GENESIS IV!!!!!

September 29, 2003

…In the beginning, there was one…

O Fortuna…

[The music kicks up in the background, and the image on the ‘tron focuses in on one man… He’s a rather large individual, and he bears the IGNWF Title over his head.

His name is Rane.]

Velut Luna…

…Genesis…

[NTD is almost dead. PDS grabs another table from under the ring and sets it up in the ring. He goes out and gets a can of lighter fluid and a stray lighter from earlier! HE LIGHTS THE TABLE ON FIRE OH MY GOD!!! PDS goes outside and picks up NTD’s motionless body. Before he goes for the table, for good measure, PDS grinds NTD’s face into the tacks in a disgusting display of brutality! PDS sits NTD on the side of the table which is not burning! PDS gets up on the table and grabs NTD! AND HE HITS THE AGONY OF DEFEAT THROUGH THE FLAMING TABLE!! NTD’s face burns and blisters from the flames, as little shards of wood lodge in his open wounds! PDS goes for the cover! ONE… TWO… THREE!!!!! PDS WINS!!!]

Statu variabilis…

…It begins…

[NTD grabs Rane, and pulls off a powerbomb. NTD heads up the ladder, and after climbing halfway up, is stopped by Rane. NTD tries to kick Rane in his face, trying to get him off. Rane continues his attack. NTD eventually turns around on the ladder, with his back towards it. Rane grabs his leg, and performs a dragon screw of sorts off of the ladder. NTD lies on the mat, holding his knee. Rane heads up the ladder. Curry slowly walks to the ring, looking almost crippled.]

Semper crescis…

…and from there, it went…

[As the music in the background quiets to a mere whisper, we see the beginning scene from Genesis II…]

[september 11, 2001

A day that America will never forget....

Funyon: Ladies and gentlemen, please join us in a moment of silence as we mourn the passing of the victims of the horrendous attacks on Tuesday. Though it may seem to us as if their sacrifice was for nothing, may their courage strengthen us for the long, difficult days ahead… if you would.

At Funyon’s prompting, the timekeeper lifts his hammer, and sounds out the high, clarion notes of his bell…

DING…

At the twelfth and final ring, sounds finally returns to the arena as every single IGNWF superstar begins to clap slowly, their faces sad. Every single person in attendance, and many at home, rise to their feet in appreciation for the sacrifice of the heroic few… the sound slowly grows in volume, eventually becoming the normal roar of such a prestigious sporting event as the superstars slowly file their way back up the ramp…]

Aut decrescis…

]…but with tragedy comes triumph…

ELM thinks the ref is taking care of KoH, then climbs up the turnbuckle with Jamie, standing in front of him, setting up for The Fall of the Aztecs. Suddenly, from the announce table direction, comes a man, decked in pure black gear and a black baseball cap, he instantly runs behind ELM on the turnbuckle and *DING* a brutal uppercut to the crotch. The hat gets knocked off, but the hair is covering the face, the man quickly locks on a ¾ Nelson Facelock, spins off him and crashes to the mat with a Tornado Diamond Cutter.

Curry: “I know that move!”

NTD: “THAT’S THE ****ING BORDERLINE INSANITY!!! Only one man used that move, and he was in FTW for a long time!”

The man floats outside, walking by the ramp behind KoH, who just dropped from the apron, looking up on ELM. They both stand there with their heads down, while the ref turns around to see ELM lying there on the mat. Jamie pushes up from the top rope, to his feet, standing there on the top turnbuckle, he looks to the crowd, chest red and exposed, breathing deeply. The fans are behind him as he swandives off the ropes, hitting the second Swanton Bomb of the night, bouncing badly, his back off of ELM’s chest so he flies in the air a foot then back down. Turning over, Jamie makes the cover while hooking the leg with his back, holding with all his might.

ONE…

Curry: “Will this be enough!?”

TWO…KoH looks on, but his little partner in crime keeps his head down.

NTD: “ELM has just got screwed!”

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Curry: “Oh my god! The end of the world has just happened!”

Vita detestabilis…

Chris Wilson turns around with a sickening smile on his face and stares right at Outcast... who is standing in the middle of the ring... grinning? Wilson is disturbed by this and brings the chair up to swing it, but Outcast connects with a side kick right into the chair, sending it flying into his face! The crowd erupts in cheers as the IGNWF champion is laid out on the mat! Outcast climbs the nearest turnbuckle, makes his way to the top and smiles, signaling for the crowd to get on their feet! He dives off... FEAR OF DEATH!!!

Curry: OUTCAST JUST HIT A 450 SPLASH ON CHRIS WILSON!

NTD: Wilson is out! Oh my God!

Outcast rolls Wilson out of the ring and grabs the chair. He tosses it out as well, getting rid of any evidence that might make the referee think he cheated... He goes over and revives the referee as Spark lays in pain. Outcast covers him...

1...

2...

KICKOUT! SPARK KICKED OUT! Outcast has a look of shock but also concern on his face. He knows the extent of damage to Spark's knee by just looking at it, and decides to drive a knee to Spark's shoulder, then another in attempt to keep him down. He makes another cover...

1...

2...

3.

The drowsy referee calls for the bell and "Trust" by Limp Bizkit kicks up as Outcast stands up with mixed emotions on his face.

Funyon: The winners of this match, and NEW IGNWF TAG... TEAM... CHAMPIONS... Outcast and "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens!

Nunc obdurate…

Curry: What? could this be? Grimedogg’s got Rotten in the Reverse Figure Four Leg Lock, or basically as he likes to call it, the Twister! Oh my! Does he have Rotten locked in good! I do believe that it will only be a matter of moments before he taps….

Then just as Curry finishes his saying that the match will soon end, Grimedogg really pulls back, and as a truly intense face of pain never seen before on one’s face crosses that of Rotten’s, he is forced to do the unthinkable and begin to tap….

NTD: Look Curry! Johnny Rotten is tapping out from the pressure and the pain! This match looks like it could very well be over!

As Rotten taps, Grimedogg pulls back harder and harder, causing Rotten more pain…. He begins shouting out obscenities, while Grimedogg shouts out that he told Rotten he didn’t want to do this…. However, before anything else can happen, the referee finally notices the tap, and calls for the bell….

Ding, Ding, Ding….

Curry: That’s it? That’s the match? Grimedogg has won? Do you know what this means NTD? It means that the once crowned Prince of Hardcore now has his royal crown back! Meaning that once again….

Curry and *NTD: GRIMEDOGG IS HARDCORE! Whoo hoo!

Funyon: The winner of this Hardcore match, and the NEW hardcore gamers champion…. GGRRIIMMEEDOGG!

Et tunc curat…

Grunge gets up to a loud exultation from the crowd and the ref pointing out Thoth’s foot... on the rope. The crowd sees it, and starts booing. On the one hand, Grunge is upset that at that moment, he did not win the United States Title. On the other hand, Thoth is on the ropes, literally and figuratively. Thoth is pulled to his feet by Grunge, his eyes glazed over by the Tombstone Piledriver. Grunge calls for All Apologies one more time, and receives a cheer, a gesture he’s not too accustomed to. Grunge lifts...

...

In midair, Thoth twists the strap of fabric running between his knees around Grunge;s neck! Grunge loses his grip, and Thoth twists another revolution, choking Grunge. The ref comes over and tells Thoth to break up the hold, counting one, two, three, Thoth untwists himself at four, just barely risking a disqualification. Grunge is coughing, trying to expel some of that mucous-filled, useless air from his lungs. Thoth gets to his feet, in a prepared crouch, as Grunge coughs and wheezes his way up. Thoth scoops him up and cradles the leg.

“RIOT OF THE BLOOD!” shouts NTD. “There’s now way out!”

Thoth drops him down.

“Dome shot, ain’t comin’ back twice!”

Thoth crawls over, slowly, and hooks the far leg.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Ludo mentis aciem…

HVT pushes forward and down, sending Sarah careening some 11 or 12 feet down..................

{A hush throughout the arena}

......ONTO THE UNFOLDED STEEL CHAIR!!!!!!!!

<Curry> AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! NO!!!!!!! SARAH MAY BE DEAD!!!! THE HVILLE THUGG MAY HAVE JUST KILLED MISTRESS SARAH...HIS ONLY LOVE!!! This man is sick...he is a sick, sick, twisted human being!

<NTD> Oh I love it!!! What's wrong sweetie {to 'Ela}??

'Ela tells NTD to go to hell, and continues to revive the ref. It works! The referee is awakened and he starts to climb back into the ring as HVT gets rid of the steel chair that just met Mistress Sarah's face. Debris begins to fly from the crowd to the ring as fans are as pissed off as ever. Some blood begins to stain the mat underneath Sarah, and HVT rolls her over just as the ref gets in the ring.

<Curry> This isn't right. The HVille Thugg is a despicable human being!!! He's a goddamn monster, that's what he is. I don't think I've ever seen anything like this in all my days!!!

NTD begins to do a happy dance as HVT covers, and the ref exhaustingly counts.

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Egestatem…

While Wilson lays on the mat, still screaming and his hands still flowing with blood, Magnifico grabs Wilson by his legs and slowly pulls them out so that his arms and legs are extended. Magnifico, ignoring the screams and curses from Wilson, walks over to the nearest turnbuckle and begins to slowly climb it. The whole thing has begun to sink in for the crowd, and they unleash MASSIVE, angry heel heat on Magnifico as he reaches the top turnbuckle. Magnifico stands up and turns towards Wilson, still no expression on his face. Magnifico slowly raises his hand to his forehead, saluting his Mexican flags as a tear escapes his eye and runs down his cheek. Magnifico suddenly leaps off of the top turnbuckle, flipping backwards towards Wilson and falling towards him with a Mexican Pride Press! No flashbulb explosions are seen this time, as the crowd is either too busy booing or looking on in awe and disgust! Magnifico makes perfect contact with Wilson, falling right onto Wilson’s gut and missing the flags by a few inches!! Wilson’s lets out one more loud, long, scream…….then nothing. Wilson is silent, his eyes closed and his chest heaving.

Curry: Wilson-Wilson looks like he’s knocked out! The pain must have been too much for him!

NTD: The Mexican Pride Press must have been what did it!

Curry: And now, this sick human being, this sneaky bastard, is going to be our World Champion. I think I’m going to be sick.

Magnifico, who rolled a few feet away from Wilson after the impact, begins crawling back towards Wilson, one hand on his gut. When he finally reaches Wilson, he drags a limp arm over his chest, making the cover. The ref, who is still looking on in shock, suddenly snaps to attention as he slides into position. The crowd begins to scream “NO!’ in unison as the ref begins to count…..

1…….

2…….

3!! The ref’s hand slaps the mat a third time, giving the win to Magnifico! The ref slowly pushes himself to his feet, obviously still shocked as he signals for the bell. The crowd’s angry boos and yells can be heard, even over the loud dinging of the bell.

DING (You’re sick, Magnifico!) DING (Oh God, that’s disgusting!) DING (Someone help Wilson)

Funyon: Your winner, and the NEW IGNWF World Heavyweight Champion…….El Luchadooooooorre Magnificooooooo!!

Potestatem…

…legends were born…

Finally, just before five, Flesher releases the hold and slides down to the mat. Bo, sapped of his energy, stays tied to the tree of woe as Flesher stands up and nails him with a baseball slide to the face. Tom gets back to his feet and unties Bo, letting him fall callously to the mat. Flesher grabs Bo and lifts him to his feet, throwing on a half nelson. Quickly, he grapevines Bo's near leg, and with a swift sweep of the leg....

CRASH

"JOKER'S WILD!!!!! JOKER'S WILD!!!!!!!" Stevens damn near shits himself. "Flesher busts out the Suicide King's old-school finisher!!!!!"

"That's what Bo gets for calling him King Junior! Take THAT, Bo!"

Flesher gets up to his feet and grins out at the crowd, dusting his hands off, obviously proud of himself and WAY too amused at busting out the Joker's Wild. With Bo flat on his face, Flesher smirkingly drops down onto his back, locks on the dragon sleeper again and sits back, securing a double grapevine. He cranks the hold as Bobby Riley says...

"SUPERIOR STRETCH BETA! Flesher's busting out ALL his big moves against Bo!"

"And, unfortunately, I'm not sure if Bo can take this any longer."

"Unfortunately? What the hell, man, don't you want an ICTV Champion who can DRAW?!"

Flesher cranks the Superior Stretch Beta, but Bo refuses to tap. He tries desperately to pull himself to the ropes, but Flesher keeps him in the center of the ring with no possibility of a rope break. Bo tries to power out, but with his neck having been assaulted throughout the match, there's not much Bo can do.

He thinks about it.

Flesher torques his neck.

He thinks about it some more.

Flesher bends him in half until....

TAP

TAP!!!!!!!

"BO HAS SUBMITTED TO THE SUPERIOR STRETCH BETA!"

"NEW ICTV CHAMP! NEW CHAMP! NEW CHAMP! ALL IS RIGHT WITH THE WORLD!"

DING DING DING!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Flesher immediately releases the hold and raises his hands into the air. The intro to "I Am The Man" begins to blare over the loudspeaker as Mark Hebner raises Flesher's hand.

"The winner," says Funyon, "and NEW Intercontinental-Television Champion... 'The Superior One,' Tom Flesher!"

…friendships were destroyed…

Dissolvit ut glaciem…

“Oh my God…”

“Mark, no… no, tell me’s not-”

From here, Edwin braces himself…

THEN THROWS EVERYTHING HE’S GOT FORWARD AND SITS OUT, SLAMMING RAYNOR’S UNPROTECTED HEAD AND NECK INTO THE STEEL CHAIR!

A huge roar from the crowd-

-followed by… silence?

“THE DEMONSTAR DRIVER!” shouts Mark at the top of his lungs. “EDWIN JUST PLANTED RAYNOR WITH THE DEMONSTAR DRIVER ALPHA - ONTO A CHAIR!”

“But look!” Riley gasps, dripping with hope, “Edwin’s down too! He collapsed right after it!”

Raynor’s neck is bent in a sickeningly unnatural way as he lies folded over for a moment, then tips over onto his side and rolls onto his back - the crowd is stunned, sort of cheering but also somewhat confused, maybe concerned…

And in the center of the ring, Raynor lies perfectly still.

ONE!

“And the count is on!” Mark cries as the crowd gets renewed interest - Edwin has collapsed to the mat as well, having just exerted everything he had for the move!

“Fuck the count, Stevens, what the HELL is Edwin doing using the Demonstar Driver?!”

TWO!

THREE!

Edwin begins a desperate bid for the ropes now, rolling over onto his side and flailing carelessly out for the ropes!

And in the center of the ring, Raynor lies perfectly still.

FOUR!

“Damn it, Raynor, get up! He‘s not moving, Mark!”

“No shit, Sherlock!” shouts Mark, still a little stunned at what he’s just seen. “I don’t blame him for not moving, considering the move he just took - but can Edwin get back to his feet?!”

“What happens if they both can’t answer it?” Bobby asks, getting frantic. “Does it go on?”

“Chances are it’s a draw.”

…

Riley leaps up from his seat and screams “GET UP RAYNOR!”

FIVE!

Edwin gets a slow but steady roll going, and he reaches the ropes, garnering a light cheer from the fans, who are starting to get back into this. His hands rise up, feeling around…

…And in the center of the ring, Raynor lies perfectly still.

SIX!

SEVEN!

A halfhearted “ED-WIN! ED-WIN!” chant begins to slowly rise up from the back of the arena, as Edwin manages to grab ahold of the top rope from lying on his back, and he puuuuulls-

-and loses his grip, falling back to the canvas with an uncomfortable *THUD*!

And in the center of the ring, Raynor lies perfectly still.

EIGHT!

“Edwin’s got the ropes, but I don’t know if he can make it up in time, and Raynor’s… Raynor‘s just out of it! This match is Edwin‘s for the taking!”

Edwin swipes up and grabs the top rope again, this time pulling himself forward up onto one knee…

NINE!

…

As the referee’s hand falls for ten, Edwin lifts himself up to his feet, saving himself before collapsing right back down to the canvas.

And in the center of the ring…

… Raynor lies perfectly still.

Ten.

*DING DING DING*

“Edwin wins! Edwin wins!” shouts Mark. “And would you listen to the crowd!”

The crowd goes absolutely BALLISTIC! “Battleflag” funks its way on out, but it’s totally drowned out by the fans, not one of whom is sitting! Riley’s face turns absolutely beet red as the referee walks over to MacPhisto and tries to help him up… Funyon springs into the ring and up to his feet, not even trying to hide his enthusiasm!

“The winner of this bout… EDWIIIIIIIIN MAAACPHIIIIISTOOOOO!”

…and that’s just the first three years…

Sors immanis…

Riley’s shut off as all of the lights in the arena give out, the only illumination coming from the flashbulbs of cameras and the last flickerings of the flames still being put out. That light, however, pales in comparison when spotlights begin to flash wildly over the arena, Front Line Assembly’s “Retribution (Front 242 Remix)” beginning to play over the sound system as a white fog flows forth, hovering above the arena…

“What in the hell…”

“Mark, isn’t that…”

“I do believe it is…”

The crowd realizes it as well and reaches their feet in anticipation, another golden Kodak moment awaiting them, as the fifteen or so seconds of darkness is ending abruptly as all the lights kick back on, illuminating a ring with an extra special visitor…

“SILENT!” yells Stevens over the roar of the crowd as the former ML world champion stands in the center of a group of Wilson, Magnifico, Thoth and Edwin. “He belongs in the JL!”

“Well he’s here now!”

“Silent’s got that cane of his and he pulls back…CANE SHOT TO WILSON! The evil genius doesn’t know what hit him and he is down as Silent spins to the other side…CANE SHOT ON MAGNIFICO! He just dropped the near-dead Mexican one last time and he turns to face Thoth and Edwin, deciding which will be his next victim unless one of them can kick into gear and stop him…”

“He’s not hitting them, Mark! Look!”

Bobby Riley, for possibly the only time in his life, is right as Silent drops the cane to the mat and simply smiles at the other two men in the ring.

“This is crazy,” announces Stevens. “I can understand him not hitting his Clan brother, Thoth, but Edwin?”

…and so, it begins…

Et virtutis…

"I am announcing tonight, that staritng next week you will witness the first round of a federation wide tournament to decide who will face the SWF champion at Genesis! The last tournament leading to Genesis led to the rise of such luminaries as El Luchador Magnifico and myself. I have every confidence that the winner of this one will go on to such lofty heights as well!"

"24 participants, including 5 JLers who will have the chance of a lifetime, will compete against each other in a double elimination tournament. Sadly some of our standard mainstays such as TNT and Tom Flesher can't participate due to niggling injuries, and Wildchild and Va'aiga have other committments. But you will bear witness to a preponderance of pure wrestling talent, as everyone competes for a chance at the big prize! I had to fire the graphics guy earlier today, but if I hadn't a really cool bracket set up would appear on the Smarktron." King waves his hand dismissingly.

"Double elimination, to insure that the real talent rises and the flukes fall! Federation wide, to give fair chances to everyone on matter whom! Singles matches for the purists! Elimination triple threats for excitement!"

Michi nunc contraria…

…the future of the SWF will be determined…

Spike is up to the top rope, and steadying himself, when English Dragon starts to pull himself up! Dragon reaches first one knee, then stands, tottering, facing away from Spike’s corner. The crowd SCREAMS for Spike to finish him, and as Dragon turns, Spike obliges, jumping through the air, extending his legs out in front of him and SNAPPING them around the neck of Dragon!

Annie: Hurricanrana from the top!

But before Spike can pull his opponent over, Dragon grabs him by the waist, and Spike falls back, hanging down Dragon’s body!

Judge: Dragon blocked it!

The challenger almost falls as Spike starts to struggle in his grasp, waving his arms to try and prevent Dragon hooking them back. But Dragon keeps trying, and at the third attempt traps his right arm!

Ejiro: YES! And the other one! Come on!

Dragon suddenly stops moving his left leg, causing Spike to stop moving his left arm. EngDrag strikes like a snake, trapping it back!

Dragon jumps forward and down to the mat, CRUSHING Spike’s face and body on to the canvas! The Englishman is clearly exhausted, but slowly uses his legs to turn Spike over onto his back, pinning his shoulders to the mat.

ONE!

The crowd is begging for Spike to kick out!

TWO!

Dragon grabs a huge handful of tights and pushes Spike’s legs higher!

TWO AND A HALF!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E!!!

DING DING DING

Ejiro: YES!

Annie: NO!

“Land of Hope and Glory” rings out through the arena, as Dragon rolls away from Spike, lying flat on his back.

FUNYON: The winner of the match…and NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION….THE ENGLISH DRAAAAAAAAAAAAGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!

…English Dragon vs. John Duran…

Duran pauses for a moment, begins to raise his hand as if to signal to the bartender for another drink, but then decides against it and carries on.

"I helped you to the top, Dragon, you know I did. But the Urban Decay was there for one reason and one reason alone. To take down Charlie Matthews. When he was gone from the SJL, we might as well have just ended it right there." Duran seems bitter as he finishes the last sentence, looking as if he had taken another swig of booze.

"I don't need you to help me anymore, Dragon. I can do it on my own." Duran swallows, clearing his throat before moving on.

"And that's why in front of that sellout crowd in New York City, I'm going to kill Urban Decay. It’s unfinished business, and I’ll be finishing it. Whether or not you put up a fight is up to you. I'd prefer you not, Dragon."

John pauses.

"Dragon, it’s time for me to move on. I’m moving past Urban Decay, and I won’t be looking back. By September 29th, the Urban Decay will just be a distant memory."

The fan comes up next to Duran again, and "The Sinner" has had enough. John turns to the NYU fan and grabs him by the collar, lifting the now-scared fan off his feet and moving off-camera as the scene fades to black.

