.”

 

Strangler looks frazzled for a moment, trying to comprehend what Thoth has just laid out for him. “Well Thoth, if that’s how you feel, go right ahead. But the fact of the matter is that I beat you clean, in the middle of the ring, for that belt, and I’m gonna do it again, come hell or high water. You won’t beat me…you can’t beat me.” Strangler’s voice is higher than usual as the emotion comes to him in the moment. “And I think you’re full of crap. This pride junk…it’s your way of saying that even though you couldn’t hang with me, you’re still better. Well, this title says I’m the better man, and at Ground Zero, I’ll go the distance to prove it.”

 

Thoth looks over, interested by Strangler’s reply. “Well, Strangler, it looks like we’ll be seeing each other at Ground Zero. Until then….get ready for tonight. You’ll need it.” Thoth lowers his microphone and turns to walk away. However, Strangler clears his throat loudly, which sends Thoth swinging back around. The champion looks back up the ramp at Thoth, with a small grin on his face. “You see, Thoth, you interrupted me as I was making a little statement. I had something else to tell all these nice fans out here tonight. You see, I’m determined to keep this belt. There’s no choice. And since I happen to be SWF Champion, I get to pick the stipulation under which I defend my title. So, at Ground Zero, you and I won’t be having another straight-up singles match. Oh, no no no. This time, we’re going into my yard. We’re going to have ourselves a nice, old-fashioned….street fight.”

 

The crowd explodes into cheers at the mention of the stip. Thoth’s icy demeanor breaks for just a moment as he looks at Strangler, surprised by the news. “Wow…a street fight! What a hell of a match this is gonna be, Bobby!” cries Mark. As quickly as the chink in Thoth’s armor appeared, it disappears as Thoth looks up at Strangler. “Well, if I remember correctly, you had one of those matches last year at Ground Zero, Strangler. Your opponent couldn’t brawl his way out of a paper bag, and yet he left the winner. If Erek Taylor could beat you in this match, then I sure as hell can, Strangler. You’re on. Now get ready, because on Sunday, it’s time for you to lose what little you have left.”

 

With that, “Go To Hell” kicks back up, and Thoth abruptly does an about-face and heads for the back, leaving Strangler alone in the ring with his belt. The sellout crowd cheers him on, but the look on Strangler’s face betrays the worries running beneath the surface. “Well…Ground Zero just got a WHOLE lot more interesting, as the Boston Strangler defends his title against Thoth in a STREET FIGHT! Bobby, even you have to be anticipating this match now!” “At least I have my 12-tape Best of Tom Flesher collection to bide time during that shitfest of a ME” yawns Riley, much to Mark’s annoyance. “Well, despite my pessimistic partner, we’ll have a great PPV for you, as well as a great night of action here on Smarkdown! Stick around, and we’ll be right back!”

 

*fade to commercial*

[Guest Suicide King]

As the opening pyro and yelling fans finally settle down for the first match of SWF Smarkdown.

 

Stevens: "Welcome back to Smarkdown, and we're ready for our first match of the evening."

 

Riley: "You know, this match might just lead to some bloody psychology for once on a PPV, rather than a spotfest."

 

Stevens: "Well, that's very true Bobby. The Unholy Trinity and International Incident will face off against each other on the Ground Zero PPV next week, and right now, both halves of the teams face of against each other on tonight's show, which could really impact on the PPV match. "

 

Riley: "All we need now is for Judge to get out here and make sure that this match goes the same was as last time. Infact, he can lay them both out cold, that would be so much better."

 

Stevens: "You might want to see that, but I don't think everyone else here does. But CIA is two to nothing against Dace Night so far, but one of them was due to Judge Mental's interference."

 

Funyon: "Ladies and Gentlemen, the following match will be a One on One Contest for One Fall..."

 

Funyon: "..Introducing firstly from Ottawa, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at two hundred and forty five pounds .. the CANADIAN INTELLIGENCE AGENT ... CIA!"

 

YYYYAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

 

The climbing beats of Can't Stop roll across the arena as strobe lights and small blasts of pyro build up and up into two huge blast as the Red and White covered CIA raises up from below the stage.

 

In his maple leaf covered body suit and mask, he makes his way down the ramp, high fiving his fans along the way. Making a circle of the ring, he points out to CIA signs in the front rows, before sliding into the ring, and throwing his arms into the air for the fans.

 

CIA! CIA! CIA! CIA! CIA!

 

Funyon: "His opponent, from Tampa Bay, Florida, weighing in at two hundred and fifty two pounds ... representing the Unholy Trinity .... DACE "HORRORCORE" NIGHT!

 

RRRRAAAAAHHHHHHH!

 

Justifiable Homicide rips into life from the PA system as the entrance ramp is obscured by a huge cloud of smoke. Red and purple lights pick out shapes through the smoke. Strolling out of the smoke, Dace throws the horns into the air.

 

Striding down the ramp, he eyes up CIA in the ring, before circling the ring. Sliding in under the bottom rope, he climbs the nearest turnbuckle, yelling out to the crowd, and pointing to his "Fear the Decapitator" t shirt.

 

Stepping into the middle of the ring, he comes eye to eye with CIA, as the two look each other up and down slowly. CIA extends a hand slowly, as Dace looks down at it.

 

Stevens: "Dace wearing that Fear the Decapitator t shirt, and it must be a message to both members of International Incident."

 

Riley: "Come on, don't shake hands, just hit each other."

 

Reaching down, Horrorcore takes the Canadian's hand and shakes, with a smile on his face, as CIA can be seen to smile on his face, as the two back away slowly as Hardcastle calls for the bell.

 

DING, DING, DING!

 

The Brit and the Canadian circle each other slowly, fainting out punches before charging together into a tie up. CIA quickly drops his body forwards and slipping under Night's grasp, whips him off towards the ropes.

 

Taking a few steps back, CIA rushes forwards with a Clothesline as Dace bounds back from the ropes, but Dace ducks under it, bouncing off the ropes again, Dace lunches himself with a Lariat, but the Canadian Intelligence Agent leaps up, wrapping his body around Night's shoulders, rolls backwards, pulling Dace down to the mat with a Crucifix.

 

As he hits the mat, Horrorcore jams both feet down hard, pushing himself off and rolling through the Crucifix attempt stands back to his feet with CIA across his shoulders in a Fireman's Carry. CIA answers with a counter of his own, pushing off from Dace's shoulders, throwing himself off and landing on his feet infront of Dace.

 

Quickly back on the attack, the Canadian twists on his heel and sends his elbow rocketing forwards towards Night's face, but it sails over head as Dace ducks, and rushing back upwards, Dace levels CIA with a huge Lariat.

 

OOOOOHHHH-YYYYYYAAAAAAHHHH!

 

Stevens: "Dace scores a he Lariat after the opening trade off, now he has to capitalise on winning the first move."

 

Pulling CIA back to his feet, Dace drives a stiff knee into his mid section before driving a shoulder into it and locking his arms around the Canadian's waist, arches backwards with a Northern Lights Suplex, holding onto the bridge to make a cover as Hardcastle dives in to make the count.

 

......ONE!

 

Kickout!

 

YYYAAAAHHH!

 

As the Intelligence Agent rolls back to his feet, Horrorcore is already back to his, and slams another knee into him gut, doubling him over. Dace steps behind CIA, hooks a leg with one arm and wraps the other around his waist, hauling him up for a Backdrop Suplex, only to find the Canadian rolling over out of the move, and dropping to his feet.

 

Firing off Forearm shots to the back, CIA staggers Night for a moment before locking an arm around the back of his head and dives forwards, smashing Dace Night's back into the mat with a Bulldog.

 

Stevens: "And the Canadian Intelligence Agent takes counter, reversing a Backdrop Suplex into a Bulldog."

 

Riley: "How about he does something good like getting me a date for Friday. Both of these guys will have to work harder than this if they want to impress me at all."

 

Hitting the ropes, CIA launches himself with all the speed he can manage into the rising body of Dace Night, slamming into him with a Shoulder Block, but the Hardcore Goth only staggered back rather than getting knocked to the mat, so the Canadian stays on him, whipping him hard into the corner.

 

OOOOHHHHHH!

 

Dace collides chest first with the turnbuckles as CIA follows him in, slipping infront of him and booting him in the mid section. Slapping on a Front Facelock, he leaps into the air for a DDT, but Dace pulls his weight back, keeping himself on his feet. Swinging around, he drags CIA with him, but CIA uses the spin to throw himself backwards and spikes Dace with a DDT.

 

Rolling over, the Canadian Intelligence Agent makes a quick cover from the DDT.

 

......ONE!

 

...Kickout!

 

OOOOOHHHHHHH!

 

Stevens: "Dace eats the turnbuckles. He tries to avoid a DDT from the Canadian, but ends up eating one anyway."

 

Riley: "Hah, that'll each him to try to be flashy when it's not his thing. I still wonder why anyone in the crowd would cheer that scar faced sod."

 

The Masked Canadian pushes himself back up as Dace rolls back to his feet. Sending his foot lashing forwards, CIA tries to Superkick Night's noise through to the other side of his face, but it connects harmlessly with his forearm.

 

SMACK!

 

Throwing his arm out, Dace forces CIA to spin on his foot and as he turns, snaps his arms shut in a Rear Waistlock. The Mask Canadian looks towards the ropes infront off him, and sends his arm shooting out, grabbing hold of them, stopping Dace from Suplexing him over, as he swings his free arm backwards and hammers his elbow into the side of Night's face.

 

Breaking Horrorcore's hold, the Canadian Intelligence Agent swings around with a Standing Switch, locking on a Rear Waistlock of his own. Dragging Night over his shoulder as he snaps backwards, CIA sends his through the air and crashing into the mat with a Release Belly to Back Suplex.

 

RRRRRRAAAAAHHHHHHH!

 

Stevens: "Huge Release Belly to Back Suplex, CIA really in control right now in the match. He's got to keep on his fast in and out pace. He can't out power Dace, and he doesn't want to go head to head with him to much."

 

Riley: "Yet if I said that about someone like Judge or Flesher, you'd say I was giving them praise for cheating."

 

Stevens: "That's because they would be cheating. CIA is just using the best strategy he has while fighting fair."

 

Riley: "Fighting fair does get you titles, or get us viewers, remember that Stevens."

 

Hooking a leg and rolling back, CIA makes a cover.

 

......ONE!

 

 

......TWO!

 

Kickout!

 

YYYAAAAAAHHHHHH!

 

As Night uses the ropes to drag himself back up, CIA jams a boot into his mid section and whips him across the ring into the ropes. Spreading his arms, he snaps Dace over with a quick Powerslam, driving him back first to the mat in the middle of the ring.

 

Rather than going for the pin, the Masked Canadian floats over and pulls Night into a sitting position as he snakes his arm backwards around Horrorcore's throat, before standing up and linking his other arm, trapping Dace in a Dragon Sleeper.

 

With Dace forced to bridge other backwards, his throat constricted by CIA's arms, CIA locks his arms as tight as he can, trying to force the air and life out of Dace Night to wear him and set him up for bigger attacks.

 

Stevens: "CIA locking on a Dragon Sleeper, trying to wear Dace down, so he can start to working his bigger impact moves, or even try to get the submission right here."

 

Riley: "He could be getting cocky here, Dace doesn't do tapping out, unfortunately, and it's still early goings in this battle."

 

Reaching around with his free arm, Night tries to get a grip on one of the Canadian's arms to try and force them away, as he can't drop back with wrenching his neck in a very bad way. The fans begin to beat up a storm in support of both wrestlers.

 

STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!

 

As the noise builds up to a peak, CIA takes his supporting hand, grabbing a handful of Night's tights and lifting him up, drops back, sitting out and driving Dace on his shoulders and neck into the mat.

 

YYYYYYYAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

 

Leaning forwards, CIA quickly grabs one of Dace's legs and pulls it back for leverage, making a cover as Hardcastle drops into place.

 

......ONE!

 

 

......TWO!

 

 

 

......1/4!

 

 

 

 

......1/2!

 

 

Kickout!

 

OOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

Picking the dazed Tag Champ up, the Canadian Intelligence Agent backs off and measures him slowly as Dace fights to shake out his head after just being dropped so hard. The crowd yells along as CIA does a small little dance.

 

C!

 

Throwing his arm back in the air, he takes an imaginary drink.

 

I!

 

Then he swings his elbow over head and hammers the point of it into Dace's forehead, dropping him to the mat.

 

A!

 

YYYYYYYAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

 

Stevens: "A Bionic Elbow from CIA, he must be feeling in control if he's using that, but he's got to keep on it to win this one."

 

Riley: "I like the dace, but it needs a crotch grab in it really."

 

Dropping down, CIA makes another cover.

 

 

......ONE!

 

 

......TWO!

 

 

 

......1/4!

 

 

Kickout!

 

YYYYYYAAAAHHHHH!

 

Sitting to his knees as Dace throws a shoulder up again, the Masked Canadian smiles from under his maple leaf mask, before dragging Horrorcore back to his feet by his t shirt. Locking his arms around Night's waist, CIA hauls him up and backwards, sending him crashing into the mat with a Backdrop.

 

Stevens: "Bbbaaaccckkkdddrrrooopppaahhhh!"

 

Riley: "Oh jesus no! Not again, please don't start this one again please Mark."

 

Holding on, CIA rolls over and throws his body backwards again, with a second Backdrop, dropping Dace parallel to the ropes, leaving him almost motionless as he does so.

 

Rolling along the mat under the bottom rope to the apron, the Canadian Intelligence Agent lines himself up with the prone figure of Dace Night, and grabbing the ropes, he Slingsshots himself back into the ring, with a somersault in the air, crashing down, with all his body weight into Dace's chest.

 

YYYYAAAHHHH! CIA! CIA! CIA! CIA! CIA!

 

Hardcastle dives in along side at makes the count.

 

......ONE!

 

 

......TWO!

 

 

......1/4!

 

 

 

 

......1/2!

 

 

 

 

......3/4!

 

Kickout!

 

RRRRRAAAAAHHHHH!

 

Stevens: "Slingshot Senton Atomico for a long two count, but it's not close enough. CIA has to pick up the pace now and put this one away."

 

Riley: "We should be so lucky. I know exactly where he could put it away as well."

 

Straight back to a vertical base, the Canadian pulls the Hardcore Goth right into a Front Facelock and leaps backwards with a huge DDT, laying him out on the mat. Rather than making a cover, CIA points up top as he makes his way towards the turnbuckles. Climbing onto the second rope, he points down at the prone body of Dace Night before leaping off and dropping knee first into him.

 

OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

Stevens: "A Second Rope Knee Drop form CIA! HE could put Dace out with that one right there, this could be over right now."

 

Riley: "Maybe he's looking to break a rib, because if he did, there's no way it'd heal before the PPV and the Tag Title Match."

 

Hardcastle drops into place for the count as the fans chant along.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR-OOOHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

 

Stevens: "But Dace still manages to kick out!"

 

Grabbing onto Night's arm and pulling him up, CIA digs his heels into the mat and shoots Dace off into the ropes, spreading his arms, and as he comes back, scoops him up, snapping over and planting him with a second Powerslam, this time holding on for the cover.

 

......ONE!

 

 

 

......TWO!

 

 

 

 

......1/4!

 

 

 

 

 

......1/2!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

......3/4!

 

 

Kickout!

 

Stevens: "A second Powerslam, but still no good."

 

Riley: "Keep working him, work it man."

 

Shaking his head as he's shoved off by Night's kick out, CIA leaps back to his feet, and raising one arm in the air, bangs on his elbow as the fans roar in to life once more and Dace stands back to his feet.

 

With a spin and a forwards dive, CIA sends his elbow cracking into the side of Dace Night's skull.

 

CCCRRRAAACCCKKKK!

 

Swinging with the impact, Dace does a full three sixty and answers with a huge Rolling Elbow of his own, dropping CIA to the mat like a bag of bricks as he collapses along side him.

 

Stevens: "RRRROOLLLIIINNNGGG EEELLLBBBOOOWWW! RRROOOOLLLLIIINGGG EEELLLBBBOOOWWWW!"

 

Riley: "Someone please shut this man up and get me a back rub while those to are having a nap on the mat."

 

Stevens: "CIA with a Rolling Elbow, but Dace just walks through it and delivers one himself as both men go down. This could be what Dace needs to take control. And right now both of these guys have to be thinking how this match is going to effect that they can and will do on the PPV."

 

Riley: "Order now from your local operator for a Pay Per View will promise will be better than this. Just under thirty dollars as well. I pay more than that for..."

 

Stevens: "Thank you Riley!"

 

Hardcastle checks on both men as he beings the Ten Count as they lay, hardly moving on the mat, as the crowd shouts along, trying to will them back to their feet.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

FIVE!

 

Both CIA and Dace start to reach out and force their bodies up from the canvas.

 

SIX!

 

SEVEN!

 

EIGHT!

 

And with a huge push they get back to their feet.

 

RRRRRRRAAAAAHHHHH!

 

Dace moves first, breaking into a rhino like run towards the Canadian Intelligence Agent, throwing his leg up for a Yakuza Kick, but the Masked Canadian dodges like he life depends on it and clamps his arms around Night's mid section in a Rear Waist, but Dace shifts his whole body weight around, breaking the grip and swinging behind CIA.

 

With his arms lock, Dace does what he does best and snaps his body backwards with huge force, but instead of releasing CIA, hold onto him and drills him to the mat with a Dangerous German Suplex.

 

WE FELT THAT ONE! WE FELT THAT ONE!

 

Stevens: "DANGEROUS GERMAN! That's got the be the move that lets Dace take control. CIA dodged and countered one time to many, and that time Dace Night was waiting for him."

 

Riley: "Business just picked up for one. Now all we need is for the pizza boy to get here."

 

As CIA folds over to the mat, clutching at his neck, Dace scrambles over and hooks a leg for the cover.

 

......ONE!

 

 

......TWO!

 

 

......1/4!

 

 

......1/2!

 

Kickout!

 

AAAAAHHHHHHHH!

 

CRACK!

 

Slamming an Elbow Smash into the back of CIA's neck, Horrorcore rolls the Canadian to his feet and straight into a Standing Head Scissors before quickly falling back with a Piledriver, spiking his neck once again.

 

OOOOHHHH!

 

Flipping the Canadian Intelligence Agent over onto his front, Dace stands up and drops a knee straight down onto the back of his neck.

 

OOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!

 

Stevens: "Once more knees come into play. CIA dropped a big knee early, and now Dace drops one to his neck."

 

Riley: "I'd be excited about this if it wasn't for Dace's horrible choice in friends and allies."

 

Keeping his knee driving into the neck and spine of CIA, Horrorcore locks his hands under the Canadian's jaw and wrenches back on his head as he grinds his knee into his spine, further adding to the previous impacts on it.

 

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!

CIA! CIA! CIA! CIA! CIA!

 

The fans try to cheer the Canadian on as he struggles to break free, but Dace simply steps back and drills an elbow into his neck.

 

CRACK!

 

OOOOHHHHHHH!

 

Dragging him back to his feet, Dace slides his arms up under CIA's arms and locks his arms behind his head in a Full Nelson.

 

Stevens: "Dragon Suplex coming up, as Dace continues to target the neck."

 

Riley: "He should target the ass damn it."

 

Even through the pain in his neck, the Masked Canadian tries to fight back, bringing the point of his elbow down into the crock of Night's elbow over and over, forcing him to release the Full Nelson hold before swinging around and clamping on a Full Nelson of his own.

 

YYYYYYAAAAAHHHHH!

 

Stevens: "No! CIA counters, and now he's got Dace step up for the Via Rail! He's got it won!"

 

Riley: "Drop that ugly git on his face!"

 

Desperate to avoid getting slammed on his face, Dace throws all his weight forwards, crashing into the nearby set of ropes, grabbing hold of them before slamming his arms backwards into the Canadian's head.

 

AAAAAHHHHHH!

 

Stevens: "Once more Dace takes a page from CIA, using the ropes to avoid a move, just like CIA did early in the match."

 

With another Standing Switch, Dace locks the Full Nelson back on, and dragging the Canadian Intelligence Agent away from the ropes with sheer power before snapping backwards with a Dragon Suplex, planting him into the mat.

 

Stevens: "DRAGON SUPLEX! Once again Dace drops CIA right on his neck!"

 

Riley: "Ohhh.. I smell smart working all over the place. But can Dace keep on it, or does CIA still have more plans up his sleeve?"

 

Rather than holding onto the bridge for the count, Dace lets go, leaving CIA folded up over himself on the mat as he gets back to his feet and picks up the limp CIA, dragging him to the turnbuckles. Dumping the Canadian Intelligence Agent into the corner, facing the turnbuckles, Dace backs off and measuring up, rushes forwards.

 

CCCCRRRAAACCCCKKKK!

 

RRRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

 

Stevens: "YAKUZA KICK! Just drilling that foot into the back of CIA's neck!"

 

Riley: "Ouch, that's one hell of a way to give someone whiplash!"

 

The Masked Canadian topples back out of the corner like a falling tree and hits the mat without any movement and lays there, eyes wide and rolled back, as Dace grabs his legs and doubles them over his head and pushes down for the cover as the fans count along.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRR-NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

Just wriggling a shoulder up and off the mat before the three count, CIA manages to stay in it, but he's still down on the mat and barely moving as drags him away from the corner towards the centre of the ring.

 

Stevens: "CIA kicks out again, what toughness he's showing, but you have to wonder, what state his in after all these attacks, and how clear his thinking is after Dace has rattled his brains with so many blows."

 

Riley: "If we get the chance Mark. I'm still hopping for a run in by someone to kick the crap out of those of these fools."

 

Wrenching the Canadian to his feet, Night loops his arms around up in a Front Facelock, and grabs a handful of Red and White tights, lifting CIA straight up into the air, and holding him here for a few seconds, letting the blood rush towards his head.

 

With whatever sense he has left, the Masked Canadian frantically kicks his legs, trying to shift his weight back to escape what will surely be another neck drop. Turning over in mid air and dropping to his feet, he locks his arms around Horrorcore's neck to stop himself collapsing under his shaky legs as he hits the mat, but he manages to keep his arms locked, forming a sleeper.

 

RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

Stevens: "CIA COUNTERS! He manages to lock on a Sleeper, this could by him some time and wear Dace down to try and get the finish as soon as he can. But he's on shaky legs as we can see, he can hardly stand, so this could just be a last ditch effort."

 

Riley: "Come on, drop him on his head one more time and I just might give a damn about it Dace."

 

Taking a half step backwards, Night leans forwards and wraps his arms around CIA's waist, even as the Canadian struggles to maintain his grip and hold onto his chances of winning.

 

Clamping his arms firmly, Dace snaps backwards, launching CIA up and over head, then straight down into the mat with a snap.

 

YYYYYYYYAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

Stevens: "BBBAAACCCKKKDDDDRRROOOPPPP DDDRRRIIIVVVAAAHHHH!"

 

Dace compresses the Canadian's neck into his skull as he spikes him into the mat with a Backdrop Driver, before quickly rolling him over and hooking both legs, pressing all his weight down to make a cover.

 

 

......ONE!

 

 

 

......TWO!

 

 

 

 

......1/4!

 

 

 

 

 

 

......1/2!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

......3/4!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

......9/10!

 

 

 

 

......TTTTHHRRRR---NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

YYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

Stevens: "BUT CIA STILL KICKS OUT! It has just barely getting his shoulder up, but he got it up!"

 

Riley: "Go Canadian! Show that Dace he doesn't have a chance!"

 

Raising back to his feet, Dace looks down at the barely moving Canadian Intelligence Agent, as he pulls a finger slowly across his throat. Dragging the sagging CIA into a Headscissors, he locks his arms around CIA's waist, even as he makes a half conscious effort to sandbag and keep his feet on the mat.

 

Picking his opponent up into the air, Dace grabs his arms and spreads them on into a Crucifix before throwing CIA back over his shoulder, grabbing him around the throat and pulling him down as he sits out, snapping the Canadian's neck across his shoulder.

 

RRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHH!

 

As the limp body of CIA flops to the mat, Night leans backs for a cover as the crowd counts along.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRRREEEEE!

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Funyon: "Here is your winner via pinfall .... DDDDAACCCCEEE NNNIIIGGGHHHHTTT!"

 

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

 

Stevens: "Dace just breaks CIA across his shoulder with that move called the Black Nova and finally gets the pinfall and the win."

 

Riley: "It's over at all. Right, let's got some good matches on tv while we still have viewers left."

 

Stevens: "This also sets CIA up at a disadvantage for Ground Zero if he can't shake off all that offence Dace did on his neck. I think that was a plan to soften CIA up before the PPV. CIA has doing just the same thing while he was incontrol, getting all his counters down against Dace over the last few encounters, but it just didn't pay off this time."

 

Saluting the Masked Canadian as he lays on the mat, Dace drags himself up the turnbuckles and throws the horns to the cheering fans as Justifiable Homicide roars out across the arena.

 

Stevens: "If Va'aiga is as successful in his match later on tonight, the Unholy Trinity will have a huge advantage going into the PPV. But International Incident play still have cards to play."

 

Riley: "Don't worry folks, we'll get Tom Flesher on screen soon enough."

 

Fade Out.

[Guest Suicide King]

The entrance of the arena is packed with fans as they filter in through the doors, pushing and shoving each other in a hurry to get to their seats. In the arena lobby, amid the crowd, they get snacks and drinks, or pause by one of the tables to grab a wrestling program to see what's on tonight. Moving with a crowd of fans, a tall figure in a white trenchcoat stops to get a program and seperates from the group, flipping the booklet open to inspect it. Some of the fans who'd been nearby notice him as he moves off towards the staff area.

 

Long white trenchcoat.

 

Long white hair.

 

Seven feet tall.

 

For several moments the mere mortals known as fans had been in the presence of the Hell Machine, Janus. Pushing open the doors leading to the locker room, the monster inspects the lineup for tonight, as he'd not received word of the stipulation that he and the hated Antichrist Superstar were wrestling under.

 

"Boring......boring.....Singapore Cane match. Hmph, like Craven stands a chance. Boring...boring...here we are..."

 

The giant stops dead in the hallway, which is pretty much empty at the moment as everyone is actually in the locker rooms, and reads the booklet out loud.

 

"Iron Australian Knockout Challenge...Best of Five. Janus versus Crow."

 

The monster smiles, thinking back to the match he'd designed, specifically to destroy the man he hated so much back then, the overly arrogant Mike Van Siclen. Just as Mike had been destroyed in that match, so then would Crow. Folding the booklet up and putting it in his pocket, the giant punches his fist into his open palm and rounds a corner...walking right into a lurking Ben Hardy.

 

"Hey, it's Janus! Gus, get the camera going dammit. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm here with the recently arrived..."

 

Hardy trails off as Janus pushes him aside and keeps walking. Despite his good mood, he doesn't feel like dealing with a peon like Ben Hardy. Unfortunately for the seven-footer, Hardy runs to catch up and stands in front of him, acting like a newsperson with the way he THRUSTS the microphone up at the giant's face. With a growl, the Hell Machine looks down and waits.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're here with the Hell Machine Janus, who later tonight faces Crow in an Iron Australian Knockout Challenge! Hey, big guy, don't give me that look, what's on your mind about tonight's match?"

 

"Tonight's match, Hardy?"

 

"Well, yes. You're up against Crow, who with Dante Crane defeated...."

 

*WHAM!*

 

Hardy finds himself pressed against the wall by a seven foot two monster, his muscles bulging under his trenchcoat. It appears poor Ben Hardy hit a nerve, and he hoists Hardy into the air by the lapels, glowering at him while Gus catches it all on camera.

 

"DANTE CRANE! You dare mention him...he hides Crow's cowardliness behind his wrestling ability! He knows Crow cannot beat me one on one! Dante Crane has cost me matches against Crow, Hardy! YOU DARE MENTION HIM!?"

 

By this time, the Hell Machine is shaking poor Ben Hardy like a rag doll, before throwing him into Gus. The impact sends cameraman and interviewer to the floor in a heap, leaving the camera on the floor till the seven-footer lifts it back up and stares into the lens with a positively furious expression.

 

"Tonight...I will reveal what a coward Crow is. If Dante Crane comes to ringside, he will prove my point. Without the 'Sick Boy'...the Antichrist Superstar is a snivelling coward, unworthy of even being called a wrestler...DO YOU HEAR ME, DANTE!? STAY OUT OF BUSINESS THAT ISN'T YOURS! TONIGHT, CROW IS MINE!"

 

The monster drops the camera to the ground, damaging the lens, which reveals a cracked and lopsided image of the Hell Machine walking down the hallway towards the locker rooms as we fade to black...

[Guest Suicide King]

The camera fades in on the image of a cow. It stays there for several moments until the sounds of snoring can be heard over the scene. The shot transitions to find Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley asleep at the commentator’s table. They snooze soundly until a shoe comes flying in from off camera and whacks Stevens in the head.

 

“Ow!” Mark screams as he is startled awake. He rubs the side of his noggin and notices the camera on. “Oh, welcome back to SWF Smarkdown coming to you live from the Alliant Energy Center in EXCITING Madison, Wisconsin.”

 

Stevens elbows Bobby in the ribs and he wakes up with a snort. He looks around disoriented for a minute then picks up the shoe. “Damn, Wisconsin yokels! They can’t even keep their shoes on while in an arena.”

 

“Yo! It’s mine!” yells a voice from behind the camera.

 

“Oh,” Bobby mutters, then smells the shoe. “You’ve got some stinky feet Gus, but at least you’re gellin’ like a felon.”

 

“I’m like Magellan, I’m so gellin’.” Gus calls as Riley tosses the shoe to him.

 

“You guys start that and I’ll break a Chuck Taylor All-Star off in your asses.” Mark warns.

 

Bobby covers his mouth as makes an aside to the home viewers. “He’s definitely not gellin’.”

 

Stevens tries to get proceedings back on track. “It’s almost time for our second match of the evening, pitting Frost vs. Judge Hearford. Former stablemates, they are now enemies by virtue of Frost turning on the group months ago and now seeking revenge on Mag 7 leader, former World Champion Tom Flesher.”

 

“Who should still be champion!” Riley chimes in. “At least over The Boston Strangler. What kind of name is that to set an example for the children?”

 

“What kind of name is Judge Mental?” Stevens replies.

 

“He doesn’t go solely by that anymore.” Bobby insists. “It’s the honorable Judge William Hearford III presiding. Judge should have destroyed TBS on Lockdown last week.”

 

“Although he didn’t. Frost, on the other hand, had the night off, but took the fight to Flesher. It’s been inked and those two fierce rivals will square off at Ground Zero this Sunday in a Window Pain match!” Stevens hypes.

 

“Frost,” Bobby says and he looks right into the camera and points a finger. “Don’t you dare mar a single feature on that beautiful face of Flesher’s or so help me…” Riley trails off seething with anger.

 

“He’ll rearrange your wardrobe and make you listen to Liza Minnelli albums. Now to the ring.” Mark points to Funyon with a wide grin.

 

“Oh, real original there Louie Tiant.” Bobby grouses.

 

The camera cuts to Funyon standing with microphone in hand. Before he can speak, the whole arena is bathed in an eerie red light. Rage Against the Machine’s “Testify” wafts over the jeering crowd. The music rises in intensity until hitting…

 

“NOW TESTIFY!”

 

Three red plumes of pyrotechnics shoot from the entrance stage as Judge Mental walks out. He waves to the crowd, signaling them to keep the hate coming. He makes his way down the ramp with precise steps as the lights return to normal.

 

“Now making his way to the ring,” Funyon announces “From Royal Oaks, Michigan at a weight of 242 pounds. He is Judge Mental….WILLLLLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM HEAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRFOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRD!”

 

Stevens: “Although they have squared off several times in tag matches, this is the first occasion that Hearford and Frost have met in a singles competition.”

 

Riley: “That’s because Frost doesn’t want any part of the good judge. Justice and Rule won the tag belts off of Frost!”

 

Stevens: “While he was tagging with Tom Flesher.”

 

Riley: “My Tommy was simply an innocent bystander.”

 

Hearford pulls himself to the apron and enters between the cords. Referee Sexton Hardcastle pats Judge down. Hearford retreats to the lower right corner, not even looking up at the explosion of silver fireworks from the ceiling.

 

“And his opponent…” Funyon booms “from Reykjavik, Iceland at a weight of 296 pounds. THE VELVET HAMMER…FRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSST!”

 

Frost emerges from behind the curtain with his fist in the air. The crowd goes nuts for the big man. He takes his cigar out of his mouth and lifts his face into the snowflakes fluttering from above, allowing the blue spotlight and sounds of Black Sabbath’s “Snowblind” to wash over him.

 

Stevens: “Frost appears calm and focused. That should be a plus against the fearsome competitor we know Hearford to be. Especially, if Tom Flesher or other Mag 7 members attempt to interfere.”

 

Riley: “Perish the thought! The Magnificent 7 would never do something so dirty, so cheap, so underhan….BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I’m sorry, I almost got through that with a straight face.”

 

Frost sashays down the ramp with his eyes locked on Hearford, who motions him to ‘bring it.’ Frost grinds his cigar out on the guardrail before entering the ring. Hardcastle warns Judge to stay back as he pats Frost down. Satisfied, he calls for the bell.

 

DING DING DING

 

Stevens: “Frost and Judge charge and meet in a classic lockup.”

 

Riley: “Frost with the height and weight advantage, which is a disadvantage when he goes clothes shopping, forces Hearford into the corner.”

 

Frost shoves Hearford back, both men’s muscles bulging from the strain. Judge drags his feet, but goes skidding into the corner and meets the turnbuckles in the back. Hardcastle calls for the clean break and Frost gives it. He pulls back slowly with his hands up and Hearford bursts out of the corner with a knee to the gut! The crowd jeers as William takes Frost by the back of the head and tosses him haphazardly into the corner. Hardcastle calls for the break again, but Hearford ignores him and goes to town with a series of chops that echo through the building.

 

Riley: “Frost is a sucker for breaking clean and Hearford will not make that mistake.”

 

Stevens: “I don’t look for hardly any mistakes in a match between these two. They are way too polished.”

 

Hardcastle threatens disqualification and Judge lets up on his chops. He drives in a knee to the gut to keep Frost winded and then pulls him out of the corner by a wristlock. He twists the wrists and drives the elbow of his right arm into the top of the shoulder. Frost cries out and drops to one knee. Hearford wrenches the arm upward and continues to work the wristlock. Frost reaches out with his free hand and upends Judge by pulling the rug out from under him.

 

Stevens: “Nice single leg takedown by Frost to break the wristlock. He keeps hold of the leg, some sort of ankl…no, Judge kicks him off!”

 

Hearford boots Frost in the midsection and he goes stumbling into the far ropes. Judge rolls to the left and to his feet. He bounces off the ropes and times things just right so he can meet Frost back in the center of the ring with a jumping forearm to where the neck and shoulder meet. Both men collapse to the mat in a heap.

 

Riley: “For a man his age and size, Judge Hearford has a lot of speed and agility. Usually that’s Ejiro’s department in their tag matches, so Frost might not know Hearford as well as he thinks.”

 

Stevens: “Judge certainly seems to have Frost rocked here in the early going. Mental makes his feet first and brings Frost up by a wristlock. Irish whip to the ropes by the Michigan native.”

 

Judge plants himself firm and extends his arm for a clothesline. The mammoth Frost almost touches the canvas as he ducks the arm and increases his speed toward the opposite ropes. Hearford turns, a bit stunned by the dodged clothesline, and is slammed to the mat with a running shoulder block! The crowd cheers the knockdown. Hearford quickly starts to rise and Frost runs to the ropes on the lower half of the ring. A second meaty slap is heard as the two men collide shoulder to chest. Hearford stumbles back, windmilling his arms off balanced. Frost leans into the ropes for extra power and comes off with another shoulder block that puts Hearford down. Judge flips to all fours and tries to scamper away as he stands, but Frost is there to corral him with a half nelson.

 

Stevens: “Frost transitions in the Cobra Clutch. I think he’s going for the slam he…NO!”

 

Hearford throws his leg back between Frost’s legs to can him in the nuts! The male fans groan at the sight of Frost sinking to his knees.

 

Riley: “If there is two things that Judge Hearford has learned in all his years as a wrestler, it’s that you do what ever it takes to win and nothing turns the tide like smashing ye olde nuticals.”

 

William spins and lifts his leg as he comes around to nail Frost in the jaw. He goes ramrod straight and falls to the mat with his legs pinned under him. Judge measures his downed foe before dropping with an elbow to the left shoulder. Frost winces from the blow and Hearford precedes to the grind the knobby point of his elbow into the shoulder.

 

Stevens: “We know that Judge always likes to go town on a body part and he appears to have chosen the left shoulder area.”

 

Riley: “That should play into making that punk tap to the Held Without Bail real nicely.”

 

Frost kicks the mat in pain and reaches around to grab Judge by the hair, however, he finds it shorter than his own and there is nothing to yank. Hearford puts both hands on Frost’s body to steady himself before kicking off the mat. He tucks his legs up near his chest and drives both knees into the upper arm/shoulder area.

 

Riley: “Normally Frost would just grunt like a gorilla and power out, but he’ll find that you can’t push Judge Hearford around. Muscle mass gets heavier with age you know, Hearford is a dense guy.”

 

Stevens: “I won’t touch that one, but will guess that that has to be the reason while Randy Savage is so much bigger than he used to be.”

 

Hearfoard rips Frost to his feet by an armbar. He squeezes hard and ratchets up on the fast bruising appendage.

 

Riley: “Nah, that’s just steroids.”

 

Stevens: “Well, I was going for the winking joke, but thanks for beating the viewers over the head with an oyster mallet in getting what I meant across.”

 

Frost runs a few steps, but Judge keeps his grip. Frost reverses directions and jerks his body hard toward Hearford. This allows him to break the hold and he rolls into Hearford to plant an elbow in the sternum. Hearford ‘oophs’ from the air being knocked out of him and bends slightly at the waist. Frost reaches back to snag the head and snapmares Judge over his shoulder to his rear. Frost keeps the head bent forward with is left arm and drops to his knees with a balled hand to the nape of the neck.

 

Stevens: “A fist drop to the back of the neck. That has to jar the spinal column.”

 

Riley: “Ooo…a punch variation. Frost is a regular Dean Malenko.”

 

Stevens: “Now all he has to do is master the armbar like Judge.”

 

Frost allows Judge to shimmy away from him. He starts climbing up by the ropes with a hand to the back of his head. Frost is there to meet him with a hard right hand to the side of the face! Hearford goes into the ropes and Frost almost knocks him over them with a crushing right hook! Judge turns and walks down the ropes away from Frost, but he follows by driving right hand after right hand into the back of the neck.

 

Stevens: “It looks like Frost has found his body part of the match in the neck. They might be shamed to admit it, but these two grapplers are a lot alike.”

 

Riley: “Hell, I’m ashamed to admit it.”

 

Heardford makes the corner and Hardcastle steps in to keep Frost off. Judge shakes his head to clear the cobwebs and scores a needed breather.

 

Stevens: “Both men like to pick a body part and work on it while mixing some impressive power moves with a solid foundation of the basics. They’re cold and calculating in the ring, just wanting to get the job done.”

 

Riley: “Now, if Frost had a quarter of the brains Judge does, he’d be dangerous.”

 

Hearford steps out of the corner and motions for a lockup. Frost goes to oblige, but Mental was only using it as a faint to get behind the Iceman. He clamps on a rear waistlock and bends his knees for a German suplex. Frost senses the move and uses his might to power out of the hold and scores a standing switch for a waistlock of his own. Judge throws his weight forward to prevent from getting suplexed and slams his left fist back into the shoulder. This allows Judge to counter back into his own waistlock and Frost stunned long enough for him to snap the man over his head for a release German suplex! Hearford tweaks the move ever so slightly as he lets go to ensure that Frost takes the brunt of impact on the worked upon shoulder.

 

Stevens: “Frost is quick to stand…but Judge boots him in the shoulder as he rises and Frost goes back down.”

 

Hearford hovers over Frost and bends down to takes his arm and jerk it roughly behind him in a hammerlock. Frost taps his shoulder to get some feeling into it as he stands. Hearford bends the arm up as far as it will go before bending his knees and giving a grunt of exertion in getting Frost off his feet! He twists as he falls, once again to put the brunt of impact on the left shoulder.

 

Stevens: “Hammerlock suplex! Working that arm is starting to show on the Velvet Hammer.”

 

Riley: “This is why Judge is a ring master. He’s focusing everything on that shoulder, taking his regular moves and altering them to fit into the game plan.”

 

The pair rolls to their feet with the hammerlock still applied. Hearford looks to go for another suplex, but Frost is close enough to the ropes to grab them with his free arm. Judge tugs, but Frost has the top cord firm. He moves into Frost in hopes of gaining leverage to fling him back, but he swings his elbow to catch Mental in the head. Frost comes off the ropes and twirls out of the hammerlock into holding Judge by the wrist. He kicks him in the gut and clamps a front facelock. He rolls Mental out of the facelock while turning him to be back to back. The back of his head finds the shoulder and Frost sits down hard with a whump!

 

Stevens: “Frost with a desperation swinging neckbreaker and both mean are down. Although that move still works on the area Frost was looking to go after.”

 

Riley: “Hell, it works on the area Judge was going after too. Frost hit it off the bad shoulder. That moron is doing half of Heaford’s work for him.”

 

Both men lie on the mat resting. Hardcastle checks them both and the fans cheer for Frost to get up. They rise together, but Frost looks to keep Judge dazed with a crisp jab. Hearford sidesteps it on instinct more than anything and steps into Frost for a knee lift. He sucks his stomach in to barely avoid that and wraps his arms around Hearford’s waist. He hoists him off the mat and allows his hands to slip to the tops of the thighs. Frost flicks Judge into the mat like he had all the weight of a feather against his powerful frame!

 

Stevens: “Standing spinebuster! Judge is down and this crowd is coming alive!”

 

Riley: “Eh, they were better off dead.”

 

Frost skips into the air and drops and elbow to the chest. He crawls behind Hearford and brings the man up by the sides of his head. Frost leans his body back and tucks his head into and inverted facelock. Frost swishes his hips to the left to pop the crowd. He swings Judge up and around, but he grabs Frost by the head and twists out of the inverted swinging neckbreaker! With his head directly under his opponent’s chin, Judge plummets down to crack the jaw into the crown of his head! Frost’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he falls straight back.

 

Stevens: “Hearford squeaked out of the Rock ‘n Roll the Dice for a jawbreaker. Despite his age, Mental has great reflexes and reaction speed.”

 

Riley: “Also all that smarts I’ve been saying. He had the move scouted and after the swinging neckbreaker, Judge saw the inverted one coming while Carter was still President.”

 

Judge makes his feet for only an instant and then wallops the left shoulder with a falling headbutt. He pounds the arm on the mat. Judge swings a 180 and applies a scissors lock on the arm with his legs. He secures the wrist tight and hyperextends the elbow across his body while digging into the shoulder with the heels of his boots.

 

Stevens: “Judge Hearford keeps Frost down with a cross armbreaker.”

 

Riley: “It allows him to rest while wearing Frost down. We could very well see the tap out here, since Frost is a nancy-boy bizznitch.”

 

The audience chants “Frost! Frost! Frost!” to encourage their wrestler of choice. The big man grits his teeth to block out the pain in his shoulder. He mutters a steadfast ‘no’ to the referee when he asks if Frost submits. Judge slams his weight back to the mat and jerks on the arm to work the hold. Frost fidgets and scoots on the mat to get his legs underneath him and pushes off the canvas with his free arm.

 

Stevens: “It looks like Frost is going to power out of the cross armbreaker.”

 

Riley: “Yeah, take the easy way out. You would think that Judge and Tom might have taught that hoss some technical counters while with the Mag 7.”

 

With his whole body trembling from the effort and his veins straining against his skin on the verge of popping, Frost stands up with a 242-pound weight dangler from his left arm! The crowd pops huge and Judge is stunned by the display of power. Frost reaches over with his other arm to grab the front of the tights and thrusts his barred arm forward to break the armbreaker. Judge is jerked in front of Frost and hangs horizontally over the mat. Frost fights to grab the legs and rides gravity to the canvas with a boom like a bomb going off!

 

Stevens: AMAZING! Frost countered the armbreaker through sheer strength and turned it into the Snowblind!”

 

Riley: “That dude is not human. He’s some sort of shaved robot gorilla.”

 

The audience is going bananas from that awesome display! Judge lays face first on the canvas unmoving. Frost struggles to his feet, his left arm dangling at his side. He rubs the left shoulder with his right hand, but knows he can’t afford to take it easy now. Frost leans over to bring Judge up from behind by the head. He tucks him in an inverted facelock and the fans pops. Frost swishes to the left, then hurls Judge’s prone body up and around to the right. Mental whacks the mat on the back of his neck and looks deader than before!

 

Stevens: “Frost hit the Rock ‘n Roll the Dice on the second attempt! He doesn’t go for the pin, but he is looking to end this match.”

 

Frost yanks Judge up and straight into a standing head scissors. He pauses to stare at the crowd and they scream for him to hit the Early Winter. Frost brings the arms up in a double underhook……but a strange booing suddenly rifles through the throng. Frost looks puzzled toward the ramp and sees…

 

Stevens: “TOM FLESHER! What is he doing out here?”

 

Riley: “Oh, I’m sure he was just passing through and thought he’d come check out the match. You can sit next to me, Tommy!”

 

Flesher strolls down the ramp in a black polo shirt over tan khakis, since he is not in action tonight. Frost yells something at Tom which is unheard by the cameras. Flesher shrugs his shoulders at the Iceman and plays to the crowd as if they were giving him a saint’s welcome and not a devil’s. Frost screams at Sexton Hardcastle to do something, but Sexton can only shrug his shoulders.

 

Riley: “Flesher hasn’t done anything. Judge Mental is his friend and stablemate and he has every right to be out here.”

 

Stevens: “But he is also on a collision course with Frost and simply his mere presence is a big distraction.”

 

Heeding that omen, Judge bucks like a bronco and backdrops out of the Early Winter! He falls, breathing hard and sweating. The fans boo, while Flesher politely golf claps for his comrade. Tom reaches ringside and takes up residence in the lower left hand corner. Sexton tells Flesher to not get involved and he puts his hands up to feign innocence.

 

Stevens: “This has turned into a handicap match. It would have been over if it wasn’t for Flesher.”

 

Riley: “HE HASN’T DONE ANYTHING! This match would have been over if Frost wasn’t a stupid jackass.”

 

The fighters stand. Hearford lands a kick to the gut and grabs the wrist as Frost doubles over. He whips him to the far ropes and holds his ground. Judge ducks to bury his shoulder into Frost and spins him up and around to lie across him. Frost slides off the shoulder out of the powerslam attempt and cinches a waistlock. He snaps back for a Germans suplex and Judge’s neck strikes with a crunch! Frost looks over at Flesher who dashes under the ring apron, rummaging around.

 

Stevens: “Oh my God! Flesher has a chair!”

 

Riley: “Good lord! I’m holding a pencil! Chill out.”

 

Frost walks over and points a finger at Flesher. He gives Frost and Sexton a polite smile then unfolds the chair to sit down. Hearford takes the distraction to sneak up with a rear waistlock! Frost stares stupefied at the arms around him, but can do nothing as Judge throws him back with a release German suplex!

 

Stevens: “Again Flesher’s coy toying with Frost has cost him.”

 

Riley: “If Frost can’t keep his focus on the match, that’s his fault. Frost wanted to play mind games with the Superior One, now it’s his turn.”

 

Frost rolls over on his stomach. Judge leans down and pins Frost’s arms behind his back with a double chickenwing. He brings Frost to his feet and turns him to face Flesher. Tom smiles and waves ‘bye-bye’ as Judge rips back with a beautiful Tiger suplex! Hearford bridges for the pin!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE-

 

Stevens: “Couldn’t hold him! Both men fall to the side!”

 

Riley: “I’m amazed at how many advantages there is to being a lardass hoss.

 

Hearford stands and brings Frost up by the sides of his head. He hooks a front facelock and reaches for a handful of tights. Hearford whips himself back and drives Frost’s noggin to the turf! He bounces from impact and flops to his back.

 

Stevens: “Hearford with the Judicial Review!”

 

Riley: “And the result of that Judicial Review is Frost being Held Without Bail!”

 

Judge sits Frost up to hook his version of the Stretch Plum. The camera cuts to Flesher shaking his head. The fans jeer and Hearford looks over to his boss.

 

Stevens: “Tom is asking for the Capital Punishment!”

 

Riley: “Yeah, why go for the submission when you can humiliate Frost with a power move on his level. Beat the bastard with a taste of his own medicine.”

 

Judge nods his head in affirmation and drags Frost to his feet. He crosses his arms over his chest, forming a vice over his throat. Frost’s eyes fly open with a smirk on his face!

 

Stevens: “Frost was playing opossum!”

 

Flesher nearly falls out his chair in shock and the fans roar! Frost grabs Judge’s wrists with his hands and twists out of the straightjacket hold! Face to face and holding both arms, Frost forces Judge down and into a standing head scissors. He brings the arms up into a double underhook and deftly flips Hearford against his chest!

 

Stevens: “Flesher cost the Judge the match by not letting him go for the Held Without Bail! It’s the Early Win…NO!”

 

The crafty grappler wraps his legs behind Frost’s head and links his ankles. Hearford squirms out of the double underhook and jerks with all his weight to the mat. Frost is wrenched off his feet and is thrown clear across the ring!

 

Riley: “OHMYGODWHATTHEFUCKWHATWOULDJESUSDO! JUDGE MENTAL JUST HIT A HURRICANRANA!”

 

The crowd is stunned silent, only Flesher’s enthusiastic cheering can be heard! William trips over to Frost who is trying to stand, but the rana has knocked him silly. Judge threads arms from behind and brings him up with a full nelson. He stumbles back a few steps to be in the center of the ring. Judge bends down far and digs deep for the muscle to hoist Frost off his feet and chuck him over his head! He arches his back and releases right above the canvas! Frost crashes down and the fans hold their breathes in watching Hearford make the cover!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE-

 

Stevens: “HE PULLED HIM UP! Judge has Frost out with the full nelson suplex, but broke the pin!”

 

Flesher fakes confusion on the outside. Hearford rises to his knees with a handful of what hair he can grab. He mouths to Tom, “I have a better idea” and yanks the Icelander up by the bad shoulder. He jams his head between his legs and brings the arms up with a double underhook!

 

Stevens: “Hearford is going for the Early Winter! He’s going to hit Frost with his own finisher!”

 

Riley: “Oh, now that is sweet! This match up has evolved into ‘how bad can we make Frost look.’”

 

Hearford ignores the loathing fans and looks out to Flesher for confirmation. He laughs sinisterly and waves Judge to hit the move. Hearford goes to lift Frost, but he grounds his weight and Judge can’t! Judge tries again, straining with all his might! Frost shakes his arms loose and presses them into Judge’s legs as he rears up! Hearford is flipped over Frost’s body. Frost keeps hold of the legs as they move past his shoulders. He slides his legs back to grapevine the arms and Judge is caught in an inverted papoose. Tom looks ready to pull his hair out! The fans erupt with deafening cheers! Frost jumps and plunges to impale Judge’s head into the mat! His neck nearly telescopes into his skull and he lays unconscious!

 

Stevens: “FROST HITS A VERTEBREAKER!”

 

Riley: “THE COVER! DO SOMETHING TOM!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE-

 

Stevens: “FROST PULLS HIM UP!”

 

The fans groan in shock! Frost grins at Flesher as he brings Judge up and points at the upper right hand corner. Flesher shakes his head ‘no’ and goes into a fit of hysterics. Frost drags Judge over and sits him on the top rope. Frost follows up and the crowd stirs as they figure out what’s going on.

 

Stevens: “Frost is going for the Boilermaker! He’s going to beat Judge with Flesher’s move!”

 

Riley: “Beating someone with their own move isn’t cool…forget what I said earlier.”

 

Flesher picks up his chair and takes off like a shot. Hardcastle yells, but can do nothing to stop him. Frost hoists Judge vertically and stands there to wow the crowd, unaware of Tom fast approaching. Flesher skips to the apron and brings the chair around like Barry Bonds crushing the long ball! Frost’s stomach is obliterated with the chair and the duo crumples in a heap to the mat!

 

Riley: “Judge has landed on top of Frost! That’s a pin! Count douchetard!”

 

However, Hardcastle calls for the bell and Flesher is livid!

 

DING DING DING

 

Funyon: “Here is your winner by disqualification…FRRRRROOOOOOSSSSST!”

 

The fans joy is short lived as Flesher reaches over the ropes and blasts the referee with the chair!

 

Stevens: “This is uncalled for! I’m thinking this was the Magnificent 7’s plan all the time.”

 

Riley: “Why merely beat someone, when you can destroy them!”

 

Flesher readies his chair and screeches at Frost to stand. He struggles up, eyes Flesher and lunges with a shoulder to the stomach!

 

Stevens: “Frost with a spear out of nowhere! They go hurtling to the floor!”

 

The pair sail between the ropes and crashes to the outside! Their hatred fuels them and they quickly get up while trading blows. The crowd is bonkers, not a soul in their seat. Frost sidesteps a Flesher palm strike and whirls for a spinning clothesline that sends both over the guardrail!

 

Stevens: “We need security down here, pronto!”

 

Hearford stirs and claws across the mat. He drops to the floor and wobbly heads up the ramp.

 

Stevens: “Hearford is running away!”

 

Riley: “I hardly think so. Trust me, I’m sure this is all according to plan.”

 

An overhead shot picks up the furious fighters brawling in the middles of the audience. Frost pops Tom in the mouth and he turns, tripping toward the exit.