Est affectus…

…Japan's finest versus New Zealand's biggest, all for the U.S Title…

Stepping out of their hotel for the evening come the towering and powerful forms of Dace Night and Va’aiga fresh from kicking ass and taking names on an amateur basis. Staggering from their early morning revival, Night and Va’aiga hop into their towering hummer before heading to the airport for an early flight to Kentucky. Climbing behind the wheel, Va’aiga turns the key of the car in hopes of getting the long drive out of the way.

Vvvverrrrr verrrrr verrrrrrrrrrr verrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

“Oh bloody hell…” mumbles Dace just after he guzzles his breakfast of nails and orange juice.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” calls out Va’aiga as he continues to try the starter. “Get out and take a look will you Dace?”

“Aye,” replies the High Priest of Horrorcore hops out of his passenger seat as Va’aiga pops the hood so Dace can look right at the engine.

“How does it look, Dace?”

“It doesn’t look like anything.”

“Nothing’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s here! No BLOODY ENGINE!”

“WHAT!” roars Va’aiga as he hops out of the truck and stamps over to where Dace is standing with his hands on his hips. “Where the hell did the engine go?”

“Well I’ll be bollixed, someone fucking stole the whole damn thing,” crackles Dace in frustration as he slams down the hood of the huge truck.

THUNK!

…

“What the hell is that painted on the car?”

“… It can’t be.”

“… I think it is.”

“… That’s impossible.”

“… This is not happening.”

“Sponge Bob… Bleeding… Squarepants.”

…Va’aiga vs. Eljiro Fasaki…

Va'aiga stands ready, beckoning Duran up to his feet as the crowd chants for him grow stronger. Duran gets first to one knee, then up to his feet facing away from Va'aiga. Duran turns slowly and as he finally turns to see the Maori Badass, it's a Maori Badass at full charge speed as Va'aiga extends an arm and sends John Duran flying with the YOU THINK YOU'RE BIG, YOU'RE NOT BIG ENOUGH FOR THIS, YOU WILL NEVER BE BIG ENOUGH FOR THIS, NO-ONE WILL EVER BE BIG ENOUGH FOR THIS LAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!!

Comet: Oh my God! I've seen him smash that massive Lariat and near wipe out Quiz. I've seen him destroy Ejiro with it. I've even seen him fire one off at CIA, but the way that sent John Duran flying, that is truly impressive power.

Et defectus…

…former champions will fight, and one will fall…

TNT opens the package, revealing a set of half-filled syringes. Chris Wilson practically leaps out of his seat and bolts over to TNT. He stares down, looking at the 8 syringes, filled with a clear liquid. Wilson looks over to Strangler, a glimpse of disbelief and rage in his eyes. “Strangler, what the FUCK is this?”

A dumbstruck Strangler fumbles for words, trying to explain himself. “Wha…I…dude, that’s not mine…”

“STRANGLER! You have THREE seconds to explain yourself!”

“Well….I….” Strangler sighs, then starts, as Wilson taps his foot impatiently. “Well, I started in August. I was losing a lot. Erek Taylor was messing with me. I needed an edge. He kept talking about how his edge was the fans….what did I have? I needed to do something…so I started with the steroids. I figured that I was already the biggest, strongest guy in the league, now that Thugg’s gone and all. This would make me massive. I’d be stronger than anyone in this league.”

Wilson’s face is completely shocked. “But Strangler…you…you…”

Strangler’s face, filled with the look of defeat, looks up at Wilson. Strangler, with a tear forming in the corner of his eye, continues on: “Well, I got to the point where I told Taylor I was willing to do whatever it took to win. And then, I started to believe it. I got him arrested. But that wasn’t enough…because I needed to fight him. I needed to break his body and spirit…so I turned to the steroids. And it worked! I got rid of Taylor! I saved us, Wilson! Taylor can’t touch us from Anaheim!”

Wilson looks at Strangler, a look of confusion on his face. “Strangler, what are you talking about?”

Strangler’s desperation increases as he raises his voice: “Chris, you brought me back to the SWF! When the Clan cast me off, you believed in me! YOU BELIEVED IN ME! And I wanted to be your friend! But Erek Taylor…he wanted me to look bad! He didn’t want us to be friends! So the only way to stay friends was to get rid of Erek Taylor! And now he is, and we’re happy! Don’t turn me in…we’re friends! Right, Chris?”

…but the blood will remain forever…

“Goddamn tape…” murmurs Strangler as he momentarily struggles with the packaging before he rips it open. Strangler pulls out the contents of the package, which turns out to be……something, wrapped in a hell of a lot of taped-together bubble wrap. “Fuck it all…” grumbles Strangler as he starts pulling away at the tape, which is much less forgiving than the first round. Strangler struggles with it for a good 10 seconds, and only manages to twist the tape and bubble wrap into a huge mess. Strangler smashes his fist into the package, triggering a couple of loud popping noises, then reaches into his locker and quickly emerges with a pair of scissors from his medical kit. “Tape’s gonna die now!” exclaims Strangler in a somewhat muted tone before he quickly clips the tape, and slides the bubble wrap off.

Strangler finally finishes pulling the bubble wrap off the tape, and reveals a shiny black videocassette, with no labels whatsoever on it. Strangler looks around the room and spies a television with a VCR attached. He reaches down to pick up the tape, only to find that the tape is still wrapped in a tight plastic package. “Goddamn son of a bitch!” cries Strangler before ripping the plastic off the tape in one fell swoop. Strangler tosses the plastic to the ground, then walks across the room and pops the tape into the VCR. The VCR whirs into motion, and a dark image pops onto the screen.

The tape displays a room, with very little light. The only person visible in the room is a dark, shadowy figure sitting in the middle in a barely-visible chair. No noise comes from the television, and Strangler quickly checks to make sure the TV isn’t on mute. As he looks down, a voice eminates from the TV, which quickly gets Strangler’s attention.

“Well, well, well. The Boston Strangler.” The voice is obviously masked, with the dull robotic tone giving no indication who the speaker is. “It’s been a long time since I saw you, Strangler. I guess the last time we were together was back when you were in the Magnificent Seven…those were the good ol’ days, huh? Although I suppose you didn’t leave on the best of circumstances…” Strangler breathes sharply, tensing up slightly at the mention of his less-than-glorious departure one year earlier. “But regardless, Strangler, you annoyed me back then. And when I took my leave of the SWF, I still had some unfinished business with you…too bad you had to go and get yourself hauled off to rehab before I could put you in a hospital bed. But guess what, Strangler? I’m on my way back. And this time, I won’t leave anything unfinished.”

The shadowy figure goes silent, and suddenly the picture disappears from the television screen. Strangler remains sitting on the bench, staring at the screen as the last bits of light slowly fade from the dark black template. A solid ten or fifteen seconds pass in total silence, with Strangler’s eyes registering the only movement in the room as they look from side to side, thinking madly. Strangler finally reaches up and withdraws the video tape, and remains sitting in front of the television. Finally, he starts to stand up, but not before he’s mouthed one word, silent to the world around him, but ringing loudly in his mind:

“Wilson”.

...The Boston Strangler vs. Jay Dawg…

JD hops to his feet, ignoring the huge boos from the crowd, and looks down at Strangler. Strangler is flat-out on his back with his eyes closed. JD looks at him and prepares to drop into position for the pin, but pauses halfway down. Hebner looks at him, and JD stands back up and heads for the turnbuckle. The boos intensify as Jay Dawg exits the ring and walks along the ring apron before scaling the turnbuckle. He gets to the top rope, and readies himself. Suddenly, Strangler hops straight to his feet and charges forward. He smashes his fist into JD’s head, which knocks JD into a sitting position on top of the turnbuckle.

Stevens: Strangler was just playing possum! He had JD fooled the entire time! Hey Riley, not bad for someone who has “tumbleweeds between his ears”, huh?

Riley: Everyone gets lucky once in a while. Tom Flesher wouldn’t have been fooled, that’s for sure!

Strangler smashes JD in the face with another right hand to the face, which sends JD leaning backwards. He reels, almost falling off the turnbuckle, but manages to keep his balance. Strangler turns around, placing his back to JD, and reaches upwards with both his arms. Strangler grabs ahold of JD’s arms and sets himself before pulling JD over his head and slamming him into the mat with a massive CRASH! Strangler falls to the mat in a sitting position as the fans explode. JD lies totally motionless in the middle of the ring, totally drained from the blow.

Stevens: Southie Slam! Southie Slam! This one is over, folks!

Strangler crawls over to the downed Hardcore Maniac, who is still totally motionless. He grabs JD’s right leg and hooks it with his right arm and covers Jay Dawg. Mark Hebner drops into position for the count as the fans chant along.

ONE!!!!!!!!!

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

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

DING DING DING!!!!!

Funyon: “Your winner, by pinfall, and the NEW #1 Contender for the SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP….THE BOSTON…STRRRRRRRRRANGLER!”

Semper in angaria…

…innocence, patriotism, and friendship are cast into the flames…

The Hardcore Gamers Title awaits the victor…

“Calm down, Agent Dangerous!” A voice crackled over Johnny’s laptop computer.

“CALM DOWN?!” shouts Johnny, grabbing onto the sides of his hair as he nervously paced back and forth in the room. Just mere moments ago, the SWF Commissioner, the Suicide King, had given everyone the inside scoop on Johnny and his operation. Spinning back towards his computer, Johnny answers the call to his Boss in the Secret Service, Sydney Kassle.

“Yeah, you tell me how I can calm down! You heard him, Sydney! He told everyone in the freaking world that I am an active Secret Agent! They never thought I was for real, in fact they probably thought I was just as delusional as CIA! God DAMN!”

Johnny grabbed his pack of cigarettes, took out a cigarette, and nervously fidgeted with his lighter, trying to get it to strike.

Click!Click!

He lit the cigarette, and deeply inhaled as he leaned back into the cushion on the couch, trying his hardest to gain control over his emotions.

“Don’t panic Barracuda,” says Sydney. “we are searching for a solution to this issue immediately! We have our finest agents working on this.”

“That’s nice to know.” replied Johnny, smoke funneling from his mouth. “What I really want to know is how he got this information. I’m ruined now Sydney! How am I ever suppose to take on any more missions now that everyone knows what i really am?”

“I don’t know how he got a hold of that information, it just proves there is a mole in our network. Do you have any idea who would possibly want to destroy you, Johnny?”

“I haven’t the... ” Johnny stopped in mid sentence, bolting upright in his seat. Suddenly an answer had come to him. It was so obvious! How could he not have seen it before. “It’s him, Sydney. He’s figured out I’m on to him, somehow HE figured me out, and gave the information to King!”

“Of course.” She replied. “Well, since he tried to destroy you, maybe it’s time to finally take him down. Yes, actually it is time. I don’t care if you have any solid proof on him, bring him down, Johnny.”

“Understood.” said Johnny as he clicked a button on his laptop, and the screen instantly went blank. He rose from his seat, and cracked his knuckles. “You think your so damn smart, don’t you Dominic. We shall see who has the final word on this!”

As we: fade to darkness....

…Wildchild vs. Johnny Dangerous…

“Hold on a second!” shouts Bobby. Lockdown was about to cut to commercials, until--

“I’M TOO SEXY FOR MY SHIRT!”

“TOO SEXY FOR MY LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, LOVE’S GONE AWAY!”

“What’s he doing coming out here now?” asked Comet as Johnny Dangerous strolled out onto the stage - his music blaring. With his eyes locked dead on with the Wildchild, Johnny walked briskly towards the ring where his former partner was.

“It‘s Mr. Undercover!” says Bobby. “Ejiro Fasaki probably paid Johnny to come interrupt this match!”

“Citizen Robert, the match just ended about a minute before Johnny even came out here. So if that were the case, I‘d say Johnny is just a little late. Which It wasn‘t. Even I know Ejiro Fasaki and Johnny Dangerous despise each other with a passion!”

“Oh great, now what?” muttered Ejiro. He had come to collect his servant, and wasn’t expecting this clown to come out! Fasaki darted up the ramp, drawing his arm back and ready to swing!

WHOOSH!

Johnny ducked the intended blow, letting Fasaki’s arm sail high (about an inch actually, we all know he isn’t very tall.) over his head before popping back up...

CRACK!!

“OH MAH GAWD!” shouts Bobby, as Johnny plants a roundhouse kick to the side of Ejiro’s head, knocking him off the side of the ramp! “Johnny’s trying to kill some folks out here tonight!”

Johnny rushes to the ring, and Wildchild stands back, ready for anything... as much as he can be. After all he just finished wrestling his heart out in a hardcore match, he wasn’t exactly running on a full tank.

“This could be the moment we have all been waiting to see! Johnny Dangerous and the Wildchild!”

Johnny slides into the ring, pops back up to his feet - Wildchild lunges for Johnny with a vicious growl, but Johnny quickly spins on his heel and slices his foot into Wildchild’s skull!

WHACK!!

Wildchild is floored instantly. Satisfied for the moment, Johnny heads towards the side of the ring and reaches for a microphone.

“You want to play stupid with me, Dominic?!” Johnny shouts with the fans booing intensely. “Shut the hell up, all of you! Just shut up! It’s time you learned the whole truth!”

Wildchild reaches for the ropes to help pull himself back to his feet as Johnny continues to rant. “Maybe I have been fooling all of you with me being an active Secret Agent on a mission here in the SWF, but I’m not the only one!”

“What’s he talking about?”

“Shh, Comet, let the man talk!”

“You see, I am here to stop him!” Johnny points directly towards Wildchild. “He’s the entire reason that I’m here! I bet you all didn’t know that because of the Wildchild, the United States has been introduced to a new lethal substance! A drug called Zimera HVT!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” says Comet. “Wildchild’s no drug dealer! Johnny’s insane!”

“That’s right. Wildchild is the most wanted man in America right now, imagine that. So if you think I fooled you, then I guess you were really duped by HIM! Boo me all you want, because like it or not... I am here to save each and every one of you!”

Wildchild can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Just because da’ skeletons in your closet are out, you want to make someting about me?” he muttered. Wildchild could feel his rage beginning to boil as he began to stalk towards Johnny.

“And that, Dominic!” says Johnny spinning around towards Wildchild as he reaches inside his shirt, and pulls out a silver 9 millimeter semi-automatic pistol, pointing it directly into Wildchild’s face. “Is about close enough. Your going down, and your going down tonight. The party’s over Wildchild.”

“The party... is over.”

Hac in hora…

…the mind games have begun. The man who submits may be giving in to more than he realizes... the ICTV Title is on the line…

The Franchise continues to lie on the mat, as John Duran finishes soaking up the capacity crowds jeers. Andrew Blackwell slowly makes his way down to the ring, walking up the steel steps to the ring apron… and that gives John his cue to leave. He rolls out of the ring, both hands raised in the air, in triumph, as he goes up the ramp, happy with the fact that he proved himself a winner against the current ICTV champion. Meanwhile, Blackwell has made his way through the ropes and brings the microphone from behind his back, standing with a regal posture as always. “I wonder wants going to happen here?” questions Comet, as Sacred speaks.

“Stand up Mr. Francis. Explain yourself.”

“What?” says Mak still trying to recover from Duran’s attack.

“Explain yourself. Why would you dare to steal my spotlight? I knew that people were trying to suppress my message.”

“I’m not trying to steal your damn spotlight.”

“Then will you join the experiment?” asks Sacred placing the microphone in Francis’ face.

“What does that mean?”

“That is a question for a different time. Just know that it continues as I planned. I believe Brian was right in saying that you wanted to steal my spotlight… even while you deny, you attempt to do it.”

Finally Mak explodes…

“It’s not about me and it’s definitely not about stopping your message—whatever the hell it may be! I just want to live up to my older brother, damnit! I just want to be—I want to be what he didn’t get the chance to be!

Part of the crowd gasp, as some make the connection between, this and his earlier promo. “Bobby, do you know what happened to Francis’ brother?”

“I… I honestly have no idea, Comet. I never even knew he had one…”

Sacred pauses for a second, but responds quickly. “I understand this… sentiment, as I have an older brother of my own. But that does not excuse you—I know that you have some emotional trauma, and I will solve that at Genesis, through your pain. But know this—your so called fate, that you spoke of today, is nothing but lies! Now, will you accept this as a truth? Will you denounce this preposterous ‘fate’, of yours?”

“I can’t… I won’t…” mutters Mak, still on the ground, as Sacred shoves the mic in his face.

Blackwell takes a deep calming breath, after nearly exploding. “At Genesis 4, we will have a two out of three falls submission match. For the unforgivable act of suppressing my message, because of this supposed ‘fate’ I will take your last shred of foolish pride and crush it… I will prove this fate wrong by forcing you to submit to my will, not once, but twice in the same match… know your fate is false, and that nobody expects Sacred’s inquisition!”

Sacred drops the mic with a look of contempt on his face, leaving Francis in the center of the ring.

“At Genesis 4, The Franchise vs The Sacred One in a 2/3 falls submission match… unbelievable.”

…Andrew Blackwell vs. Mak Francis…

Mak stands by the door, with a blank look, apparently forgetting how to knock. Marie Rodriguez’s face snaps him out of his stupor, as she leans forward looking at the small gift in his hand. She tilts her head somewhat and puts her index finger on the corner of her mouth.

“A yellow rose, that’s different.” says Marie, looking at the flower in his hand quizzically. She smiles, and brings the rose to her nose, lightly sniffing, inhaling its fragrance.

“Red roses are a dime a dozen, but yellow… they’re special. You don’t just give a girl a yellow rose to impress them.”

“Really, what do they mean?”

“Now that’s a secret.”

***

The car continues towards it's destination. A brief pause at a stop sign, allows him to ask a question.

“So are you going to try out? For Varsity."

“Yeah, I’m getting ready for that match against you. I'll prove that I got what it takes."

“Then we’ll do it, for the highest ideal.”

“Sure, whatever.” He responds. “The highest ideal. Whatever that means…”

“Good…

…that’s good.”

***

“You were spacing out there for a second.”

“Huh?” he says, as they walk down the street. “I’m just… taking my time. You gotta’ stop and smell the roses.”

“Yeah…” Marie questions quietly. “Do you… want to talk about it? The match…”

“Not much to say. When I go out there, I can’t hold anything back. Sacred thinks he already has me beat, but I'll make it a show for the ages…” She looks at him funny as he smiles. “It’s the biggest match of my life and I want you to come…” Mak pauses for a second. “Will you be there?”

“I’ll be there, cheering you on."

“Good…

…That’s good.”

Sine mora…

…In the end, pride is all a man has. Two men seek to take that sole possession from the other…

“And your winner via PINFALLLLLL, TAAAAYLOR NICHOLASSSSS THOMPSOOOOOOONNNNN!” Funyon bellows, cuing an even bigger ovation from the crowd.

“What did I tell you!?” Cyclone asks a very enraged Bobby Riley. “Good ALWAYS triumphs over evil!”

“…Shut UP,” is all a proven-wrong Riley can get out.

The referee holds a very fatigued Thompson’s arm up in the air, and slowly… very slowly… a distinct chant can be heard forming.

“T-N-T!!”

To the still only half-conscious Xcalibur, this is a sign of crushing defeat, but to Taylor Nicholas Thompson, it’s the sweetest sound in the World, as his eyes light up and he trudges right over to the same turnbuckle that he just lept off of a moment ago, climbing up to the second rope and letting out a victory “KABOOM!!”

…but then his face goes dead serious.

“…Who the hell is that??” Bobby asks, pointing up at now-parted backstage curtains, where a dark figure has just emerged and stalked out onto the pinnacle of the entrance ramp.

At the exact same time, an entirely new outburst of cheers as happened, as the crowd takes notice of the man as well.

“Why, it’s Citizen Williams!”

“…Really? Hoo-hah, maybe the lighting rig plan will work out after all!”

“Not so fast Bobby. It doesn’t look like Deathwish is down here to fight. In fact… it looks like he’s… he’s…”

Danny Williams, standing atop the entrance ramp maybe a hundred or two-hundred yards away from his arch nemesis with a broad smile on his face, is… clapping. His eyes are filled with the excitement of knowing that his challenger at SWF Genesis appears to be in top form, and that he’s got quite a challenge ahead of him. Danny Williams loves challenges.

Meanwhile, Taylor Thompson looks down at his opponent from his perch on the second rope of the ring post with a grim look on his face, his eyes piercing a hole right through his adversary.

The two look at eachother, eye-to-eye; not as student and mentor; not as stablemates; not as friends… but as enemies. And they’re fighting for the biggest prize of them all.

Pride.

Through all of the cheering and chanting, a new chant forms… and the audience seems to be split in half… exactly fifty-fifty. Soon enough, there’s not even more random hollering or whistling – the entire arena has organized itself into two thunderous chants.

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!!”

…Taylor Nicholas Thompson vs. Danny Williams…

A Burning Lariat connects, but a Running Elbow also finds it’s mark! Both men go limp and drop back in the direction they came from, while the crowd erupts with a deafening pop!

Stevens: BURNING LARIAT, RUNNING ELBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!

Riley: OBVIOUSLY, WHOEVER GET’S UP FIRST WILL NO DOUBT GO ON TO WIN THIS THING!

Stevens: WHO HAS MORE LEFT IN THE TANK, IS IT WILLIAMS OR IS TNT?

Soapdish once again finds himself mumbling non sensible ten count, hoping that some one can get up some time soon. Split right down the middle, one half of the crowd chants for Williams, while the other side chants for TNT. Moving at a slugs pace, TNT slithers his way over to Williams, draping an arm over his chest for the pin!

Stevens: AND TNT IS THE FIRST STIR, MAKING THE COVER, BUT DOES DANNY ALSO HAVE SOME RESERVE ENERGY OF HIS OWN?!