 

Stevens: “Frost and Flesher are into the crowd and heading out of the arena! We’re trying to get a mobile crew on them, but I’m told we have to break away for commercial. Don’t go anywhere, because this fight is far from over!”

 

The two disappear through an archway and out of the arena as the shot fades to black.

[Guest Suicide King]

Smarkdown returns with a still image of Frost and Tom brawling in the middle of the jam-packed crowd. A label in the lower right corner of the screen marks it as “Moments Ago.” Mark Stevens comes in on voice over as the scene comes to life.

 

Stevens: “In our last match, Frost took on Judge Hearford. However, Magnificent 7 leader Tom Flesher let his presence be known and the two hated rivals fought off into the audience post-match. Our cameras have been following them since we were forced to go to commercial and we have word that they have wound up in the parking lot.”

 

Riley: “Obviously Frost is looking to steal a car and drive away. The coward!”

 

The scene changes to a long shot of an empty parking lot directly outside the Alliant Energy Center. Cars sit in every space, the dark night broken up by the illumination of streetlamps and the glow of the nearby building. The camera zooms in on the only two figures present. The hulking brute that is Frost, still sweaty and winded from his grueling match with Judge Hearford, drives a sledgehammer right hand into Tom Flesher’s face. Flesher collapses to the ground and kicks Frost in the knee before he can capitalize.

 

Stevens: “For those unaware, Frost has been hounding Flesher for weeks now and has maneuvered him into squaring off at Ground Zero in a Window Pain match.”

 

Riley: “That’s if they make it to Ground Zero. There might not be much left…of Frost!”

 

Tom jumps up to catch Frost in the jaw with a crushing knee lift. Frost drops to his knees, but still manages to throw a left hook to the midsection. He collars Flesher around the tops of the thighs and hoists him as he stands. He flings him back into the black asphalt with a crunch!

 

Stevens: “Frost with a spinebuster on the concrete! Where’s security?”

 

Riley: “I’m sure the cavalry is coming.”

 

Frost reaches down to clamp a vice like right hand around Flesher’s throat and dead lifts him straight up. The crowd in the arena can be heard popping for the teased chokeslam. Suddenly, a figure whizzes in from off screen and plows a chain wrapped fist into Frost’s back! Flesher slips out of the Icelander’s grip and falls to the ground holding his throat.

 

Stevens: “It’s Judge Hearford! He’s caught up to the pair and he’s not alone.”

 

Sean Atlas and Ejiro Fasaki both appear carrying baseball bats. They beat Frost with them to force him the rest of the way down. The fans can be heard booing and hissing loudly. Tom wobbles to his feet, blood dripping from his upper lip and nose. He wipes it off with the back of his hand and barks at his charges to “beat that son of a bitch within an inch of his life.”

 

Stevens: “The whole of the Magnificent 7 is taking it to Frost! This is so unfair!”

 

Riley: “All is fair in love and war and this ain’t love. If Frost wants to take on Flesher, he takes on all the cards Flesher is holding.”

 

“Pick him up!” Flesher bellows. Atlas and Judge pick Frost up by the shoulders and pin his arms behind his back. Ejiro bashes the head of his bat into Frost’s gut one last time. Flesher struts up to Frost and with a smirk bitch slaps him in his bruising and swelling face! Frost’s eyes go wide and the shot serves as a cold shower! He kicks Flesher in the stomach and jerks his arms forward to knock Atlas and Judge off of him and into Tom. Fasaki quickly wraps Judge’s chain around his back and wails on Frost in the back. He tries to keep his feet, but is forced down and the rest of the group join back in on the beating.

 

Stevens: “Frost is trying to fight back, but the numbers are proving way too much.”

 

Riley: “Where are Frost’s buddies when he needs them? Oh, that’s right, he doesn’t have friends anymore.”

 

Tom Flesher finds the broad hood of a nearby Buick and jumps on top of it. He waves and yells for his crew to bring Frost over. They drag his battered corpse over and hoist Frost up for Flesher to take with a front facelock. Judge and Atlas combine their strength to shove up on Frost’s legs and aide Tom in getting the big man vertical.

 

Stevens: “No, he can’t! He can’t do this!”

 

Riley: “Oh hell yeah! Tom Flesher is back, baby! And say bye-bye to Frosty the Snowman!”

 

Flesher snaps down on the move and brainbusters Frost through the windshield of the car! Shards of glass fly everywhere! The car hood dents from the weight of the two men smashing into it! The fans shriek with shock!

 

Stevens: “BOILERMAKER THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD!”

 

Flesher rolls off the car to his feet and straightens his hair. Frost lays half on the hood, with the top half of his body sprawled across the dash of the car. Cuts and slashes from the glass can be seen all over Frost’s torso. The camera glides in for a closer look. Tom Flesher opens the unlocked passenger side door and ushers the camera inside.

 

“Take a look at your Velvet Hammer now!” Flesher gloats. “If he shows up this Sunday at Ground Zero, he can expect worse than this.”

 

The camera angles down to get a view of Frost’s face, half shrouded in shadow. His face is a mask of red, mashed to a bloody pulp and hardly recognizable.

 

Stevens: “This is heinous! We needed paramedics! I’m at a loss for words!”

 

Riley: “Then stop talking.”

 

A siren of an ambulance can be heard in the background as the shot fades to black.

[Guest Suicide King]

“Welcome back to SWF Smarkdown, ladies and gentlemen!”

 

Mark Stevens sits at the announcer’s table alongside his longtime color man, Bobby Riley. Behind the two men, the Alliant Energy Center fans begin hooting and hollering at the SmarksTron, where their faces are enlarged and projected above the entrance ramp. One particularly creative fan holds a sign that says, “Who Booked This Crap?”, and waves it wildly at the camera for a few moments before security confiscates it.

 

“We’re only six days away from Ground Zero, and tensions are certainly running high in the locker room. Last week on Lockdown, Michael Craven, who recently lost the US title to Ejiro Fasaki, made an open challenge to the winner of the main event in an attempt to establish himself as a contender for the ICTV title. Mak Francis won the match –“

 

“By the skin of his teeth, Mark.”

 

” –but Nathaniel Kibagami has taken offense to some of the comments made by Craven, and the commissioner has responded by making this, a Singapore cane match, between the two men tonight.”

 

”That’s right, Stevens! Kibagami has been on fire in recent weeks, and his match against Francis aside, he’s been tearing his opponents to pieces in record time. He’s taken particular exception to Craven’s challenge, as I understand it.”

 

”He certainly has, Riley. Angry enough that…I’ve been told that he intends to use the Demonstar Driver tonight, Bobby.”

 

Riley laughs, a little nervous, as the lights in the arena go down. “He can’t be that angry, Mark. I mean, sure, Craven called him a cripple and threatened to break his neck, but he probably meant it in a figurative sense. He wouldn’t use the Demonstar over that.”

 

C:\>run KingOfNightmares.exe

 

“…would he?”

 

BOOM!

 

A huge blast of blue and white pyro shoots up from the stage, the smoke lingering behind. Strobe lights pulse to the beat of the guitar and drums in the background as Saliva’s “King of My World” kicks. As the first words kick in, the strobes cut out, a single, blinding light shines from the entryway, piercing through the smoke. The light illuminates the figure of Michael Craven, a Singapore cane in each hand, who stops to look at the fans before turning two quick pirouettes to raise their ire that much more. The King of Nightmares holds his pose, waiting for the spotlight to turn a deep, dark blue before making his way down to ringside.

 

”Ladies and gentlemen, this match is a Singapore cane match! All the normal rules apply, though Singapore canes are a legal weapon! Introducing first, weighing in at two hundred and eighty pounds, hailing from Tampa, Florida….MICHAELLLLLL CRAVEN!”

 

Craven slides underneath the ropes and into the ring, ignoring the boos from the Madison fans. He climbs onto the turnbuckle and raises both Singapore canes high above his head, looking very confident as the lights come up. Michael hops down off the turnbuckle and walks to the center of the ring, planting his feet on either side of a small, black “X” in the center of the ring…

 

I want to feel the changes coming down,

I want to know what I’ve been hiding…

 

A tremendous explosion of white pyro heralds the entrance of Nathaniel Kibagami, who strides through the few remaining sparks to a tremendous reception from the crowd! The man once known as the Silent One remains oblivious to the crowd, however, as he quickly makes his way to ringside.

 

“Introducing second, making his way to the ring, weighing in at two hundred and sixty-eight pounds, hailing from Phoenix, Arizona…NATHANIEL KIBAGAMIIIII!”

 

”Forty-Six and Two” dies away as Kibagami slides into the ring and rises to meet Craven eye to eye. The buzz of the crowd increases as the camera captures the two men standing face to face in the center of the ring. The picture is projected on the SmarksTron, and both the announcers notice the same thing at the same moment.

 

“Mark?”

 

”Yes?”

 

”Where’s…where’s Kibagami’s cane?”

 

”I think he might just be the slightest bit overconfident, Riley.”

 

Referee Matthew Kivell briefly explains the rules of the match to both men before stepping to the side and calling for the bell!

 

DING DING DING!!

 

The bell rings and Kibagami takes two quick steps backwards, perhaps to avoid a quick jab from one of his opponent’s Singapore canes.. Craven pauses, unsure of his opponent’s tactics…but a smile creeps across the Nightmare’s face as Nathan raises both arms, palms forward, offering the former US champion a free shot!

 

”What the hell is Nathan thinking?” breathes Riley. “Coming out here with no weapon and letting Craven get the first shot! That’s stupid! I thought he wanted to win this match.”

 

“He’s playing games with Craven, Riley. He said he can take the best Craven’s got, and now he’s trying to prove it.” Stevens sighs. “I hope he’s right, for his sake.”

 

Michael discards one of his kendo sticks, unsure for a moment what course of action to take with a smiling, seemingly defenseless opponent standing three feet away from him…before cocking back and swinging for the fences!

 

CRACK!

 

Craven drives the cane into the face of the Silent One, sending him crashing to one knee!

 

CRACK!

 

A second blow, this one to the side of the head, knocks Kibagami onto his back!

 

CRACK!

 

CRACK!

 

Two hard shots to the ribs elicit no more than a flinch from the prone Kibagami, and this enrages Craven! Shouting obscenities at his fallen opponent, Michael grabs Nathan’s left leg and drags him into the center of the ring, near the “X”. Placing his foot on Nathaniel’s right arm to keep him from softening the blow with his hand, Craven draws the kendo stick back once more…

 

CRACK!

 

…and shatters it on Kibagami’s unprotected face!

 

CRA-VEN SUCKS!

CRA-VEN SUCKS!

CRA-VEN SUCKS!

 

The Wisconsin fans violently condemn Craven, who stands on the far turnbuckle, feeling particularly full of himself, taunting the fans in the front row.

 

“This is insane!” yells Stevens. “I don’t know what Kibagami’s trying to prove here, but this can’t be the right way to go about it!”

 

Bobby Riley simply chuckles and shakes his head. “I think he’s finally taken one too many shots to the head, Mark. This is Craven’s time to shine, tonight, and Kibagami’s just some broken-down old man that’s in his way.”

 

“Nathan might be a little broken-down, but he’s not old, Riley. He’s kept up with some of the younger workers quite well – his match with Mak Francis on Lockdown comes to mind. But he’s certainly not young anymore, and I’m not sure if he can withstand this kind of unnecessary abuse!”

 

Riley shrugs. “If you say so. Still, I think he’s getting old. He’ll be thirty-one in September. He’s – Christ, Mark. He’s almost your age.”

 

“I hardly think that I’m really that…wait a minute!”

 

Craven hops back off the turnbuckle and turns around, looking confident and ready to dish out some more punishment…but he’s shocked and surprised to find Nathaniel Kibagami standing – a little unsteady, and bleeding from several gashes undoubtedly caused by the shattered Singapore cane, but standing under his own power nonetheless! Kibagami wipes the blood from his eyes and beckons the King of Nightmares forward, and the cheers from the Alliant Energy Center are almost deafening!

 

“Kibagami is up! Nathaniel Kibagami is standing, though I can’t say…though I can’t say how, exactly.”

 

“…he must’ve been knocked stupid, Mark. He just doesn’t know to stay down. This’ll be a short match, at least; he can’t last very long after taking that many shots so early.”

 

Craven lunges forward into a collar-and-elbow tieup, and Kibagami is more than eager to oblige him. The two men, both of equal build, strain against each other for a long moment, seeking a strength advantage and finding none. Craven is the first man to make a move, drawing back from the tie-up and grabbing a side headlock in one fluid motion. He grimaces slightly as Kibagami slams a knee into his ribs, but he holds on to the headlock and flips Nathaniel over onto his back, pinning his shoulders to the mat.

 

ONE!

 

Nathan is quick to kick out, but the Nightmare is even quicker to reapply the headlock as Kibagami rises to his feet. Kibagami responds by slamming a knee into the Nightmare’s ribs again…and again…and again, forcing his opponent to pull away and give him room to breathe.

 

CRACK!

 

Nathaniel belts Craven with a stiff kick to the ribs, and the crowd pops at the sound of Nathan’s boot impacting on Michael’s ribcage.

 

CRACK!

 

Another kick, this one to the chest, staggers the Nightmare, and Kibagami measures him for a third strike as Craven tries to regain his wind.

 

“Kibagami’s kicks are just as dangerous as ever. You might be right, Riley – this could be a very short match.”

 

The former Clansmen pivots on one foot, aiming a third kick at his opponent’s temple…but Michael Craven manages to get his guard up in time to block the kick, grabs hold of Nathan’s outstretched leg, and spins violently to his right, taking Kibagami down with a quick dragon screw legwhip.

 

The Nightmare quickly rolls to his feet while Nathan lies on the mat, trying to shake off the effects of the dragon screw. Craven grabs hold of Nathan’s right leg and drives his elbow into the knee, grinding it back and forth as violently as he can. Nathaniel grits his teeth and tries to fight his way out of it, so Craven simply stands up while holding onto Kibagami’s leg and steps around into a half-crab.

 

“Beautiful maneuver from Michael Craven, taking a page out of Tom Flesher’s handbook!” exclaims Riley. “If Craven’s really been studying tapes of the Superior One, Kibagami obviously doesn’t have a prayer!”

 

“Riley, a half-crab is a pretty common move.”

 

”Yes, but not everyone can execute it with that sort of precision.”

 

Kibagami inches his way towards the bottom rope, pulling himself along the canvas as best he can…but Craven pulls back harder on Nathan’s right leg, effectively putting a stop to his progress.

 

KI-BA-GAM-I! *clap, clap, clapclapclap*

KI-BA-GAM-I! *clap, clap, clapclapclap*

KI-BA-GAM-I! *clap, clap, clapclapclap*

KI-BA-GAM-I! *clap, clap, clapclapclap*

 

Kibagami struggles, trying to get to the bottom rope, trying to roll out of the hold, but the Nightmare is much too tenacious to release his grip on his opponent’s leg. Nathan goes limp for a moment, considering his options…

 

CRACK!

 

…and manages to kick the former US champion flush in the nose with his free leg, breaking the hold! The crowd pops for Kibagami as he rises to his feet, calmly shaking off the effects of Craven’s assault on his leg and wiping a small trickle of blood from his left eye. Before Craven can regain his composure, Nathaniel closes the distance between them and drives an elbow sharply into the side of his opponent’s head! Michael stumbles back into the ropes, and Kibagami takes the opportunity to grab hold of his opponent’s arm and whip his across the ring. As the Nightmare comes bounding back off of the ropes, Nathaniel charges toward him…and just before the two collide, he leaps into the air, plants one foot on Craven’s thigh, and slams the other into the side of the champion’s head!

 

CRACK!

 

Michael Craven drops to the canvas like a bag of bricks and quickly rolls to the outside to avoid further punishment, while Kibagami stands tall in the center of the ring, smiling a little as the fans cheer him on.

 

“Impressive Shining Wizard from Kibagami! You have to admit, Riley, he looks fairly comfortable in the ring for somebody who’s so old and broken-down, huh?.”

 

“Bah. All I’ve seen from him so far is gymnastics. That’s not so impressive, really. Now real, honest-to-God mat wrestling? That might impress me, but I just don’t get the impression that he’s up to it.”

 

“I think you’re just upset that Kibagami’s not wearing a singlet.”

 

”Just what are you trying to insinuate?”

 

”Oh, nothing. Hey, Riley. How old are you, anyway?”

 

Riley sniffs. “I’m three weeks shy of none of your damned business, thank you very much.”

 

Michael Craven slides back into the ring, his head still ringing from the Shining Wizard. The two men circle each other briefly in the center of the ring before Kibagami lunges forward into another collar-and-elbow tie-up. The champ once again goes for the side headlock, but this time Nathan is prepared and delivers a bone-crunching knee strike before Craven can extract himself from the collar-and-elbow.

 

A final knee to the ribs sends Michael out of the tie-up and into the ropes, and Sexton Hardcastle steps in to pull the two men apart. As he does so, a thoroughly winded Craven scrapes the heel of his boot down Kibagami’s shin, ending with a sharp stomp on his foot. Nathan, stunned by the sudden sharp pain, recoils from his opponent, hopping a little on his left leg as the crowd boos Craven’s nefarious cheating.

 

“Oh, please, Craven! That was entirely too Memphis,” quips Stevens.

 

Riley sighs. “I know. Wasn’t it beautiful?”

 

Kibagami moves towards the center of the ring, trying to shut out the pain in his right leg…but with his back to his opponent, he’s unable to counter when the Nightmare lifts him up from behind, folds his right leg back with his free hand, and drops it on his outstretched knee with a sharp shin breaker! Nathan falls to the ground, clutching his leg, and Craven rises to his feet, a smug smile on his face.

 

The Nightmare drops to the canvas and fluidly applies a leg lock, grinding his elbow once again into the tender part of Nathan’s knee. The hold does not elicit the expected ‘screaming in pain’ response from Kibagami, so Craven responds by slamming his elbow repeatedly into the pit of the knee. The crowd starts a small “boring” chant to pass the time as the recently dethroned US champion goes to work on Kibagami’s injured limb.

 

“Michael Craven is going to take Nathan’s leg out of his hip and take it home, have it stuffed, and hung above his fireplace mantle after this match!”

 

”I’m not convinced that Craven’s made a smart decision in going after Nathan’s legs, Riley.”

 

”And how’s that? If he can’t kick you, he can’t win. It’s very simple logic, Mark. I thought even somebody like you would pick up on that.”

 

As if to reinforce Riley’s point, Craven rises to his feet and begins stomping as hard as he can on Kibagami’s exposed right knee. The sounds of flesh striking flesh reverberate through the ringside arena, drawing a few cringes from the fans in the front row…and a small cheer from a teenager in the front row, wearing Justice and Rule hoodie and holding a sign that says “This Is The Worst Show I’ve Ever Seen”.

 

“That may be true, Riley, but Nathan certainly has other weapons in his arsenal.”

 

”It’s a Singapore cane match, Mark. I’m fairly certain that Kibagami’s cane was made in Japan. It’s not legal in this match.”

 

Mark only shakes his head. ”I give up on you, Riley. I really, truly give up.”

 

The champ delivers a final stomp to Kibagami’s leg before applying a picture-perfect figure four. This time, a shout escapes Nathan’s lips as Craven wretches back on the hold. He struggles from side to side, trying to reverse the hold, but the Nightmare holds firm…and as Hardcastle checks on Kibagami to see if he submits, the Judge grabs the second rope to add leverage to the hold!

 

”Now, that’s just blatant cheating!” exclaims Stevens.

 

“What cheating? I’m sorry, the referee doesn’t seem to have made any sort of call. What cheating are you talking about?”

 

The crowd boos Michael’s tactics resoundingly – so much so that Kivell looks over at the King of Nightmares, who releases the ropes JUST in time to avoid getting disqualified. The referee asks Craven a question, and the Nightmare vehemently shakes his head no…but in conversing with the referee, he’s given Kibagami the opportunity he needs to roll over onto his stomach and reverse the hold! The crowd pops like a cherry on prom night as Michael Craven flails madly at the ropes, eventually latching on to the bottom rope to break the hold. Kivell separates the two wrestlers, and Nathan rolls away as Craven slowly hobbles to his feet.

 

Craven walks over to Nathan, who has risen to his hands and knees, and plants his boot squarely in Kibagami’s ribs, sending the former Clansmen sprawling onto the mat. The Nightmare cockily saunters over to his fallen opponent, plants the heel of his boot on Nathaniel’s face, and spins sharply to the left, a satisfied smirk on his face as the crowd vocalizes their disapproval. As Kibagami clutches his face, Craven places his boot firmly on Nathaniel’s chest and gestures for Kivell to make the count.

 

ONE!

 

Kibagami’s shoulder jolts up from the mat as he rolls onto his stomach, knocking Craven back a step and almost causing the Nightmare to lose his balance. Angered, Craven quickly drops an elbow on the back of Kibagami’s neck before straddling his opponent and applying a sloppy camel clutch, pulling back as hard as he can on Nathan’s often-injured neck.

 

“See, Mark?” crows Riley. “Craven just wanted to immobilize Nathan and make sure the cane wouldn’t come into play before he went to work on the neck! It’s a brilliant plan, I tell you. This match should be over shortly. Look, I think Kibagami’s going to tap right now.”

 

“I’ll admit, Michael Craven has done an excellent job of keeping his opponent from utilizing the unique stipulations of this match…but he doesn’t seem to be able to put Kibagami away, regardless of how much he throws at him!”

 

Nathaniel raises his hand…and starts pulling himself towards the ropes! Craven wretches back on his opponent’s neck even harder, prompting a warning from Matthew Kivell, but Kibagami continues his progress…and successfully snags the bottom rope, prompting a cheer from the crowd!

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

FI – Craven, disgusted, releases the hold just before the referee finishes his count. The King of Nightmares steps back a little from Kibagami, who rises to a sitting position; the Nightmare measures his opponent, then charges towards him, slamming Nathan’s head into the mat with a sharply-executed flipping neckbreaker just before Nathan can close his hand around the discarded Singapore cane! Craven rolls gracefully to his feet, a smile on his face as he picks Kibagami up from the canvas and shoves him backwards into the nearby turnbuckle. The Nightmare backs up several paces to the center of the ring and assumes a three-point stance as Kibagami strives desperately to shake the cobwebs out.

 

Craven charges at his opponent, quickly gaining speed…

 

SLAM!

 

But Kibagami ducks out of the way at the last possible minute, sending Michael Craven careening shoulder-first into the steel post behind the turnbuckle! The Madison crowd cheers wildly for this shift in momentum as Nathaniel stumbles to his feet.

 

“Craven misses the Sonic Boom, and Kibagami’s got a chance to turn this match around!”

 

”Pfft. Mark, he’s got no chance. It’s not like he’s going to be able to kick his way to an advantage after that figure –“

 

CRACK!

 

Nathaniel slams his foot into the small of Craven’s back as the King of Nightmares extracts himself from the turnbuckle!

 

Riley shakes his head. ”Aw, DAMN it.”

 

The Nightmare winces in pain, stunned, and Kibagami is quick to take advantage of the situation, cinching in a waistlock on Craven and heaving him backwards with a picturesque German suplex, bridging backwards as he does so and pinning Michael’s shoulders to the mat!

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

Craven rolls out of the pin, a little surprised by Kibagami’s resiliency – and just a little angry at being one second away from losing.

 

“Kibagami was quick to take advantage of the situation, but Craven’s still fresh – it’s going to take a lot more than that to put him down for the count!”

 

Already on his feet, Nathaniel charges at his opponent, looking for a Yakuza kick, but Craven sidesteps the blow at the last possible moment! Before Kibagami can get his bearings, the champ hooks an inverted facelock on his opponent and spins quickly to the left, driving Kibagami’s jaw down onto his shoulder with an inverted spinning neckbreaker!

 

”Diamond Bullet!” yells Riley as Craven makes the cover.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR – Kibagami kicks out at the last possible minute!

 

“What the hell? Ref, that was a three-count!”

 

”Bobby, Craven counted to three, not the ref.”

 

”Ahhh, the ref did it too slow! C’mon, ref!”

 

Frustrated, Craven shoves Kivell out of the way as the referee tries to check on Nathaniel. He picks Kibagami up from the mat and hoists him onto his shoulders, then tosses him up and around, bringing his head down onto the canvas with a sickening thud!

 

”Craven Driver!” shouts Riley. “Nathan landed right on his head, Mark! That’s GOT to be all!”

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

NO!

 

Kibagami kicks out, and the crowd virtually explodes! Craven, stunned, goes to pick Nathan up by his hair once again, but the former Clansman violently shoves him away and assaults the King of Nightmares with a barrage of knife-edged chops!

 

SLAP! (WHOO!)

 

”Why do they do that, Mark?”

 

SLAP! (WHOO!)

 

“What do you mean?”

 

SLAP! (WHOO!)

 

“That chant. The ‘whoo’ thing.”

 

“I’m not sure. I’ve never been able to figure it out, myself.”

 

SLAP! (WHOO!)

 

One final chop sends Craven back into the ropes, and a fired-up Kibagami grabs hold of his left arm and whips him across the ring! Nathan looks for a springing sidekick as Craven comes hurling back towards him, but the King of Nightmares smoothly ducks underneath Kibagami’s outstretched leg! The Silent One lands on his feet and turns to meet Craven…

 

SLAM!

 

…but is met instead with a Sonic Boom, driving the breath out of his body and sending him crashing to the mat! The crowd boos Michael Craven heavily as he picks Nathaniel up off the mat and hoists him onto his shoulders, in position for the Gulf Coast Crunch.

 

“Turn off the lights, Mark, because the party’s over! Kibagami can’t dodge this one!”

 

Michael Craven turns to his left, preparing to start the rotation necessary for his finisher, but Kibagami fluidly slides off his opponent’s back, hooking an inverted facelock on the way down and pinioning Craven’s left shoulder with his other hand, locking a makeshift Dragon sleeper on as he falls back! Pulled by two hundred and sixty-eight pounds of dead weight, Craven falls backwards as well, his head bouncing off the canvas with an audible thud!

 

Kibagami rolls to his feet, a little short of breath, and wipes the blood from his eyes. He moves towards Craven…but the discarded Singapore cane lying in the corner catches his eye. Leaving Craven to struggle to his feet, the former Clansman saunters over to the corner and scoops the kendo stick up with one hand to a deafening round of applause from the Wisconsin fans!

 

“He’s got a kendo stick, Kivell! It’s subtly different from a Singapore cane! Foreign object, FOREIGN OBJECT!”

 

“Sit down and shut up, Riley! Craven tried to finish this match off too early, and he’s about to pay the price for it! I think Nathan’s going to demonstrate exactly how that cane is supposed to be used…”

 

A groggy Michael Craven rises to his feet, his eyes scanning the ring for signs of his opponent…

 

CRACK!

 

…and is met with a sharp shot to the jaw from Kibagami’s newly-acquired Singapore cane!

 

CRACK!

 

CRACK!

 

Kibagami drives the cane into Craven’s ribs, then pirouettes on one foot and slams the kendo stick into the opposite side of his opponent’s ribcage! The King of Nightmares collapses to all fours under the force of the Silent One’s assault, and Nathaniel follows up with shot…

 

CRACK!

 

After shot…

 

CRACK!

 

After shot…

 

CRACK!

 

…after shot to Michael’s exposed back and shoulders! The crowd is absolutely rabid for Kibagami as he wails away on the former US champion, and Kibagami himself is heedless of Matthew Kivell as he tries to check on Craven! Finally, the former Clansman pauses to wipe the blood from his eyes, and the referee tries to ask Craven if he’s able to continue, but Kivell can’t get a coherent answer from the half-conscious Michael Craven!

 

”Take the cane away from him, ref! It was made in Taiwan!”

 

Riley’s protests are in vain, however. Brushing brusquely past Kivell, Kibagami grabs a handful of his opponent’s blood-soaked hair and pulls Craven up to his knees. The King of Nightmares is bleeding from a gash across his forehead now, and Kibagami has to pause and wipe the blood from his own eyes before wiping it from Craven’s face as well with the back of his hand – he wants Craven to see this one coming. Kibagami wraps his other hand around the half-broken kendo stick and cocks it back…measures his opponent for a second…

 

CRACK!

 

…and BLASTS Michael Craven with a tremendous shot to the face, shattering the kendo stick clean in two and sending the King of Nightmares toppling to the canvas! A tremendous roar goes up from the crowd as Nathaniel tosses the broken Singapore cane to the side…and raises one fist in the air.

 

“What’s that mean?” wonders Riley.

 

Kibagami picks Craven up by the hair and hooks his arms.

 

“I think he’s signaling for something, Riley.”

 

He hoists Craven up onto his shoulders, in position for a powerbomb. Michael, who is nearly unconscious, can barely support his own weight, and he slouches backwards – his knees hooked around Kibagami’s shoulders are the only things keeping him from falling. Satisfied with Craven’s position, Nathaniel hooks both of his arms underneath Michael’s elbows and walks towards the center of the ring, stopping just above the small black “X”. The crowd, slowly realizing what is about to transpire, takes up a new chant:

 

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

 

“I thought you said he didn’t mean it, Mark! I thought you said he wouldn’t really do it!”

 

Kibagami looks to the left.

 

“I thought he wouldn’t, Riley. I really did.”

 

Kibagami looks to the right.

 

Mark Stevens takes a deep breath.

 

“I think I was wrong.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BAM!

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is a long moment of silence after the impact – the crowd holds their breath, waiting to see what will happen. Kibagami rises to his knees, looks over at the crumpled form of Michael Craven…and hooks the leg for the cover.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

Three.

 

DING DING DING!!

 

”Your winner by pinfall…NATHANIEL KIBAGAMI!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The crowd ERUPTS into cheers, jubilant at finally seeing the Demonstar Driver used by the man who was once known as Silent! Kibagami wipes his face once final time (the blood has finally stopped flowing, though two of the cuts on his face still seem far from closed) before exiting the ring. Kivell attends to Craven in the ring…and the crowd cheers, albeit very, very softly, to see the King of Nightmares still able to move. Unable to sit up, or to make the world stop spinning, but able to move, at least.

 

“Nathaniel Kibagami makes good on his promise…and Michael Craven manages to live through it,” breathes Mark Stevens.

 

“That was…that was quite a surprising match, Mark. I mean, I’m always surprised when Kibagami manages to win, but I honestly didn’t think he’d use the Demonstar Driver. It’s…it seems like overkill.”

 

“I was surprised too, Riley. Very surprised indeed.” Stevens quietly watches Kibagami make his way through the curtains at the top of the ramp, oblivious to the name the fans are chanting –

 

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

 

Or maybe he’s not.

 

“I wonder what this means. In any event, stay tuned, ladies and gentlemen.”

 

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

 

“We’ve got more fast-paced SWF action, right after this commercial break.”

 

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

 

We starwipe to commercial…

[Guest Suicide King]

We fade back in on SWF Smarkdown and on the SWF banner, Ben Hardy standing directly in front of it, grinning as per usual while standing next to Charlie "The Show" Matthews. Hardy smiles wide as he brings us back... back... back from break.

 

"Welcome back, ladies and gents, Ben Hardy here with Charlie "The Show" Matthews. Charlie, last week you teamed up with Quiz to take on the Unholy Duo, only to narrowly lose to the Decapitator. What are your plans from here on out?"

 

"I'm not sure, Ben... I think Quiz wants to keep me on as a partner, but maybe he's just interested in splitting up... maybe I should go after Ejiro Fasaki... he's nice and short..."

 

"Survey says in-deed, Show!"

 

Our camera pans back to reveal Quiz, walking towards Show. He has a TV Guide under his arm (with Chuck Woolery on the cover) and a 24-karat smile on his face. He continues.

 

"But come on, Show! Out of one hundred people surveyed, ninety-nine of them said they'd like to see more of Quiz and Show... Double Jeopardy!"

 

"I don't know, Quiz..."

 

"Look, Show, don't worry about it right now...

 

 

 

 

because Celebrity Jeopardy is on!"

 

Hardy perks up. "It is?"

 

"Survey says YES, Ben! See, if you'll look in this TV Guide..."

 

Quiz opens it up, showing it to Hardy, who nods and smiles. "By gum, you're right!"

 

"Yes, I am. Come on, Charlie - you don't even have to come to the locker room this time! Here's a conveniently placed chair..." Quiz grabs a chair from offscreen, setting it up and motioning Show to sit down, and he does slowly.

 

"And here's a conveniently placed television on wheels..." Quiz pulls over a (gasp~!) conveniently placed television on wheels, flipping it on to Celebrity Jeopardy, tonight featuring Cuba Gooding, Jr., Krusty the Clown, and a topless Jenna Jameson!

 

"Focus on the questions, Show... focus on the way Alex Trebek moves his mustacheless lips... potpourri for four hundred, Show... say it..."

 

"Potpourri... four hundred..."

 

"Good man..."

 

The camera pans over to Ben Hardy, who looks directly into it, whispering. "We're going to leave these two alone, and be back with more SWF Smarkdown after these conveniently placed messages..."

 

"Keep it down, Ben! ... focus on the question, not the breasts..."

 

We fade out, a voice whispering softly, "Double Jeopardy are filmed in front of a live studio audience..."

[Guest Suicide King]

The camera quickly fades in on the office of the Suicide King, who is looking as happy as the cat with the canary. In front of him stand the two slightly puzzled forms of Va'aiga and Mak Francis. King turns from regarding himself in the mirror to look upon these two unworthy specimens that stand before him...

 

Finally, Mak breaks the silence.

 

"What do you want King? The large mayoral gentleman and I need to get ready for our match."

 

The Maori Badass glares at the Franchise. "MAORI, Francis. M-A-O-R-"

 

"Dammit, I don't care where either of you jokers are from!" King interrupts. "After watching that snorefest your partners put me through, you're lucky I don't cancel your PPV match right now! As it is, I am not going to subject the fans or myself to any more of your buy-rate killing ways."

 

"Your match tonight is cancelled."

 

Va'aiga and Mak glare at King with venom, but King seemingly doesn't care.

 

"However, you both aren't off the hook. You still have jobs to do tonight." King pulls two items out of his desk drawer, throwing one of each to each man. Each man looks at his item, with comprehension and anger growing in his eyes.

 

"Va'aiga, you'll be getting my car washed. Go to 3rd and Brown, and ask for Mel. Any damage to my car will be taken out of your salary, and since I know how much I pay you the rest will be taken out of your hide."

 

"Mak, you'll be shining my shoes." King props his loafers on his desk for easier access. "Get any on my desk, my floor, my slacks, etc, and I'll strip you of the ICTV belt before letting the Magnificent Seven use you as a pinata."

 

The two current foes ball their free fists, and step toward the Commissioner with the promise of a painful death in their eyes...

 

King appears unimpressed. "Tut tut gentlemen. I suggest you two get about your business before I have to punish you partners as well. Would they be so understanding as to take the loss of the tag titles or a shot at them? I think not."

 

"So get CRACKING."

 

The two faces look at each other and appear to reach the same silent resignation at the same time. Va'aiga exits as Mak takes a seat, catching a buffing rag thrown his way.

 

"Remember, I want to be able to see myself. But I don't want to see you, so stay out of the light."

 

And fade.

[Guest Suicide King]

Stevens: Welcome back to the SOLD-OUT Alliant Energy Center, where we’ve still got plenty of hard hitting SWF action headed your way!

 

Riley: Your damn right, Stevens, because coming up right now we’ve got the single match debut of the man, the mystery, the enigma that is known simply as Quiz, when he will be taking on the grumpy, “what’s up my ass” cagey veteran, Danny Williams.

 

Suddenly, Rod Roddy’s voice blares over the loud speakers, “QUIZ, COME ON DOWN!”

 

To the accompaniment of whistles and cat calls, the lovely Vicky Blake seductively and suggestively turns over the name, “Quiz” on a sparkling green Wheel of Fortune board. At the entrance ramp, a pair of sliding doors open up, and out pops a creepy looking game show host in a hot pink tie! Following behind him in the shadows is a huge monster of man that goes by the name of Charlie Matthews.

 

As he makes his way down the ramp, Quiz speaks into his custom microphone, “Welcome to tonight’s show! We have one contestant tonight, and his name is Danny Williams!”

 

The pop is so loud that Quiz has to wait for it to quiet down, before he can finish his catch phrase.

 

“This is what will happen to Danny Williams!”

 

The crowd roars back: “What is kicking your ass?”

 

Annoyed, Quiz roars back,”I’m sorry, but that is the incorrect answer!”

 

Stevens: Last week we got to see Quiz in tag action, when he and his partner Charlie Matthews took on the current tag team champions, Dace Night and Va’gaia. Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t a total squash, and the rookie team actually did fairly well in their first SWF outing.

 

Riley: Tonight is a big opportunity for Quiz, having the chance to prove himself against an established star like Danny Williams. If he loses, everyone will say, “So what, it was against a top guy.”, but if he wins it’s a pretty big freaking deal.

 

Stevens: Your right, Riley. The pressure of this match does indeed rest solely on the shoulders of Danny Williams. With him and TNT battling for the number one contender spot at Ground Zero, Williams cannot afford to lose a singles match against a rookie before the big PPV.

 

After all of Quiz’s props get cleared out of the way, Funyon enters the ring, and the “Jester’s Dance” hits the speakers! The arena turns into an insane asylum as Danny Williams comes confidently marching down the ring aisle, with his head held high and proud.

 

Funyon: Making his way down the aisle, weighing in at 243 pounds, and hailing from Louiseville, Kentucky........DANNY WILLIAMSsssssssssssssss!!!

 

Williams exchanges stares with Matthews, who eventually steps out of his way, and lets him climb up the ring steps. Suddenly, Quiz dashes across the ring, and blasts Danny off the ring apron with a surprise Super Kick!

 

CLANK!

 

Williams crashes into the guardrail, and crumbles to the floor in a heap. Ignoring Soapdish’s demands to refrain from this cowardly ambush, Quiz steps out on to the ring apron, while Show lifts Danny up on his shoulders.

 

Stevens: This isn’t right!

 

Riley: Yes it is, the match hasn’t started yet, so they can do whatever they want.

 

Unable to help themselves, the fans give a huge pop as Quiz somersaults off the apron , catches Danny by the head, and pulls him to the floor with a neck breaker!

 

Stevens: HE JUST HIT HIM WITH A LIGHTING ROUND OFF THE RING APRON!

 

Riley: Nice double team work from Quiz/Show.

 

Stevens: It is, but there’s a time and a place for good tag team work, and a singles match isn’t the right place!

 

Though they liked the move, the fans give a overwhelming negative responds as Quiz slides back into the ring, leaving Danny Williams lying motionless on the floor.

 

In a loud boastful voice, Quiz roars,”Danny Williams....come on down!”

 

On that cue, Show struggles to get Danny Williams’ limp body up on it’s feet. After several failed attempts, Show has to completely lift Danny in his arms like a baby in order to roll him into the ring. Shaking his head in disgust, Soapdish finally calls for the bell.

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Once Danny’s inside, Quiz scrambles on top of him, eagerly hooking a leg for the pin.

 

Stevens: No, not like this!

 

Riley: Like it or not Stevens, Quiz has just defeated Danny Williams!

 

The crowd “boos” as Soapdish half heartedly starts the count.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO1/2....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

NO, Danny Williams shoots a shoulder up, setting off a chain reaction of cheers! Not expecting that, Quiz shoots his head up at Soapdish insisting that the count was slow.

 

Stevens: How about that, despite being double teamed before the match, Danny Williams still has enough in the tank to escape the pinfall.

 

Riley: Damn that Nick Soapdish, his slow count screwed up the perfect plan.

 

Unable to come up with a plan B on such short notice, Quiz opts to pull Danny up by his hair, so he can diss out some more punishment. Quiz shoves Danny into the ropes, but once he lets go of his hair to grab his wrist, Danny slides down to the mat. Shrugging his shoulders, Quiz grabs Danny by his hair again, drags him up, and this time leans in to him, propping him up against the ropes . Finally, Quiz succeeds in whipping Danny off the ropes, but instead of running he just flops face first on the mat. Confused, Quiz scratches his head, wandering what he can do to end the match.

 

Stevens: Danny still hasn’t gotten his feet back under him, he is totally out of it.

 

Riley: He’s a sitting duck, and Quiz needs to capitalize by dropping as many bombs as possible.

 

Getting an idea, Quiz climbs out on to the ring apron, and scales the turnbuckles. Balancing himself on the top rope, Quiz watches and waits. Glassy eyed and blank looking, Williams stumbles to his feet, prompting Quiz to dive down at him! Camera flashes sparkle across the crowd as Quiz kicks out his legs...

 

SMACK!

 

and slams them into Danny’s chest!

 

Stevens: BEAUTIFUL MISSILE DROPKICK!

 

Riley: Now that’s what I’m talking about, he needs to keep the heat on Danny, and not let him recover!

 

The impact blows Danny half way across the ring, while Quiz hurries to his feet, and scrambles towards the nearest corner. Just as before, Quiz perches himself on the top rope, waiting for Danny to return to a vertical base. Once his target is up and in his line of fire, Quiz takes flight again!

 

SMACK!

 

Quiz connects with a second Missile Dropkick, slamming his boots in the back of the Danny’s head! Quiz doesn’t hesitate to roll Danny over, and hook his legs for the pin!

 

Stevens: Here’s the cover!

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Danny weakly kicks out to a nice pop, but Quiz quickly secures him in a rear chinlock.

 

Stevens: Danny kicked out rather quickly that time, despite back to back Missile Dropkicks, he appears to be recovering from that hellish double team move on the outside.

 

Riley: That’s o.k. because Quiz had got that chinlock cranked on nice and tight. That ought to keep the pressure on Danny, while Quiz gives himself a chance to catch his breath.

 

Growing weaker by the second, Danny scoots his way across the ring towards the ropes. His salvation now in arm’s length, Williams’ stretches out his leg, getting a boot under the bottom rope. Fully aware of Williams’ position, Quiz releases him, and snap mares him away from the ropes. To the dismay of the fans, Quiz slaps the chinlock right back on! Getting involved, the fans start to chant..

 

“LET’S GO DANNY, LET’S GO!” clap!clap! clap!clap!clap!

 

Since scooting across the ring is out of the question in his ailing condition, Williams attempts to pry Quiz’s hands apart to free himself, but that also proves to be a waste of time. Zapped of his strength, Danny grows limp in Quiz’s hands. Sensing his victim’s lack of resistance, Quiz lays belly down on the mat, pinning Williams with the chinlock. Soapdish starts the count, blind to the fact that Quiz has put both his boots on the second rope.

 

Riley: Ingenious!

 

Stevens: How many short cuts is this Quiz guy gonna take?

 

Riley: As many as he needs to, Stevens.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

Williams manages to shoot a shoulder up, but he doesn’t have the energy to keep it up. Soapdish starts the count anew! The fans are going bat shit, screaming and shouting madly at Soapdish, who pays no attention.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

Williams shoots his shoulder off the mat again, frustrating Quiz to the point that he finally gives up, and releases the chinlock. Jerking Danny up by the hair, Quiz grabs his tights and slings him out of the ring! Quiz attempts to follow Danny out, but Soapdish gets in the way, ordering him to stay back. Meanwhile, Matthews takes advantage of the referee’s distraction by introducing Williams to the ring post!

 

DING!

 

Flesh and steel don’t mix too well, resulting in an the opening of a bloody gash on Danny’s forehead.

 

Riley: This is brilliant stuff, Quiz Show have defiantly improved since their last match.

 

Stevens: But this isn’t a tag match, it’s suppose to be Quiz vs. Williams!

 

Quiz finally gets past Soapdish, and climbs out after Danny Williams, who is mysteriously lying face down in a pool of his own blood. Taking Danny by the hair, Quiz begins to relentlessly slam his face into the guardrail over and over again!

 

“Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”

 

Leaving the guardrail dripping with Danny’s blood, Quiz ceases the assault, and rolls Danny back into the ring. Quiz climbs up on the ring apron, waits for Danny to blindly stagger to his feet, and than athletically leaps on to the top rope, and spring boards off of it! Quiz lands smack on top of Danny, crushing him with a lateral press!

 

Stevens: SPRINGBOARD BODY PRESS, MIGHT BE ENOUGH!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO, Williams just barely kicks out to a respectful applause!

 

Stevens: Quiz is really keep the heat on Williams, he’s already covered him four times and where barely past the 2 minute mark.

 

Riley: Incredible isn’t it? In his debut singles match, Quiz has already scored four near falls over a former ICTV Champion....simply amazing.

 

Not discouraged by the kick out, Quiz scoops Williams up, and plants him with a big Body Slam!

 

Boom!

 

Williams groggily rolls on his side to get up, when..

 

SMACK!

 

Quiz whelps his back with an uber stiff punt! Snarling with rage, Williams absorbs the blow, and jumps back to his feet. Not backing down, Quiz slams a blistering Roundhouse Kick into Danny’s chest!

 

SMACK!

 

Knowing that another kick is on the way, Williams tightens his developed chest...

 

SMACK!

 

Even though he was ready for it, the hard kick still backs Danny up, encouraging Quiz to swing another one...

 

SMAAAACK!

 

This one drops Danny, an addition to busting a few blood vessels in his chest. Not done yet, Quiz viciously soccer kicks Danny in the ribs, drawing “ohs” from the shocked crowd! With Williams laid out, Quiz runs into the ropes, and leaps high into the air..

 

CRUNCH!

 

crushing Danny with a sickening Senton!

 

“Oooooooooooooh!”

 

Lowering a thumb to the crowd, Quiz lets everybody know that Danny Williams has ran out of time. Grinning from ear to ear, Quiz rolls Danny on his stomach so that he can stand on his knees, and lace his legs around his own.

 

Stevens: Having worked over Danny’s body with those cringe inducing kicks, Quiz is gonna attempt to finish the job with a MEXICAN SURFBOARD!

 

Riley: Would it be something if Quiz’s first win in the SWF was a submission over a former ICTV Champion. He’s only tapped out like what....two times maybe?

 

Stevens: I think that’s what Quiz has in mind. He wants to make a name for himself, and a submission win over Danny Williams would put him in the same company as Tom Flesher and Mak Francis.

 

Williams stretches his arms out in front of him, hoping to keep them out of Quiz’s reach. Frustrated, Quiz starts slamming his fists into Danny’s exposed ribs, hoping that the pain will be so unbearable that Williams will have no choice but to bring his arms down. Indeed, the pain is unbearable, but Williams is to tough to give in to it. Digging his nails into the mat, Williams laboriously claws his way to the ropes, pulling Quiz along for the ride. Williams desperately grabs the ropes, prompting Soapdish to order the break.

 

Stevens: Close call for Danny Williams, I don’t think he could have endured an Elevated Surfboard after being punted around like that.

 

Quiz untangles his legs from Williams’, steps to his side, and...

 

SMACK!

 

cracks his ribs with another soccer kick!

 

Riley: Quiz is simply dominating, I don’t think Danny Williams has got a single shot in.

 

Stevens: Well that’s what happens when your facing two men by yourself.

 

Riley: Your discrediting him for that! Hell, he’s actually earned points in my book. Do you know how much brains and effort it takes to pull off some of the scams he has tonight?

 

In total anguish, Williams crawls to a corner, and begins the difficult task of pulling himself up with the ropes. Stalking Williams, Quiz lets him get to his feet, before turning him around, and bitch smacking him!

 

Smack!

 

Riley: Quiz, looking to add a little insult to injury.

 

The slap knocks a sprinkle of fresh blood off Williams’ crimson face, grossing out the front fans that are close enough to see it. In fact, there is so much blood running down Danny’s face, the only thing you can make out is the whites of his eyes.

 

Stevens: Williams is really busted open good, if this was a boxing match it would have been stopped a long time ago.

 

Riley: Yeah, it’s above his eyes too, that’s the worse kind of cut you can get since it can impair your vision and what not. This cut has really given Quiz the edge he needs to take out someone like Danny, who’s bigger, stronger, and far more experienced.

 

Feeling extremely arrogant and cocky, a relaxed Quiz playfully slaps Danny around like a bitch.

 

CRAAAACK!

 

In the blink of an eye, Quiz is laying completely still on his back, his eyes closed, and his mouth lifelessly hanging open. Pleasantly surprised, the fans pop of their chairs in jubilation!

 

Stevens: Talk about OUT OF NOWHERE! Danny Williams has knocked Quiz out cold with just ONE elbow smash!

 

Riley: Now that’s what happens when you try to get cute. Quiz had Danny right where he wanted him, but instead of going for the kill, he started show boating, and got himself knocked out. I don’t understand it, he was acting so intelligent earlier.

 

Stevens: I guess he figured that he had Danny beat, so he decided that this was opportunity to rub it in, and impress the commissioner. But as he just found out, you can’t do that to Danny Williams, he is just too dangerous, remember what happened to Jamie Drazon?

 

Barely able to hold his eyes open, a sore Danny Williams slides down to the mat, trying to gather his senses. Pounding the ring apron, Matthews desperately tries to wake his partner up, but to no avail. Finally feeling well enough to mount an attack, Danny proudly walks his way out of the corner, while Quiz makes a lack luster effort at getting to his feet. Williams helps Quiz the rest of the way up, only to send him back to the mat with a thunderous scoop slam!

 

Boom!

 

With bad intentions, Danny kicks the hell out of Quiz’s back!

 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

 

The crowd goes wild, loving every second of Danny’s revenge.

 

Riley: Payback’s a bitch, and she’s back in heat.

 

Stevens: Some say that revenge is a dish best served cold, but Williams has proven time and time again that nothing beats a warm meal.

 

Not satisfied just yet, Williams drags Quiz to his feet, and whips him off the ropes! Leaping to position in the center of the ring, Danny catches Quiz with an Abdominal Stretch on the rebound! With a savage look in his eyes, Williams clamps down on Quiz’s head with a facelock, using it to violently crank on his neck! It isn’t long before the facelock starts to work it’s magic, zapping so much strength out of Quiz, he can barely stand up on his own. Taking advantage of Quiz’s vulnerability, Williams releases the facelock, and starts pushing him down into the mat. The repulsed fans, cringe and flinch as Danny forces Quiz to do cheerleader style splits. Grinning from ear to ear, Williams finds comfort in the tortured screams of his victim.

 

Riley: Now that’s one nasty Abdominal Stretch.

 

Stevens: Williams is just torturing Quiz, punishing him for his lack of respect.

 

“Say it!” screams Danny as he pushes down on Quiz’s head, actually bending his torso sideways into one of his legs.

 

Though muscles are hurting that he never even knew he had, Quiz refuses to give up. In one final act of desperation, Quiz rakes the hand of his captured arm across Williams’ forehead! Letting out a rare cry of pain, Williams releases Quiz, and staggers away with his face buried in his hands.

 

Riley: Great counter wrestling from Quiz!

 

Stretched to the breaking point, Quiz weakly climbs to one knee, when Williams snatches him by the hair. Holding Quiz’s head down, Danny mercilessly begins to slam knee after knee into the side of his head, not stopping until Quiz goes down! Knocked into a stupor, Quiz unknowingly rolls near a corner, giving Danny an idea. Skipping over Quiz’s body, Williams jumps up on the second rope, and steps off...

 

CRUUUUUUNCH!

 

sadistically driving his knee into Quiz’s forehead! Unable to take anymore abuse, Quiz rolls out of the ring in a hurry!

 

Stevens: Quiz, making a good choice in bailing to the outside.

 

Williams triumphantly raises an arm in the air, drawing an eruption of cheers from the audience.

 

“DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E!”

 

On the outside, Show helps Quiz to his feet, and starts discussing strategy with him. Suddenly, Williams makes a mad dash at the rookie tag team! Show and Quiz split up, diving in opposite directions. Instead of soaring through the ropes like he usually does, Williams catches himself, and flips out on to the ring apron! Confused, Matthews freezes in place, not knowing what to expect. In that instant, Williams leaps off the apron, and...

 

CRAAACK!

 

slams a forearm into Show’s temple! The crowd gives a standing ovation as Show plummets to the floor like a sack of bricks.

 

Stevens: ELBOW SUICIDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

 

Riley: Now that was uncalled for, Matthews isn’t in the damn match!

 

Stevens: Than he should have stayed out of it!

 

Landing on his feet, Williams charges at Quiz...

 

CLANK!

 

only to get sent throat first into the guardrail by a drop toe hold!

 

“Ooooooooooooooooooooooooh!”

 

Leaving Danny draped over the guardrail, Quiz slides into the ring, giving Soapdish no other option, but to start the count.

 

Riley: Now you see, if Danny would have stayed focused on Quiz, that wouldn’t have happened.

 

 

“One!”

 

 

“Two!”

 

 

“Three!”

 

Clutching his throat like he can’t breath, Williams starts pitifully crawling towards the ring, leaving a blood trail behind him.

 

“Four!”

 

 

“Five!”

 

Williams sluggishly climbs up on the ring apron, and starts using the ring ropes to pull himself up to his feet. Without warning, Quiz grabs Danny by the head, and drops to the mat, snapping his throat across the ring ropes! Williams drops back to the floor, struggling to breath, while the crowd verbally assaults Quiz...

 

“QUIZ IS AN ASSHOLE!” clap! clap! clap!clap!clap!

 

Soapdish gives Quiz a warning, but he’s too busy climbing up the turnbuckles to care.

 

Stevens: After another cheap move, Quiz is preparing to take flight!

 

Riley: Cheap my ass, that’s strategy, he’s working the wind pipe.

 

Quiz waits for Williams to get fully erect, before bravely taking the plunge to the outside!

 

Stevens: PLAAAAAAAAAANCHA!!!