Soapdish starts the count!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

..............

“THREE!”

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

DING! DING! DING!

Stevens: TNT HAS DONE IT! HE HAS DEFEATED DANNY WILLIAMS, AND WILL GO ON TO FACE THE WINNER OF....

Riley: Tom Flesher!

TNT rolls of Williams’ dead body, but remains on his back, unable to stand even as Soapdish raises his head to make the win official.

Funyon: The winner of the match by pinfall, at 33 minutes and 58 seconds............TNT!

Corde pulsum tangite…

…the Tag Team Titles have taken on a life of their own, and command these teams to play a deadly game…

"There is one G in the puzzel!" (It now looks like: AM_RICA_ GLA_IA__R_")

Crow gets a listless clap from the bored and deflated looking Dante, as he leans over to spin again... but he looks at the board, and then at Quiz. And then back at the board... and grins. "Y'know, Quiz, mate... I think I'm just going to try and solve the puzzel."

"Give it a go."

"Okay, okay, is it..." Crow pauses. "A Skin to Win match?"

Quiz looks baffeled, "No, Crow, it is OBVIOUSLY not a Skin to Win mat--"

"Okay, okay, that didn't count," yells the Bird! "Let me try again! Is it a... blindfold match?"

"...it's not a goddamn blindfold match."

"Wait, wait, let me try," Dante interrupts.

"Hey, that's against the rule--"

"It's a Coal Miner's Glove match, right?"

Quiz, "What!? No, it's not--"

Crow, "No? How about a best of three falls mud wrestling match?"

Dante, "Ooh, tag-team Thundercage match."

Quiz, "Stop it! You're ruining the--"

Crow, "Brothel Brawl match!"

Dante, "King of the Road match!"

Quiz, "Shut up! SHUT UP! It's not any of these STUPID GIMMIC--"

"Wait," Crow interrupts. "Wait, wait, wait, WAIT! Okay, Quiz, I'm real sorry. I know exactly what match this is..."

Quiz snorts, and sighs... "Fine, Crow. Solve the puzzel."

Cirillo grins, "Double Jeopardy eat shit match."

...Quiz seethes, running a hand through his now un-gelling hair. With an absolutely furious look on his face, he screams, "GODDAMN IT! CAN'T EITHER OF YOU TWO READ!? IT'S NOT ANY OF THOSE ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS MATCHES! AMERICAN GLADIATORS! ELIMINATOR! THE GENESIS MATCH IS GOING TO BE ON THE SET OF THE ELIMINATOR! OUR BELTS, OUR RULES, OUR FRIKKIN' CLASSROOM!" Quiz breathes heavily for a few moments, before looking Crow dead in the eyes, "And YOU two bitches are going to school!"

…Dante Crane and Crowe vs. Double Jeopardy…

"Arrrrrrrgh," yells Quiz! "Forget this!" The tag champ tosses down his cue cards, and discards his sequined jacket. "I think it's time we showed both of you what you've really won... SHOW!"

At his partner's beck and call, the monsterous Show charges in at the uprepared Dante and Crow, knocking over teh contestant stands and commencing a wild brawl between the four! After bowling over Dante, Show quickly locks his sights on Crow, as the Antichrist Superstar tries to defend himself with a series of roundhouse rights! Just behind him, Quiz scoops up the fallen Dante, tossing him onto the wheel--and being completely unprepared as he rolls to his feet, pivots, and dizzys Quiz with a sharp superkick! Quiz can't get any retaliation in edgewise as Dante unleashes a flury of kicks into Quiz's back and spine!

Unfortunately, Dante's partner is faring far worse than he is. A continual rush of right-hands fails to faze Show... who is able to knock Crow for a loop with one massive elwbow smash to the temple! In a haze, Crow attempts to counter with one last, weak punch, which Show easily pushes away! With a stiff thigh rush to the stomach, Show doubles Crow over, and grips him by the legs and arm, hauling him onto his shoulders...

...just as Dante Crane knocks Quiz flat with a SICK Roundhouse Kick! He turns his attention to show, but can only manage a wide-mouthed gape at Crow, settled on Show's shoulders, as the tag team champ takes a run at the puzzle board, grips Crow's neck... and DRILLS HIM STRAIGHT THROUGH IT WITH THE $64,000 QUESTION!!! There's a tremendous **CRASH** as both men topple through the broken board!!!

Dante attempts to rush in, trying to check on Crow--or at least get show away from him--but at that moment, a slew of road agents and officials pour into the room, grabbing Quiz, Show and Dante and keeping them as far away from each other as possible! Being held back by Billy Chioda, Dante grumbles something inaudible about 'these guys always being late' and tries to get a bead on Crow... which he finally does, catching the disturbing site of the disorientated Bird behind helped to his feet by two road agents, blood streaming from a sick gash in his forehead! Dante looks about the chaos in the locker room, the broke board, the bleeding Crow, the officials keeping everyone away from each other...

September 29, 2003

Quod per sortem…

…a past long thought buried returns…

…neither man can run any longer...

...only one will be left standing to understand the ramifications…

The sound breaks. Hovers. Crashes. The crowd is lost.

“Folks, I have NO idea what is going on…”

From the ring, a bellow: “GODDAMMIT, SHOW YOURSELF!”

And then…it happens fast. Unbelievably fast. Two spotlights flare out of the darkness.

Blue. Bright blue. Spinning, out across the crowd. Across Mark and Thugg. Back towards the entrance as a stuttering drumbeat echoes out…

Backstage, CIA and Mak Francis look up at the monitor.

You don’t believe it.

Dante Crane noodles another cigarette and cocks his head.

You don’t think it’s possible.

Tom Flesher files a nail and raises an eyebrow.

I have one thing to say to you:

Believe.

“Bobby…oh my god…”

…

“I SAID HALLELUJAH!”

“HOLY SHIT!”

“TO THE SIXTEEN LOYAL FANS!”

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

“NOW GET DOWN ON YOUR MOTHERFUCKIN KNEES…”

“HE’S HERE, HE’S HERE!”

“CAUSE IT’S TIME FOR YOUR SICKNESS AGAIN!”

The Savvis Center flares into immense brights, red, golds, purples, spinning, not a person in their seat, not a seat weighed down, gaping maws in the ring…and a MASSIVE wall of pyrotechnics reveals the one, the only…

“IT’S EDWIN MAC-FUCKIN-PHISTO!”

Standing beneath the lights of the Savvis Center, clad in acid-wash white jeans, a short-cut leather jacket, and hair—black hair, plain hair, not glamorous glossy hair, is the sharp chin, the wild eyes, and the lanky gait so familiar, so recent, so 12 months off from the line. In the ring, Mark and Thugg are just staring, jaws dropped, eyes occasionally meeting. Another eruption of pyro blasts outward as the Crown Prince stands with his arms raised, absorbing his first SWF crowd in nearly a year!

“I don’t believe what I’m seeing!” screams Cyclone Comet. “The man who abandoned the fed…disappeared after Genesis 3, disappeared after the crippling of his friend Chris Raynor…he’s back! Edwin MacPhisto is back!”

“I was his first tag partner!”

“I was his first commentator!”

The adulation is something else—it takes Edwin a good minute to start the walk down the ramp. He slaps hands, he smiles—he doesn’t look the same, but he’s revitalized, stronger…a man on a mission.

“Battleflag” blares on as Edwin makes his way to the ring, and Mark steps to the ropes, throwing his hands over the side to help Edwin up. The two friends look at each other as the crowd roars…and take each other into a manly hug of disbelief and joyous shock! “Look at Mark,” says Comet, “totally taken aback! Now we know who’s been calling him the last week—now we know who’s been trying so desperately to get in touch!” Edwin breaks away from Mark’s astonished embrace and turns to face Thugg…who greets him with a mammoth handshake and a huge bellowing laugh!

…Edwin MacPhisto vs. Nathanial Kibigami…

“You’re a coward, Edwin. Venom’s dripping out my mouth and I hope it’s getting into that thick self-absorbed skull of yours. You left here a coward—a career-ender, the person responsible for the ultimate retirement of two of his best friends—admit it, Edwin.”

Sixteen.

“You left here Jimmy Britain.”

“Nathan, this is over, and you know it. Good luck fighting for the US title contendership at Genesis; hope it turns out nicely for you this time.” Edwin turns away but Kibagami calls him back.

“You left here Jimmy Britain from APW, Phoenix, 1996! You didn’t even leave here James—didn’t even leave with your real name! You left here with Jimmy. An abbreviation. A bastardization.” Seventeen. 10 feet away. “An asshole kid!” Eighteen. 5 feet away. “No champion! Edwin MacPhisto’s left the building!”

“Shut your mouth, Nathan--”

“James Canterbury’s left the building! Run away, run away—the little boy is out of time. All that’s left is Jimmy, ‘Edwin,’ and the payment in his veins: the currency of--”

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

“AND THERE THEY GO!”

In a flash, Edwin MacPhisto leaps from the ring and BLASTS Nathaniel Kibagami across the jaw with the microphone! The crowd EXPLODES and the guardrails are swamped with fans looking to get a glimpse, up close and personal as Edwin whirls, his trenchcoat gliding behind him in a sparkling red wingspan, one fist into Silent’s face, another into Silent’s face, a third deep into a Silent’s face, a fourth that’s caught and sent right back! Back! Back!

“Edwin MacPhisto and Nathaniel Kibagami are tearing into other like wolverines!” shouts Cyclone Comet! “I can’t keep track of the fists—I can’t keep track of who’s who!” A bare arm one away, another the other—crack, fist on jaw, bone on bone, someone throws a headbutt and there’s the sound of flesh sinking under the cries of the crowd, chants merged into an indiscernible blur as they go back, retrace the path of hate, 16 steps, 13 steps, 10, 9, 8, up the ramp, 5 steps, 4 steps, out of sight as security floods the stage, limbs askew, referees dropping…

“We’ve got to get to commercial, folks! This is chaos!”

…and above it all, two heads, standing eye to eye. Who looked first—who started it—is irrelevant now. When you stare into the void, it stares back into you.

Nietzsche was a prick, but I’ll tell you what: he got a few things right.

Sternit fortem…

…things may never be the same… the battle for control rages on, and the stakes have never been higher…

The image fades in to the interior of King's office. He sits back in his plush leather chair, his feet propped on his desk. That's where the illusion of comforts ends however, as his face has a very real expression of concern on it. This may be due to the large manila fodler he holds in his hands with the words DACE NIGHT written on the front in bold, angry letters...

"Christ." King whispers hoarsely. "This Dace guy is a nutjob! I mean, you read these things when you bump a guy, but who expects you to remember every detail? I never thought I was going to be in the RING with him!"

King clears his bleary eyes before going back to examining the file. "I mean, a weedwhacker? No way in HELL I am letting my face get anywhere near a guy who has a lawn appliance fetish! Look at this trail of injuries he's left behind him! I'm surprised they didn't run him out of KSW and CZW! He's a lunatic. A menace."

"Between him and Bastion, I don't have to lose the match! They'd just beat me until my face fell off, and I'd get to be the Commish in the Iron Mask!"

King swallows nervously. "Unh unh. No way. No FREAKING way. I am NOT wrestling those two. Bastion is a dumb animal, and Dace is a savage!" His eyes dart around desperately as he searches his mind for an answer.

"I've got to find a proxy. Mark and Thugg did it. I can do it too! But who can I use? Who can I trust to get the job done? Flesher and Judge are in the main event! Ejiro has a title defense. Silent is too unpredicatable until he gets Edwin..." King's head falls foward into his hands, as he for a moment seems very near tears... before he lifts his head once more with a light of sudden diabolical genius in his eyes.

"He'll do it." King's serious features begin to dissolve into their more accustomed settings, namely a manic grin. "Yes.. he'll do it."

"He's dealt with people like this before. Hell, he IS a person like this." King's demeanor finishes its hard reboot, as he thumbs through the stack of files on his desk. Licking his fingers, he pulls on out before regarding it with his ever-scheming eyes...

"Ha. Think you've raised the stakes, Mark? Well, I'm calling your bluff. I'll see your High Priest of Horrorcore and raise you one better."

And fade out, as King presses the intercom button on his desk and prepares to make some... calls.

…the battle for the commissionership…

"They all laugh at you, you know."

The camera fades in on King's office. King himself we see sitting at his desk, his hands steepled in front of him as he regards someone just out of frame.

"Yep. Even now, after everything you've done, they all laugh at you. All the guys in the back. All the boys in the lockerroom, all the produciton guys. All of them. They think you're a joke."

A low growl emanates form off-screen, which King seems to regard with some humor.

"I know. No matter what you do, you can't seem to escape it. 91 days as U.S Champ, and they think you're a fluke. 57 days as Hardcore Gamers Champion, and they think you're a joke! They look past you. They walk over you. Men you have beaten have walked on a red carpet all the way to the top, and you have had to claw, scrabble, and maim for the few accolades you've been given."

"I mean, look at the list of people you've beaten. Flesher. Frost. Francis. Show. Annie. Stryke. Raynor. You've beaten the best and brightest this fed has had to offer you, and your reward? Disdain. Well, THAT is about to change."

King stands up, walking around his desk and sitting on it as he continues to regard the mystery man.

"Why? I could feed you some line about recognizing your talent, but we both know better than that. I could say that I admire your ethic. But since we are dealing with high stakes here, I find that honesty is the best policy. Your situation is about to change because I need you. And as Flesher, Judge, and Ejiro can tell you, I am a very good person to do favors for. Work for me, and you will get what you deserve. Every time. Title shots. Cars. Money. Cigar?"

King gestures towards a humidor, but judging from his face the mystery man shook his head.

"I know, horrible habit. But I see that while those things interest you, they don't tempt you. No. You know those things are the currency of fools. They are good to have, but to need them? Weakness." King seems to contemplate something for a moment. "No, you are going to do this for me because you know you want to. You NEED to. You want to face Dace and Bastion. You want to show them what pain is. What true determination is. They want to inflict pain on the body. You want to infect their souls. You will do this because you can. You will do this because you are better than they are, and you would like to enlighten them regarding that fact. "

"You will do it because your time has come. Hasn't it... Michael?"

The camera turns to regard a somber faced Michael Craven. His right hand clutches a glass mug tightly, seemingly shaking from the exertion before shattering it into a thousand pieces! As his hand bleeds Craven dispassionately eyes it, before meeting the Suicide King's gaze again with an icy cold stare.

"Yes. Yes it has."

Cravens stands as King reaches his hand out. The two men shake, sealing this unholy bond with Craven's blood.

"Time to silence the laughter forever, Craven. And with me in your corner, rest assured that you will not lose."

…Dace Night vs. Michael Craven vs. Bastion…

“Mark, you can’t just split off like this! If we’re gonna take down King we gotta stick together. You gonna let him mess up our shit like this, throw us around…that ain’t like you, Mark.”

“Yeah? Well, getting my leg smashed up by your psychotic brother ‘ain’t like me’ either, Thugg. Don’t even freakin’ start with me, Thugg. Don’t even…”

“Mark, he didn’t mean nothin!”

“He nearly broke my FREAKING LEG, Thugg. A bruised…posterior crucial whatever…means something, dammit!” Mark shakes Thugg’s hand off and the big black man leans his head into his hands.

“Don’t get on his case, Mark! I told ya—he lives hard, alright? It’s all he knows! He won’t do it again, swear by my mama’s heart--”

“I saw you when Bastion went up against Johnny Dangerous last week, Thugg. You had that glee in your eyes. Not happy come-back-to-save-the-day Thugg. Kill everything, smash everything, wreck everyone’s shit Thugg. Don’t tell me lies, Thugg. I might be limping but I’m still smarter than you--”

“WHOA WHOA, NOW HOLD ON BOY! You’re bout to cross a line you don’t wanna cross, Marky Mark! We don’t need you around, you know! I came back to do this myself. I got my boy now, I got my muscle—whadda you got?”

“What the hell are you gonna do, Thugg? Huh? Roll over my foot? You already banged it up enough, you can’t do any worse.”

“You’re right, Mark. I can’t.” A pause hangs in the air. Thugg’s eyes are solid, and his forehead is etched with the sort of rage that tastes like spoiled pride…

“But Bastion can.”

And in a second, all the agility of the old Mark Stevens, 2-time SWF World Champion, swings back around, fights through the pain of his torn ligament, and wraps his hand around the throat of the chair-bound Hville Thugg. “Mark, shit, Mark, get off--”

“You take it back, Thugg. You damn well better take it back. Bastion can hit me all he wants but I don’t want him getting a taste for it. I don’t like him being here and as soon as we get the Commissionership from King I’m getting him out of here and to somewhere where he can get helped. If he hurts anyone—ANYONE else—hell, why not, if he comes after me again—it’s over. We’ll run you out of town.”

Thugg shoves Mark off and rolls backwards one, two, three feet on the momentum. “We? This is over whenever I want it be, Mark. I got the initiative. I got the big fuckin’ animal. I got everythin I need. Who the goddamn hell is ‘we,’ son?”

“Anyone with half a brain.”

“Guys! Guys!”

Before things can get any worse, Thugg and Mark turn to a voice coming up behind them. Clad in clothing sweated through with the intensity of a mad dash is Ben Hardy, waving a piece of paper in his hand. “Guys, what’s up?”

Mark simmers. “…Nothing, Ben. What’ve you got for me?”

“It was on my desk…”

Typed out in perfect 12-point Courier font is a message:

“CALM DOWN. CHILL OUT. BRING THUGG TO THE RING AFTER THE DURAN/VA’AIGA MATCH. WE’RE GOING TO SETTLE THIS NOW.”

Mecum omnes plangite!

…and it all comes down to this…

Flesher looks down once again, and screams, “GIVE ME MY F*CKING BELT!!!!!!!!!” With that, he stiffly slams his right arm across Strangler’s face, twisting his head around. He steps between Strangler’s legs and locks on an armbar. With the hold on, Flesher simply torques everything in a different direction, tightening up William Hearford’s stretch plum submission!

“The evildoer locks on the Held Without Bail! This is wrong! Strangler wasn’t read his rights! He was denied due process of law!”

“Oh, shut the hell up, you masked freak!”

Flesher, holding the microphone in the facelock arm, screams, “SAY IT!”

“NOO!!!!!!”

Flesher cranks the hold harder, putting even more pressure on Strangler’s neck, and screams, “SAY IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“NO, GOD DAMN IT!!!!!!!! NO!!!!!!!!!!!”

Flesher takes a deep breath, and forces his arm even further back, twisting Strangler’s neck past any limit of where it should be. He pulls the armbar hard, trying to yank the arm out at the shoulder. With his voice wavering, his body shaking, his opponent writhing in the deadly submission hold, Flesher screams, “SAY IT AND GIVE ME MY F*CKING BELT BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Strangler groans, chokes, struggles, trying desperately to break out of the hold. He tries to force his head back to its natural position. He tries to break Flesher’s hold on his arm. He tries to ignore the searing pain running through his body.

Finally, he does the only thing he can do.

“I quit.”

DING DING DING!!!!!!!!!

Flesher releases the Held Without Bail stretch plum and immediately collapses to the mat, drained physically, mentally and emotionally by the match. Strangler does the same, ashamed of himself for having lost the title.

As two of the SWF’s top wrestlers lay on the mat, neither man moving, the crowd applauds. In the front row, people stand. Soon, the people behind them follow suit, and before long, all of the fans in the Rupp Arena are on their feet. Flesher and Strangler hear them, basking in the afterglow of the main event of the night, but neither man is content. Strangler has lost his SWF World Championship. Flesher knows that he won’t have long to rest... heavy is the head that wears the crown.

But tonight, just for this one shining moment, it’s his crown once more.

…Tom Flesher vs. William Hearford for the SWF Heavyweight Championship…

His legs have been working too much past their limit, and he falls down to one knee under the load. Craven tries hard to get back up, but his will just isn’t enough anymore, and the Judge is conscious enough to slide right off the downed man’s shoulders, hooking on an inverted facelock as he does. He pulls the King of Nightmares backwards into a sitting position, stepping his leg around as he locks in Held Without Bail! Craven cries out in pain as the crowd gives a small cheer for the submission.

“Held Without Bail! Craven’s body just gave out on him, allowing Hearford to lock on his choice submission!”

“No! Come on, Mike, do something! Move towards those ropes!”

The Judge torques the hold as hard as he can as Craven tries to find a way to get out, but he can’t: his legs are shot, not allowing him to move anywhere, and his body is just too tired after straining under all the pain from his legs. Kivell asks him if he wants to submit, but Mike holds out, though, not wanting to give up his dream. He prays for something for to happen, for anything to happen, for someone to wake him up from this dream.

But no one comes to save him, and this is definitely not a dream.

*TAP*

*DING DING DING*

”The winner of the second fall AND the winner of the GENESIS WORLD TITLE TOURNAMENT… THE JUDGE, WILLIAM HEARFORD!”

It’s a Nightmare.

“Damn it!” says Riley, disappointed with the outcome, “Oh well, the Judge is better than some of the other guys they were gonna throw at Tom.”

“Personally, I don’t think anyone is happy at the result right now,” says Comet as the fans boo, knowing that the Main Event at Genesis will be between two men that they utterly abhor. The Judge releases the hold, allowing Craven to fall onto his back. As Kivell raises Hearford’s hand in victory, the camera closes in on the face of Craven, almost empty as his dream for the World Championship is thrown to the wayside.

For today, Craven has gone from being the King of Nightmares, to being one of his own victims.

As the thrilling last notes of “O Fortuna” kick up over the loudspeakers, we see clips of Edwin MacPhisto… Nathanial Kibigami… Tom Flesher… William Hearford… and finally, it fades into…

BOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!