 

Quiz slams his body into Williams, knocking both men to the ground in a blaze of camera flashes! Several moments pass before Quiz gingerly climbs to his feet, and rolls Danny back into the ring. Making his way to the top turnbuckle, Quiz stands at full height on the top rope in a familiar scene. Sore and barely able to breath, Williams slowly, very slowly climbs to his feet, when Quiz jumps down at him...

 

BOOM!

 

but Williams steps to the side, letting him splatter across the mat!

 

Stevens: Quiz was looking for the Missile Dropkick, but as the old saying goes, he went to the well too many times.

 

Still not able to stand on his own, Williams awkwardly stumbles into the ropes, and clings to them for support. Trying to correct his mistake with some good old fashioned hustle, Quiz rushes to his feet, but Williams is on him like that, clamping on a Sleeperhold! With the memory of Matthew’s first defeat still fresh in their minds, the crowd goes ballistic!

 

Stevens: Williams, taking the same path of victory that Judge William Hearford took against Quiz’s partner, Charlie Matthews!

 

Fighting to stay awake, Quiz starts trying to walk to the ropes, but his legs are far too weak. Williams takes advantage of Quiz’s weariness by jumping on his back, and dragging him to the mat with a body scissors!

 

Stevens: DOUSHIME SLEEPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

 

Quiz keeps an arm held high in the air, showing the official that he’s still awake. Rapidly fading from consciousness, Quiz manages to stay awake just long enough to roll to the ropes! Williams springs to his feet, and starts tauntingly flicking his boot in Quiz’s face as he lays drained and helpless on the mat.

 

Riley: Quiz’s humiliating attack at the beginning of the match has really lit a fire under Danny’s ass. I haven’t seen him this sadistic since he was punting juniors in his U.S. title days.

 

After having his fun, Williams drags the drowsy rookie to his feet, and whips him off the ropes! Williams ducks behind Quiz on his return run, catching him another Sleeperhold! Sensing that the end is near for the not the so beloved game show host, the crowd goes absolutely nuts!

 

Stevens: WILLIAMS, GOING RIGHT BACK TO THE SLEEPERHOLD!

 

Suddenly, Matthews hops on the ring apron, holding his head and demanding retribution for Danny’s Elbow Suicida! Soapdish turns his back to the match so that he can stop Matthews from entering the ring! Seeing that the ref’s back is turned, Quiz doesn’t hesitate to thrust back his leg, kicking Williams in the jewels!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

His face frozen with pain, Williams sinks to the mat, while Quiz wearily drops to his hands and knees.

 

Riley: This is so by the numbers it’s brilliant!

 

Stevens: Now this is getting ridiculous. Quiz may get the win tonight, but it took two men and an unprecedented amount of cheating to get the job done.

 

His job done, Matthews drops down to the floor, while Soapdish turns around to find both men down and agonizing. Feeling slightly rejuvenated, Quiz climbs back to his feet, and tauntingly yawns like he’s just getting up in the morning.

 

“QUIZ SUCKS! QUIZ SUCKS! QUIZ SUCKS!”

 

Not entirely stupid, Soapdish attempts to question Williams about what happened, but Quiz pushes the scrawny official out of the way. Oozing confidence, Quiz carelessly guides Danny to his feet....

 

CRACK!

 

only to be rewarded with a hard Elbow Smash! Killing the come back before it can happen, Quiz doubles Danny over with a quick kick to the gut, grabs a front facelock and falls back for the DDT!

 

CRUNCH!

 

Williams bounces off his head, and flips over on his back!

 

Stevens: Oh man, it’s over. Williams put up a valiant effort, but it’s been an uphill battle from the get go, and when you start off in a hole, it’s damn near impossible to climb back out.

 

Rolling out on to the ring apron, Quiz returns to his feet, and ascends the turnbuckles. The fans rise out of their chairs, wandering what he has in mind this time. Quiz boldly dives head first off the top rope, driving his shoulders into Williams’ abdomen!

 

Steven: SWANTON BOOOOOOOOOOOMB!!!

 

Rolling to his feet, Quiz jogs back out on to the ring apron, and speeds up the turnbuckles! This time, Quiz leaps straight into the air, performing two somersaults, before squashing Williams with a Body Splash!

 

Stevens: 450 SPLASH! 450 SPLASH! WILL WE SEE THE UPSET?!

 

The fans watch on in worry as Soapdish starts the count!

 

Riley: IN JUST HIS SINGLES FIRST MATCH, QUIZ HAS DEFEATED A FORMER ICTV CHAMPION!

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO1/2...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

NO, Soapdish spots Danny draping his boot across the bottom rope, forcing him to halt the count!

 

Riley: IT’S OVER!

 

Stevens: NO, DANNY’S ON THE ROPES!

 

Rejoicing, the fans run in place, feeling the arena with the sound of rumbling feet! Exhausted and soaked with sweat, Quiz rolls off Williams, struggling to replenish his oxygen supply.

 

Stevens: Smart thinking by Danny Williams, knowing where the ropes are at all times has saved him on numerous occasions, especially from high flying attacks.

 

The crowd starts to rabidly chant, “DAN-E!”, but Quiz is still the first on his feet. Quiz yanks Danny up by his arm, and scoops slams him further away from the ropes. Quiz taps his forehead, and steps back out on to the ring apron.

 

Riley: Quiz may have made a crucial mistake, but it looks like he’s willing to learn from it.

 

Balancing himself on the top rope, Quiz gets a good bounce, and performs another dazzling 450 spin in mid air,...

 

THUMP!

 

but there’s nobody home! Quiz bounces off the mat like a basket ball, before unpleasantly coming to rest on the mat!

 

Stevens: HE’S NOT THE ONLY ONE! It looks like Williams is learning from his past mistakes as well, narrowly avoiding a second 450 splash!

 

The “DAN-E!” chant starts up again, though this time it’s much more intense! Trembling with every movement, Williams attempts to stand up, but his legs cave in, and he goes back down. Holding his ribs, and limping, a busted up Quiz somehow makes it to his feet. Staggering his way over to Williams, Quiz grabs him by the hair, and helps him up...

 

SMAAAAACK!

 

only to get clubbed in the back of the head! Both men go down, and the crowd responds with a thunderous ovation!

 

Stevens: ENZUI LARIAT, IT’S ANYBODIES MATCH NOW!

 

Riley: I don’t know about that, Stevens. Danny has absorbed a lot of punishment over the course of this match up, and I’m not so sure that one Lariat is enough to even the odds.

 

Though his cut has long since stopped bleeding, Williams hair and face is still smeared with the rusty color of dried hemoglobin. Crawling on his hands and knees, Williams makes his way to the ropes, using them to pull himself to a vertical base. By this time, Quiz has also wobbled to his feet...

 

SMAAAACK!

 

only to get decapitated by a devastating Western Lariat! Quiz does a complete 360 spin in mid air, before lifelessly flopping on the mat!

 

Riley: QUIZ’S HEAD HAS JUST BEEN SEPARATED FROM HIS SHOULDERS!

 

The crowd goes into hysterics as Danny crawls on top of Quiz’s carcass for the pin!

 

Stevens: AND OUT OF NOWHERE, DANNY WILLIAMS HAS STOLEN THE MATCH!

 

 

 

“ONE!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“TWO!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

........

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“THREE!”

 

 

 

 

 

NO! In the nick of time, Quiz slides a boot under the rope!

 

Riley: Quiz, avoiding the pin with some ring smarts of his own!

 

Stevens: Indeed, it’s almost as if he’s learning from Danny Williams.

 

The crowd sighs, but Williams isn’t one to cry over spilled milk. Danny wobbles to his feet, and grabs Quiz by the hair, jerking him up as well. Williams stumbles to one knee, but he regains his balance, and positions Quiz in a standing head scissors.

 

At the top of his lungs, Williams screams, “WATCH ME EXPLODE!”

 

Rising out of their chairs, the fans give a monstrous pop as Williams links his hands around Quiz’s stomach, and squats down for the lift attempt!

 

Stevens: DANNY, LOOKING FOR THE POWERBOMB!

 

Williams effortlessly rips Quiz off the mat, and flips him up on to his shoulders! In one fluid motion, Williams deeply doubles over, slamming Quiz’s torso into the mat with inhuman power!

 

KA-BOOOOOOOOM!!!

 

Keeping his hands linked around Quiz’s legs, Williams leans forward, folding him up like a sheet for the pin!

 

 

 

 

“ONE!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“TWO!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

........

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“THREE!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Soapdish brings his hand down a third and final time, and immediately calls for the bell!

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Stevens: AND ANOTHER ONE FALLS TO THE POWERBOMB!

 

Riley: I still think this Quiz guy has a lot of potential. He came here as an underdog with no shot at winning, yet by the end of the match, Williams was the one who had to dig deep, and overcome the odds.

 

Williams climbs off Quiz, and lets Soapdish raise his hand to make the victory official!

 

Funyon: At 13 minutes and 22 seconds, the winner of this match by pinfall.....DANNY WILLIAMSsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!!!

 

The fans gives Williams a standing ovation, while Matthews retrieves his battered partner by dragging him out of the ring by his boot.

 

Riley: You know for a second there I thought that Williams was gonna finish Quiz off with a Mushroom Cloud!

 

Stevens: Yes, Williams did indeed scream TNT’s catch phrase before hitting the Powerbomb, probably to remind him of his defeat last week.

 

Riley: Or maybe give him a preview of what’s to come at the PPV?

 

Stevens: Fans, we have to take a short commercial break, but stay tuned because we still have loads of action to come!

[Guest Suicide King]

“Welcome back fans,” Grand Slam says as SWF Smarkdown returns from a video promoting Ground Zero, (Sunday on Pay-Per-View, call your satellite or cable provider) “I hAte to ruin you appetites like this, but we have a very special message from the Commissioner of the SWF, the Suicide King.”

 

“This should be great!” Bobby intones as the picture of King’s office fades into view on television sets around the world. It shows King sitting calmly behind his desk, a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose. He is wearing a severe business suit with a very expensive looking tie complete with his trademark broken hearts.

 

“Good evening loyal SWF viewers, I hope life is finding you well this evening.” He reaches up with one hand and pulls off the glasses, setting them on the desk next to him. “As you know, there has been a shake-up at the corporate level in the last couple of weeks. My first task as the Commissioner was to see to the continued profitability of the SWF as an investment for the new owners. As you also know, the economy is in, well let’s just call it a lull. Disposable income for the majority of our fans is at an all time low. That having been said, we here at the SWF greatly appreciate all of you who buy our merchandise, order our Pay-Per-Views and come out to see us in person each and every night. With that in mind, it is up to me to improve the bottom line without decreasing the quality of the, well, product.”

 

Grand Slam speaks up as King pauses. “Bobby, I don’t like the sound of this. Anytime the Suicide King feigns interest in the fans, it is a sign of the apocalypse.”

 

“Hear him out Mark. Maybe this will mean a bigger paycheck for us! Maybe this will mean we get to have our names on our doors! Maybe… maybe this means I’ll finally have the money to build my dream home…”

 

“Dream home?”

 

“I’ll call it ‘The Tom Flesher Museum and Nudist Camp’! It’ll be huge!”

 

Before Grand Slam can respond to his announcing partner, the Gambling Man starts speaking again. “I have been going over the books for hours now, cutting some minor expenses here and there and wondering where I would come up with the cash. Then I remembered last week, and some things your good friend and mine Mr. Stevens had to say about the leadership of yours truly.

 

“Oh no…” is all Mark Stevens has time to say before King starts laying down the law.

 

“Due to his rash and insubordinate comments directed at the office and person of the commissioner, assisted by the massive amount of money being channeled away from giving you, the SWF fan, the best possible show, I am hereby canceling the Developmental Contract my predecessor signed with the Bases Loaded Training Center. As of this moment, the BLWF is no longer a feeder league to the SJL. Thank you all for you time, and enjoy the rest of tonight’s show.”

 

For a moment, the both the announcers and the crowd are silent. The crowd starts to boo, the echoes of it rattling the rafters of the arena! Finally, Grand Slam starts to speak. “No. No way this is possible. Without the development contract… I don’t know…”

 

“Wow! Face it Slammer, you just got hosed!!” Riley cackles in glee! “Oh man! King pulled that fancy red carpet right out from under you! I guess you’ll watch what you say from here on out, won’t you big man?”

 

“Uh… right… let’s cut to a commercial. Now.” As the scene cuts abruptly, the audio hangs in the air for a moment, catching Grand Slam. “Cheryl! Cheryl, get Lynn on the phone! Do it! Now!!”

 

Cut to commercial…

[Guest Suicide King]

Fade in from commercial and cut immediately to the commentary position, where as per usual, 'Grand Slam' Mark Stevens and 'Fucking Gay' Bobby Riley sit.

 

"And welcome back fans to the last Smarkdown before our huge extravaganza GROUND ZERO! It's been a fantastic night of wrestling so far, and it's only going to get better, because now... it's time for Match FOUR of the Best of Five series between Crow and Janus!" Stevens bellows.

 

Bobby claps, "Yes! It's time for Janus to CRUSH Crow!"

 

"I wouldn't be so confident, Bobby, the Antichrist Superstar is leading the series two to one and both times he has made Janus tap out to the deadly Sharpshooter."

 

"Pffffft," spits Riley, "In BOTH cases, Crow hasn't won the match on his own, Dante Crane has injected his presence and helped Crow to victory! The first time in the hardcore match, hitting Janus with a flying roundhouse kick and THEN chopblocking Janus as he about to finish Crow in the tag match!"

 

"It matters not, in both cases it was allowed in the rules of the matches, so you can do nothing about it. Tonight however, Crow is out of his environment and is being thrown into Janus'. It's an Iron Australian Knockout Challenge!" Stevens reports.

 

"Janus has never lost in this match you know..."

 

Grand Slam rolls his eyes, "That's because there has only been one instance of this type of match."

 

"Still."

 

"Over to the introductions please..."

 

Funyon stands and brings the microphone to his lips, "The following matchup is the Iron Australian Knockout Challenge. The rules are as follows...Both men start out in the ring. The time limit for this match is twenty minutes. Every time one person knocks out another, they will score a point and there will be a one minute break. If, after this one-minute break, the victim cannot answer the bell, they automatically lose the match. Also, if you are to leave the ring at any time while the match is in place, your opponent will score a point. Introducing first..."

 

The arena is plunged into darkness, and the crowd alternates between cheers and whoos into the darkness as the Smarktron shows an image of a young man, with his hair recently dyed white. As the strains of Fear Factory's "Resurrection" echo through the arena, cracks slowly begin to weave through the image, and blue pyrotechnics start fountaining up on either side of the ramp. Before Funyon can speak, the voice of Burton C. Bell carries through the arena.

 

"Consumed with memories...

That preceded today...

Given a chance to bereave..

Life that's slipping AWAAAAAAAAAAAY!!"

 

As the heavy riffs roar out of the speakers, the crack-riddled image explodes into fragments, revealing the face of Janus as he is now, with a scowl on his face. The giant steps out onto the rampway, lit only by a spotlight as Funyon lifts up his microphone.

 

"Coming down the aisle, hailing from Sydney, Australia! Standing at SEVEN feet TWO inches and weighing THREE hundred and FIFTY pounds... he is the HELL MACHINE... , this is JJJJJJJJJJJAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSS!"

 

Janus stalks down to the ring, each set of blue pyrotechnics going out as he walks past them. Flexing his muscles, he climbs up onto the ropes and looks around the darkened arena before climbing into the ring and thrusting his arms into the air....and with a loud explosion, a pillar of blue fire explodes from each turnbuckle simultaneously as the lights come back on.

 

"Janus looks focused tonight, Bobby."

 

"He's always focused you moron." Remarks Riley.

 

"Hey hey, that's enough of that!"

 

We fall to darkness and Dimmu Borgir's "Burn In Hell" begins to softly omit from the speakers. However, it soon changes...

 

*BOOM!*

 

Flames explode up and across the staging as the song explodes into a much heavier guitar riff! The crowd roars in approval as a spotlight turns on and focuses directly on the stage...

 

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

 

"No Dante Crane tonight, Marky Mark? Looks like Crow finally grew the BALLS to face Janus one on one!"

 

"Earlier tonight, Janus fiercely attacked the Antichrist Superstar, calling him a pussy, amongst other things, for always bringing Dante Crane to the ring as insurance." Mark Stevens tells the fans who missed the earlier part of the show.

 

The riff tempo slows and black metal vocals take over...

 

"Welcome to the abandoned land...

Come on in child, take my hand...

There is no work of play...

Only one bill to pay..."

 

"Now we'll see if Crow can -really- beat Janus..." Bobby smirks.

 

As the music pumps through the arena, Crow lights a cigarette and with Dante Crane beside him, begins to walk down the ramp.

 

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

As you go down... *BONG*

Down... *BONG*

Down... *BONG*"

 

...

 

"YOU'RE GONNA BURN IN HELL!

OH, BURN IN HEEEEEEEELL!"

 

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

 

Crow strides up the steel steps, casually smoking his cigarette as he climbs through the ropes and into the ring. He takes one final drag of his smoke whilst gazing over at the Hell Machine, before he exhales and throws its out of the ring.

 

Stevens starts clapping, "We're not going to waste anytime here folks, straight into it! Let's go!"

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

The crowd is hot and starts clapping in unison awaiting the first move of the match whilst the wrestler circle around in the ring. Oddly, the first to move is the Hell Machine, he thrusts forward with a closed fist, which Crow easily ducks. Janus is taken off-guard as Crow catches him in the face with a couple right hands, with a surprisingly amount of force behind them.

 

Stevens provides insight, "Crow knows he's gonna have to put everything into his punches and kicks, there's not many things he can do to knock out a huge man like Janus."

 

Janus is slightly rocked, but is pushed back into the ropes by Crow, and he follows up with an irish whip. Across the ring Janus goes and off he comes as Crow slides down to the mat and looks for a trip. The Big Man narrowly avoids falling ass over tits by stepping over at the last second and continuing into the opposite ropes. This is unnatural for Janus, going at this speed, and the Antichrist Superstar capitalises by hooking an arm and dragging the monster over with an arm drag! Reflex action makes the Hell Machine stand immediately and to rush at his opponent, but no, Crow flips him over in another arm drag! Janus jumps up again, but this time receives a boot to the stomach, then quickly applying a front face lock, Crow drops onto his back - driving the monster's head into the canvas with a DDT! The Gothic Warrior quickly takes off his belt to the cheers from the crowd and the chagrin of Bobby Riley!

 

"What the hell is he doing!? Oi, put your belt back on! NO! Don't hit him with it, you're a BLOODY PUSSY Crow! Fight like a man! Damn cheat!"

 

Stevens notes the psychology, "Crow IS a foot smaller than and nowhere near as strong as Janus, Bobby, so far in the match, he's been trying to stay ahead by using his speed advantage and now... by using a weapon."

 

Crow flings the belt up into the air and brings it down across Janus' back, causing a cry to be emitted. The avian does this numerous times, over and over and over, until he lifts the Hell Machine up and whips him into corner. Janus comes stumbling back, leaving himself open for Crow to jump up onto his back and wrap the belt around his neck! The Antichristian Phenomenon is choking Janus with the belt! Janus is stumbling and is desperately clawing at the belt, trying to loosen the pressure around his neck. The blood and air is being cut off, and Janus sees his way out by stumbling closer to the ropes...

 

Does he get there?

 

...

 

Yes he does! The Hell Machine grabs a hold of the ropes! The referee comes in and tells Crow to release the choke, but he's not doing it and Janus is fading! Trying not to black out, Janus uses his intelligence, jumps backwards, and drives his back into the canvas - crushing Crow into the meat of a sandwich! Instantaneously, the bird loosens the grip on the belt and this allows Janus to rip it out of his hands and start unleashing the fury himself! He lifts Crow up and wraps the belt around his throat, then plants a boot into the Antichrist Superstar's back. As Crow comes to his senses....the Hell Machine PULLS back on the belt, bending Crow back over his extended leg and choking him out!

 

"Hey, ref! Janus is choking the HELL out of Crow with that belt!" Stevens hollers.

 

"Jesus, Mark, you're supposed to be play by play! Janus is returning the favour, you fool!"

 

"He has an unfair advantage, unlike Crow who was evening the odds!"

 

The referee, Eddy Long, can't count Janus out thanks to the match stipulation, so Janus is free to do as he wishes. Crow's face goes an interesting shade of red, as he struggles and swings a leg back wildly...connecting with the monster's genitalia! The Hell Machine roars and stumbles back, allowing Crow to lean on the ropes and drop his belt, wheezing and catching his breath. Grimacing in pain, the seven-footer takes one step...two steps back...and then charges forward, lifting his leg for a big boot that would knock Crow over the top rope! But the deoxygenated Antichristian Phenomenon hears him coming and drops like a stone...and once more the Hell Machine is crotched as he hits the top rope! The crowd winces as Janus looks like he's gone cross-eyed, and Crow rolls to his feet behind the monster, still catching his breath....

 

...before pivoting and cracking a STIFF Das Wunder Kick to the back of the giant's knee! Unfortunately for Crow, the giant's knee brace is solid like steel, and absorbs much of the impact...but the desired effect still occurs as the Hell Machine reels backwards before falling on his ass. Still consumed with the agony of his punished testicles, Janus can't do much as the Antichrist Superstar hits the ropes and comes back, slamming a seated dropkick right into the back of the monster's head!

 

"Crow dodging some attacks from Janus with some unique defence, Riley..."

 

"Oh please! He kicked him in the balls, Stevens!" Riley whines.

 

"It's all fair in this match, Riley."

 

Clutching his skull but not going down, Janus uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet. Scrambling upright, Crow hits the ropes again and charges in at the rising monster. Janus catches his opponent under the chin with a huge hand and looks to dump him right over the rope with a thunderous chokeslam! As he's hoisted up, the Antichrist Superstar kicks Janus right between the eyes, and ends up falling on the apron! As the Hell Machine shakes his head, Crow springs onto the middle rope and lunges, coming back into the ring and hooking Janus' head for a Murderous DDT! But no, Janus wraps his arms around his foe's waist...and...CRUNCHES Crow into the mat with a high angle spinebuster! His back weakened by previous bouts, Crow writhes in pain as Janus lifts him back up, pushes him into the corner, and starts slamming punches into the Antichrist Superstar's face and body!

 

*WHAM!* "BOOOO!"

 

*WHAM!* "BOOOOO!"

 

*WHAM!* "BOOOOOOOO!"

 

Battered about the chest and head, Crow grips the top ropes for support, blood leaking from the side of his mouth as the Hell Machine steps back with a vicious look on his face, and clenches his right fist. As the Antichristian Phenomenon spits blood out and lifts his head...

 

...*CRUNCH!*...

 

...he collapses to the ground in a heap as Janus' stiff Knuckle Bomb crashes right into the bridge of his nose, slamming his head back into the turnbuckle! Collapsing to the ground in a heap, Crow groans faintly as the referee checks on him. Janus turns around, thinking the damage has been done... but before the referee can administer a three-count for the knockout, the Antichrist Superstar begins pulling himself up using the ropes! The Hell Machine hears the cheers of the crowd and turns around, his red eyes boiling with rage. He stalks his opponent and grabs an arm, whipping him across the ring, before bouncing off the opposite ropes, slamming a bulky shoulder into Crow's ribcage with a GORE!

 

"GOOOOOOORE! Janus is absolutely DOMINATING Crow in this match! He's pounding the hell out of him, Stevens! Whee-hee!"

 

"Unless Crow can suck up all this high impact damage Janus is putting on him, I fear he might not make it to Ground Zero.." Stevens sounds worried.

 

The Antichristian Phenomenon groans as he slowly sits up...and feels his arms grabbed in a full nelson! Realising the predicament he's in, he swings his leg back for a kick to the groin...but instead hits flesh and bone as the Hell Machine lifts his knee to block! Swinging around and cinching the full nelson in tight, the seven foot monster pushes back and hits a released full nelson suplex.....RIGHT INTO THE TURNBUCKLES! Crow's neck snaps forward at an awkward angle as he hits the thin padding covering the steel, and he slumps into the corner in a sitting position. Long checks and lifts his arm...which drops.

 

ONE!

 

He lifts Crow's arm again. It drops.

 

TWO!

 

The Antichrist Superstar groans and begins to regain, but Eddy Long lifts his arm again...and it drops!

 

THREE!

 

Crow can be seen clenching his fist as he realises what just happened.

 

*DING DING DING*

 

****

Janus: 1

Crow: 0

Time Left: 16:00

****

 

"There will now be a one minute break between falls. The match will resume when the clock reaches fifteen minutes!" bellows Funyon. Eddy Long wards Janus off and points to the opposite corner as the countdown before the next fall begins. Groaning again, Crow begins to slowly use the ropes to pull himself up, spitting blood from his mouth and putting a hand on the back of his head.

 

"Janus with the advantage this early in the match, Riley...I don't like Crow's chances."

 

"At last you've come to the dark side, Stevens!"

 

"I never said he'd LOSE, Riley."

 

The ambiguously gay co-announcer simply snorts and then, in the ring, Eddy Long lifts his hand and waves at the timekeeper, who once more rings the bell!

 

*DING DING DING!*

 

Slumped in the corner, the Antichrist Superstar presents an easy target for the seven foot Hell Machine, who charges forward with an arm extended, preparing to slam Crow's head back into the turnbuckles. Unfortunately the monster forgot that his opponent is a glutton for pain, and having shaken off some of the pain in that one minute break...Crow counters with a drop toe hold into the turnbuckle! Janus' face bounces off the padding and he rolls away, only to have his opponent nail a STIFF soccer-ball style kick to the side of the head! The crowd winces at the stiffness of the kick, and the Hell Machine makes an indiscriminately pained sound as he rolls onto his back and begins to sit up. Crow, seeing an opportunity, pivots on one leg and goes for his patented knockout Das Wunder Kick...

 

...but Janus catches the leg and pulls Crow in close as he rises, lifting the Antichrist Superstar into the air and holding with hands on the waist as he turns towards the ropes. Realising the Hell Machine's intentions, Crow struggles and swings his legs forward, kicking Janus in the head once more. The monster simply growls and prepares to throw the Antichrist Superstar over the ropes, but in desperation, Crow locks his legs around the monster's head! Throwing himself back, the Antichristian Phenomenon grabs the top rope, bunching all the muscles he can and attempting a rana!

 

Janus blocks.....sandbagging...no, wait..leaning...the effort is clearly scene on Crow's face. Unfortunately, as the Hell Machine reaches up to grab at the legs around his neck, the Antichrist Superstar pulls with a burst of adrenaline-induced strength...and the crowd cheers like a maniac as CROW FLIPS JANUS OUT OF THE RING WITH A ROPE-ASSISTED HURRICANRANA BEFORE SKINNING THE CAT BACK INTO THE RING!

 

*DING DING DING*/

 

****

Janus: 1

Crow: 1

Time Left: 14:30

****

 

Stumbling away from the ropes, Crow gets some respite by sitting on the mat, as on the outside, the Hell Machine slowly rises, getting his bearings and looking around. Realising he's outside the ring, he scowls and makes to re-enter, but when he does Eddy Long forces him to a corner. The helpful and slightly heelish referee then helps Crow to the opposite corner and they begin the one minute break! Grand Slam and Bobby Riley exchange glances.

 

"No chance, huh, Bobby?"

 

"Shaddup, Stevens."

 

Rather than annoy his co-host some more, Stevens does what he does best, and that is shilling the match for the folks at home.

 

"Janus got the first point moments ago with a temporary knockout on the Antichrist Superstar...but incredibly, Crow rallied in about half a minute and dumped Janus over the ropes!"

 

"Now with one point a piece, it looks even...but you watch, Stevens, Janus is going to pound the crap out of Crow..."

 

Once more, before checking between the two superstars, Eddy Long waves his hands towards the timekeeper, signalling the restart of the match! The crowd begins chanting.

 

*DING DING DING*

 

"LET'S GO, CRROOWW, LET'S GO!" *stomp stomp*

"LET'S GO, CRROOWW, LET'S GO!" *stomp stomp*

"LET'S GO, CRROOWW, LET'S GO!" *stomp stomp*

 

The fans solidly behind him, the Antichrist Superstar feels more confident as he and Janus step out of their corners and stare at each other. The Hell Machine growls, and all Crow does is smile through the blood that stains his lips as they circle each other. Crow lifts his hands as if signifying for a collar-and-elbow tie up, but when the monster comes in, he nails a stiff kick into the part of the giant's knee not protected by the solid knee brace! Letting out a muffled growl of pain, Janus steps back, expression wary, yet furious. The Antichristian Phenomenon backs off with a cocky smile...and gestures for the Hell Machine to bring it...

 

...and bring it Janus does, charging forward and swinging his leg up for a skull-splitting big boot! Or it would have been skull splitting, had Crow not caught the monster's leg and executed a picture perfect dragon screw leg whip! Still holding onto the monster's leg as he rises, he kicks the giant in the back of the knee and then leans down to pry at the steel brace, loosening the straps that hold it on!

 

"Hey! He's trying to get that knee brace off Janus! No fair, ref, stop him!" Riley whines.

 

"He's just trying to get at a weakness, Riley. Janus has Crow's back...he should get a fair shot at Janus' knee..."

 

"Stevens, you're supposed to be impartial, but that really didn't sound right."

 

The Antichristian Phenomenon manages to actually undo one of the straps that hold the brace to the Hell Machine's leg...but a huge hand slamming around his throat prevents him from undoing the second strap! Rising to his feet like a creature from the depths of Hell itself, Janus lifts Crow high into the air and sends him into the mat HARD when he delivers the chokeslam! The entire ring shakes and the Antichrist Superstar arches his back in pain. Ignoring his opponent, Janus turns his attention to his half-removed brace...and after a pause he pulls it off entirely! Holding the metal object in his hands... the Hell Machine smiles.

 

"Uh oh...looks like Janus has a bad idea, Riley...bad for Crow, that is..."

 

"Go go, Go Jaaaaaaanus!" Riley squeals.

 

Backing away from his fallen opponent, the Hell Machine clutches the knee brace like he would a steel chair, waiting for his opponent to rise. Grimacing, Crow indeed sits up and begins to climb to his feet, and the Hell Machine charges out of the corner, looking to slam the steel brace over his opponent's head! But unfortunately the Antichristian Phenomenon is faster than the monster gives him credit...he steps aside and swings a BLISTERING Das Wunder Kick right into the back of Janus' now unprotected knee! Uttering a cry of pain, the monster drops to his knees, still clutching the brace.

 

*CRACK!* A stiff kick to his side makes him grimace, and he shakes his head, lifting the brace up as if planning to use it as a shield...but Crow pivots on his leg for the third Das Wunder Kick, spots the brace...AND KICKS IT BACK INTO THE HELL MACHINE'S FACE! The crowd pops as the monster crunches to the mat, and Eddy Long lifts his arm to check for a three count.

 

ONE! The giant's arm drops.

 

TWO! His arm drops again. There's a groan of pain...

 

THRE..NO! JANUS SITS UP! Blood staining his face, he glares up at the Antichrist Superstar and begins to rise, hobbling a little on his bad leg.

 

“Wow! Janus IS resilience!” Riley shouts, “Crow ain’t hardcore, Janus is hardcore! No way in hell the bird would have gotten up after something like that.”

 

The Hell Machine stands up and Crow motions for him to bring it, and of course he does. Unfortunate for Janus, however, the bringing is unsuccessful, as the Avian has the awareness of a crow and sidesteps the big man’s limping charge. Fuming, Janus turns around and charges at his opponent again, but Crow’s speed proves to be too much another time.

 

“Wanna play tag big guy?” shouts the Gothic Warrior.

 

He’s getting cocky, and runs towards a corner with Janus hot on his tail... well he’s hobbling there. The crowd cheers as Crow leaves his feet and jumps onto the top rope, bunches his legs and back flips off – looking to humiliate the Hell Machine further with another out-speeding!

 

Uh uh, not this time.

 

A miscalculation or maybe laziness from the Antichristian Phenomenon, disregarding the hurt leg of Janus, he could not run with Crow and stopped in the middle of the ring... allowing him to capture the bird in-flight!

 

Stevens bellows, “This doesn’t look good for Crow here, in the death grip of a monster!”

 

And it isn’t good for the avian, as Janus scowls loudly, drops down onto his knee, and compacts Crow’s shoulder on the other knee!

 

“YES! JANUS! JANUS! JANUS! JANUS IS BACK!” Bobby Riley cheers.

 

Janus grimaces in pain, driving a two-hundred-and-thirty-one pounder’s shoulder into your sore knee is not an effective way of healing. But he believes it was worth the pain, as he stands up and stares down at his fallen foe.

 

“Confident! Cocky! Lazy! DEAD!"

 

Crow clutches at shoulder and tries to shake it off, but it’s not long before the Hell Machine wretches his up to a standing base by the sore arm. Janus smirks at his smaller opponent and unloads a vicious punch into his stomach, causing him to spit out a small amount of blood as he doubles over.

 

Following up, Janus clenches his two fists together and raises them into the heavens. A demonic roar omits from his mouth as he brings his fists down and BELTS Crow’s sore shoulder with a double axe handle! The Gothic Warrior cries out in absolute agony whilst Janus taunts the crowd by slowly slitting his throat. Then, with a murderous intent, the Machine from Hell latches onto Crow’s arm with a monstrous death grip, summons up all his energy and whips the bird into the ropes! Crow is sent flying at a tremendous pace... but agony blazes through his shoulder as Janus does not release the whip, and the Antichrist Superstar's shoulder is brutally jerked as momentum swings him back towards Janus. He gets a momentary glimpse of a demonic grin...

 

...BEFORE A KNUCKLE BOMB SLAMS AT FULL FORCE INTO HIS SHOULDER!

 

“...oh my god... THAT was atrocious! That was sickening! We gotta get a replay of that!” Grand Slam marks out.

 

Janus releases the avian's arm as Crow crumples to the mat, clutching at his shoulder as his arm hangs almost limp by his side. Replays are shown of the horrifically stiff move on the Smarktron, with the crowd moaning in sympathy for their hero.

 

Bobby Riley starts dancing in his seat, “Go Janus, it’s yo birfday! We’re gonna party like it’s yo birfday!”

 

“...” Mark shakes his head at the replays, and then at Riley, “What a devastating attack from Janus, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this is the end for Crow tonight.”

 

The Hell Machine mocks the Antichrist Superstar by grabbing a clump of blacken locks with both his hands and starts beating his head into the canvas! Crow is helpless against the attack, his arm not functioning at complete capacity and his energy drained. Janus finally lets up after a riot almost breaks out in the crowd.

 

“And the fans are starting to throw cups... and cans into the ring, this is just a disgraceful showing from Janus.”

 

The Big Man pulls Crow up to a standing base by the hair and throws him into the corner, ripping out a clump of hair for his troubles. Janus slaps the bird around a little bit, and nails a few ‘Big Sexy’ back elbows to his face before turning around and getting a big run up.

 

“I don’t like the looks of this, Riley. I’m not sure what Janus is going to do here, but I’m sure he’s not gonna cook him a BBQ.”

 

“...what? I do like the look of this however, he’s gonna go for the GGGOOOOORRRRREEEEE!” Squeals Bobby.

 

Janus turns around and charges as fast as he can with his sore leg! He hobbles along with shoulder perched forward, ready to drive into the bird’s stomach...

 

...if he was there! The Gothic Warrior takes advantage of Janus’ slowed pace and manages to throw himself out of the way at the last minute! Resulting, Janus spears into the corner and hits his head on the ring post, sending his stumbling back into the middle of the ring dazed. Moving quickly, Crow jumps up onto the top rope and takes a moment to turn around and balance himself... before jumping off, thrusting his leg forward and CRACKING JANUS IN THE HEAD WITH A FLYING WUNDER KICK!

 

“DAS WUNDER KICK! DAS WUNDER KICK! DAS WUNDER KICK!” Mark Stevens exclaims at the top of his lungs.

 

...

 

BUT JANUS ISN’T GOING DOWN! HE’S STILL STANDING! Albeit a bit shaky, he’s still on two feet! Crow stands up and realises that the monster is stumbling around, but is NOT going down! Thus, he runs over to the corner again, ascends as fast as he can... he stands, balances, and jumps off again! Thrusting his leg forward the Antichristian Phenomenon descends through the air with the grace of a bird and connects with the BIGGEST, the STIFFEST and the most DEVASTATING WUNDER KICK EVER!

 

“Good god! Janus’ head! Janus’ large beautiful head! HIS HEAD WILL NEVER BE THE SAME!” Bobby Riley cries out as he covers his face.

 

“Who cares! Crow is back! He’s back in the match... hey wait a minute, Janus is still standing! He’s still up! By god, this monster is resilient as all hell!” Grand Slam reports with shock in his voice.

 

Crow cringes at his awkward fall onto the canvas, the brunt being taken by his hurt shoulder. He looks up... and sees that Janus is standing. He sucks it up, stands up himself, and watches as the Hell Machine drunkenly stumbles around in the ring.

 

The Gothic Warrior cocks his to the left, and then cocks his head to the right, before smiling and staring straight at Janus. He steps forward and slowly thrusts his healthy arm out in a poke, looking to humiliate the big man by pushing him over with a finger.

 

...

 

He pushes him, but this wakes Janus up from the daze and in reflex action, he clenches his fist, drives his arm up through the air, and cracks Crow in the jaw with a HUGE KNUCKLE BOMB! Both men collapse onto the canvas at the same time and the crowd whips into a frenzy.

 

The commentators mark out. Bobby Riley is the first to speak about it, “WHAT A HIT! CROW HAS BEEN FLOORED! That’s a knockout point for Janus right there!”

 

Stevens rebuts, “But Janus is dead on the canvas too! Referee Eddy Long is going in to look at the damage...”

 

He lifts Janus’ arm up first...

 

ONE!

 

It drops.

 

TWO!

 

It drops.

 

THREE!

 

It drops!

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

 

****

Janus: 1

Crow: 2

Time Left: 07:57

****

 

 

Eddy Long quickly slides over and checks Crow. He lifts the arm up...

 

ONE!

 

It drops.

 

TWO!

 

It drops.

 

THREE!

 

It drops!

 

 

****

Janus: 2

Crow: 2

Time Left: 07:27

****

 

 

The two men are both still on the canvas and Eddy Long tells the timekeeper to start the one minute break period.

 

“What happens if both men can’t continue, Marky Mark? Janus wins by default!?” asks Bobby.

 

“No... idiot,” Grand Slam responds, “I’m not sure what happens... I guess the first man to come back to the light will win. Don’t know.”

 

But it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen, as both men are starting to stir, Crow seemingly a bit more alive than Janus at this particular moment. The Antichristian Phenomenon slides out to the ropes and grabs onto them with his healthy arm, and uses them to get up. Janus doesn’t use the ropes however, and instead, powers his way off the canvas.

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

Crow is standing now, and Janus is nearly there. The bird takes a moment to shake out the cobwebs. His vision is slightly blurred and there are stars floating his head, but he still runs forward at the now standing Janus. But his eagerness costs him the upper hand, as Janus is a little bit fresher (maybe due to the thicker skull) and thrusts his arm out in a clothesline and takes Crow’s head off! The Antichrist Superstar was unable to duck under it time and smacks into the canvas. The Hell Machine growls and starts stomping the living hell out of his opponent, stomping the absolute life at him and aiming a lot of em at the sore shoulder. Crow cries out with every connection and tries to protect his sore arm by turning onto his side.

 

But this is just what Janus wants.

 

“...what the hell is he doing here, Bobbie? You watch this guy in training... a lot, so tell me.” Stevens queries.

 

The Big Man drives his big boot into Crow’s back and forces him onto his stomach! Bending down, Janus then grabs Crow’s injured arm and latches on with a death grip.

 

“I don’t know, Mark. I haven’t seen this before.”

 

Janus then places his other boot into his opponent’s lower back and starts to pull with all his might! The Machine from Hell is planting all of his weight into Crow’s back and wrenching back on the arm, trying to rip the arm out of socket and break the back in the same move!

 

“HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!” is the crowd’s response as the Gothic Warrior cries out in agony, screams out in agony.

 

“I don’t know what the hell this move is, Mark, but I LOVE IT! CROW IS CRYING LIKE A BABY!”

 

“But with good reason, Bobbie, Janus is destroying, literally destroying his body! Oh my god!” Exclaims Grand Slam.

 

Janus keeps Crow screaming for another minute before letting the hold go... he’s satisfied and now can go for the kill. He stands up and does a slow motion throat slit to the crowd, signalling it’s time... for the Dark Bomb. The Monster wrenches Crow up by the hair and applies a standing headscissors. After positioning the hands, Janus gutwrenches the Antichristian Phenomenon in the air...

 

...

 

NO DARK BOMB NO! CROW LOCKS HIS LEGS AROUND JANUS’ HEAD AND SWINGS HHIS WEIGHT BACKWARDS, TAKING THE BIG MAN OVER IN A HURRACANRANA!!

 

The momentum of the rana sends Janus rolling back up to his feet, but he’s completely dazed!

 

“Crow has to take advantage here... and he is, he’s running to the corner!”

 

“NO NO NO! WAKE UP JANUS!”

 

Crow ascends the turnbuckles and gets his balanace...

 

NOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Janus was playing possum! He was playing possum! Janus lunges towards the ropes and causes Crow to lose balance and crotch himself!

 

“YYYYYEEEEESSSSSSS! COME ON JANUS!” screams Bobby.

 

The Big Man steps out onto the apron and approaches the crotched bird. He grabs around Crow’s body and pulls the injured right arm back into a hammerlock. And with this locked in, Janus wraps his huge, monster HOSS arms around Crow’s body from the left side. He clenches his hands together at the point of the Antichrist Superstar’s right shoulder and starts to SQQQQUUUUUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZZZZZEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

 

“The Hell Crush! Janus has locked on the Hell Crush! Mark, this match is going to be over soon!”

 

Stevens look closely, “A modified version of the Hell Crush, Janus pulled Crow’s arm back in a hammerlock and then applied the Hell Crush, placing the pressure on both the shoulder and the back! It’s smart, and Janus is proving his skills right here.”

 

Janus squeezes away on the Hell Crush, and slowly, but surely steps up the ropes until he is standing on the second – elevating the move and putting more pressure on the shoulder and back of Crow.

 

The Gothic Avian cries out in pain, in indescribable pain, as Janus continues to squeeze... and eventually... his vocals start to simmer... his legs stop moving so wildly... and his head falls.

 

It’s the end.

 

The Hell Machine smiles and keeps the hold intact for thirty more seconds before letting go and allowing Crow to drop into the ring in a horrible pile.

 

“Yes, Janus is going to win the fall... Crow is dead!” Bobby Riley cheers.

 

Mark Stevens does play by play, “Referee Eddy Long now... going in to check the bird’s status...”

 

Eddy Long raises the healthy arm.

 

...

 

It drops!

 

“ONE”

 

He lifts it again.

 

...

 

It drops!

 

“TWO!”

 

The referee lifts it for the final time...

 

...

 

It drops.

 

“THREE! RING THE BELL!”

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

 

****

Janus: 3

Crow: 2

Time Left: 03:54

****

 

 

“Crow has now one minute to respond, and less than four minutes to gain a pinfall back to tie this thing up!” Stevens reports.

 

Eddy Long backs Janus into a corner, telling him to wait.

 

“There is NO WAY Crow is going to get up after that! He’s dead, Mark. He’s not going to respond.”

 

Crow is still not moving. And the time is depleting...

 

30 seconds...

 

He isn’t moving.

 

20 seconds...

 

He still isn’t moving.

 

10...

 

Crow is motionless.

 

9

 

8

 

7

 

6

 

5...

 

4...

 

3...

 

2...

 

1..

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

Funyon stands up and brings the microphone to his lips, “The winner of this bout, as a result of a total knockout... JJJJAAAAAANNNNNNUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSS!”

 

The Hell Machine stares down at Crow... surveying his handywork... then climbs through the ropes and begins to limp his way to the back. Dante Crane and medical staff run down the aisle to attend to the fallen man in the ring...

 

“Well... what a match, Riley. The series is now TIED at two matches a piece, and it looks like the final match is going to take place at Ground Zero. Fitting if you asked me, Bobbie, thoughts?”

 

Bobby muses for a moment, “Well, this just PROVES that Crow cannot win without Dante Crane’s help. Let me just say it once... I TOLD YOU SO, MARK!”

 

“I wouldn’t say that... we’ll see at Ground Zero, Bobbie. We’ll see. We’ll be back after these messages, folks.”

 

Fade to commercial.

[Guest Suicide King]

As Smarkdown comes back from the break and the camera pans through the crowd with a long shot to capture the full atmosphere of the evening, the picture starts to flicker… the screen becomes to garble, and even the video and sounds technicians in the booth outside are confused as to what is going on, until a familiar voice puts their concerns to rest, or, makes them rise a little more…

 

…

 

“There is nothing wrong with your television set… Do not attempt to adjust the picture…”

 

…

 

“I will control the horizontal. I will control the vertical.”

 

…

 

“I am controlling transmission…”

 

…

 

“He returned not two weeks ago, and despite having 2 wins and 2 losses, I haven’t seen the man known as Sacred this full of life for quite some time…’ Grand Slam notes.

 

The picture on the screen returns to normal, but the lights fade down, before Andrew Blackwell walks out from behind the curtain, a grin on his face as spotlights at either side of the stage are placed on him, lighting him up as his image walks down the ramp way, examining every single person in the audience, secretly mouthing to them, ‘Join the Experiment…’ His music, ‘Tainted’ by Lycia sends a chill up everyone’s spine with its evil tone…

 

‘It’s always hard for a wrestler to come back from a long absence and win right off the bat. Everyone’s expectations are on you, and you can never hope to live up to them fully.’ Riley responds.

 

Funyon, who stands in the center of the ring, raises the mic to his lips and says, ‘the following match is scheduled for one fall… Introducing first! From Adelaide Australia. Weighing in at 227 pounds… he is the Sacred One…’

 

‘He is, ANDREW BLACKWELL!’

 

Boos emanate from the crowd as Sacred slides into the ring, slowly climbing to his feet as he takes every coolly and calmly, using the ropes to stretch and warm himself up, not even turning to the entrance way as he hears…

 

LL Cool J’s ‘Mamma Said Knock You Out’, and the boos only continue as the lights stay dimmed. Suddenly, a wall of blue and silver pyro EXPLODES on the ramp way, seemingly causing the lights to come back on! His arrogant smirk infuriates the crowd as he walks down the ramp, turning his attention to Sacred, who doesn’t even glance his way once.

 

‘Two Australians in the same ring, why I haven’t seen that since… well, a few matches ago!’ Stevens says with a chuckle.

 

‘Real clever Mark, but do you remember the last time BLACKWELL was in the ring with an Australian? That’s a night I shall not soon forget for one obvious reason…’

 

‘AND HIS OPPONENT…’ Funyon cries. ‘From Sydney, Australia. Weighing in at 219 pounds, he is the former ICTV champion… he is…’

 

‘STRYKE!’

 

The second Aussie slides into the ring, turning around and climbing up onto the second turnbuckle and raising his arms to the capacity crowd, that same arrogant smirk on his face, not endearing him to the fans in the slightest, although to Stryke, he doesn’t care.

 

‘The fans will not have a good time watching this match, Bobby, although I know YOU will… Neither of these men are fan favourites, but SWF fans respect a good contest, and that’s what they’ll get here tonight in this all important match up leading up to Ground Zero.’

 

‘Damn right they respect a good contest, and so they should! Though I don’t see why these two are not well liked by the fans, so they’ve done a few things wrong in the past, bloodied a few people, lied, cheated… but this isn’t a perfect world!” Bobby Riley appeals. ‘You HAVE to do those things in order to survive, especially in this business!’

 

Hopping down from the turnbuckles, the referee checks both men and then points to ringside to call for the bell!

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

‘And we’re only one match away from the Main Event! It’ll be interesting to see who takes control first off, as that man will definitely have the advantage.’

 

‘Mark, you’re beginning to state the obvious again…’

 

Only a split second after the bell, Stryke takes a few long strides forward, vaulting at Blackwell! He ducks just in time, but he is more than slightly shaken by Stryke’s gun ho approach. Rolling on the mat and back to his feet, Stryke turns around to meet Andrew, jumping into the air at almost the same time, his boots grazing Blackwell’s cheek with a dropkick! The glancing blow knocks Andrew back a step or two, but Stryke sees to it that he lands flat of his back as he catches Sacred with a spinning wheel kick!

 

‘Stryke comes out of the blocks early!” Remarks Stevens. “A good plan, as he needs to get Blackwell on the back foot and keep at him constantly. NEVER leave a window of opportunity open for the Sacred One.’

 

The utterly surprising and rapid opening assault from Stryke sends Blackwell bailing out of the ring to gain his bearings and collect his thoughts. Rubbing his hands together like a maniacal villain, Stryke puts into action his next diabolical plan, a suicide dive over the ropes! But Blackwell shakes his head and quickly slides underneath the ropes, well aware of his fellow Australian’s plan. Stryke sees Blackwell evade just in time and lowers his torso, hitting the ropes and flipping himself over the top rope and landing on the ring apron!

 

‘What agility!” Riley shouts in wonder. “A smart move on Stryke’s part, no careless mistakes so early on, and just as you said Mark, if you open the door for Sacred, he’ll never leave, and he’ll eat all your food and have sex with your daughter and poison your dog.’

 

Stevens just looks at Riley blankly, ‘I won’t even ask where that analogy come from…’

 

‘Probably best you don’t.’

 

Andrew hopes to catch Stryke unawares, with his back turned more precisely, taking a running start towards his foe. However, Stryke turns around in time, and Blackwell can’t stop himself in time, running straight into a Stryke shoulder charge! Stumbling backward with a gut ache, Blackwell is doubled over, and looks up a few seconds later to see Stryke fly through the air, arms and legs extending and contracting like a fog, before he lands on top of his chest with a cross-body!

 

‘I may not like the guy… at all,’ says Stevens with a look of disdain, ‘but I have to hand it to him, he is REALLY impressing me in the early goings of this match! Not giving Sacred an inch to work with!’

 

‘I pray he doesn’t…’ Riley replies, shivering. ‘I remember what happened the last time Blackwell was in the ring with another Australian… There’s nothing worse than seeing a promising career of a young athlete cut short like Axis, then sent to do commentary duty… I can’t imagine a fate worse than that.’

 

Bobby and Mark look at each other, realizing where they are right now, and both cough and steer the subject away towards the match, as Stryke keeps his position from the cross-body, pinning Andrew with a lateral press!

 

 

O N E!

 

 

 

 

T W!

 

No! Blackwell pushes Stryke from off of him, soon rolling away and climbing to his feet as the announcers analyze and dissect early into this match-up.

 

Unfortunately for Andrew he can’t escape Stryke’s rabid attack, his head suddenly flying backward as Stryke let’s fly with some hard European Uppercuts. Taking Blackwell by the hand, Stryke performs an Irish Whip. Sacred hits the strands and returns, managing, only just, to duck below a Stryke clothesline. His momentum forces him to hit the opposite ropes and return once again, this time telegraphing a back body drop attempt from Stryke, and kicking him upside the head! Another kick doubles him back over, against his will of course, and Blackwell soon latches on to his neck with a front face lock, pulling him over and taking him down to the canvas with a front chancre.

 

Keeping hold of his foe’s neck, Sacred spins around, keeping Stryke on his back. Andrew locks on an inverted face lock, while taking one of Stryke’s arm in a chickenwing!

 

‘Finally, Blackwell hits an offensive move! Interesting choice of move to, I can only wonder what he has planned for Stryke.’

 

Wriggling and writhing, Stryke manages to work his arm and head free enough so that he can lean back and take Sacred around the neck in a headscissors and flip him over in front of him! Stryke heads straight into a side headlock, which doesn’t last long against a man like Blackwell, who works his way back onto his feet with Stryke still attached. Putting his hand underneath Stryke’s leg and lifting him into the air with a Back Drop Suplex!

 

‘Looking for the equalizer!’ Stevens cries. ‘But…’

 

‘No!’ The Sydney native flips out from Blackwell’s grasp and lands on two feet! Capitalizing on Blackwell’s confusion, Stryke wraps his arms around the Sacred One’s waist, but Andrew reverses it with a standing switch! He attempts a German Suplex, but Stryke has his foot locked behind Sacred’s ankle! Knowing his opponent won’t budge easily so early on, Blackwell puts his head underneath Stryke and lifts him up onto his shoulders, standing tall with Stryke in a precarious position.

 

Stryke soon knocks Blackwell silly with right hands to the top of the head, forcing Andrew to release his hold on Stryke, allowing him to spin around and flip Blackwell over in a Hurricanrana!

 

‘Stryke has kept on and on, focusing on using speedy offence to run Sacred around, and it seems to be working like a charm,’ says Bobby. ‘I’m surprised Stryke hasn’t put himself in a cannon and fired himself at Blackwell like a cannon ball, such is the way he treats his own body!’

 

‘He has to realize the importance of this match,’ replies Mark. ‘For both men, this is a golden opportunity. Just look where this match is on the card, right before the Main Event, so a win here could see either man in a high profile match at Ground Zero.’

 

Reaching back with both arms, Stryke hooks Blackwell by both legs!

 

 

O N E!

 

 

 

 

 

T W O!

 

No again! Blackwell puts his hands on Stryke’s chest and pushes him away, rolling backward onto his feet, trying to out move Stryke to get the first blow. However, Stryke catches him with a drop toehold, causing Andrew to land flat on his face, in pain and embarrassment! Springing to his feet quick smart, Stryke bounces from the nearest ropes, taking two long steps before leaping into the air, legs outstretched, bring one down across the back of Blackwell’s head with a leg drop!