Out of nowhere, the Genesis stage EXPLODES with white and red sparks! The explosions continue to fire across the arena, with fireworks blasting straight up from the middle of the ring. All at once, the crowd begins to roar, and they jump out of their seats as “O Fortuna” kicks back up over the loudspeaker!

The camera begins to pan around the arena and we catch such wonderful, constructive signs as “TOM FLESHER IS A HOTTIE”, “Grahf is my hero.”, and “FROST IS PARTY!” The camera continues panning around wildly until the viewers are all dizzy and sick, but it finally comes to rest at the announcers’ table, where Bobby Riley and Cyclone Comet sit along at ringside!

“Hello, everyone, and welcome to GEE FOUR!!!” Bobby Riley screeches, grinning from ear to ear as the audience shouts in deafeningly fashion behind our two loyal announcers.

“I’m Cyclone Comet, here with Bobby Riley, and we’re pleased to bring you this wonderful production of SWF GENESIS, brought to you by PEPSI MAX™!!”

“I think our sponsor is…”

“SILENCE, CRETIN!”

“…uh, whatever. Anyway, we’ve got a great show for you all, as we get to see the end of the SWF WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT, where utter dreamboat Tom Flesher squares off against ‘Judge Mental’ William Hearford!” Bobby exclaims.

“In addition we get to find out who our next superhero super-booker happens to be, and we get to see Edwin MacPhisto finally put an end to a super-villain’s career!” Cyclone Comet shills.

“Let’s get down to business! First up is…”

September 29, 2003

“Alright now, folks,” says Cyclone Comet, “let’s take you backstage, where we have Ben Hardy standing by. Take it away, Ben!”

“Thanks Comet,” says Ben Hardy. “I’m standing here with SWF Hardcore Champion, the Wildchild. Wildchild, the past several weeks have been very trying for you, starting with your former tag team partner, Johnny Dangerous, abandoning you in a match against Justice and Rule…”

<< As Ben is speaking, the screen flashes back to the July 2nd Storm, where Johnny essentially forfeit the match to Justice and Rule:

Johnny weakly accepts the tag and steps into the ring, walking towards Judge Mental. Hearford’s sinister face breaks into a sneer, as he says, “I believe you have a JOB to do!” Johnny briefly looks into Mental’s eyes with a flash of his earlier intensity, but it quickly fades. Drawing his arm back, the Barracuda takes a swing at Hearford, as if in slow motion, and Hizzoner nonchalantly snatches his fist out of the air, twisting it downward into a fairly painful looking knucklelock. As Hearford stares at Johnny, his sneer growing ever broader, the Barracuda turns towards the referee and whispers, “I give up.”

Sexton Hardcastle, not sure that he heard what he thought he heard, leans in front of Johnny. “What?”

Johnny looks at him with lifeless eyes, his face showing no indication of pain whatsoever. “I said, I give up. Ring the fucking bell!”

Hardcastle raises his eyebrows in disbelief, but shrugs and walks over to the timekeeper. “It’s over,” he says. “Ring the bell!”

DING! DING! DING!

Mark Stevens bolts out of his seat in disbelief. “WHAT?”

A hushed murmur falls over the crowd, as Funyon rises from his seat and lifts the microphone to his lips. “Ladies and gentlemen, the referee has informed me that the winners of this match, as a result of a submission, the SWF World Tag Team Champions, Justice! AAAAAND RUUUUULE!”

End flashback >>

“Then, just to twist the knife a little deeper, you lost a match against Ejiro Fasaki at Ground Zero, that obligated you to have to work for Ejiro, and basically do whatever he told you to do!”

<< The screen flashes between shots of Wildchild, wearing red, white and blue facepaint and a Justice & Rule jersey, in various states of humiliation at the hands of Ejiro. >>

“And finally,” continues Hardy, “Johnny Dangerous makes his return to the SWF, where it is revealed that he really IS a secret agent, who is apparently on your trail! How have you been able to go out and wrestle with all of this going on?”

Wildchild looks solemnly at Hardy. “Monsieur Hardy, I mus’ tell you dat de las’ couple of weeks have been de worst of all! Even worse den bein’ degraded an’ humiliated by Fasaki has been how I’ve been treated since Johnny made dese false accusations against me; de rest of de boys won’t come near me… some of de guys I used to travel to shows with won’t even talk t’me… dey put me in a separate dressing room… it’s like they all think I’m guilty!”

Wildchild shuts his eyes, appearing to hold back tears. “Even some of de fans have turned their backs on me! I was working a house show Friday night, and de fans practically booed me out of de building! I’ve never experienced anything like that before in my life!”

A solitary tear escapes as he looks back into Hardy’s eyes. “I thought about quitting dat night, Ben. De only t’ing dat got me to Genesis t’night is my determination t’get my hands on Johnny Dangerous! He’s de reason for all dis, and before dis night is over, I’m going to make him feel de pain dat I’ve had to feel for de las’ three months! Nothing’s goin’ t’stop me from tearing Dangerous…”

CRACK!

Before Wildchild can complete his thoughts, Johnny Dangerous, armed with a lead pipe, sneaks up behind him and smashes the pipe into the back of his head!

“You want to feel pain, huh,” shouts Johnny. “You don’t know from pain, Dominic! But, believe me, you’re about to…”

CRACK!

The Barracuda raises the pipe above his head with both hands and lowers it repeatedly into Wildchild’s ribs! Gus the cameraman captures the heinous scene as Ben Hardy races down the corridor in search of help! Dangerous reaches into his jacket pocket and retrieves a set of handcuffs, binding Wildchild’s hands behind his back.

WHACK!

Dangerous continues to thrash Wildchild’s midsection mercilessly, now delivering brutal punt kicks into his ribs. The helpless Bahama Bomber, by now unconscious, is unable to protect his body, and suffers the full impact of Johnny’s assault.

“There’s no escape for you, Dominic,” screams Johnny. “I’m shutting you down. Right NOW!”

Fortunately for Wildchild, however, before Johnny can inflict any further damage, a cadre a referees comes rushing down the corridor, led by Hardy! They form a wall between Johnny and Wildchild, and protect him from further injury while the paramedics arrive on the scene to evaluate him.

As we:

FADE OUT

September 29, 2003

TALE OF THE TAPE

Ejiro Fasaki

Age: 27

Height: 5'8"

Weight: 188lbs

Bench: 290lbs

Move List: 26 practiced moves, 2 variables.

Finisher(s): Ejirocation, Cobra Crossface.

Accomplishments: SJL Eropean Champion, SJL World Champion, SWF Tag Team Champion(Longest Reign), SWF United States Champion.

Last Five: 4-1

Va'aiga

Age: 30

Height: 6'8"

Weight: 305lbs

Bench: 475lbs

Move List: 26 practiced moves, 4 variables.

Finisher(s): Maori Drop, Pacific Stretch.

Accomplishments: SJL World Champion, SWF Tag Team Champion.

Last Five: 2-2-1

POWER ADVANTAGE: Va'aiga

LEVERAGE ADVANTAGE: va'aiga

SPEED ADVANTAGE: Ejiro Fasaki

EXPERIENCE ADVANTAGE: va'aiga

TECHNICAL ADVANTAGE: Ejiro Fasaki

HOT/COLD: Ejiro Fasaki (Hot)

OVERALL ADVANTAGE: Va'aiga

September 29, 2003

“What a rendition of The National Anthem by The Memphis Eel there Bobby Riley,” notes The Comet. “I have to say I am rather relieved that one of the participants in our opening contest did not see fit to interject himself into it.”

“I was under the impression that Va’aiga likes this country,” murmurs Riley in confusion.

“I meant the other participant.”

“Oh, do not worry about that Comet,” laughs Bobby. “Ejiro has something extra special planned for his entrance tonight…”

“But first, we have to make room for a three hundred pound Maori machine of destruction!”

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOYAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH~!

I came to bring the pain hardcore from the brain

Let's go inside my astral plane

Find out my mental is based on instrumental

records hey, so I can write monumental

Methods, I'm not the King

But niggaz is decaf I stick em for the CREAMMMMMMMMM!

Wandering out from behind the stage comes a score large intimidating men all dressed with black hooded sweatshirts pulled up and over their heads. Marching like an army strait ahead a pair of them stop every few feet along the path to the ring. With the cameras inching closer to the men, it is apparent even through their hoods that all are sporting the same irregular hairstyle of the Maori Madman. Providing their own brand of protection these men stand at the ready finally stretched all the way from the top of the entrance to the ring itself.

Check it, just how deep can shit get

Deep as the abyss and brothers is mad fish accept it

In your Cross Color, clothes you've crossed over

Then got Totally Krossed Out and Kris Kross

Who da boss? Niggaz get tossed to the side

And I'm the dark side of the Force.

Riley speaks up first; “I have to say, Comet I don’t know whether to be intimidated or extremely excited by this mountain of man meat. It looks like the entire tribe is hear in support of the killing machine from The Unholy Trinity.”

Of course it's the Method, Man from the Wu-Tang Clan

I be hectic, and coming for the headpiece protect it.

Fuck it, two tears in a bucket, niggaz want the ruckus

Bustin at me bruh, now bust it

Styles, I gets buck wild

Method Man on some shit, pullin niggaz files

I'm sick, insane, crazy, Driving Miss Daisy.

Out her fuckin’ mind now I got mine I'm Swayze.

Comet replies through the hard rapping beats, “Well the question is just how much this will intimidate Ejiro Fasaki as he looks down the barrel head at not only all of these men but the biggest one of them all.”

Is it real son, is it really real son

Let me know it's real son, if it's really real

Something I could feel son, load it up and kill one

Want it raw deal son, if it's really real

The arena drops to darkness, as Va'aiga's shadow appears in the entranceway, dressed in his hooded training top with the hood down. Popping through the curtain, Va’aiga begins tossing right hands into the air like a boxer warming up for the big fight to come. Walking down the aisle and past his stoic protectors, The Maori Monster continues to punch the air until he is ushered into the squared circle by one of his attendants. Popping into the ring, Va’aiga tosses back his hood to expose his head to the people who are looking carefully for a sponge covered with glass. But as disappointed as the fans may be, they still cheer wildly as Va’aiga lifts his arms up to the people. Pulling the sweatshirt over his head, The Maori passes the shirt to one of his warriors over the top rope and giving all of his people the Maori hand signal as they make their way back up the aisle and to the back.

“What an entrance that was,” calls out The Cyclone Comet, “Can whatever Ejiro has in the tank really top that Citizen Riley?”

“You be the judge,” snickers Riley as the sound of rap music drop down to nothing.

“What is that music?”

“Why I do believe that is The Marine’s Hymn.”

“Oh sweet mercy.”

Riding out through the broad curtain wanders not only Ejiro Fasaki but also Ejiro Fasaki riding what appears to be a float from the Thanksgiving Day Parade. This float representing the crossing of The Delaware River as Fasaki rides to the ring while wearing a George Washington style wig and coat. Waving happily to a bunch of groans and catcalls from the New York faithful, Fasaki seems to be on the top of the world as his ride makes its way all the way down to ringside. Stopping just short of the ring, Fasaki points right at the Maori monster, who just seems almost calm as he watches Fasaki call him out time and again with calls of “I want you!” Hopping off his raft and to the apron, Ejiro climbs all the way up to the middle rope as the crowd chants at him in blatant disregard for his patriotic leanings.

“FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI!”

“Is it me Citizen Riley or does this whole thing seem a bit familiar?” questions The Cyclone Comet.

“Nope, totally original and might I say awe inspiring!”

Ripping his coat off, Ejiro shows off another shorter coat right underneath, this one a sky blue. Also shown is that Fasaki is wearing a pair of red, white, and blue shorts in a certain style you might find familiar. Pulling a large felt top hat from his smaller jacket, Ejiro sets it on top of his head and starts to parade around the ring continually telling everyone other than Bobby Riley that he wants them.

“This makes me so happy! I want to sing,” calls out Bobby Riley. “AMERRRRRRICA AMERRRRRICA! GOD MEND THY EVERY FLAWWWW!”

“SHUT UP!” calls out a weakened Cyclone Comet. “This whole thing is pathetic! It’s a total rip off of Apollo Creed in Rocky!”

“I don’t think anyone ever saw that movie.”

“Well Ejiro sure did!”

Pulling off his hat and jacket, Ejiro Fasaki continues to hop around the ring excitedly as Funyon and Va’aiga both look at each other in almost bemusement. Stepping to meet them in the center of the ring is the referee assigned to the contest Matthew Kivell. Giving each other some instructions, Kivell orders both men back to their corners as Funyon continues with his announcing duties.

“This is the opening bout of Genesis IV scheduled for one fall with a forty-five minute time limit and is for the SWF UNITED STATES HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP. Introducing first, he is a member of The Unholy Trinity and is a former SWF Hardcore Champion and SWF World Tag Team Champion. He weighs in tonight at 293 pounds and stands six feet eight inches tall. Hailing from New Zealand, this is the challenger ‘The MAORI BAD ASS’ VAAAAAAAAAAAAAA’AAAAAAAAAAAAAIGA~!”

Stepping out of his corner, Va’aiga lifts an arm to the sky and receives a large ovation for even that effort.

“Va’aiga comes into this match a little lighter than we are used to seeing him,” notes The Cyclone Comet. “I have to wonder if he dropped some weight in the last week in order to improve his stamina for what is sure to be a war of attrition between him and Fasaki.”

“And his opponent and champion,” continues Funyon as he flips his front card to the back of his pile. “He represents The Magnificent Seven and hails from the amber waves of grain. Weighing in tonight at 188 pounds and standing five feet and eight inches tall, he is a former SWF World Tag Team Champion. Please welcome to the ring, the CURRENT SWF United States Heavyweight Champion EJIROOOOOOOOOO FASAKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII~!”

Stepping out of his corner with the United States Title belt held high over his head, Fasaki passes the title belt to the referee before turning his back to his opponent. Taking a moment, Ejiro tosses the entire crowd a military style salute to the populace which is only too happy to respond with some salutes of their own. But of course they also respond with a little chant that you might be aware of.

“FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI!”

Stepping out of the path, Funyon takes a seat next to the timekeeper as Kivell gives both combatants one last final run down of the rules before signaling for the bell. Ordering both men to their corners once again, Kivell steps out of the way and finally calls for the bell to get this match underway.

DING! DING!

And we are underway. Both men with their arms raised in a punching position, they ignore the condemnation of the referee as they circle around each other. Shaking his head from side to side a bit, Ejiro darts in for a moment but quickly backs out of range as Va’aiga tosses a jab out his way. Circling again and again, Va’aiga sends a hand rocketing at Ejiro’s face only to have Fasaki dart underneath the blow in order to stick a body shot into the rock hard ribs of The Maori Bad Ass. Quickly trying to capitalize, Fasaki sends a left hook into his opponent’s face with enough force to send Va’aiga stumbling to one side for merely a moment before recovering his balance. Shooting his eyes back at the dancing United States Champion Va’aiga mutters a curse under his breath at all things but immediately begins to hurry after Fasaki once again. Lifting his arms high for an attempt at a collar-and-elbow Va’aiga tries lock down on Ejiro only to have the swifter United States Champion duck underneath the attempt. And as The Maori turns he ends up eating another left hand to the face. Sneaking inside Fasaki tosses another right into the ribs of his opponent. Swinging wildly over Ejiro’s head once again, Va’aiga tries to strike back but once again Fasaki proves to quick to connect with on this occasion.

“Check out the quickness!” laughs Riley as Ejiro breaks into the Ali shuffle just for fun.

With Va’aiga dropping to a knee for a second from being over balanced, Ejiro winds up his arm for a twister punch. Waiting for the perfect moment, Fasaki comes trotting in and sends a haymaker flying right at Va’aiga face!

BLOCK!

OH TAG!

Putting up his left hand at just the right moment, Va’aiga blocks Rule with ease and sends a heavy right hand of his own right across Ejiro’s face that sends the United States Champion to the mat like a cheap hooker in The Suicide King’s office. Urging Fasaki to rise up and get him some more, Va’aiga soon realizes that Fasaki is not getting up anytime soon. Motioning to the referee, The Maori Bad Ass asks Kivell to take a look at the downed United States champion. Looking into Fasaki’s eyes for a moment, Kivell realizes that he has no choice but to lay in a ten count to see if Rule will be able to continue this contest.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

Rolling to the ropes in a daze, Fasaki struggles to pull himself up before he can be counted out of this contest.

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

Finally Ejiro rises up in a daze as Va’aiga moves in once again and nails Fasaki across the bow with another hard right hand that knocks Fasaki not only down but down through the middle ropes! Landing on the concrete arena floor, Ejiro holds onto his nose as though it just got squished across his face. But noting there is no blood pouring from that orifice, Fasaki continues to take a little respite on the concrete as Va’aiga continues to hold court in the center of the ring. Knowing that he cannot win the United States Title on the floor, The Maori Bad Ass places his hands on his knees as he waits for Ejiro to reenter the ring. But before he does that, The United States Champion takes another few moments to collect himself as Kivell slowly counts down to ten once again this time towards a count out. But Fasaki’s pride will not allow him to accept the loss even though it would mean retaining the title and he crawls underneath the bottom rope just as the count reaches nine. Stepping back into a corner as Va’aiga wanders into range, Ejiro places his head in between the ropes in order to force the referee to back the member of The Unholy Trinity off and into the center of the ring.

“Citizen Fasaki must have had his bell rung hard if he is backing off this much,” mentions The Comet. “For all his vices and he sure does have a lot of them, Ejiro Fasaki is no coward.”

Riley notes, “He’s just pacing himself. This is perhaps Va’aiga’s biggest match ever in the SWF and Ejiro knows it. Ejiro wants his opponent to feel that adrenaline flow through his body and then when it wanes, that is when Fasaki will make his move.”

Shaking out his head once again, Ejiro brings his dukes up once again in a boxing stance which only makes Va’aiga return the favor with a sadistic smile on his face. But as Va’aiga advances on his opponent this time, Ejiro buries a kick right into The Maori Mad Man’s stomach doubling him over at the waist.

“Oh wait, that’s right. This is not a boxing match!” laughs Riley as Ejiro kicks Va’aiga in the gut once again.

Moving to the side of his opponent, Ejiro Fasaki snaps a kick right into the calf on his towering opponent. Slapping his shin against the back of Va’aiga’s leg once again sends the giant down to a knee. Driving an elbow into the side of Va’aiga’s head Ejiro feels as though he has his opponent worn out enough to try for some thing with a little more fire. Hopping off the ropes for momentum, Fasaki comes roaring right back into the waiting arms of the challenger who explodes out of the box and sends Ejiro slamming across the mat with a shoulder block! Waiting on Ejiro to rise once again, The Maori Warrior runs ahead once more and buries Fasaki with yet another shoulder tackle that nearly knocks the United States Champion right out of his boots. Next moving to keep Fasaki off balance Va’aiga plucks the champ off the canvas before lifting him high off the canvas before slamming Ejiro’s spine to the mat once again with a monstrous body slam. Dropping down in a second, The Maori reaches out to hook the leg as Kivell slides across the mat to make the first cover of the night.

ONE!

TWONOOOOOOOOOOOOOO NOT YET!

“Now there is no way that Fasaki was so worn out from just a few shoulders and a slam,” says The Cyclone Comet. “But when you put three hundred pounds across your shoulders, it is not only harder to kick out but it also takes a whole lot out of you besides.”

Quickly snatching Fasaki off the mat as the champion kicks out, Va’aiga once again pulls Fasaki up to shoulder height before once again sending his back scratching against the mat with another thunderous power body slam. Hitting the ropes with a little head of steam, The Maori Monster comes back towards his opponent and drops the point of his elbow directly into Fasaki’s sternum and drives all the air out his lungs in one swift motion. Pushing Ejiro onto his back in one swift motion, Va’aiga immediately latches his big arms around Fasaki’s neck with a full nelson from the side. Using the hold, the challenger uses it to drag Fasaki up to a standing position in what looks to be the set up for a dragon suplex. But rather than sending Ejiro over, Va’aiga uses the hold as it was originally intended and uses his much larger power advantage to bend Ejiro’s neck forward in a submission attempt. Ringing Fasaki back and forth time and again, Va’aiga looks to snap his opponent’s neck in twine as the crowd happily roars along with the action.

“BREAK HIS NECK! BREAK HIS NECK! BREAK HIS NECK!”

But Ejiro has been faced with this type of situation before and before his neck can be seriously damaged he drops strait down out of the hold and to his seat. Immediately lifting his legs and putting them underneath Va’aiga’s armpits in an attempt to take him over with a victory roll. But still three hundred pounds is a well of a lot of weight to pull down to the mat and Va’aiga is not about to go over easy or at all as the case might be as he holds onto his vertical base. Quickly reassuring his purchase around Ejiro’s waist Va’aiga uses it to pull Fasaki right off the canvas once again before slamming his face into the canvas with a reverse powerbomb!

BOOOOOM!

“That’s half of the Decapitator right there!” marks out The Cyclone Comet as Ejiro’s face goes bouncing into the canvas. “This match could be over only minutes into this contest!”

ONE!

TWO!

THRENOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Riley says, “Without the axe kick to the back of the head, the reverse powerbomb does not pack the same knock out punch. It seems as though Va’aiga will not be able to keep Fasaki down the same way he did when The Unholy Trinity won the Tag Team Titles from Justice and Rule.”

Rolling a shoulder off the mat with all he has left, Fasaki keeps his viscous attacker at bay for a few moments more in order to save his title belt from falling into the hands of the Maori Bad Ass. But Va’aiga is not about to just allow Fasaki an opportunity to get his head together. Pulling Ejiro Fasaki off the mat, The Maori shoves the United States Champion back into a corner. Moving in with clenched fists Va’aiga drives a hard right hand into Ejiro’s stomach with enough force Fasaki to drop down to a knee in the corner. Pulling Rule off the mat, The Maori takes his opponent by the wrist and sends his opponent across the ring with an Irish whip. Moving ahead at full speed Va’aiga looks to drive a big foot into the jaw of his opponent only to have Fasaki roll to one side to avoid the blow. Extending his leg over the top rope is never a fun feeling and does nothing to improve Va’aiga’s mood as he feels his groin stretching out farther than he would have hoped. But even worse for the challenger he feels the pull of Ejiro arms around his head as he is off balance. Falling strait down to his back, Fasaki snaps Va’aiga to the canvas with a reverse neckbreaker that pulls the giant free of the ropes but at a terrible cost.

“Ouch,” mutters The Cyclone Comet as Va’aiga’s head bounces off the canvas for a moment. “There is really nothing pleasant about being torn in half in that way. Or much any way other than teleportation.”

“Beam me up Scotty,” mutters Bobby Riley, as he looks up to the sky in the vain hope that someone will get him away from the superhero that sits to his left.

But even the impact of the neckbreaker is not what concerns Va’aiga right at the moment as Ejiro once again places his leg across a rope, this time the middle strand with the intent to do some serious harm. Quickly moving to take advantage of the situation, Ejiro hops up the middle rope himself before dropping down with all of his weight down across Va’aiga’s outstretched limb. Shouting out in terror, Va’aiga immediately drags himself away from the ropes with one hand on his knee checking to see if had been dislocated by Ejiro’s last attack. While at the same time, Fasaki takes a moment to shake out his head to shake loose the cobwebs jammed there by the reverse powerbomb. Using that as a chance to recover, Va’aiga gingerly rises up on his healthy right leg well tentatively placing his other one down on the mat testing to see if it can still support his weight. But Va’aiga does not have long to run the diagnostic before Ejiro comes running back into the fray with a basement dropkick to the back of the knee. Crashing backward from the force of the blow, Va’aiga once again grips his knee tightly as though he is afraid that it is blown out in some manner. Jumping in like a pack of dogs on a three-legged cat, Ejiro immediately grabs the wounded leg once again and looks to wrap it up in a spinning toehold. But before he can even complete the first turn, Ejiro feels the stronger boot of Va’aiga placed against his ass and pushing forward. Knocked completely off balance by the kick, Ejiro stumbles ahead a step too far and jams his face into he top turnbuckle once again before collapsing to the mat in a heap.

“Good counter by Va’aiga but you have to think he is just trying to buy some time,” mentions Comet as he watches on from his seat near the ring.

“Well that is all he can do right now,” notes Riley. “He needs time to work through this injury and figure out just what his body will be able to still do with it incapacitated the way it is. Better to find out now than to do so when in a more dire situation.”

With both men pulling themselves up already, Kivell forgoes even bothering with a ten count for the double knock out. Using the turnbuckle, Ejiro rises up to his feet first as Va’aiga gingerly pulls himself up to his feet once again making sure his knee is holding up on him. Seeing that The Maori Bad Ass might still be more worried about the damage already done rather than what he has in store, Fasaki runs ahead and fires a clothesline right at the head of his opponent. But Va’aiga still has enough mobility left to move to one side and catch the arm in mid flight. Cinching up on his grip and using his other arm to snag a hold of Fasaki’s red, white and blue shorts Va’aiga leans back using almost one leg and sends Fasaki flying overhead with a…

“EXPLODAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH~!” shouts out The Cyclone Comet as Va’aiga uses the T-bone suplex to crush Fasaki against the mat.

“Big time suplex! Big time move!”

Floating over the top, Va’aiga once again makes sure to hook a leg as he applies a lateral press that might be the difference between winning The United States Championship and going home empty handed.”

ONE!

TWOOOOOOOOO NO KICKS OUT!

Bobby yelps into the microphone, “Va’aiga had more success earlier with his near falls than on this occasion. I have the feeling that leg is making it harder for him to distribute all his weight across Ejiro as effectively as he did previously.”

Limping as he rises up to his feet, Va’aiga once again pulls Ejiro up to his wobbly vertical base as the United States Champion struggles to clear his wits once again. Grabbing Ejiro by the hair, Va’aiga hammers Rule in the face with a hard right hand but without the drive from his legs it is not enough to send Fasaki down to the canvas. So The Maori Bad Ass has to strike hard a second time in order to knock Fasaki down to the mat. Rolling as he hits the mat, Ejiro soon rises once again but his opponent is there to grab Ejiro by the wrist and send him flying into the ropes. Lowering his head, Va’aiga looks to send Fasaki skyward with a back body drop but Ejiro manages to counter by leaping over Va’aiga’s back and hooking him with a sunset flip that takes The Maori Monster down to the mat. Immediately forgoing the pinning combination, Ejiro continues into the roll and rises all the way up to his feet with his hands still on Va’aiga’s wounded wheel. Cinching up on the leg, Ejiro forcibly turns Va’aiga over onto his back and sits back with a half Boston crab that does the knee absolutely no good.

“Smart maneuver there by Fasaki,” calls out The Comet as Ejiro elicits all the pained groans from Va’aiga that he had anticipated.

“And you’ll notice that the pinning combination was able to take Va’aiga down to the canvas this time,” notes Bobby Riley. “He could not hold his footing this time like he did when Fasaki went for the victory roll and now he is trapped! Now all he has to do is quit!”

But Va’aiga refuses to quit no matter how much pressure Fasaki places on the knee. And make no mistake Ejiro is indeed applying a great deal of pressure, but still Va’aiga has the strength of will to not slap his hand against the mat but rather reach out with his long body for the ropes that will secure his release. But why exactly are the ropes getting farther and farther away? Why that is because Ejiro is managing to walk forward in anticipation of Va’aiga’s attempts to force a break of course. Pulling three hundred pounds of Maori Warrior into the dead center of the ring, Fasaki pulls the leg up as high as he can before sitting back with the hold as far back as he can. But even as he tries to pull apart Va’aiga’s patella tendon, Fasaki still has one free arm with which to send the audience a military salute much to their consternation.

“FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI!”

Laughing at the chant as always, Ejiro calls out to the referee to ask Va’aiga to give up. Looking up at Fasaki as if to ask, ‘What do you think I have been doing?’ Kivell lowers right back down into Va’aiga’s face to see if he wants to give up the ghost. But The Maori Warrior simply has no interest in giving up his chance too not only win this contest but Wildchild’s freedom from Fasaki as well. But still there are not many less enjoyable feelings in the world than having Ejiro Fasaki clamped on to his leg like a vice. So as Ejiro continues to crank on the hold, Va’aiga looks to turn over to his back and twist free of the half crab. But Fasaki being much more skilled in holds and maneuvers is able to hold onto his grip and readjust his stance in order to keep Va’aiga pinned to the mat. But as Ejiro jockeys to keep Va’aiga from turning the hold he loses track of just where he is in the ring and Va’aiga manages to get his long arms extended far enough to reach the bottom rope and force the referee to order a break.

The Comet says, “Good job keeping the eye on the prize there by Va’aiga. He not only worked to counter the hold but also kept a very careful eye on the ropes at the same time. So when he got close enough to them, he made the grab.”

“He’s still in some serious trouble though,” adds Bobby. “Ejiro has that leg hurt and does anyone in this entire federation know how to work over an injury any better than this man?”

Releasing the hold the moment the referee orders it, Fasaki lets the limp leg in his arms fall to the canvas for just a moment before driving a stomp down on the back of the knee if only to make Va’aiga even more miserable with his injury. Collecting the leg once again, Ejiro places it across the middle rope as he did a few minutes previous and slams a kick down across the joint. With the leg just where he wants it, Ejiro heads into the far ropes as quickly as he can and rebounds right at his target. Leaping into the air for a straddle though Ejiro finds that the target has disappeared from his sights as Va’aiga grabs the perpendicular ropes with his arms and uses it to pull his whole body out of the path! Crashing into the ropes with his groin leading the charge, Ejiro bounces backward into the center of the ring with obvious agony etched across his face. Rising up with a hand on his crotch (which is just about the only hand that ever goes there), Ejiro spins in place much to the delight of the New York crowd who are only too happy to laugh heartily at his misfortune. But more importantly than that, Va’aiga is there to sneak in from behind and pull Fasaki backward with a school boy roll up!

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEE!

NO! NO! NO! NO!

Forcing his way off the canvas Ejiro manages to keep Va’aiga from pressing him down on this occasion but as he rises up, Fasaki finds his head immediately jammed down between The Maori Bad Ass’ legs. Quickly reaching down while he has Fasaki so precariously positioned, Va’aiga jerks Ejiro into the air and releases Fasaki into the stratosphere!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

“POWERBOMB! POWERBOMB!”

But even as Va’aiga releases Fasaki from his shoulders and allows The United States Champion to crash into the mat, the challenger falls strait backward and onto his seat as his leg cannot not even stand that much pressure being applied to it. Still Va’aiga has to feel better than Fasaki who clutches at his lower back as he squirms on the canvas in pain. Crawling ahead with his three available limbs, Va’aiga lays down another lateral press as Kivell drops down to make the count…

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEE!

NOT THIS TIME!

Kicking loose just in time, Ejiro Fasaki manages to push Va’aiga off and scoot underneath the body of the larger Maori Warrior. But even as he rolls as far away from Va’aiga as he can, Fasaki still has to deal with a limping and angry machine of destruction. Pulling Ejiro up to his feet and pushing him up to the corner once again, Va’aiga measures his opponent and sends a right had once again into his foe’s face. Pulling Ejiro further out to the center of the ring, Va’aiga once again jams the United States Champion’s head in between his legs in preparation for another powerbomb. But this time as Va’aiga jerks up on the tight waist, he finds he cannot clear Ejiro up and onto his shoulders as Fasaki latches onto The Maori’s knee and refuses to be lifted into the air. Once again, Va’aiga tries to toss Ejiro only to have Rule continue to keep a firm hold on the knee to avoid the throw. And this time as his feet hit the mat, Fasaki uses his grapple on the knee to kick forward as though he was taking Va’aiga over with a rolling school boy. But once again rather than trying to hold Va’aiga’s shoulders on the canvas, Fasaki immediately wraps the knee up in a leg lace before once again falling to the mat with a hold that threatens to make Va’aiga tap out!

“What a counter once again by Citizen Fasaki!” notes The Cyclone Comet. “He knows just where to make the move against The Maori Bad Ass’ knee.”

“The right time is right now!” yells Bobby Riley. “Now all we need is for that big tribal idiot to slap the mat so we can get this match over with and move on to something more important.”

“Like Tom Flesher,” apes The Comet.

“Like TOM FLESHER!”

With Va’aiga’s leg trapped between his own as well as jammed under his armpit, Ejiro leans back as far as he can which certainly does no favors for Va’aiga’s knee. Using his left arm as a weapon, Fasaki hammers down on the joint with a number of closed fists that draw a warning from the official and screams from the challenger. But still Fasaki holds onto the leg and leans back once again to put continuous pressure on the kneecap. And in response, Va’aiga struggles in the hold and once again leans out as far as he can in an attempt to make the ropes. But no matter how far he stretches, The Maori Warrior cannot manage to even touch the path to freedom that is the ropes. He can feel his leg crumbling as the United States Champion wrenches back time and again as though he wants to take Va’aiga’s leg home with him. But still The Maori refuses to quit regardless of the pain and regardless of whatever Fasaki might do to him. Ignoring the influence pain has over him, Va’aiga uses his free right leg as a hammer as he brings it strait up and down right on the chest of the struggling submission expert. Again Va’aiga raises his leg and jams it down on Fasaki with all of the weight he can muster behind it.

AND AGAIN!

Finally jamming Fasaki loose from around his knee, Va’aiga manages to pull his body over to the ropes as Ejiro shakes off the force of the impacts he had just absorbed. Rising up first The United States Champion strikes first with an elbow into the face of the kneeing Maori Bad Ass. Grabbing Va’aiga up by the hair, Ejiro presses his challenger against the ropes and uses a whip to send him across the ring. But instead, Va’aiga once again manages to use his considerable bulk to reverse the whip and send Fasaki into the cables himself. And on the rebound, Va’aiga snatches Ejiro off the mat and right into a military press. And although his injured knee shakes from the effort, Va’aiga still manages to control the 188 pounds of the champion long enough to send him flying not just to the canvas, but all the way over the rope and to the arena floor!

THUMP!

“OH MY GOD! What power by the Maori Warrior!” calls out The Cyclone Comet as Va’aiga once again collapses to the canvas under the stress of his injured knee.

“But he can’t win the match by count out! He can’t win the title that way anyway,” notes Bobby Riley as he slightly panics at the sight of the United States champion crumpled on the floor.

Diligent in his duty, referee Matthew Kivell makes sure that Va’aiga is away from the ropes and starts the count of ten that would lead to a disqualification and successful defense of the United States title.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

“Ejiro is not moving,” mutters The Cyclone Comet. “I don’t think he is going to make it back in the ring!”

SIX!

SEVEN!

“Stay down, Fasaki!” coaches Bobby Riley.

EIGHT!

NINE!

VA’AIGA BREAKS THE COUNT!

Stumbling over to the side of the ring where Kivell has been counting all the while, Va’aiga grabs a hold of the official and gives Matthew an excuse to keep this match going for the time being. Ignoring the referee’s condemnations The Maori Warrior steps out between the ropes and gingerly makes his way down to the concrete while Fasaki only now barely begins to move.

The Comet says, “Smart move there by Va’aiga. By breaking the count he continues his bid for the United States title. While at the same time, he took the opportunity to try and rest his knee.”

“And now he puts Ejiro right back into the ring,” reports Bobby Riley. “That Maori bastard knows he has to win this in the ring to take the belt home… and he is going for it right now!”

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

NO! FOOT ON THE ROPES!

Barely sticking a toe against the ropes, Ejiro Fasaki manages to hold onto his golden strap once again under the press of The Unholy Trinity member. Quickly pulling Fasaki out further away from the ropes so he can get a cleaner cover, Va’aiga once again makes a lateral press as Kivell slides right back into position by Ejiro’s shoulders to make the count again.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE! NO! KICK OUT AT TWO!

Just barely muscling out from underneath Va’aiga, Ejiro raises a shoulder off the canvas as high as he can in order to keep this match from sliding away. But Va’aiga is not about to allow the champion to escape again so he pulls the champion off the canvas and heaves him into a corner with an Irish whip. Leaning ahead with as much speed as his mangled limb will allow, The Maori Bad Ass splatters Fasaki against the turnbuckle with a right handed clothesline. Taking Ejiro by the arm, Va’aiga walks his opponent out further into the center of the ring and moves into position for a backdrop suplex. But as Va’aiga lifts the champion up on high Ejiro manages to flip backward and out of his opponent’s grip. Landing behind Va’aiga on his feet, Fasaki surges forward with a snapping hard kick to the back of his opponent’s knee. Dropping down to a knee from the force of the blow, Va’aiga can make no defense as Ejiro runs into the ropes and comes back with a nasty chop block right to the calf. Bending over backwards awkwardly from the force of the clip, Va’aiga screams out in pain for just a moment before clutching at his knee in severe pain once more. Stumbling up as quickly as his own battered body can carry him, Fasaki once again goes back to the holds as he steps in between Va’aiga’s left knee yet again before crunching ahead and locking in a crossface.

“STF!” roars Comet in order to call the technical description of the hold that Va’aiga now finds himself in.

Riley emotes, “Fasaki has got that knee so well scouted its sick! He knows that Va’aiga submitted a number of times before he went out for a couple of weeks. And now after the half crab and the leg lace, Ejiro is going to the step over toehold facelock to put his challenger away!”

With Matthew Kivell in his face immediately, Va’aiga refuses to give in to the pressure of the hold that Ejiro once again has on him. Regardless of the pain in his knees, The Maori looks to pry the chinlock that Rule has on his neck loose. But with the position he currently has, Ejiro simply wrenches back once more and breaks free of Va’aiga’s fingers wrapped around his forearm. Grinding back on the facelock again, Ejiro works to pull Va’aiga in two separate directions with his hold. Making sure he has Va’aiga’s leg trapped thoroughly, Ejiro continues to pull his opponent’s neck back and forth in order to keep Va’aiga from effectively countering.

“Come on, come on!” yells Riley into his headset. “Why won’t this stupid bastard just give it up? Ejiro has him and is not just going to let go!”

“Va’aiga has come too far to just give up now,” calls out The Cyclone Comet. “At this point, I really think that Fasaki is going to have to render the big man unconscious if he keeps going with this plan of attack.”

The sound of the crowd begins to rise in support of the downed Maori, “TRIN-IT-TEE! TRIN-IT-TEE! TRIN-IT-TEE!”

But even with that chant hanging in the air, Va’aiga lifts an arm into the air as Kivell looks on carefully. The crowd’s noise roars in protest to The Maori’s sign that he might be giving in to the United States Champion. Stomping their feet and clapping their hands, the New Yorkers come alive in hopes that Va’aiga will find a way out of the hold that Lou Thez himself invented. But there is no well-known technical counter to the STF but then again Va’aiga was never that technical to begin with. So pushing up on the crossface across his neck, Va’aiga manages to lift Ejiro’s arm to a place where he can use it to effect an escape. How he does that? Well…

“RAWRRRRRRRRR!” screams out Fasaki in pain.

“He’s BITING him! He’s trying to EAT FASAKI!” calls out Riley.

“Will you stop!”

With his teeth jammed into Ejiro’s forearm, Va’aiga manages to considerably weaken his opponent’s grip. Regardless of the referee’s warning of the illegality of the move, it proves quite effective, as Ejiro no longer concerns himself with holding onto the STF. Working his way free with Ejiro trapped in his jaws, Va’aiga manages to get up to his knees before Fasaki finally brings his other arm into play with a forearm blow across his opponent’s face. Wrenching his arm free of the teeth of The Maori Bad Ass, Ejiro kicks his opponent square in the ribs in order to knock his foe onto his back. Immediately checking his arm to see if there is any breaks in the skin, Ejiro makes a great big show of displaying the teeth marks to the referee in hopes that Kivell will call off the match. Seeing though that the referee has no intention of stopping things, Ejiro takes matters into his own hands by slamming a fist into Va’aiga’s forehead and knocking the challenger back onto his shoulders once again.

“Good work Ejiro,” calls out Bobby Riley as Fasaki once again uses his boot to strike at Va’aiga’s midsection. “To think that thyroid case thought he could get over on a member of The Magnificent Seven by biting the hell out of him. I hope Fasaki goes ahead and beats him to death!”

“That’s a nasty thing to say,” replies The Cyclone Comet as he turns a watchful eye back at the ring. “But I think Va’aiga might have had something else in mind beyond just escaping the STF.”

And we shall see what that might be as the match continues in the middle of 20,000 New Yorkers screaming for blood. Ejiro Fasaki continues to batter his opponent with a number of forearms to the head as The Maori Bad Ass presses up on his legs until he manages to reach his feet and slump into a corner as Ejiro presses on. Holding onto the back of Va’aiga’s head, Ejiro quickly begins to hammer his challenger with both elbows to the back of the head and forearms to the side fired back to back. But as Kivell backs Ejiro off and out of the corner attack, Va’aiga looks to the crowd with a very small smile that betrays his intentions.

“Oh no,” mutters Riley.

“Oh yes,” chuckles The Comet. “Va’aiga is drawing Fasaki into a slugfest. And in that type of fight, Fasaki cannot win!”

Grabbing Fasaki around the chest as he comes back on the attack, Va’aiga switches position with his opponent and lowers the boom with a long loping right hand across the face the knocks Ejiro right off his feet and down to the canvas. Limping for a moment as Ejiro rolls back up to his feet, Va’aiga strikes again with a hard right hand that sends the United States Champion falling back down to the canvas. Rising up once again, Ejiro takes the initiative this time to take the first swing at his giant foe only to have Va’aiga place one of his mammoth arms in the path of the blow and return fire!

JAB!

The crowd yells, “BOOOOO!”

JAB!

“BOOOOO!”

JAB!

“BOOOOO!”

WIND UP!

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

BIG RIGHT HAND!

“YAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Knocking Fasaki down once again with a savage right hand to the head, Va’aiga lets loose with a huge shout to the heavens. Leaning into the ropes, the three hundred pound tribal warrior comes crashing down on Fasaki on the rebound with a legdrop with his good leg right across the sternum of the United States Champion. Rolling his leg out of the way, Va’aiga repositions himself on top of Fasaki as he calls for the referee to make the count of…

ONE!

TWO!

THRNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

September 29, 2003

Kicking out once again Fasaki escapes the prospect of losing his title once more as Va’aiga looks to the referee for some sort of clue as to how the legdrop was not yet enough to keep Ejiro down. But still he presses on and pulls Fasaki up to his feet before sending him across the ring with an Irish whip. Slamming into the corner, Fasaki barely has a chance to catch his breath as Va’aiga limps into his space once again for what looks to be another corner clothesline. But before he can strike home, something strikes Va’aiga as Fasaki lifts a knee right into his opponent’s chest. Bouncing out of the corner for a second, Va’aiga gives Fasaki the space he needs to clamber up to the middle rope and send a bionic elbow right at the challenger’s scalp. But rather than back away from the blow, The Maori Bad Ass moves ahead and manages to lock his mammoth arms around Fasaki’s chest for just a moment before sending Fasaki flying overhead with a release belly-to-belly suplex! Immediately floating over the top, Va’aiga applies another lateral press in an attempt to take this match home for The Unholy Trinity.

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! NO IT DID NOT HAPPEN!