 

‘Maybe all those suicide dives on the head have finally set this kid straight…’ Remarks Stevens with a chuckle. ‘Because he is playing it cool, calm, generally matching Blackwell at his own game!’

 

‘Whatever the outcome may be, Stryke better hope Andrew doesn’t get a hold of his leg, or SNAP!’

 

The blow sends Sacred reeling, using the ropes to help him climb to his feet, but Stryke refuses to let him off that easily, chopping him across the chest as he stands up!

 

The fans cry as each blow is thrown…

 

“WHOO!”

 

Blackwell’s selling looks overblown, but Stryke’s chops hurt like hell in reality.

 

“WHOO!”

 

Another blow sends Sacred stumbling awkwardly, landing in the turnbuckles as Stryke takes his hand away to show Blackwell’s chest in beet red!

 

“WHOO!”

 

‘What thunderous chops from the Australian!’ Bobby cries.

 

‘… Which one?’

 

‘…The one throwing the chops.’

 

Stryke finally stops with the brutal chopping, but keeps his momentum flowing, sending Andrew into the opposite turnbuckles with an Irish whip. The former ICTV champion makes a beeline for Blackwell across the ring, but is caught around the head by two feet!

 

‘Blackwell catches Stryke in the headscissors! He needs to find SOME way of getting back into this contest, and as we’ve seen in the past, it’s usually by working a part of the body, but I’ve yet to pick it out yet…’

 

Andrew has his hands on the top rope, his feet on Stryke’s shoulders as he lets go of the ropes, falling forward and landing on his belly, taking Stryke’s head into the turnbuckles with a head scissors! Climbing each tier of the corner, Blackwell reaches the top and from this height, falls back down, driving his foot into Stryke’s neck! He keeps it there, his hard soled shoes grinding Stryke’s neck into the turnbuckles, and the referee is NOT happy!

 

‘I think your question has been answered, Mark!’ Bobby Riley tells him. ‘Ooh, seeing those shoes just grind against skin and bone, nasty stuff!’

 

‘I didn’t ask a question…’

 

‘Oh you know what I mean!’

 

The referee bellows his instructions, “ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! GET OFF OF HIM!”

 

Andrew’s head turns sharply around, putting the referee off guard, even more so when Blackwell offers him to join something involving an “Experiment.” The referee explains he’s done enough experimenting in college and didn’t like it the first time. Blackwell sighs as he simply picks Stryke up by the hair, taking him to the center of the ring and shoving him into a standing head scissors!

 

‘Down Riley! It’s not what you think!’ Mark says, pretending to restrain his partner.

 

‘… Please, Mark, could we keep a certain level of professionalism here? Stupid head?’

 

‘Nuh, nuh, nuh!’ Counters Mark, as witty as ever as he screws his face up.

 

No! Stryke begins to writhe, trying to get himself free, but Sacred is aware of last time Stryke countered and simply picks Stryke up by the legs and throws him behind. Not expecting the fall, Stryke lands awkwardly, and while he straightens himself up, Blackwell turns around, slinks his arms around his fellow Aussie’s waist and lifts him up, falling behind, slamming Stryke down with a German Suplex!

 

‘Christ!’ Mark shouts. ‘A high angle German Suplex, that will not do any good for Stryke’s neck. An interesting path of attack from Blackwell. If Stryke has been running him around with cruiser type offence, maybe he should go for the leg…?’

 

‘Either way Mark, you know Sacred has a plan in mind, and it will be something diabolical. Imagine Mark, we could see Stryke’s neck broken here tonight!’

 

‘If that’s what the ‘Experiment’ involves, finding out what a broken neck does, then Blackwell only need ask Chris Raynor!’

 

‘Uh, Mark, he was in YOUR stable…’

 

‘… Damn.’

 

Holding on with a bridge, Andrew pins Stryke’s shoulders down to the canvas!

 

 

O N E!

 

 

 

 

 

T W O!

 

Two count only! Stryke shoots himself free from Blackwell’s grasp and slowly climbs to his feet, feeling the momentum swing back to Sacred slightly, and determined to not let that happen so easily. As Blackwell gets to his feet as well, Stryke pounces, getting a running start before taking Andrew by the head and flipping over in a neckbreaker! Blackwell climbs right back to his feet to meet this threat, ducking a wild Superkick from Stryke! Taking Stryke’s leg while it shoots past his ear, Blackwell spins his foe around and grabs him by the waist again, but Stryke is ready for him this time, and as Sacred lifts him up with another German Suplex, Stryke flips out and lands back on his feet!

 

‘Great counter sequences here, neither man willing to let the other dominate for too long, knowing what could happen if they do,’ comments Mark.

 

‘Blackwell seems to be favoring the German Suplex, and enough of those will simply compound that neck injury quickly and brutally…’

 

‘It’s a move he and his brother hit so well, and use to great effect. But Stryke managed a beautiful counter that time!’

 

With Andrew almost stunned by this turn of events, Stryke attempts to take control of the match once again. With a side headlock applied, Stryke runs forward a few steps, ready to drop Blackwell face first with a Bulldog! The former world Champion is wise to Stryke’s move and grabs Stryke, pushing him away and into the ropes. Stryke has no time to turn around before hitting the ropes, barreling into them with his waist and chest. This is perfect for Blackwell who takes Stryke by the arm as he returns, also locking on an inverted face lock, wrenching back with the submission!

 

‘A unique submission move from Andrew here, he seems VERY fond of the chickenwing holds…’

 

‘And why not?’ Stevens replies. ‘A very effective move, keeping the opponent in place to do what you will, and again, Sacred targets the neck as he pulls back with this submission!’

 

All of a sudden, Stryke falls on his behind as Sacred kicks his legs out from underneath him, still with the hold attached! Blackwell falls to his knees, as does the referee who checks on Stryke to see if he’ll give up, but a spit in the face is the only answer he receives, and needs! Climbing back to his feet, the referee watches the events unfold as Stryke tries to free his arm, but Blackwell keeps it trapped and hooked tightly as he yanks back on his Australian brethrens neck, weakening it with every passing second, and Stryke knows it.

 

Beginning to put up resistance, Stryke stiffens his neck, frustrating Sacred as he feels his grip slowly slipping. And slip it does as Stryke suddenly leans forward, spinning around, trying to shake Andrew away, but still the South Australian holds on. From his position on one knee, Stryke finally manages to stand back up, slowly he creeps forward towards the turnbuckles, placing his foot on the first pad, then the second, before reaching the top…

 

‘I have no idea what he has planned here…’ Bobby speculates. ‘But he has to try ANYTHING to break this hold!’

 

Stryke leans back and pushes off, hurtling he and Blackwell backwards, breaking the hold and rolling back to his feet at the same time! Andrew again surprised and confused, Stryke’s quickness afoot proving a handful, climbs back to his feet, but doesn’t turn around in time and takes a flipping dropkick to the spine!

 

‘Such a unique way to escape that submission!’ Marvels Grand Slam. ‘But just like Stryke, using his own body to do whatever it takes to win, no matter how much pain he inflicts on himself!’

 

Hurtling forward, Blackwell collapses into the turnbuckles, and Stryke smiles, bracing himself as he charges at his fellow Australian, somersaulting forward…

 

And crushing Sacred into the turnbuckles with a suicide roll onto his back!

 

‘And we see it AGAIN!’ Cries Grand Slam. ‘Just throwing his body around like a rag doll, but hitting so much HARDER than a rag doll! If the smoking hasn’t ruined Andrew’s lungs, then that sure as hell would have!’

 

‘Maybe not the WISEST strategy from Stryke…’ Bobby says worryingly. ‘But as long as I see bone crushing action, who cares?!’

 

The combined impact causes Andrew to cough and heave, rolling under the ropes as his body hits the floor with a cute ‘thud’. Stryke, seemingly well pleased by his own efforts, grins and raises his arms to the crowd, receiving no applause for his efforts. He just grunts and waves them away arrogantly, watching Sacred as he climbs to his feet, walking around the outside like an old man. Stryke rubs his neck, Sacred’s good work starting to affect him, but Stryke tries to shake it off, planning his next suicidal move as he runs towards the ropes where Blackwell stands…

 

‘No… he wouldn’t dare try it!’ Stevens says, standing up from his seat to get a better look.

 

‘Oh, HE WOULD!’ Riley replies, doing the same, jumping up to see.

 

Vaulting forward once again, Stryke flips over the top rope, freefalling through the air…

 

THUD!

 

‘… Insane!’ is all Mark can shout.

 

… But Blackwell rolls out of the way!

 

“OOH!” Comes the familiar cry from the crowd as Stryke rolls up into a ball next to the crowd barrier, a positive sign is that he isn’t crying out in pain. The negative is that he’s probably too knocked silly to do so. As Blackwell turns around, looking down at his opponent in a crumpled heap, a wry smile appears on his face. He lifts Stryke back to his feet as the referee’s count reaches two.

 

‘Stupid, simply stupid,’ says a very condescending Mark Stevens, ‘he should have played it safe, especially with Blackwell working on his neck, now he’s only gone and made things worse!’

 

‘But if he had hit Blackwell…’ Riley counters, ‘we would have been singing his praises! Well, I would have anyway. It was rather hit and miss there, and unfortunately for Stryke, he missed, and big time!’

 

Andrew lifts Stryke up over his shoulder and drops him throat first over the guardrail! Stryke literally bounces off and stumbles away, but Blackwell soon catches him once more, lifting him up in the same position, running forward…

 

‘… Uh oh…’ Bobby simply remarks.

 

… And slamming him head first into the ring post! The crowd boos, though they don’t particularly care for Stryke’s condition, they’ll boo anyone in this bout. The referee counts to four as Stryke falls onto the concrete floor after the sickening blow that sent his head flying back. Sacred cares little like the fans as he grabs Stryke and shoves him between his legs!

 

‘Bobby-‘

 

‘DON’T!’

 

“FIVE!”

 

The referee becomes a little more agitated every second these two rebellious Australian’s are outside of the ring. Sacred lifts Stryke onto his shoulders; in his mind he can see Stryke flat on his back after a Lyger Bomb…

 

‘For his fallen angel…’ Mark quietly says. ‘I don’t particularly like the man, or what he believes in, but I respect him, and I admire the love for his wife, even in death…’

 

‘Ah, don’t get all melodramatic on me here Mark, we have a match to call… and look at Stryke!’

 

“SIX!”

 

But Stryke has other ideas! Grabbing onto the ring post, Blackwell pulls nothing down with him! Andrew turns around, angered, but Stryke wipes that look off of his face as he kicks him in the face!

 

‘Again, Stryke manages to counter from nowhere!’ Admires Riley. ‘I know Sacred is known for his great ring presence, but Stryke is matching him in that area, and indeed every area tonight!’

 

“SEVEN!”

 

The blow from only a minute or two before plagues Stryke as he nearly loses his footing on the apron in his dazed state. Deciding it’s better to rest for now, Stryke enters the ring through the ropes, much to Blackwell’s surprise…

 

“EIGHT!”

 

Andrew slides into the ring cautiously, knowing he leaves himself open for attack, but Stryke keeps his distance, favoring his neck as he watches Sacred climb back to his feet. Sensing weakness, Blackwell darts across the ring, but Stryke ducks his forearm and takes him down to the mat with a drop toehold. Diving to the mat, Stryke grabs Blackwell and locks on a…

 

‘SLEEPER!’ Stevens cries, before realizing what move it actually is. ‘Oh god, this never works…’

 

You can clearly hear the fans groan as Stryke sinks in the hold, taking a deep breath, his neck niggling at him constantly, but he hopes to buy some time with this move, knowing it won’t bring him the victory. Blackwell works his way onto all fours, then onto one knee, but Stryke locks his hands together to keep Andrew grounded, and the former World Champion begins to waver as the blood rushes to his head.

 

Andrew Blackwell begins to shake his head, knocking the referee’s hand away as he asks him if he’ll tap, giving a clear answer as he slowly climbs back to his feet, trying to swat Stryke away with some back elbows!

 

But Stryke simply drops to the mat and slams him down!

 

‘Sacred works the neck, he weakens it, so Stryke locks on a sleeper, slams him down to buy some time to heal! It’s such simple tactics like that that make or break wrestlers.’

 

Stryke scampers across Sacred and grabs him by the leg, hooking it for the pin!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH! NO!

 

Stryke expected Blackwell not give up so easily, but he succeeded in buying himself some time. He climbs back to his feet, lifting Blackwell up at the same time, hitting him with some hard right hands to the temple before whipping him into the ropes.

 

As Andrew returns, Stryke lifts him up and spins him around in a tilt-a-whirl! But Blackwell lands back on his feet! A quick kick to the stomach doubles Stryke over allowing Andrew to attempt an Irish Whip, but Stryke reverses it into a short Arm Clothesline!

 

No! Blackwell ducks under the wild move and, grabs Stryke’s arm on the way through, then his opposite arm, locking on a double chickenwing!

 

‘NARCOSYNTHESIS!’ Both commentators cry.

 

But Stryke manages to work one arm free, using the other still hooked to take Sacred over in a hip toss! But Blackwell lands on his feet! The crowd’s noise rises with each counter and reversal, and even more so as Sacred grabs Stryke around the neck and by the waist, lifting him into the air, but turning him around in mid-move and dropping him down on his shoulder with a stunner!

 

‘An amazing move from Sacred…’ Stevens admits, until he continues. ‘But I think Sacred tried for the Cattle Mutilation too early here tonight, because from now on, Stryke will expect it and be on the look out for it.’

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRRRRRRRNOOOOSHOUDLERUPOMGZ!

 

Stryke rolls away into the corner, both hands covering his neck now as Blackwell gives a quick glare towards the referee, but he holds up two fingers and continues to claim it wasn’t three. Sacred slowly climbs to his feet, wiping blood from his lip before staring straight across the ring at his foe, arms hung out on the top rope, dazed and confused. Lowering his head, Blackwell makes a mad dash across the ring, diving forward…

 

And spearing Stryke in the gut! Rearing back once more, Sacred drives his shoulder into the disheveled Aussie once more! Blackwell tries his trick one more time, hoping to drive the air completely out of Stryke…

 

‘Let me just take this time to tell the people out there to visit my site at www.summitcitywrestling.com! It’s a great site, and-‘

 

‘HEY! You’re not Bobby Riley at all!’ Stevens yanks on Riley’s hair in hopes that under the mask it’s old Mr. Caraway from the haunted mansion.

 

‘It IS me! Let go!’

 

But Stryke catches him around the neck in a front face lock! Stryke can’t keep him in this predicament for long however as Sacred pushes upward, lifting Stryke up onto the top rope, and hitting a few stiff forearms at the neck to keep him in place.

 

As Blackwell begins to climb each tier to meet his opponent however, Stryke desperately tries to hang in the contest, firing right hand after right hand blows into Sacred’s temple! But they have little effect, so Stryke goes low, kicking Sacred in the crotch!

 

‘He says he’ll do anything to win…’ Stevens says with a frown.

 

‘And the referee didn’t see anything! The two Aussie’s were so close together he doesn’t know what was hit and by who!’

 

Like a tall tree in the woods, Sacred slowly crashes to the ground, stiff as a board as he grabs at his crotch! The crowd cheers for the crotch shot more than anything as Stryke climbs to his feet, saying his prayers before he turns around, standing high above the ring, waiting for Sacred to climb to his feet…

 

As the former hall of famer does so, back to Stryke, hands still covering his special area, Stryke closes his eyes and leaps from the turnbuckles, arching his back in the air, flipping through the air, grabbing Sacred around the neck on the way down…

 

And driving him to the mat with a Moonsault Reverse DDT!

 

‘AMAZING!’ Riley gushes. ‘I don’t know where he gets this reserve energy from, but it doesn’t matter, ‘cause it’s all over now!’

 

Stryke slowly crawls over, only lightly pressing his arms into Sacred’s chest, covering him for the pin!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHNNNOOOOOO!!

 

Blackwell kicks out once again! Stryke slams his hand on the mat as he slowly gets back to his feet, looking down at his Australian brethren, stomping down hard on his back in frustration!

 

Crawling away, trying to shield himself from Stryke’s hard stomps, Blackwell reaches the ropes and uses them to climb back to his feet, but Stryke meets him with a few kicks the stomach, before grabbing him by the hand and whipping him across the ring… but Sacred manages to reverse it!

 

‘It’s level pegging at the moment… this could go either way from here, it’s just the first man to blink and make a mistake,’ comments Stevens on the edge of his seat.

 

Hitting the strands hard, Stryke comes barreling back as Sacred leaps into the air and takes him around the neck and flips him over with an Ankle Scissors! As Blackwell turns around, looking to grab Stryke’s arms in a double chickenwing, Stryke locks them by his sides, refusing to budge though Sacred tries his best.

 

‘See! I was right!’ Mark boasts proudly. ‘Stryke KNEW what was coming, and blocked Sacred from locking on the Cattle Mutilation!’

 

Instead, Blackwell climbs back to his feet and backs into the ropes behind him, trotting back toward Stryke and leaping toward him, bringing his knee does across his…

 

NO! Stryke rolls out of the way and Blackwell’s knee smashes into the canvas! As Blackwell is propelled back onto his feet by the force of the blow, Stryke rolls onto his feet, jumping into the air and hitting Sacred in the chest with a dropkick! The Sacred One stumbles backward, hitting the ropes and making his way back toward Stryke, who lowers his head; lifting Blackwell onto his shoulders and slamming him back down with a Spinebuster!

 

‘This could be it! Stryke’s looking for the EVENT HORIZON!’

 

‘He was able to spot what Blackwell was going for with his finisher, and that may be the thing that wins him this match!’

 

Stryke immediately goes for Andrew’s legs, trying to hook his arms underneath them! But Blackwell works them free and kicks Stryke away! Somersaulting backward, Blackwell rolls onto his feet, only narrowly escaping Stryke’s finishing maneuver, but Stryke isn’t done yet as he charges at Blackwell with an enraged look in his eyes!

 

At the last second, Blackwell ducks below and pushes his hands into Stryke’s chest, lifting him into the air and letting him fly as he falls back down onto the canvas face first! In this position on the mat, Stryke again locks his arms at his sides! Blackwell heads instead for Stryke’s legs, grabbing his ankle in an Ankle Lock!

 

‘That’s… weird,’ says a confused Riley. ‘If he’s been working the neck, why would he aim for an ankle submission…?’

 

As Blackwell twists his ankle into impossible angles, Stryke frees his arms and begins to crawl forward, trying to reach the ropes…

 

‘No… don’t do it Stryke…’

 

But as he does, Blackwell suddenly lets go of his ankle and scampers across Stryke’s back, taking him by both arms and locking them in a double chickenwing! Stryke tries to free them again, but Blackwell is determined not to let go, and he keeps Stryke in his clutches long enough to flip over and lock on the Cattle Mutilation!

 

‘Brilliant!’ Grand Slam is forced to admit. “Blackwell knew Stryke would lock his arms at his sides, and deliberately went for the Ankle lock to throw Stryke a red herring, and he finally has the Narcosynthesis locked on!’

 

Only a few second into the hold, with Blackwell pulling his hardest, Stryke yells into the referee’s face, “I GIVE UP!”

 

‘THAT’S IT!’ Both commentators shout at the top of their lungs as the bell sounds.

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Funyon shouts into the mic, ‘The Winner of this match via submission, ‘The Sacred One’, ANDREW BLACKWELL!’

 

‘Tainted’ kicks up as Blackwell keeps the devastating hold applied, the referee doing his best to break it up, but Sacred will NOT LET GO!

 

‘YES! He’s going to put another Aussie out of commission!’ Riley shouts with glee.

 

‘Oh no he isn’t!’ Stevens points out. ‘More help is coming from back stage!’

 

Referee’s slide into the ring, milling around the two Australian’s as Stryke cries out in pain, and Sacred pulls back tighter and tighter with each passing second.

 

‘This is just despicable…’ Stevens says grimly. ‘But we’ve got to get to a commercial break! Let’s just hope all this has been dealt with once you get back folks, please, stay tuned for our MAIN EVENT!’

 

The picture fades out on Stryke’s face, ripe with pain and torment, as Blackwell doesn’t let go, mouthing into the camera…

 

‘Join… the Experiment.’

 

And we fade out…

[Guest Suicide King]

The scene cuts to Grand Slam at the announce table. He is looking directly at the camera with a deadly serious look. “Ladies and Gentlemen, now that I’ve had a chance to think about what all has happened here tonight and work off a little steam calling a match or two, I think it is important to take this time to make a statement of my own.”

 

“Umm… Mark… you think this is a good idea?” Riley asks, trying to interject himself into the picture.

 

“Bobby, right now I don’t care if it is the right or the wrong thing. Sometimes a man just has to take a stand.”

 

“Uh-oh… well, its been nice knowing you pal…”

 

“What the Commissioner… what King has done here tonight is heinous. It is more than hurting my family and me, it is hurting my students who bust their asses every day with the dream of making it to the SJL. It is a slap in the face of everything they and I have accomplished here in the SWF and it just isn’t right!”

 

“OK, moving right along, the next match…”

 

“I’m not done Riley.”

 

“I was afraid of that.”

 

“In the last two weeks, the Suicide King has started to act more and more irrational, making decisions that do nothing for the SWF or the business. By God, I would go so far as to say they benefit nobody but him and those who toady up to him in the locker room.”

 

“Alrighty then… thanks for the insight Slammer. Now, let’s get back to the show.”

 

“I agree, but every now and then a man has to take a stand, a man has to have the courage to say what he thinks and damn the consequences! I have never been anything but honest in the SWF Bobby, and I don’t intend to start telling lies and half-truths now to benefit that no-good cheap two-faced power monger! Why, if I’m being honest Bobby, I am ashamed I ever called that weasel a friend! And I am even more ashamed to admit he was my student! Someday Bobby… someday…”

 

“But not anytime soon retiree-lad. You feel better?”

 

“A little.”

 

“Good. Can we proceed with the show before King calls in the snipers and kills us both?”

 

“I wouldn’t put it past the little backstabber.”

 

“Oh Lord… anyways our next match is…”

[Guest Suicide King]

“We’ve got a jam-packed main event for you folks tonight! 6 men have issues with each other, and-”

 

“Stevens, I absolutely, positively hate to correct you here, but Thoth and Strangler are fighting for the title, and Atlas and Beezel have their mask match at the PPV, but that’s 4 people with issues. Ejiro and JD are here for the violence factor.”

 

The Heavy Hitter rolls his eyes. “Alright. 4 men that have issues with each other and two more to round it out. But take nothing away from those two men. Ejiro is the current United States champion, and Jamie Drazon’s penchant for violence is an SWF legend. Nothing is at stake in this match except momentum going into Ground Zero, which is this Sunday.”

 

“The title could change hands, and Beezel might be unmasked.”

 

“Well, so could Sean Atlas,” counters Mark Stevens.

 

“True, but I think everyone wants to know who Beezel is! We’ve seen him use so many people’s finishers. He’s doing a very good job keeping people guessing. Who do you think he is?”

 

“I think he could potentially be Divefire with his legs hacked off. Or the Hville Thugg with his legs hacked off. Or Rane with his legs hacked off.”

 

The camera quickly cuts over to Funyon, who stands proudly in the center of the ring, with a bright black microphone. “The following contest is a six-man tag team match! Introducing first...”

 

“Go To Hell” by KMFDM starts to play, as the lights turn blood red and start to strobe.

 

“..the team,” continues Funyon, “Of Sean Atlas, The S-W-F United States Champion, Ejiro Fasaki, and Thoth!”

 

The trio approach the ring, and methodically climb into it, until what seems like suddenly, they are inside it, drawing heel heat from the crowd. Thoth scowls at them.

 

“Thoth’s been on a losing streak lately, after losing the world title, and he’s itching to have something to prove,” says Riley.

 

“Yeah, but he’s got to do it against not only the World Champion Boston Strangler, but two other men who have been on professional tears as of late. And I wouldn’t put it past Drazon to shed some blood tonight.”

 

The flashing hyper bloody lights fade, and with an explosion of colored, loud pyro, “Godzilla” by Blue Oyster Cult starts to play, the theme to the Boston Strangler and his machinations. With him, coming down the aisle, are his tag partners.

 

“And their opponents... the team of Jamie Drazon... Beezel... and the S-W-F World Heavyweight Champion... the Boston Strangler!”

 

The three men attack and scale the ring, climbing into it and making it their personal playground. Each team now talks amongst themselves to see who will start. Sean Atlas and Jamie Drazon will start things off. Drazon wishes that he could see past that mask; tear it off, but orders from higher up have stated that that mask is going to stay on for at least until the PPV, when people are going to pay their hard earned money to watch it possibly be removed.

 

*DING DING DING*

 

Doesn’t mean he can’t cause pain. Both competitors advance on each other, Atlas looking for a lockup, Drazon looking to plant his boot in someone’s stomach. Atlas doubles over, and “Jay Dawg” bends his torso back, before flinging it forward to add to the elbow he is slamming into Atlas’s head. Drazon gets a good grip on Atlas’s arm, and whips him hard towards the ropes. Atlas bounces off and gets caught up in a drop toe hold, falling face first to the mat. He holds out his arms to protect himself and break the fall, but Jamie Drazon expects that, and as soon as he falls, JD grabs his arm and pulls, locking in a Fujiwara Armbar! Atlas’s eyes go wide, and he struggles to break free, flailing. Drazon doesn’t have enough time to position and leverage his weight over Sean Atlas to prevent his movement, and Atlas gets his head together and makes the ropes with ease. The ref gets far into Drazon’s face, screaming at him to let go. Indeed, he lets go, but not before letting some stomps fly. Atlas though, shows defiance, fighting and using the ropes to get back to his feet. Drazon throws a right hand, but Atlas blocks it and delivers a kick to the knee that catches the violent man off guard. Atlas smells an opening. Another strike to the knee has Drazon hunched over. Atlas boots him, then grabs an arm and steps over it, scissoring it in place. Atlas leaps, flipping forward, catching Drazon in the face with the heel of his boot! Jamie goes down like clockwork, onto his back. Here’s the first cover of the match...

 

ONE!

 

TW- And a kickout by Drazon.

 

“I always love that interesting strike from Atlas. A little flashy, but it disorients the recipient, making it the perfect maneuver to follow up with a pinfall.”

 

Atlas drags Drazon up to his feet, and fakes going right, before going left around Drazon and locking in a waistlock. Drazon throws elbows to try and shake Atlas off, but Atlas bobs and weaves, while interlocking his fingers. And it’s a German! Atlas tries to hold the bridge, but Drazon manages to flip out before the referee can start a pinfall count. He rolls back and gets to his feet, and locomotes forward, swinging a lariat which Atlas leans out of the way of, and locks his arms behind Drazon once again. Straightjacket Suplex! The move sends Drazon crashing down to the mat once again.

 

“Jamie Drazon’s head of steam is exploding like the steam engines of the early nineteenth century!” yells Riley, notwithstanding that most people won’t get that. From the apron, The Boston Strangler stamps the canvas and shouts nothing of meaning, thrusting out his hand. Drazon bites the bullet and lurches to the corner, slapping the champ’s hand.