“Va’aiga keeps making good pin attempts but he is unable to keep The United States Champion down,” mentions The Cyclone Comet. “But realistically there is nothing else Va’aiga can really try to do at this point but continue to pound away.”

And there does not seem to be an issue for The Maori as he rises to his wobbly legs and raises an arm as though to let everyone in the arena know that Ejiro’s head is about four seconds away from being knocked into the fifth row. So as Ejiro rises to his feet with a hand planted on his back in pain, Va’aiga rushes ahead with one big lariat aimed at Fasaki’s face. But as the gargantuan arm comes swinging at his head, Ejiro ducks underneath and grabs Va’aiga around the shoulder. Then snaking a leg around The Maori’s injured appendage Ejiro uses his leverage to slam the challenger into the canvas with the STO leg sweep! For the first time in the contest, Fasaki is the one to make a cover as he hooks Va’aiga’s injured leg and tries to capture a fall.

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEE NO!

Shrugged off the mammoth Maori with a kick out, Fasaki lies right next to his opponent for just a moment before he scales the mountain once again and throws a number of short elbows right into the eye of his downed opponent. Satisfied with this battery, Ejiro forcibly turns his opponent over onto his stomach for a moment before latching onto Va’aiga’s injured knee once again. This time though instead of locking on a submission maneuver, the United States Champion pulls Va’aiga’s knee off the canvas and jams it strait down into the canvas. Savagely attacking the knee once again, Fasaki once more lifts the limb up as high as he can into the air. But as he drops down this time, Fasaki extends his own leg over the limb as he jams it down to the canvas with all of his weight behind it.

“Va’aiga might have made a grave miscalculation when he deliberately got Fasaki peeved off at him,” notes Bobby Riley. “Fasaki is not your average wrestling hot head. You get Rule steamed at you and he just goes after your weaknesses with a harder more savage determination.”

Immediately pulling his own leg free of The Maori’s, Fasaki grabs onto the knee yet again before falling back to the mat with a reverse leg lace! This time bending the knee in a manner that would hyper extend it if done with an enough force, Fasaki shouts out in complete rage as Va’aiga does the same but for another reason. However the pain does not last very long as Fasaki did not bother to position Va’aiga in the center of the ring. Reaching out with his arms, the challenger easily reaches out far enough to make contact with the ropes and cause the referee to call for the break. But Ejiro does not break immediately as he would under normal circumstances but rather he continues to pull on his hold until the referee gets right in his face warns him that is about a second away from disqualification. Weighing the choices between perhaps crippling Va’aiga as he has him at the moment or losing the match, Ejiro releases his grip and rolls away into the center of the ring to collect his wits and refocus his objectives. Of course, New Yorkers are not quite all that patient.

“FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI!”

Looking out at the crowd with a frustrated glower as he rises up to his feet, Ejiro does not even bother to throw out his customary salute to the crowd. Rather he makes another play for Va’aiga’s leg and pulls the mammoth Maori into the center of the ring where another submission attempt might prove to be more effective. And immediately Fasaki goes about testing his theory as he wraps up Va’aiga’s good leg in a spinning toehold in preparation for locking on a figure-four leg lock. But before he can continue the spin, The Maori counters by reaching up and grabbing Fasaki by the hair and pulling him down into a small package!

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEE!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“He barely got a shoulder up! Just barely!” sighs The Cyclone Comet as Ejiro manages to roll a shoulder off the canvas.

But as Ejiro gets to his feet faster than The Maori Bad Ass can, he slams a forearm down on the back of the challengers head in order to properly stun the big man. Then once more an elbow finds its home in Va’aiga’s eye before Ejiro bounces off the ropes in preparation for a running elbow. But as he comes running headlong at his opponent, Ejiro just barely sees Va’aiga once again aiming the clothesline right at his windpipe. Ducking just out of range Ejiro continues his run into the ropes and charges right back at the turning Maori Bad Ass which proves even less effective the second time as Va’aiga plucks him right out of the air before JAMMING him strait down to the canvas!

“MAORI DROPPPPPPPPPPPPPPAAAAAAAAAAAAA~!”

“I can’t believe his leg held out! I can’t believe it!”

“Va’aiga didn’t get his full extension though! He’s still making the cover!”

ONEEEEEEEEEEE!

TWOOOOOOOOO!

THREEEEEEEEEE!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“KICK OUT! KICK OUT! KICK OUT!”

“The Maori Drop was not enough!”

“With that knee as screwed up as it is,” calls out The Comet with his breath somewhat restored from the last bits of yelling, “Va’aiga could not get his full leap or extension for the powerslam. That can be the only way that Ejiro was able to get a shoulder off the canvas.”

You try explaining that to Va’aiga though as he looks at just about everyone in the arena in the eyes as if to ask what he has to do to put this match away. But eventually as in all things inspiration hits hard enough for Va’aiga to try something unique as far as he is concerned. Prying Ejiro Fasaki off the mat, Va’aiga pulls the United States Champion into position for a belly-to-back suplex but rather than falling backward with his opponent, Va’aiga simply lifts Fasaki high enough to place him on the top turnbuckle facing the crowd with his back to the ring. Slapping his knee in order to keep his knee together enough for what he has planned. Slamming a forearm into Ejiro’s back just to keep Fasaki from squirming, Va’aiga steps through the ropes and to the ring apron. Looking out to the people that are getting more and more curious by the moment, Va’aiga raises his arms to the air time and again in rapid succession in order to pump the crowd up and lead them in a chant.

“TRIN-IT-TEE! TRIN-IT-TEE! TRIN-IT-TEE!”

With a hand on Fasaki’s hair, Va’aiga begins to scale his way up the ropes on the outside of the ring as the Madison Square Garden faithful rise to their feet in preparation for whatever The Maori Warrior might have in store for his opponent. Finally climbing to where he wants to be with his legs perched on the inside of the ring. Reaching around Fasaki’s body, Va’aiga plucks Fasaki right off the turnbuckle and holds him in position for a second rope Maori drop!

The Comet yelps, “Now THIS! WILL BE ALL!”

Or will it?

Kicking as hard as he can while in Fasaki’s grip, Fasaki manages to fight his way free of the Maori Bad Ass’s normally iron grip and escape to the safety of the canvas. Landing on all fours, Ejiro quickly pops right back out of the box and slams an elbow into the giant’s face. With the challenger rocked back on his heels Ejiro once again centers his attention on taking Va’aiga’s leg apart as he grabs a hold of the knee and cinches it up for one horrifying moment. But then fear changes to stark reality as Fasaki uses the leg to deliver a dragon screw leg whip that sends Va’aiga careening into the center of the ring with his knee perhaps in the worse shape it has ever been in the giant’s entire life. Completely screaming as he grips his knee, Va’aiga looks about half a second away from calling it quits. But before he can even consider that as an option Va’aiga has to deal with the 188 pounds of Ejiro Fasaki that is now flying at his body. Immediately noting Va’aiga’s position as he hit the canvas, Fasaki took the opportunity to run right for the ropes and spring back at his opponent with a lionsault that connected with enough force to cause Fasaki himself to feel the impact. Falling off Va’aiga the moment he makes contact with his foe, Ejiro clutches at his own ribs and falls backward into the ropes as his opponent essentially stops moving all together.

“He got him good,” laughs Bobby Riley. “Fasaki hit that lionsault with enough force to really do some damage and with Va’aiga’s knee in the worst shape in the history of knees, all Ejiro needs to do is make a cover and this thing will be over!”

And that is just what Fasaki has in mind as well as he scrambles forward and lies across his challenger without even hooking a leg in the hopes that the Maori monster will be totally knocked unconscious by the pain in his knee and the impact of the moonsault. Kivell, drenched in sweat himself, slides into position and makes a count of…

ONE!

TWO!

THREENOOOOOOOOO~!

Fighting with all he has, Va’aiga manages to kick-start his engine just enough to get a shoulder off the canvas. Suffice to say that this does not sit well at all with Rule who immediately gets up to his feet and into the face of the official. Raising a hand, Ejiro pie faces Kivell and gives him enough of a shove to knock him back a few steps. Immediately responding, Kivell shoves Ejiro back in order to prove that he can indeed take an exhausted wrestler in a shoving contest if he so desires. Warning Fasaki not to try any other physical intimidation, Kivell orders the combat to continue. And so it does as Fasaki drops a stomp down on the knee of his opponent once again. Collecting his battered opponent, Ejiro presses his opponent back into a corner with a hard elbow to the face. Taking Va’aiga by the wrist, Fasaki winds him up and sends him across the ring with an Irish whip. But the moment the Maori Bad Ass hits the turnbuckle, he explodes right back out with a lariat aimed right at his charging opponent. But once again Va’aiga’s leg makes him a step too slow to connect with the United States Champion… but not too slow to collide with the man behind him!

WHAM!

“OH MY GOD! Va’aiga just KILLED KIVELL!”

Collapsing with the force of his own blow, Va’aiga mistakenly hooks the leg of the referee as though he believe him to be Fasaki. And while he does that Fasaki makes some special preparations for his opponent by reaching deep within the confines of his wrestling boot. But it does not take very long at all for The Maori Bad Ass to realize just whom he has just destroyed. Looking at the referee with a glance of confusion, Va’aiga rises up to his shaky vertical base before being knocked right back down to the canvas!

BAM!

A glint of metal flies through the air as Ejiro tosses his very special Memphis chain out of the ring in order to hide all the evidence that he might have done something slightly illegal. Other than that the only way to know that Fasaki did what he did is the fact that Va’aiga is know laid out on the canvas and that his head is now busted wide open. With blood pouring down his face, Va’aiga moves barely a muscle as Ejiro looks at reviving the referee in order to steal this match away as the crowd chants away with a venomous fury.

“FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI!”

No longer caring one bit just what the crowd has to say about him, Fasaki continues to shake the official in the hopes that he might recover his senses enough to make a count. Finally resorting to simply slapping the official across the face in order to get some sense into the man, Fasaki is happy enough with the level of consciousness that the official now enjoys. Tossing him over to a position where he could make a cover, Fasaki lays across Va’aiga and slaps the mat himself three times in rapid succession in order to give the referee an idea of what he wants. And slowly but surely the official’s hand rises and falls!

ONE!

“Not like this,” moans The Cyclone Comet as Kivell slowly brings his hand up again.

TWO!

“YES! YES! YES!” cries out Riley with as much joy as he can muster for someone not named Tom Flesher.

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“SWEET JUMPING JESUS! HE KICKED OUT!” yells The Cyclone Comet as Va’aiga gets a shoulder off the canvas a millimeter before Kivell’s hand hits the mat for the final time.

“What exactly is it going to take to keep that big bastard down on the mat!” yelps Bobby Riley in response. “Ejiro has broken that schnook’s knee! He’s broken his face!”

“But he can’t break the Maori Spirit!”

“Oh shut up!”

Immediately getting off his opponent, Fasaki grabs a hold of the referee and waves three fingers in his face to show Kivell how many times he should have counted regardless of shoulder position. But still the referee waves two in the air while his other hand rubs against his own face in order to wipe the cobwebs of the lariat out of his mind. Leaving the wobbly official on the mat, Ejiro grabs a hold of Va’aiga’s head and pulls his challenger into a seated position. From there, Fasaki jams his fist right into the cut that his lucky chain caused only moments ago with deliberate focus again and again. Widening the flow of blood, Fasaki watches the red flow down his opponent’s face. Pounding into Va’aiga time and again, Fasaki only stops when his own hand is virtually painted red from the carnage he has perpetrated. Slapping Va’aiga back down to the canvas Fasaki applies a cover once again. But once again, Kivell is slow to realize what is going on and is still suffering the effects of The Maori Bad Ass’s lariat. Still though the referee has enough semblance of mind to begin the count once again.

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE NO!

Rolling a shoulder off the mat, Va’aiga proves that he is still actually alive much to the dismay of Fasaki. Looking at the facedown referee once again, Ejiro considers seriously for a moment actually crippling the bastard but comes around to the notion that he had better start with Va’aiga and work his way around to the referee at some indeterminate time in a future. Instead Fasaki moves to make his advantage over the challenger a little more permanent. Pulling Va’aiga up to his knees, Fasaki jams the challenger’s head in between his knees and reaches over the top of his foe in order to secure a double arm hold. Working as hard as he can, Fasaki uses all of his strength to force Va’aiga into a standing position.

“I think Fasaki is going to forget all about all the games and just spike the hell out of Va’aiga with the Ejirocation double arm piledriver,” notes The Cyclone Comet. “But I do not think he is going to be able to pull the three hundred pounds of Maori off that canvas.”

“Never know until you try I guess,” counters Bobby Riley with a shrug as if to concede that point.

But still in this time of desperation, Fasaki is willing to give it the old college try. Arching back as much as he can Ejiro succeeds in getting Va’aiga one foot off the canvas but no more. Again and again Fasaki tries to pull his opponent vertical but nothing seems to work on this occasion. Instead, Va’aiga jams his shoulders free of the double arm and gains a bit of purchase on one of Ejiro’s legs. Immediately rising up with Fasaki in tow, Va’aiga lifts his smaller opponent as high as he can before dropping him strait down on his face with a flapjack. But with the flow of blood continuing to race down his features, Va’aiga does not rise either as both men as well as the referee lay on the canvas all struggling to rise up to their feet. And together all three men rise up to their feet at the same time with only the referee out of any probable danger for the rest of the evening. But the other two still have some sort of issue to work out and both wants to make their point right here in front of 20,000 New York fans that are screaming their heads off. Having taken less damage than his opponent it is Ejiro Fasaki that rises up first with The Maori Bad Ass right behind. Slapping his elbow to pump himself up, Fasaki looks carefully as Va’aiga rises up to his feet. Rushing ahead, The United States Champion looks to place his elbow into the cut he busted open just a few minutes ago!

He’s had better plans.

WHAM!

“LARIATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Finally it connects!”

ONE!

“THIS IS IT!”

TWO!

“NEW CHAMPION! NEW CHAMPION!”

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Rolling a shoulder off the canvas with maybe a quarter of an inch to spare, Fasaki escapes a pinning predicament once more as Va’aiga is unable to keep him down on the mat for a three count. But Fasaki seems to have a larger problem to work out as Va’aiga has now for the first time realized that his face has been split open by a certain metal something. Suffice to say this does not lead to a very pleasant Maori warrior. His face contorting into an even more disgusting sight, Va’aiga virtually roars out in anger and frustration at the vision of his own blood. Grabbing Fasaki and pulling him off the canvas, The Maori tosses him right into a turnbuckle with as much force as his exhausted body will allow. Then taking his mammoth right hand, Va’aiga begins to pound Ejiro’s mug into a very fine powder.

BAM!

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Finally the referee is forced to step in and grab Va’aiga around the waist in order to pull him off the now shuddering United States Champion. Dropping to his seat in the corner, Fasaki looks about a second and a half away from passing out as his head lolls back and forth on his shoulders. But he does not have long to imitate a mannequin before Va’aiga is right back on his face with the sole of his boot. Pressing down with it, The Maori scrapes his boot across the features of the screaming member of the Magnificent Seven time and again as the official continues to command that Va’aiga back out of the corner. Once again having to physically intervene, Kivell attempts to pull Va’aiga out of the corner only to catch an elbow to the side of the head as Va’aiga shrugs in his direction.

“The referee is down again!” reports The Comet as Kivell stumbles back a few steps before falling down on his face.

“Oh well, what a tragedy,” replies Bobby Riley. “It couldn’t have been too bad though, Kivell is still moving.”

Indeed he is, but still his attention is not on the two combatants that are still going to war. So as Va’aiga only passes the referee a glance before he turns his focus back on Fasaki. But even that momentary pass is enough of an opening for the United States champion as he slams his forearm up and into the groin of the challenger!

“LOW BLOW!” calls out The Cyclone Comet as Va’aiga falls backward to the canvas with a thud. “What kind of champion does this sort of nonsense time and again!”

Riley says, “The kind of champion that wants to win this damn match.”

Pulling Va’aiga into the corner as far as he can, Ejiro places his head in between Va’aiga’s legs and holds the Maori down as the referee slides into position and begins to make the count.

ONE!

“Ejiro has his feet on the ropes!”

TWO!

“He’s going to steal this thing!”

THREEEEEEEEEEEE!

“Va’aiga kicks out again! He kicked out again! What the hell does Fasaki have to do to keep that man down?”

That might be exactly what Fasaki is thinking right now as he puts his hands on his head as a reaction to the latest kick out. What exactly can Ejiro do to keep Va’aiga down that he hasn’t down yet? What combination of holds or cheating can keep Va’aiga’s shoulders down on the canvas? What will Fasaki try this time? Time?

“Ref,” chokes Fasaki through his dry throat. “How much time left?”

Rising to his feet, Kivell moves over to Funyon and repeats the question. Quickly taking advantage of the situation, Funyon looks at the timekeeper’s watch for a moment before calling into his microphone. “Ladies and Gentlemen, 34 minutes have passed there are 11 minutes left in this 45 minute time limit contest.”

Thinking to himself that he should be able to work with that, Fasaki immediately starts to work on his new plan as far as slowing the match to a crawl. After all, if you can’t beat someone you might as well try to survive. And so Ejiro moves in on his downed challenger and immediately picks up the wounded Va’aiga’s left leg and pulls it into underneath his armpit once again. Immediately cinching up on the hold, Ejiro works to turn his adversary back into a half Boston crab. But hearing the announcement of the time constraints himself, Va’aiga is not about to just lie on the canvas and let Fasaki stall his way out of the contest. Not after all the pain and blood that has already been invested in this contest. And so Va’aiga manages to lift his healthier leg and jam it strait into Fasaki’s jaw before the United States Champion can turn him over with the crab. Jammed back into the corner, Ejiro leans exhausted into the turnbuckles as Va’aiga once again manages to rise up regardless of the pain that he has had to absorb from this match thus far. Moving ahead, Va’aiga jams a shoulder into Fasaki’s stomach in order to drive some more of the champion’s oxygen out of his lungs. Then taking Ejiro by the wrist, Va’aiga shoves his opponent across the ring with an Irish whip that caused Fasaki to bounce out of the opposite corner from the force of the impact. Immediately catching Ejiro around the waist Va’aiga tuns Ejiro to one side before jerking Ejiro up and down with a belly-to-back suplex!

The Comet speaks, “I have to sat that I am amazed that Va’aiga can even still walk at this point much less lift Ejiro Fasaki like he has been able to all match long. I would have thought that all those leg holds would have taken Va’aiga completely out off the suplex mode.”

Riley responds, “Va’aiga is too stubborn to let a torn ligament stop him from trying to kill something. You can bet though that if Ejiro was only a few pounds heavier that Va’aiga would not be able to negotiate his opponent quite so well.”

Even now though, Va’aiga still shows signs of wear as his immediately places a hand on his knee as soon as both he and Fasaki hit the canvas. But still he obviously feels much more spry than the United States Champion as he rises up to his feet and raises a hand up in the air to the delight of the crowd. Dropping into his now familiar boxing stance, Va’aiga awaits Ejiro as the member of The Magnificent Seven also slowly rolls up to his feet. And it is there where Va’aiga plans to dish out a bit more punishment with his big ass hands of stone.

JAB!

“BOOOOO!” chants the crowd once again.

JAB!

“BOOOOO!”

JAB!

“BOOOOO!”

WINDUP!

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~!”

DELIVERY!

“YAHHHHHHHHHHHAWWWWWWWW!”

Ducking right underneath the fist meant for his face, Ejiro immediately ruins the moment for the crowd hoping to hear the pulpy sound of Va’aiga knocking the hell out of Fasaki. Leaping onto a few feet of the ground as Va’aiga turns, Fasaki dropkicks The Maori Bad Ass strait in the kneecap. Flopping over like a flounder, the member of the Unholy Trinity yells out in pain as his knee gives out on him. Clutching at his knee as he lands, The Maori looks to be just about out of commission as Fasaki hurries to wrap his healthy leg in a spinning toehold before finally bending it over the other and falling backward with the figure-four leg lock!

“WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” shouts the crowd as Ejiro tightens up the hold and leans back as far as he can.

Leaning up on the hold as much as he can, Fasaki attempts to use Va’aiga’s own powerful limbs to shatter each other as he bends each across each other. Slamming his own body to the canvas, Ejiro hopes to provide a swift shocking motion that will cause Va’aiga to submit, of course barring that Fasaki would be more than happy to simply stay in this hold and allow the seven or so minutes remaining in this contest to expire. But Va’aiga simply cannot allow either one of those options to come to pass and he reaches out for the ropes almost immediately. But as he stretches out as far as he can, Va’aiga loses any sort of ability to anchor himself to the mat. So as Va’aiga elongates his own body, Fasaki uses his arms to pull both himself and his opponent closer to the center of the ring. Now too far away from the ropes to make such a grab for freedom, Va’aiga props himself up on his arms in order to relieve some of the pressure. But Fasaki is unwilling to make such a compromise as he exhibits by smacking the Maori across the chest and knocking him back against the canvas.

Funyon calls into the microphone, “There are FIVE minutes remaining in this match. FIVE Minutes!”

The Comet almost yells into his headset, “Va’aiga needs to get out of his hold and he needs to do it now! He does not have time to be in this move.”

“Well he could just submit and we could all be on our way,” suggests the helpful Bobby Riley.

But Va’aiga has no interest in quitting. Raising a hand into the air Va’aiga tries as hard as he can to turn the hold over and reverse the pressure. But Fasaki has his base solidly enforced and refuses to allow Va’aiga to make the reversal and, as he mentally notes to himself, biting won’t work in this situation. But there is one thing that Ejiro could not counter and that was the long arm of the challenger being still able to make contact!

BAM!

Cracking into Ejiro’s skull with two punches of epic proportion, Va’aiga manages to jar himself free of the of the figure-four leg lock. Rolling away from his opponent, Ejiro attempts to get as much distance as he can from the rising challenger. But he cannot escape for long as Va’aiga limps after him. Grabbing Fasaki by the hair, Va’aiga whips his opponent across the ring with a flying mare and immediately follows up with a charge that ends up running right over the rising United States champion. Slapping his knee once more in order to keep it solid underneath him, Va’aiga once again pulls Ejiro to his feet and jams a huge fist right to the face. Attempting to by himself some time, Fasaki fires back only to have The Maori Bad Ass punch him right back so hard that the united States Champion bounces backward into the ropes. Exploding back as best he can though, Ejiro tosses a clothesline Va’aiga’s way only to have his opponent duck right underneath and send Fasaki flying overhead with a German release suplex!

“Fasaki landed right on the back of his head,” reports The Comet as Ejiro folds over onto his own body.

Va’aiga rolls over Fasaki and places as much weight he can onto the United States Champion.

ONNNNNNNNNNNE!

TWOOOOOOOOOOO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEE!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“THREE MINUTES LEFT!”

Immediately working as fast as he can, Va’aiga pulls the nearly unconscious United States Champion off the canvas and sends him across the ring with a whip. Lowering a shoulder as Fasaki comes leaning back, Va’aiga hurls the champion strait up and down so that Fasaki lands strait on his face. Bouncing up with the force of the impact, Fasaki finds himself once again in Va’aiga’s grip as he his is lifted high into the air from the side before getting driven down into the mat with a sidewalk slam. Once again hooking up both leg one more, Va’aiga tries to keep his foe down for three once more.

ONNNNNNNNNNNE!

TWOOOOOOOOOOO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEE!

NOOOO! FASAKI KICKS OUT AT TWO!

“What is it going to take! What else can Va’aiga break out in the last three minutes to end this thing!”

“TWO MINUTES TO GO! TWO MINUTES!”

Once again pulling Ejiro off the mat, a bloody Va’aiga does not even have time to call out to the crowd as he once again sends Fasaki across the ring with an Irish whip. And as Fasaki bounces back into range, Va’aiga uses his power to jerk him up overhead with a military press. But before the challenger can deposit Fasaki anywhere, the champion kicks wildly in order to drop down behind his opponent and land on his feet. Reaching down just as Va’aiga turns around, Fasaki pulls his opponent down to the mat with a single leg takedown. Immediately spinning once more around the leg, Fasaki tries to go for the figure-four once again only to have Va’aiga push his opponent off and to the mat. Immediately scrambling back over to Va’aiga, Ejiro slams an elbow into his opponent’s head before locking down with front face lock.

“He’s not even trying to win this anymore,” calls The Comet. “He is just trying to stall out!”

“He doesn’t have to win,” calls out Riley. “He just needs to last long enough for this time limit to end.”

Cranking away with the lock, Fasaki desperately rips Va’aiga’s head back and forth in an effort to keep the Maori down and unable to make a play for the win. Holding on as tightly as he can, Fasaki presses forward with his chest in order to force Va’aiga down to his knees. But as The Maori Bad Ass refuses to go down, Ejiro releases the hold for just a moment and uses his forearm to crack down on Va’aiga’s back in order to get him down to a knee. Reapplying the facelock, Fasaki holds on tightly for what he hopes will be a nice long rest for the remainder of the contest. But the member of The Unholy Trinity still has enough power left in the bank to lift Fasaki up and off his feet, headlock and all and jam him into a turnbuckle!

“ONE MINUTE! ONE MINUTE!”

Slamming ahead with a weak clothesline, Va’aiga leans into his foe once again in order to wear the United States Champion out for one last chance at taking the United States Title. Grabbing Fasaki by the head, Va’aiga turns his foe around and begins to beat his head across the turnbuckles time and time again as the crowd rises to its feet for what it hopes to be a final defeat for the Magnificent Seven. Releasing his hold on Ejiro’s hair, Va’aiga allows his foe to tumble to the mat. But Fasaki knows that any time that he spends on the canvas can only lead to a defeat and so he rises up and into the crosshairs of The Maori Warrior who is only too happy to cross his eyes with a hard right hand to the head. Knocking Fasaki back down to the canvas again, Va’aiga bashes in Fasaki’s face as he rises again with a big fist, Va’aiga knocks his foe down to the mat once again for the third time. Retreating into a corner, Va’aiga raises an arm in an L shape as he awaits Fasaki’s return to his feet.

“He’s going for one last lariat,” explains The Comet. “If this does not work I do not know that Va’aiga will have time for another chance.”

Rising up, Fasaki has about a quarter of a second of warning as The Maori Madman swings ahead with his whole arm aimed right at his face. But that is enough time for Fasaki to duck underneath the arm and hook it with one of his own. Then swinging his legs up and around the other arm, Fasaki looks to take Va’aiga down to the canvas with a crucifix takedown. But even now with his knee so out of joint and being so very tired, Va’aiga refuses to go backward to the canvas. Struggling, lifting, Va’aiga is able to pull his opponent up to his shoulders for just a moment before shifting Ejiro over his head and across his chest! And from there it is only one quick trip down to the canvas with a….

“MAORI DROPAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

ONEEEEEEEEEEEE!

“HE HAS FASAKI NOW! HE HAS HIM NOW!”

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“HOW MUCH TIME? HOW MUCH TIME!”

THREEEEEEEE-DING-EEEEEEEEEEE!

DING~! DING~!

“What just happened?” questions The Cyclone Comet. “The referee counted three but I don’t know if the time limit ended or not before then. You all heard the bell but it was so close.”

Moving out of the ring, referee Matthew Kivell retrieves the United States title belt from the timekeeper. Quickly the officials have a meeting outside of the ring to decide the fate of the match and the title. While on the inside of the ring, Va’aiga pulls himself off of Rule and wanders into a corner in order to fully hear what the decision of this match might be. Having made the decision, Kivell carries the belt back inside the ring with Funyon in tow. Standing in between the two combatants, Kivell orders both men back as Funyon reads the official decision.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” begins the announcer. “The time limit expired before the referee counted three. The result of the match is a DRAWWWWWWW!”

The crowd immediately starts to chant away, “FIVE MORE MINUTES! FIVE MORE MINUTES! FIVE MORE MINUTES!”

Taking the belt away from the referee, Ejiro virtually dives to the floor before Va’aiga can pursue. With the chant demanding a finish to this contest, Ejiro continues to amble around the ring as the referee holds the Maori Bad Ass at bay. Grabbing a microphone from a ringside official, Fasaki growls into the microphone, “Five more minutes? New York wants five more minutes?”

“FIVE MORE MINUTES! FIVE MORE MINUTES! FIVE MORE MINUTES!”

“Well THE HELL with New York!” screams Ejiro over the chant of the crowd. “You people show me no respect for forty-five damn minutes and you expect me to risk everything for you? The HELL with that! You bastards get no more out of me! And that savage piece of crap in the ring, you unholy bastard… if I have anything to say about it you will NEVER get another shot at MY gold. Because I am BETTER than YOU and … and I JUST PROVED IT!”

Throwing the microphone down, Ejiro retreats backstage as the crowd continues to berate the United States Champion with calls of, “FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI!”

“What a disgusting display, folks,” calls out The Cyclone Comet. “The United States Champion is a disgrace to this whole federation.”

“But he is the champion,” mocks Bobby Riley, “and there is nothing you or Va’aiga or anyone else can do about it!”

September 29, 2003

The Genesis IV crowd is still as hot as can be from the opening matchup, and the crowd finds another reason to erupt as the Smarktron comes to life with a picture of the Boston Strangler displayed for the crowd to see. Strangler is pacing back and forth around the backstage area, looking extremely agitated as he looks down at the ground. He finally comes to a stop and smashes his fist against a wall nearby before glancing around nervously, as if expecting an ambush at any moment. Activity buzzes in the background as wrestlers, staffers, and random others hang around the catering table. Small snatches of conversation waft over towards Strangler, who simply ignores them. Strangler leans back against the wall and slumps his head, looking defeated.

As Strangler leans back, a staffer goes walking by with his clipboard in hand, calling out to a small group of men talking against the catering table: “Hey, we got another couple arrivals for the legends box! Get out there and go see what you can do for them!” Two of the men break off and go briskly walking off in the direction of the arena. Strangler’s head snaps to life at those words, and he quickly walks over to the staffer, who is engrossed in some list. As Strangler’s massive paw wraps around his shoulder, he straightens up, terrified, before he turns around and sees Strangler looking down at him. “Mr. Strangler…what can I do for you?”

Strangler quickly replies, “You said that legends had arrived…do you happen to have a list of who’s here already?”

The staffer frowns for a second and leafs through the stack of paper on his clipboard before a small, satisfied grin crosses his face. “Here we go….so far we have Longdogger Pete, Mr. Galatea, Stryke, Mercury, and Stryke in the building, sir.”

“So Chris Wilson…he’s not here?” asks Strangler impatiently as his eyes run over the list that the staffer has. The staffer flashes him a condescending look and replies in an overly patient voice: “No, Mr. Wilson is not in the building, Mr. Strangler.” The staffer turns to leave, but Strangler’s hand clamps down on the staffer’s shoulder once again.

The staffer turns again, with an annoyed look on his face. “Yes, Mr. Strangler?” asks the man in a strained voice. “Look, man, you have to have a list of people that got invited to this thing, right? Can I see it?”

The man is unsure of himself, and thinks for a moment. “I do have a copy of the list, sir…but I need this copy for myself to help coordinate things. Here…take a quick look. But make it fast, OK? I got a LOT of stuff to get around to!” He thrusts out the sheet of paper directly in front of Strangler’s face. The big man’s eyes focus for a second, then run quickly down the sheet until he comes to a stop.

Chris Raynor

Chris Storm

Chris Wilson

Curry Man

Strangler freezes, and just stares at the name on the piece of paper. The staffer just looks at him, then slowly removes the clipboard and starts off on his way. Strangler sits down on the nearest anvil case and just looks down at his hands, still surprised. He sits like that for a moment, then looks up as Taylor Nicholas Thompson taps him on the shoulder. Strangler comes bolting out of his seat with his fists raised, which sends TNT jumping backwards a step. Strangler immediately recognizes TNT and drops his fists, and TNT similarly relaxes as he looks at Strangler, very confused. “Strangler, what’s got you so on edge? You act like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Strangler looks up at TNT with a tired smile and replies, “You know, Taylor, I think I might just have.”

“What? Strangler, what are you talking about?”

Strangler simply says, “Follow me” and starts walking towards the locker room area. TNT shrugs, then jogs after the quickly-moving Strangler. He catches up with Strangler after a few hundred feet, and walks alongside him. TNT looks ready with a thousand questions, but wisely walks along in silence as Strangler focuses on the three feet of air directly in front of him for the entire walk back to the locker room that has “STRANGLER” plastered on it. Strangler roughly pushes the door open and walks straight to his locker as TNT steps in, takes the room in, and takes a seat near Strangler’s locker on the bench. “Damn, nice room, man” mumbles TNT, which draws a muted “Yeah…” from Strangler. Strangler finally emerges from his locker with a video cassette tape in his hand. He quickly slips it into a VCR and sits back as the video lines up. “We watching some old home movies or something, Strangler?” jokes TNT, but Strangler quickly interjects with a “Shhhh!” as the tape, obviously the same one that Strangler received at Smarkdown, starts to play.

--------------

“Well, well, well. The Boston Strangler. It’s been a long time since I saw you, Strangler. I guess the last time we were together was back when you were in the Magnificent Seven…those were the good ol’ days, huh? Although I suppose you didn’t leave on the best of circumstances…but regardless, Strangler, you annoyed me back then. And when I took my leave of the SWF, I still had some unfinished business with you…too bad you had to go and get yourself hauled off to rehab before I could put you in a hospital bed. But guess what, Strangler? I’m on my way back. And this time, I won’t leave anything unfinished.”

--------------

The tape clicks to a halt, and Strangler turns to read TNT’s face. Thompson’s face is covered with a worried expression on his face. He looks over to Strangler, and says, “Is that who I think it is? Because if it is…”

Strangler cuts in quickly: “Of course it is! It’s typical Wilson! Who else but Wilson would return after I lose the belt, when I’m at my weakest, and at the biggest stage of the year? You remember how I got kicked out of this league! Wilson turned on me, took me out with a chair, and handed me over to police officers! He wouldn’t let this stay in house! He stuck me with the damn cops! And now he wants to come back and finish me off!”

TNT looks totally caught off-guard for this, and struggles for something, anything, to say. “Hey, Strangler, you know you can take Chris Wilson. He’s nothing special, and you know it. You’ve been active, and he’s been inactive for a year! And you’re a former World Champ! You’re on his level, Strangler!”

Strangler digests the words, but still seems negative. “I’ve lost four straight matches, and I lost my World Title. I’m down and out right now. Chris Wilson does bad things to people when they’re like that. I know that since he took control of me last time I was in that kind of place…and he could just do it again! I…I can’t let that happen, TNT. You know what happened to me last time I was like that! The steroids, the random attacks, Erek Taylor…that was the worst part of my career, and it was all because of Chris Wilson! IT WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN!”

TNT quiets down for a moment, then pats Strangler on the back, causing Strangler to inadvertently flinch from the friendly action. “Strangler, your match is up soon. Calm down for a little, go out there and destroy Jay Dawg, and then take care of Wilson whenever he decides to show up.”

“That’s the thing, Thompson. It’s CHRIS WILSON. You know how he is. There’s a reason he shows up JUST before Genesis. He HAS to be in the center spotlight. And Genesis is the biggest spotlight of them all…I’m guessing that if he’s showing up, it’s gonna be during this match.” TNT pauses for a moment, and thinks about it.

“Well, here’s an idea: If he shows up, Massacre his bitch ass and beat him until he won’t bother you again.” Strangler finally cracks a grin at that thought, and gets up to his feet. “TNT, I like the way you think. And hey, good luck against Danno. Give him the same ol’ 1-2 punch you gave him at Ground Zero, OK?”

TNT smiles as well, and pats Strangler on the back. “I’ll take care of Danny, and you take care of Wilson. And don’t worry, Strangler. We’re partners. I got your back.” With that, TNT exits the locker room and walks off down the hall, leaving Strangler alone in the locker room. TBS reaches down, grabs the remote, and rewinds quickly before pressing play again. The shadowy figure pops back up on the screen, almost finished with his diatribe. Strangler leans back against the locker and watches as the figure raises his hand slightly as he finishes his speech:

“But guess what, Strangler? I’m on my way back. And this time, I won’t leave anything unfinished.”

September 29, 2003

In the parking lot of Madison Square Garden, a team of paramedics is leading Wildchild, who lies motionless on a stretcher, out to an ambulance.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Comet, earlier tonight, we witnessed a diabolical sneak attack by Johnny Dangerous onto SWF Hardcore Champion the Wildchild, as has being interviewed. And now, it looks as though he’s about to be taken out of here by ambulance to St. Vincent’s Hospital.”

“Any idea how this is going to affect the Hardcore title match,” asks Riley.

Comet shakes his head. “I have no idea, Citizen Robert. It doesn’t appear, from the looks of things, that the match is going to happen tonight. I guess it will be up to the SWF Championship Committee to decide whether or not this match will be rescheduled, or whether Johnny will be awarded the title on a forfeit!”

With Wildchild safely aboard, the ambulance’s sirens kick into a loud wail, and it speeds off into the night.

As we:

FADE OUT

September 29, 2003

TALE OF THE TAPE

John Duran

Age: 29

Height: 6'8"

Weight: 265lbs

Bench: 420lbs

Move List: 24 practiced moves, 3 variables.

Finisher(s): Break Point, Ultimate Sin.

Accomplishments: SJL Television Champion, SJL World Champion, founder of the Urban Decay.

Last Five: 2-3

English Dragon

Age: 23

Height: 5'11"

Weight: 224lbs

Bench: 330lbs

Move List: 28 practiced moves, 2 variables.

Finisher(s): Dragon Driver, St George's Cross.

Accomplishments: SJL Triple Crown (Television Title, European Title, World Title), charter Urban Decay member.

Last Five: 3-2

POWER ADVANTAGE: John Duran

LEVERAGE ADVANTAGE: John Duran

SPEED ADVATAGE: English Dragon

EXPERIENCE ADVANTAGE: John Duran

TECHNICAL ADVANTAGE: English Dragon

HOT/COLD: N/A

OVERALL ADVANTAGE: John Duran

September 29, 2003

The glory of commercial-free TV continues as Genesis IV rolls along. Cyclone Comet and Bobby Riley are looking very spiffy as they prepare for the next match.

Riley: "The opener is in the history books, but believe me, folks, there is still plenty of show to go! Next up is a match between two former stablemates, one who is looking to destroy any history of that stable for good!"

Comet: "I don't understand this though, Citizen Riley!"

Riley: "What don't you understand?"

Comet: "This evil-doer, John Duran, is trying to destroy a stable that he built! While any evil should be suppressed as soon as possible, and I commend Mr. Duran for doing so, why do the fans still despise him? I see him as a superhero!"

Riley: "Oh, Comet, I believe it will be quite the different situation once Duran and the English Dragon both get in the ring. Duran has just been a complete jackass since joining the SWF. Not that that's a problem with me, but apparently the fans have taken exception. I wouldn't be surprised to see that arrogant Englishman get cheers!"

Comet: "My my my, Citizen Riley, there is just too much evil in this one match! Let's get this match over with and send in the good guys!"

Riley: "Whatever you say, my little dust devil."

Before the conversation can continue to more--enlightening--topics, Comet and Riley are both interrupted by the booming voice of Funyon, ready to deliver the introductions!

Funyon: "Ladies and gentlemen, this next match is a one-on-one contest scheduled for one fall!"

Without missing a beat, "Land of Hope and Glory" immediately kicks in. The theme is familiar to some SWF fans who were watching during the Genesis tournament, and the overall response for the English Dragon is very mixed as the masked man steps out from the back, moving through the pillars in what will be, without a doubt, his biggest match to date. Robertson the Butler is close behind Dragon, looking around at the crowd with Dragon, looking very mean and brutal as usually.

Funyon: "Introducing first, weighing in at two hundred and twenty-three pounds, accompanied to the ring by ROBERTSON the BUTLER, from London, England...he is THE ENGLISH DRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-GON!"

The mixture of cheers and boos continue for Dragon as he continues his slow walk down to the ring, confidence oozing out of his mask, which is sparkling the color of gold as well as the rest of his outfit. The Urban Decay gave him a chance to rise in the ranks and has led him to today, but with the pressure of that all falling apart on his shoulders, the Englishman has never looked surer of himself.

Comet: "Do you see what I mean about the crowd, Citizen Riley? Why the indecision? I have come to loathe both of these men! Is it so hard?"

Riley: "It's the American way, Comet. Trust me, these guys would cheer a bag of potato chips if John Duran had challenged it to a match."

Robertson stays on the outside of the ring as Dragon walks up the ring steps and onto the apron. Dragon calmly wipes his feet on the side of the apron before stepping through the ropes and into the ring. Robertson walks around the ring to the far corner, which is where Dragon ends up as they both talk strategy.

The hard beats of Drowning Pool's "Sinner" interrupt the pow-wow in the corner, as the New York fans unleash a torrent of boos that explode outwards like a nuclear bomb, almost drowning out the singing growls of the late Dave Williams. "Sinner" pounds along as "The Sinner" himself, John Duran, steps out into Madison Square Garden. Duran is sporting a sick grin as he stops for a minute to get a good look at the crowd, and then continuing down to the ring. In his hand is a black ball of what looks like cloth, but it's hard to tell.

Funyon: "And his opponent, weighing in at two hundred and sixty-eight pounds, hailing from Champaign, Illinois...he is THE SINNER...JOHN DURAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!"

As Funyon finishes, Duran comes to a stop, halfway down the aisle, and removes the black ball of cloth from his hand.

Riley: "What do you suppose that is, Comet?"

Comet: "I don't know, it looks like it could possibly be a t-shirt or something of that nature! I don't know why John Duran would bring anything else down to the ring like a washrag, unless he was planning on doing dishes instead of fighting the English Dragon!"

Riley: "It'd be just as easy, Comet, I'm sure."

As Duran unrolls the cloth, it is revealed that sure enough, it is a t-shirt. But not just any t-shirt.

An Urban Decay t-shirt.

Comet: "Oh no..."

The shirt with the green lettering and the red blood dripping of the letters takes Dragon a little bit aback, but his mask prevents any of us to see his true feelings on the matter.

Riley: "Yes! What a mind game John Duran is playing right now! I love it!"

Comet: "It just isn't enough for him that he's already beaten the English Dragon, is it?"

Riley: "But that was more than three months ago, Comet! You have to keep your opponents psyched out, and if I may say so myself, that is definitely the way to do it! 'The Sinner' is giving Dragon something to think about before he steps into that ring, reminding him of what lies ahead!"

Duran doesn't immediately step into the ring, but instead takes the left side around the ring, avoiding Dragon for the most part, and throwing the t-shirt to the timekeeper. "The Sinner" hasn't erased the sick grin from his mug as he returns to the beginning of the entranceway, prepared to enter the ring and begin the match. John gets a good look at Robertson, and then returns his gaze to English Dragon before stepping up onto the apron. As Duran steps through the middle rope, Dragon rushes over to him and clubs him in the back with a right hand. The referee wastes no time at all as he turns to the timekeeper and calls for the bell.

*DING DING DING*

Comet: "Yes! Finally, we are underway with the second match of the night!"