 

“And the World Champion is in!” shouts out Stevens as the crowd explodes at the sight of a moving Boston Strangler.

 

Leaping into the ring at the tag, The Strangler blasts across Sean Atlas with a charging clothesline that sends the powerful masked man flying to the mat like a fly. Immediately turning to the enemy corner, TBS knocks both Thoth and Ejiro right off the apron with huge right hands. With the distractions out of the way for the moment, Strangler moves right back to the rising Atlas and sends him flying into the ropes. Off the rebound, The Strangler heaves Atlas high into the air before depositing him straight down to the canvas with a mile high flapjack that sends the mask crashing into the mat. Popping up to his feet, Strangler turns just in time to see Fasaki coming right at him. Ducking a shoulder, the World Champion sends Ejiro flying high overhead with a tremendous backdrop throw. Looking back at eye level once more, The Strangler once more gets into position in time to toss an elbow into a charging Thoth’s face with an elbow.

 

“The Strangler is rolling!” calls out ‘Grand Slam.’ “And when you have a 300 pound man charging right at your face, it would probably be a good thing to get out of the way.”

 

“Of course, you don’t want him charging at any other part of your body. I might… but you don’t.”

 

With Thoth and Fasaki momentarily knocked aside, the other team brings its full weight to arms against the remaining member of the team. With Beezel readying himself on the apron, The Strangler and Jamie double up to toss Atlas into the ropes. Stepping ahead of his partner, Jay Dawg lowers a shoulder to flip Atlas over and right into the grip of the iron World Champion who happily drives Sean into the mat with a resounding powerbomb that shakes the fillings of the member of The Magnificent Seven. Stepping back to give his masked partner an opening, TBS smiles broadly as he watches Beezel sling shot into the ring and crush Atlas with a stunning springboard legdrop! Stepping in immediately to try and restore some semblance of order, the referee sends Beezel and Jay Dawg out of the ring much to the annoyance of the particularly violent hardcore maniac. Putting up resistance, Jay grabs the referee’s attention as The Boston Strangler tries to put the final touches on his wounded opponent. Shucking Atlas into the ropes once more, The Strangler presses him high into the air with a military press in preparation for the eventual finale of the Boston Massacre, which proves to not be all that eventual after all…

 

KRACK! KRACK!

 

“What a save!”

 

Coming in from the sides as the SWF World Champion has Atlas at full extension, Thoth and Ejiro Fasaki both strike and strike hard. Just as Thoth blasts TBS right across the face with a jumping high kick, Fasaki also strikes with an enziguri that causes The Strangler to fall down to the mat with Atlas right on top. With Thoth and Ejiro rolling out of the ring just as the referee turns around, the official slides into place and counts away toward a possible pin fall…

 

ONE!

 

TWOOOONOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Getting a shoulder off the mat before the referee can even count to two, The Boston Strangler keeps the match going for his squad as Atlas rolls up to his shaky feet. Stomping down on the World Champion with all of his might, the masked Atlas continues to work over The Boston Strangler. Kicking Strangler up to his feet, Sean continues to batter TBS with a series of shots to the chest. Taking Strangler by the arm, Atlas heaves The Strangler into a turnbuckle and on the rebound snags the World Champion around the waist. Heaving Strangler overhead, Atlas crushes TBS into the canvas with an overhead belly-to-belly suplex.

 

“Talk about rocking the ring!” calls out Stevens. “Sean Atlas might just be the strongest man in the SWF on a pound-by-pound basis.”

 

“But the important part is that he uses that power to pound people at the behest of Mr. Tom Flesher. And yet, Thoth just stands right there without anyone kicking him in the face. That’s crazy!”

 

Standing up and testing his back after moving such a large piece of furniture, Atlas moves into his corner and makes a tag out to the former World Champion Thoth, the first tag on his team’s side. Quickly locking down on Strangler with a front chancery, Thoth uses the hold to drag TBS off to a neutral corner where he can dish out some more punishment. Lifting up Strangler’s chin to get a better opening, Thoth drives a thrust right into the throat of the World Champion. Taking the warning of the official with a tiny grain of salt, Thoth goes right back to work with another shot right to the windpipe. Taking TBS by the arm, Thoth whips the World Champion across the ring with an Irish whip before he follows right in with a hard knee that finds its mark right in the chest of the mammoth World Champion and sends him tumbling forward to the canvas. Dropping down on the champion and hooking a leg, Thoth holds on as the referee counts…

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THRENNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“It’s going to take a whole lot more than that to take down The Boston Strangler!” reports Mark Stevens. “You don’t become World Champion here in the SWF by sleeping with the boss’s daughter or by dropping your pants at every opportunity.”

 

Riley adds, “I should know.”

 

Pulling Strangler along by the hair, Thoth places the World Champion’s throat across the middle rope. Reaching out to the United States Champion, Thoth makes a tag to bring Ejiro Fasaki into the contest. Getting a hold of TBS by the legs and lifting them up off the canvas, Thoth holds on as the referee gives the mandatory five count as Ejiro bounces across the ring. Rebounding back at full speed, Fasaki leapfrogs right over Thoth and crashes down on Strangler’s back with all of his weight behind it. Shouting out as his spine bends into an uncomfortable position, Strangler visibly wilts as he folds strait down to the canvas. Looking on with a smile as Thoth exits the ring, Ejiro wanders about the ring and close enough to the enemy corner to give Jay Dawg a cheap shot to the face.

 

“Oh boy;” sighs Stevens as Drazon immediately takes the bait and jumps into the ring.

 

Getting a step or three before the referee gets in his way, Jay Dawg struggles away at getting to Fasaki as the united States Champion merely laughs as Atlas and Thoth sneak into the ring and do a number on Strangler. But they just are not the only sneaks in attendance tonight as Beezel manages to sneak into the ring and behind the watchful eyes of the referee and, more importantly, Ejiro Fasaki. Losing his focus on the rest of the ring as he happily taunts the stammered Drazon. Lifting a finger to his mouth to keep the crowd in on the secret, Beezel sneaks in behind Fasaki and snags him in a full nelson fo4r about a moment before leaning backward and dumping Fasaki on his head with a dragon suplex!

 

WHAM!

 

“SCORCH-O! SCORCH-O! SCORCH-O!”

 

Slipping out of the ring as quietly as he came, Beezel’s smile almost contorts the features of his mask as Ejiro wobbles up to his feet for a moment before falling strait back to the mat as Thoth and Atlas look on from the apron in mounting fear. Having left The Strangler in a heap on the mat, Thoth and Atlas can do no more as the referee clearly has his attention focused back where it actually belongs.

 

TBS uses the bottom rope to pull himself along the mat and closer and closer to the safety of his corner as Beezel and Jay Dawg reach out hoping to seize on this opportunity. Closer and closer the World Champion pulls himself as Ejiro Fasaki rolls up to his feet once more in an attempt to stop the tag. Reaching out and grabbing The Strangler by the legs, Ejiro tries to pull TBS away from his corner but the powerful champion rolls over to his back for just a moment and pushes Fasaki off long enough to lean forward and make the tag!

 

“And Jamie Drazon is about to make an impact!”

 

Hopping into the ring, Jamie tosses out a hard right hand that sends Fasaki reeling to the mat for just a moment before Ejiro gets back up to his feet. Another right hand solves that problem for the moment as Jay Dawg continues to use his brawling tactics to bounce Fasaki around the mat like a pinball. Finally just grabbing the stunned Fasaki by the hair, Jay Dawg leans back before burying a crushing headbutt right into the nose of his opponent! Collecting the stammered Rule from behind, Jay Dawg locks onto the United States Champion from behind and sends him flying backward to the mat with an expertly applied belly-to-back suplex. Holding onto Fasaki from the side, Jamie rolls him all the way back up his feet before ripping him to the canvas once again with a Russian leg sweep! Folding over Fasaki with a variation of a cradle, Jay Dawg locks down as the referee makes the count.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THRENOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Getting up immediately after the kick out, Jay Dawg looks at the referee for a moment in disgust before pulling Fasaki off the mat and slamming him into the canvas with a body slam. Stepping over to his own corner, Jay Dawg ignores Beezel’s request for a tag and makes his way all the way up to the very top turnbuckle. Steadying himself for takeoff, Jay barely feels it as Beezel slaps his hand against his partner’s shin to record a tag. But Jay Dawg is already on his way as he flies off the top and buries his head right into the sternum of the downed Magnificent Seven member.

 

WHAMMMMMMMMMMMM!

 

Leaning over Fasaki and hooking a leg, Jamie looks to end this match with a cover only to hear not the final three count but feel the pats of the referee on his back.

 

“Jay Dawg is not the legal man anymore!” calls out Stevens as Jamie gets off Fasaki and looks at the referee with a complete look of sure fury that it could wilt wallpaper.

 

Getting off his prey, Drazon looks at the referee with even more annoyance before he notices Beezel darting into the ring and making a cover. Seeing the actual legal man making an attempt at winning the match, the referee slides into position and makes the count!

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREENOOOOOOOO!

 

“JAY DAWG PULLED BEEZEL OFF!” shouts Stevens indignantly.

 

Riley retorts, “Well if Beezel wasn’t so intent on being the star of the show, he would have just let Jay Dawg end this himself. But those damn masked people just think they are so great! It doesn’t matter what bastard is under that hood…”

 

Standing eye-to-eye with his own partner, Jamie Drazon looks at Beezel intently, voicelessly asking what exactly the masked man might be thinking. But with Jay Dawg, questions almost immediately become accusations as he shoves Beezel back a step or three. Not backing down for a second, Beezel gets right back in the face of the hardcore maniac as Ejiro, unnoticed, starts to roll away from the conflict and head towards his corner.

 

“They’re letting Ejiro get away!” yells Stevens.

 

Ejiro leaps, diving into the corner and tags in... Sean Atlas! The fans jeer this masked man heavily as he steps between the ropes and charges toward his quarrelling opponents... and knocks them down with stereo lariats! Quickly turning towards Drazon, Atlas gets him up and taking him by the arm, swings him around right into the ropes, then over, and entirely out of the ring!

 

 

“He’s taking out the trash, Grand Slam!”

 

“And yet, you’re still here.”

 

 

Turning back around, Sean’s arm is caught by Beezel who Irish whips him towards the opposite ropes, but an energized Atlas reverses it, sending the smaller masked man on his way. As Beezel rebounds and comes back, he lowers a shoulder to charge back into Sean, yet misses when Atlas jumps high into the air, leapfrogging over el Scorcho as he jets underneath. Atlas lands and turns around, expecting to meet Beezel off the ropes...

 

And receives a swift kick to the gut! Beezel stopped in his tracks after passing under Sean, and now throws an arm around his head, kicks his feet out and falls on his back, bringing Sean down with a DDT! To the roar of the crowd, Beezel returns to his feet, taking Sean up as well. Bringing him over to a neutral corner, Beezel leans in, then whips Atlas to the opposite neutral corner.

 

Sean lands hard against the pads, hitting them with his back. The disorientation in his eyes clears up a bit, only to reveal the flipping body of Beezel tumbling towards him, and elbow heading directly for his head!

 

 

“Handspring elbow to the corner from El Scorcho!” proclaims Grand Slam.

 

“Beezel finally shows a bit of fire against Sean Atlas, but how long could it last?”

 

“For his sake, it better last until Sunday.”

 

 

Atlas stumbles out of the corner as Beezel gets behind him, then winds up and hits a roundhouse kick to the back of Sean’s leg. Atlas goes down to one knee, kneeling in the middle of the ring while Beezel heads for the ropes, bounces off, then returns to Sean and jumps... hitting a Shining Wizard!

 

 

“Beezel douses the flames of Sean Atlas!” declares Stevens.

 

“He’s going in for the pin...”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

TTTTTTHHHRRRRRRNNNNNOOOOOOOO!

 

 

“Atlas kicked out!” says Bobby. “Beezel should know by now it takes a lot more to bring his fellow masked man down.”

 

“But at this rate it shouldn’t take much longer.

 

 

Beezel comes to his feet and gets Atlas up to his as well. Sean looks over to his corner, seeing an eager Thoth standing on the apron, reaching for a tag. Ejiro stands on the adjacent side, still winded from his earlier time in the ring. Beezel prevents Sean from getting within distance though, as he pulls him away. Bringing Atlas into the enemy corner, Beezel heaves Atlas in back-first, then tightens the leather on his glove and pull his hand back...

 

 

*SMACK*

 

WHOOO!

 

*SMACK*

 

WHOOO!

 

*SMACK*

 

WHOOO!

 

*SMA-NO!

 

 

Atlas blocks the chop! Then he gets him in a hammer lock, swings him around between the ropes... and knocks Jay Dawg off the apron! Continuing the motion, Atlas drives Beezel’s head into the ringpost of his own corner, but TBS throws a hard punch at Sean’s face, knocking him away.

 

Immediately, the referee jump in between the two, preventing Strangler from entering the ring if he was planning to. Drazon jumps back on the apron and tries to get inside, but Eddy Long stops him as well...

 

The momentary distraction allows Atlas with a moment of golden opportunity as he drives his forearm between the legs of Beezel hitting a vicious low blow!

 

“That’s Eddy Long for ya. Twisted, and not straight by any means.” says Riley.

 

“Long? Not straight? You would know that?”

 

“Are you implying something, Mark? I’ll have you know that I’m straight as an arrow. So straight, I eat a hot dog from the middle. So straight...”

 

“Quiet, Atlas just rolled Beezel up!”

 

“Turn around,

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

TTTTTTHHHHHHHHRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

 

 

“He kicked out! Despite the crooked refereeing and low blow, Beezel got a shoulder up!”

 

“It took Long too... long to notice the cover!” complains Riley.

 

“Sure, now you’re against him.”

 

 

Sean rolls off Beezel and sits up, locks in a half nelson. Using his other arm, Atlas swings around and covers Beezel’s facemask with his forearm, practically locking in...

 

 

“THE KATAHAJIME CHOKE!” yells Riley. “This has to be the end right here!”

 

“Strangler and Drazon have to belp!”

 

 

But Atlas struggles with it, Beezel’s inappropriately large voice modulator preventing him from locking it in the way he had hoped. Beezel struggles out of it, and in fact nearly escapes before Atlas takes his feet off the ground and bends back, brings him over and SLAMS Beezel down again with the Katahajime Suplex!

 

 

“Atlas completes the trifecta, executing three Magnificent Suplexes in a row!” Riley states.

 

“Mr. B HAS to crawl to his corner now, at least to try and tag someone in!”

 

 

But as Beezel did earlier, Atlas holds him back, blocking the path back to his corner. He stands, facing Beezel’s head, waiting for the little guy to stand up. Waiting for his chance to strike, Atlas waits as Beezel rises from the canvas, stalking el Scorcho until the right moment comes along...

 

 

“You know what Atlas is planning here, Mark...”

 

“I’m afraid to say it...”

 

“Say it, Stevens.”

 

 

Atlas draws closer and Beezel stands higher.

 

 

“Come on, say it Grand Slam!”

 

 

Beezel stands up and Atlas drive in...

 

 

“SAY IT DAMMIT!”

 

“It’s the Saint’s Demise!”

 

 

Sean gets Beezel on his shoulder, positioning him across his back and hooking his neck with one arm, then going for his legs with the other. Bezel fights it, shaking in his body suit to avoid the move... He flails his legs so Sean doesn’t get a decent grip... He rolls around trying to jump off... But none of it is any use! Sean hooks the leg, then prepares to jump and drive Beezel hard...!!!

 

 

 

 

!!!

 

 

 

But drops him! Beezel reached around Sean’s face and got a tight grip on his leather mask just before his head was about to be driven into the mat! Atlas is forced to drop El Scorcho to protect himself, and now free of Sean’s clutches, Beezel heads for his corner and dives in, slapping somoene’s hand without even looking...

 

 

“And the World Champion is in!” yells Stevens. “Atlas is in for it now!”

 

 

Strangler charges at Sean... and flattens him with a lariat! The energized Champion stops short of the enemy and quickly turns around, gives Atlas a moment , then dashes towards him again... and a BIG BOOT! Coming into his own corner now, Strangler turns around and steps onto the second rope, then waits for Sean to come to his feet and leaps off... hitting a huge Double Axe handle!

 

The attack takes Atlas several feet back, but he remains on his feet, falling onto the ropes for balance. He looks over at his corner, considering tagging in one of his tag partners... but changes his mind at the opportunity to prove himself against the World Champion. Atlas charges at TBS, dashing across the ring towards the 300-pound Strangler....

 

But gets caught with a Samoan Drop!!

 

 

“What a maroon! He should have tagged Thoth into the match!”

 

“But he didn’t, Mark. He can overcome this, you watch.”

 

 

Stangler comes to his feet, then grabs Atlas by the waistg. With his large arms around Atlas’ midsection, Strangler pops his hips, lifting the masked man off his feet and into the air over him, tossing the beaten body of Sean Atlas across the ring with a Release German Suplex!!!

 

Landing just a couple of yards away from his eager and angered teammates, Atlas is faced with the same decision... to tag or not. The World Champion approaches, his huge form silhouetted by the Smarktron in the distance... Realizing that Ground Zero is mere days away, for the sake of his own health, Sean staggers up, lunges towards his corner, and tags in the man that wants it more – the same man that beat him to earn a shot at the word title when he won it... THOTH!

 

 

“THOTH IS IN!” yells Riley. “Ground Zero preview coming up!”

 

“This may become a mess REAL quick...”

 

 

Thoth jumps in and heads for the champion, who’s completely undisturbed by his approaching opponent. He starts wailing away, making sure not to back Thoth into his own corner, where Atlas has just taken his spot on the apron. Thoth, however, has no plans to be forced to back into anywhere, and on one of Strangler’s punches, he manages to catch TBS’ hand, then strike him under the chin with a stiff thrust of the hand!

 

TBS reels from the strategic uppercut, even unable to avoid a stiff kick that Thoth sends into his gut. TBS leans forward, giving Thoth just enough time to take hold of his head and flip the big man over with a Snapmare! Thoth quickly heads for the ropes behind Strangler, rebounding off them to gain momentum... then heads back to the Champion and lifts a knee, driving it into the back of his head!

 

 

 

With momentum now, and a jacked crowd behind him, Thoth lifts TBS off the mat, trying to keep his momentum going. Getting Strangler to stand, Thoth leaves him somewhat doubled over as he heads for the ropes once again, bounces off, then runs back and prepares for a Guillotine Leg Drop... but Strangler stops and catches him on the run, grabbing Thoth around the waist... and hits a standing Spinebuster!!!

 

Taking Thoth by the hand, Strangler whips him towards the ropes near his corner. He builds a head of steam, and delivers a stiff, hard spear that draws a pop, then lifts Thoth off the apron, holding on to both arms as he hooks them from underneath. Thoth fights it however, untangling himself from Strangler’s grip. He tries to throw a chop, but form the apron, an adamant Jay Dawg kicks his leg between the ropes, driving it into the gut of the contender! Instantly, TBS hooks onto Thoth’s arms and looks at the crowd that cheers him on, falling on his back to hit the...

 

 

“LIGHTS OUT! LIGHTS OUT ON THOTH!”

 

“Oh, if Thoth doesn’t do something right now he’ll be seeing the lights pretty soon!

 

“It’s coming, Riley. I can feel it coming. I know that gets you excited... it’s the Boston Massacre!”

 

 

Facing his corner, staring out into the Madison, Wisconsin crowd, Strangler lifts Thoth off the mat and stands him upright against the corner pads... He leans down, getting a grip in two key spots on Thoth, then lifts him high into the air with a Gorilla Press Slam! Drazon and Beezel stare at their teammate for the night, having the bets seats in the house to watch the Boston Massacre in all its glory...

 

Until Strangler lunges at them and drops Thoth, shoved from behind by Ejiro Fasaki!

 

 

“Rule comes in to save the day!”

 

“Interference!”

 

 

Beezel quickly jumps into the ring to counter Ejiro’s efforts, but Fasaki turns his attention to Drazon, knocking JD off the apron again! He tries to jump between the ropes to get to Drazon, but Beezel stops him, turning Rule around and attacking with forearms... But Ejiro tosses the masked freak into the corner!

 

 

“It’s pandemonium in the ring!” yells Stevens.

 

“And now Atlas is in as well!”

 

 

Seeing Atlas step inside, Ejiro holds him off for a moment, then grabs Beezel’s arm and walks him out to the middle of the ring. Whipping him to the ropes, Ejiro squares up while Atlas quickly runs behind him, watching intently as Beezel rebounds off the ropes and returns to the former Tag champ. Ejiro ducks and grabs around Beezel’s waist, lifting him up with a Flapjack as Atlas leaps, wraps an arm around El Scorcho’s head... and brings him down with a DDT!!

 

 

“Gavel Bang – Problem Solver from Magnificent Seven teammates Ejiro Fasaki and Sean Atlas!”

 

“But none of them are the legal men!”

 

 

One of the legal men, The Boston Strangler, makes his presence known as he gets a grip on Ejiro, lifting him up with a Gorilla Press Slam... then walks to the edge of the ring where Jay Dawg stands... and tosses the light man out of the squared circle down to ringside below!

 

In the ring, meanwhile, Strangler looks for Atlas, who has cleverly maneuvered his way to Thoth, now standing. Sean takes Thoth’s hand and Irish Whips him towards the champion... and moments before they collide, Thoth leaves his feet and turns in mid-air, landing across Strangler with a Flying Cross Body!!

 

 

“Great teamwork all around!” yells Riley. “Although why Atlas would whip Thoth, I beg to question...”

 

“They aren’t even supposed to be in the ring!”

 

 

Accordingly, Atlas dives out of the ring, looking for Beezel who seemingly has left the ring as well. He walks up the ramp, backing up while watching what goes on in the ring. Unbeknownst to him though, El Scorcho walked up the aisle, beside the ramp, recovering from the Flapjack-DDT he suffered from Sean and Ejiro. Fasaki, meanwhile, gets tossed over the barricade by Jamie Drazon, scattering the crowd apart.

 

In the ring, Thoth stands, having rolled off Strangler after the Flying Cross Body... he gets his grip on Strangler as he stands up, hooks his arms and makes sure that he hits this with as much impact as Strangler did earlier... and he falls back, driving the head of the champion into the mat!!!

 

 

“Double Arm DDT form Thoth! Revenge for the Lights out!”

 

“Can he hold the advantage though? His partners have abandoned him, as have Strangler’s...”

 

“Wait, isnt’s that one of them? Up on the stage!”

 

 

Atlas, who has reached that stage by now, has no idea that Beezel, climbing the ladder on the outside frame of the stage stands mere yards from him, charging at him from the side... not until the noise of his boots against the metal grating catches his attention... but it’s too late as Beezel’s Flying Forearm makes contact with Sean’s collar bone!

 

 

“We’ve got a brawl on the stage, in the crowd, and in the ring!”

 

“What a mess this match has become...”

 

“It’s practically over, Mark! Thoth is about to finish things up!”

 

 

Thoth gets Strangler standing, trying to finish things up as quickly as possible. He stands, face to face with Strangler while moving his arms to TBS’ shoulder and legs, hoping to lift the 300+ pounder off his feet... And he does it! He struggles to cradle the big man in his arms and turn him over, setting him up for the Riot of the Blood...

 

 

“THIS IS IT!” yells Riley.

 

 

But Strangler fights it! He shifts his weight left and right, up and down, anything to get Thoth weakened...

 

 

He drops!

 

 

But on his back!

 

 

And Thoth hits an awkward Cradle Tombstone Piledriver!!!

 

 

“RIOT OF THE BLOOD!” yells Stevens. “But not the best one we’ve ever seen...!”

 

“Cover him!”

 

 

Thoth quickly leans in and grabs the leg, pinning Strangler’s shoulders to the mat...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...

 

 

 

 

 

NO! Strangler kicks out!

 

 

“WHAT?”

 

“The move wasn’t perfect, Riley! Strangler landed on his back more than his head! Don’t be so shocked...”

 

“I’m shocked that you’re not shocked! This whole arena is shocked!”

 

“Strangler’s got the most vitality out of everyone in the company! I’m impressed, but not shocked!”

 

 

Stunned, Thoth stands up. He looks around for his tag partners... Ejiro far in the crowd somewhere, causing a commotion with Jay Dawg. Meanwhile, Atlas and Beezel are nowhere to be found on the stage. Only a lone cameraman sent to the back to find them rushed up the ramp and through the curtain...

 

Meanwhile, Strangler stands up, is back sore but able to hold up. He nearly reaches his feet when Thoth chooses to duck, stiffen his arm and propel it between the legs of the champion!

 

 

“OOOOHHHHH!”

 

“Low Blow!!!!”

 

 

He immediately rolls Strangler up, trying to roll the low blow into a School Boy...

 

 

DING-DING-DING!!!

 

 

“DISQUALIFICATION!”

 

“Dammit!”

 

 

Thoth slams his hands on the mat in frustration, knowing he wouldn’t get away with it.

 

 

“As a result of a disqualification, the winners of this bout... Beezel, Jamie Drazon and The Boston Strangler!!!”

 

 

“Why did he think the referee would miss it?”

 

“Dammit, Mark think about it. The Riot of the Blood didn’t get the job done, and trying it again would only cost Thoth vital strength that he’ll need this Sunday! He’s smart and conservative about it. This is a tiny tag match. The real deal is this Sunday at Ground Zero.”

 

“It still isn’t right!”

 

As Strangler rolls around, Thoth rolls out of the ring, standing by the timekeeper’s table, hands on his waist, breathing heavily. He stares at the title on the table, then lifts it up and remembers winning it for the first time. Rolling back into the ring, Thoth walks over to Strangler and places the title on his chest. Strangler stays in place, not willing to stand up.

 

Thoth, out of the ring, backs up the ramp, the image of Strangler imposed behind him on the SmarkTron. “Godzilla” by Blue Oyster Cult is already playing, signifying Stranglers DQ win. Thoth disregards it, staring at the champion, who is holding the gold in front of his face.

 

Suddenly, the image on the Smarktron changes, and shows a quick shot of the backstage area. The cameraman sent back to look for Atlas and Beezel doesn’t seem to have found them, even by the garage. But as he approaches a wide vacant area in the back, two sore spots on the concrete floor stand out. Zooming in, the man finds part of what he was looking for...

 

On the left, a red mask with a broken piece of electronic equipment...

 

On the right, a white leather mask with the crimson stains of blood on it...

 

The feed cuts back to the arena, showing the image of the masks on the Smarktron, Thoth standing in front of it on the stage, Strangler standing in the ring, title belt on his shoulder...

 

 

“All this and more this Sunday at Ground Zero on Pay Per View!” yells Stevens as the copyright message appears.

[Guest Suicide King]

A rather good show leading into out ppv. The ppv card will be up probably around 4 AM easternish, but I recommend everyone read the show as many plotlines were advanced. You'll get no results from me.