The mixture of cheers and boos continue to rumble through New York, New York as the English Dragon plugs away at John Duran with clubbing right hands, eventually letting him fully into the ring after "The Sinner" was momentarily stuck in limbo between the apron and the squared circle. The situation does not improve for John Duran as soon as he enters the ring, however, as he catches a European uppercut right to the jaw. The blow sends Duran right back into the ropes as he immediately tends to his jaw, completely off his guard as Dragon gives him no time to recover. Dragon twists through the air, bringing his leg up and slamming it into the chest of Duran. The force of *this* blow is enough to send Duran over the top and right to the outside, back where he came from. The mixed reaction continues as Dragon begins oozing charisma, jawing it up with some of the fans.

Riley: "I certainly did not see this coming, Comet! The English Dragon took a page out of the book of 'The Sinner,' and performed a sneak attack before the bell had even rung!"

ONE!

The referee begins the ten count as Duran remains on the outside, taking a breather as he is sprawled out on the ground.

Comet: "He knows what's at stake here! The universe hangs in the balance!"

Riley: "THIS IS THE BIGGEST MATCH IN THE HISTORY OF OUR SPORT--ahem. Excuse me."

TWO!

Duran begins to rise to his feet, though he still seems to be paying a fair amount of attention to his jaw. Duran rolls into the ring, and English Dragon is waiting for him, placing a couple of stomps on Duran's head while John lays on the mat. Finally, the Dragon bends down and lifts "The Sinner" off the ground, albeit slowly. As soon as Duran reaches a vertical base, however, he is met with a hand cutting through the air.

*WHACK*

The chop connects with the chest of Duran, and this sudden beastly strength from Dragon sends Duran exploding backwards a couple of steps towards the ropes nearest the announce table.

*WHACK*

Another chop, sending Duran back another couple of steps.

Riley: "My God, Comet, where did Dragon find this strength! He's chopping Duran down like he's a California redwood! This is amazing!"

Comet: "Perhaps the evil has left him! Maybe we are seeing a new side of the English Dragon!"

However, Cyclone Comet spoke too soon, as before going for another chop, Dragon calls a fan a "dirty yank."

*WHACK*

A third chop puts Duran into the ropes, reeling like a prizefighter about to be put down by a young upstart who has risen from the streets to take down the king of the hill. Dragon grabs Duran's right arm, pushing him up against the ropes before sending him to the other side. As Duran rumbles into the opposite ropes and rebounds off, Dragon shuffles to the middle of the ring, before moving his feet accordingly so that he can bring his left leg up.

*SMACK*

The golden boot of Dragon connects with the face of "The Sinner," and Duran slumps like a sack of potatoes to the mat after the superkick. The fans still can't decide on whether they love or hate English Dragon as the London man goes for the first cover of the bout.

ONE...

TWO...KICKOUT!

That early pounding is enough to get a two count before Duran shoots a shoulder up. English is ready to keep the pace of the match going, as he brings "The Sinner" with him as both men rise to their feet.

Comet: "I must say, Citizen Riley, I know that the English Dragon is well known for his limb work in matches, but exactly what limb has he been working early on in this match?"

Riley: "That's an excellent question, Comet, for once, and I have no idea. Perhaps Dragon is just working on Duran's face to keep 'The Sinner' in a constant amount of pain?"

Comet: "Well, that and keep him from getting a date."

Riley: "Right, right."

Dragon brings up a boot to kick Duran in the midsection, but John grabs the boot, holding it there for a second as the people packed into Madison Square Garden begin to boo. Duran pushes Dragon's boot to the left, and as Dragon comes around full-circle.

*WHAM*

Duran lunges forward, arm extended, and damn near takes the Dragon's head off with a clothesline, effectively switching the momentum of the match into the favor of "The Sinner." The English Dragon pops right back up to his feet, but Duran is ready and waiting, lifting *his* boot and actually connecting with flesh as the boot drives into the midsection of Dragon, doubling him over as the Dragon places both hands over the affected area. Duran quickly snaps on a front facelock, and drops down.

*BOOM*

Dragon's head is nice and firmly planted into the mat from the DDT, and Duran rolls Dragon over onto his back. Duran mounts Dragon's chest, putting a knee on either side of the Englishman. The referee swings around to count the pinfall, but it's not a pinfall that John Duran is looking for. "The Sinner" draws his right hand back and slams it into Dragon's head. Left hand to the other side of the head. Now the referee switches his job from "the guy who counts the pinfall" to "the guy who keeps things civilized" and warns Duran to stop this assault on the English Dragon or risk disqualification.

Riley: "This is not looking good for Dragon. This match has a lot of emotional value for both men, and there's a lot to get caught up in, Comet."

Comet: "Two very different goals, however. Duran wants to end Urban Decay, and Dragon wants to keep it together as he moves on in the big leagues."

Riley: "Have you managed to pick a side yet?"

Comet: "Are you kidding? I can't side with evil, even the lesser of two evils! It's not in my powers to do so!"

Just as the referee seems poised and ready to begin that five count of doom, Duran ends the barrage of punches with one last right hand, before removing himself from Dragon's chest and standing up. Duran stays over the downed form of Dragon and looks down, pointing and talking words that are intelligible to the audience both in the arena and at home, but it's obvious that "The Sinner" is talking up a fair amount of trash. Once he's finished mouthing off to the former SJL World Champion, he leans over and grabs Dragon's head, bringing the 220-something wrestler up to his feet. Duran quickly brings up his arm, slamming his forearm into Dragon's head once...and then again. Duran's answer to the stiff chops sends Dragon into the ropes, as the seasoned prizefighter begins to take over.

Riley: "This should be interesting, it seems both men are going for the head or the neck as a central point. That says a lot about this match, Comet."

Comet: "I know, I know. Both of these men want the victory so bad, they're willing to go for the kill!"

A third forearm puts Dragon into the ropes, as the three ropes begin to give from under Dragon. Duran keeps the Englishman steady, before whipping him into the opposite ropes. Duran stays close to Dragon, and mere moments after Dragon rebounds off the ropes, Duran is right there to hit a fourth forearm. This running forearm is more than enough to take Dragon down hard, as the man from London looks to be in a world of hurt right now. However, the adrenaline of the tables turning in Duran's favor seems to be fading from the body of "The Sinner," as Duran begins to hold his jaw in pain again. Duran tries to grit his teeth and bare it, though it's doubtful that's really going to help his aching jaw.

Riley: "I really don't like seeing Duran in this fashion. That European uppercut might've done some serious damage!"

Comet: "Are you kidding? Everyone in the SWF is in tip-top shape, how could anyone possibly get injured from a European uppercut?"

Riley: "Perhaps you're actually making some good points here, Comet. But you're a superhero. Can't take anything from you at face value, you know."

Duran bounces off the ropes, bounding towards Dragon who is down in the middle of the ring. John leaps up into the air, extending his leg outwards and coming down fast, letting gravity do its job as Duran brings his outstretched leg crashing down across the throat of the English Dragon, making the Dragon stiff up with pain. Duran does go for the cover this time, as he drapes his body across Dragon's and hooks the leg.

ONE...

TWO...KICKOUT!

It's déjà vu as the referee is very much in position, and knows that John Duran certainly did not get a three count on that last pinfall. "The Sinner" argues otherwise, but he's just preaching to a brick wall as the ref will have none of it, constantly assuring Duran--who is easily two or three times as big as the ref--that it was a two count. Duran sneers at the ref before turning around to keep his offensive attack on a roll against Dragon.

Riley: "I don't think Duran should've been arguing with that ref! I mean, it takes too much time away when he could be stomping a mudhole in Dragon!"

Comet: "Oh yes, and why doesn't he kill kittens while he's at it? Such an evil, evil man! Makes me shudder to just think about what he does when he goes home!"

It seems as if Riley is almost connecting with Duran's mind, as John immediately begins to go at an attempt to stomp a mudhole in the English Dragon, letting loose with hard boots to the solarplexes and head of Dragon, defenseless even after breaking the pinfall. Duran still seems in pain as he brings Dragon to his feet once again, keeping a hold of his right arm and tossing him in the ropes once again. On the rebound, Duran lifts up a boot as if to take Dragon down again, but Dragon somehow has the presence of mind to duck it. Duran is caught off guard, and turns around as Dragon rebounds off the ropes once again. The crowd reaction returns to a mixed bag once again as a Duran clothesline misses its mark! This time, however, Dragon stops in his tracks, turns around, and brutally kicks Duran in the back of the knee, making the knee fold like an accordion. With Duran down on both knees, Dragon is better able to lock on an inverted facelock, getting some leverage and turning it into a Dragon sleeper! The cheers actually increase at the sight of this submission being locked on, as the ref moves around to make sure that "The Sinner" hasn't already thrown in the towel.

Riley: "What a twist in this match! Dragon brought Duran down to his level and then snapped on that Dragon sleeper, a trademark of the Englishman!"

Comet: "Look at that submission being twisted in by Dragon, too! He'll fit in the SWF well, that's for sure."

The jaw of Duran has to be aching at this point, as he flails his arms, trying to get out of the dragon sleeper as soon as possible, before it begins to sink in. In what seems like a last, ditch effort to get out of the submission before "The Sinner" has no choice but to submit, Duran brings his hand up and manages to find the eyes of the English Dragon, raking across them and penetrating the mask. The eye rake is able to daze Dragon long enough so that he loosens the sleeper, allowing Duran to slip out.

Comet: "I knew it! I knew that Duran would start playing dirty any moment now!"

Riley: "Well, when the chips are on the table, Comet, you'll do anything to pick up the victory!"

The referee had noticed the eye rake, however, and scolds Duran about it, but doesn't disqualify him, only giving him a warning for the time being. By the time that the referee lets Duran continue, however, Dragon has gotten to his feet. Duran tries to do something, anything to put Dragon back down on the mat, where he has been for most of the match while Duran has been in control, but Dragon stops "The Sinner" dead in his tracks with a picture-perfect dropkick.

Comet: "You know what, Citizen Riley, maybe you're right, I should side with somebody in this bout! The English Dragon!"

Riley: "Ugh. Surely you jest, Comet."

Comet: "Look at the crispness when he is performing the moves, Citizen Robert! He looks like a pro out there against Duran!"

Dragon seems to be falling into his zone as he methodically brings Duran up to his feet, stepping behind Duran and grabbing Duran's head before dropping down with John.

*WHAM*

Duran's head whiplashes forward from the force of the neckbreaker, as John's hands immediately go to his neck and face, the crowd likely beginning to wonder how much that appendage of his body can take as Dragon drapes his body over Duran's and hooks the leg nice and tight. The ref swings around to count the pinfall once again.

ONE...

TWO...

KICKOUT!

Still not much progress, but still a two count as "The Sinner" kicks out. Dragon grabs Duran by his jet-black hair and begins to drag him up to his feet. Once Duran is on his two feet, however, he fights Dragon off angrily, and they have a short stare down, both men looking into each other's eyes, Dragon's expression mostly disguised by the golden mask before John brings his boot up with lightning-quick speed into the abdomen of Dragon. The front facelock is applied once again, but Duran rethinks a regular DDT and instead applies an underhook to both of Dragon's arms before coming down to the mat.

*BOOM*

Dragon's face is exposed to the mat, as Duran gives the English Dragon a taste of his own medicine with a double underhook DDT that focuses mostly on the face of Dragon, and provides very little protection for the masked man, short of the mask itself. Duran immediately gets back up to his feet, before turning away from the downed Dragon and yelling out, for all of Madison Square Garden to hear.

Duran: "I'M GOING TO BREAK HIS GOD DAMN SKULL!"

Riley: "YES! BROKEN BONES!"

Comet: "Those bones broken should be those of the evil, and of those who are the despised in this world, and those who are despised are the men like John Duran!"

The portion of the crowd that does hear him immediately explode into a torrent of boos, as Duran turns back, focusing his attention on the London native once again. Duran brings Dragon up to his feet, deliberately slowly, dragging out the pain that must be flowing through the masked face of the English Dragon, before bringing a sharp knee up right into the abdomen, doubling over the Englishman. John puts the Dragon in a standing headscissors, bending down and wrapping his arms around the waist of the English Dragon. "The Sinner" isn't going for the Ultimate Sin, however, as he just simply lifts Dragon up in the air, keeping Dragon firmly placed between his legs before dropping down quickly, spiking Dragon into the ground with an amazingly loud

*BOOM*

Riley: "PILEDRIVER! The breakdown of the English Dragon begins here, Comet! Enjoy it! Grab some popcorn!"

Comet: "Please Citizen Riley, I retch at the sight of these atrocities."

Dragon is down and seemingly out on the mat, but "The Sinner" refuses to go for a cover, bringing the English Dragon up once again. Dragon is whipped into the ropes by Duran, and there is no movement on the part of John as Dragon comes off the ropes on the rebounds.

*WHOOSH*

Riley: "SLEEPER! DURAN'S LOCKED ON A SLEEPER!"

Intent on cutting the blood off from Dragon's head and going for the kill, Duran slams a sleeperhold on Dragon with a fair amount of quickness, more than we're used to from "The Sinner," anyway. The former leader of Urban Decay fights with the former SJL Heavyweight Champion, as the Dragon swings his arms wildly, trying to slip out of the sleeperhold. Slowly, however, the Dragon fades...fades...fades...

Comet: "No, it can't end this way! This isn't how good guys go out!"

Riley: "I disagree. Ever see Batman and Robin? For them going out like that, it sure put ME to sleep."

Comet: "How dare you beseech the name of Batman and Robin!"

Riley: "Oh just calm down already, spaz."

Finally, the Dragon hits one knee...and then hits two knees. Finally, Dragon fades back, sitting down on the mat as Duran locks the sleeperhold in nice and tight. The ref leans in, checking on Dragon, who looks dead to the world. He grabs Dragon's arm and raises it in the air, dropping it...

It falls.

ONE!

Comet: "Come on, Dragon. FIGHT IT!"

Riley: "Acceptance, Dragon! Accept your fate against the master of your domain!"

Dragon's arm is grasped again by the referee's skinny hand. Raised in the air. Dropped again.

Fallen again.

TWO!

Riley: "Only one more! Stay down, Dragon!"

The mixed crowd reaction suddenly leans towards support for Dragon. The crowd does not want to see Duran win this way. They get behind Dragon, cheering their hearts out, letting everyone in the great state of New York know what it's like to be there at that very moment, wanting the English Dragon to fight out of it. The referee grabs Dragon's arm again, raising it in the air for the entire world to see.

Dropping it.

It doesn't fall.

Riley: "NO!"

Comet: "YES! YESYESYES!"

The crowd who was cheering for Dragon explodes with joy as the Dragon raises his fist in defiance, in sheer and utter defiance of the sleeperhold. Dragon raises up to both knees. The look on Duran's face is worrisome. It's hard to see emotions through a mask, but for the first time in this match, it can be seen that the Dragon is definitely angry. He is being taken out of his game. Out of his comfort zone. He wants back.

Dragon's on one knee now.

Riley: "Keep it on him, Duran! Don't let go of the little runt!"

The 5'11" man from London, England will not quit, however. He rises to one knee. RISES to his feet. Plants an elbow into Duran's stomach. Duran's jaw pain seems to be enveloping him. Something is seriously wrong with the jaw of "The Sinner," and it is not fading like it should be. The Dragon is an angry one.

Another elbow.

And another elbow.

The sleeperhold breaks. Duran pushes Dragon into the ropes as a last ditch effort, trying to keep Dragon out of it. Dragon rebounds off the ropes. Duran tries for a clothesline.

DUCKED.

Dragon goes behind Duran, puts his head under Duran's arm and falls back for all he is worth.

The belly to back suplex connects.

Riley: "NO!"

Comet: "He's turned the tables! The English Dragon is in control!"

Both men are down for a moment. Before the ref can start his ten count...they stir. Dragon gets up one knee. He looks over to Robertson, who nods and goes over, talking to Dragon. Duran goes over to the nearest ropes he can find, trying to hoist himself up on them, keeping an eye on English Dragon, holding one hand to his jaw and using one hand to pull himself off.

Riley: "I've never seen a man focus so much on his jaw. He's going to need medical attention for this..."

Comet: "Come on, Dragon, you're so close."

Robertson puts a hand on the back of Dragon's head, and Dragon meets the hand with his own. Robertson nods again and goes over to the corner. Dragon stirs in the corner as Duran reaches his feet, 6 feet away from Dragon. He approaches and closes the gap as Dragon turns around.

*WHOOSH*

*THUNK*

A booming right hand from Dragon connects with Duran's jaw.

DOWN GOES DURAN.

Riley: "What the hell?"

The light makes the object in Dragon's hand shimmer.

Comet: "Brass knuckles!"

Riley: "That cheater! Call him a cheater, Comet!"

Comet: "I can't! This is too good for words! Should've sent a poet!"

The crowd sees it too...but the referee does not. The crowd's cheers grow...could this be it? Dragon falls to one knee again after standing up to land the punch of his life, putting the knucks back in his trunks. However, he's exhausted. His head thumps with pain, and he can't get the cover right away.

Comet: "PIN HIM! PIN HIM!"

Some of the crowd members echo Comet's enthusiasm as Dragon, after what seems like an hour, falls on top of Duran as Duran's shoulders rest on the mat.

ONE...

TWO...

THRE----NOOOOOOOOO!

English Dragon can't believe it.

Cyclone Comet can't believe it.

Robertson can't believe it.

The crowd refuses to believe it, and boos.

But John Duran did get a shoulder up.

Comet: "How do you put him down! The brass knuckles should've been enough of a dirty tactic!"

Riley: "Look at you, Comet. Praising a man's dirty tactics."

Comet: "You're absolutely right, Citizen Riley."

Riley: "Thank you."

Comet: "GO DRAGON!"

Dragon gets to his feet very slowly, bringing Duran up with him, keeping Duran in a standing headscissors instead of a vertical base. Dragon grabs around Duran's waist, mustering all the strength inside of him, trying to lift Duran up. He can't get Duran up on his shoulders, but Duran dangles down.

Mistake.

Dragon steps in front of Duran's dangling arms, and the crowd knows what's next.

Riley: "He's going to hit the--"

*BOOM*

Riley: "DRAGON DRIVER! NO!"

Comet: "IT'S OVER! DURAN CAN'T KICK OUT OF THAT!"

Dragon rolls over Duran onto his back, and the cover is administered. The crowd chants along with the referee as he makes the count.

ONE.....

TWO...

THREE! DRAGON DID IT!

NO, NO HE DIDN'T!

TWO COUNT!

Once again, Duran has kicked out. The crowd is in absolute shock, but not enough to keep them from letting out an absolute hurricane of boos onto Duran, letting him have it. "The Sinner" remains on the ground, and Dragon seems spent from that last big lift of the much, much bigger Duran. Duran places his hand on his jaw as Dragon tries to soothe his neck. Duran rises up onto a knee, and calls for the end.

Riley: "FINALLY! The Ultimate Sin! This has to be it!"

Comet: "DARN IT ALL TO HECK!"

Duran picks Dragon up, putting him in a standing headscissors before lifting him up onto his shoulders. Duran places Dragon in the crucifix position. It's always academic from here. Duran pushes Dragon forward, as he seems on a crash course for the mat.

*BOOM*

Riley: "ULTIMATE SIN!"

Duran stretches out his legs, covering Dragon's shoulders in the Ultimate Sin. The crowd is bummed as the ref swings around to make the count.

ONE...

TWO...

THREE-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

DRAGON KICKED OUT OF THE ULTIMATE SIN!

Riley: "WHAT THE FU--"

Comet: "FUN DAYS ARE HERE AGAIN, CITIZEN RILEY!"

The crowd explodes with cheers as Dragon kicks out. Duran suddenly seems enraged, and calls for the end once again as he raises up one more time.

Comet: "Oh God, not the Ultimate Sin again. Show some restraint, Duran! Just hit him with a chokeslam! Anything! Not again!"

But there is no standing headscissors applied as Dragon is lifted up off the squared circle. Dragon is left standing and dazed as Duran steps behind him, bending down and lifting him up in an inverted Fireman's Carry.

Comet: "Wait a second...this isn't the Ultimate Sin..."

Riley: "No way..."

An angry grin forms on Duran's face as he swings Dragon's legs out from behind "The Sinner", dropping to the mat.

Dropping all.

The way.

Down.

*BOOM*

Riley: "OH MY GOD!"

Comet: "That's the---'

Riley: "BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA! THE BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA, ON SWF TV FOR THE FIRST TIME!"

Comet: "I..."

Riley: "Comet has been silenced! Duran, you are a miracle worker! Bahahahahahahaha!"

The crowd is absolutely stunned into booing as the Blunt Force Trauma hits. Dragon is out cold. Duran swings his body over onto Dragon's, as the ref gets in position to make the three count.

ONE...

TWO...

THREEEEEEEEEEEE!

Comet: "God, it's over...evil prevails again..."

Riley: "What a match!"

The ref raises the hand of Duran, as the other hand tends to "The Sinner"'s jaw.

Funyon: "Here is your winner, THE SINNER, JOHN DURAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!"

Duran snatches the mic from Funyon as soon as he finishes that announcement, and the fans suddenly begin to pick up their boos.

Duran: "Do you see what happens when you put up a fight? Let that be a message to all of you who want to challenge me! You break my jaw, and I'll end you! Gimme that damn shirt!"

Duran signals to the timekeeper and the timekeeper obliges, tossing the shirt to Duran, who catches it.

Duran: "Is this what you want, Dominic? Do you want to be the Urban Decay? Because Dragon here was a member of Urban Decay. Now look at him. Do you see him moving, Dominic? Do you want to be a part of that? HUH?"

Duran drapes the Urban Decay shirt over the mask of Dragon, the Urban Decay letters staring up into the sky.

Duran: "Think about that the next time we should meet, Dominic. We'll see what you want to be then."

Duran throws the mic down and raises his arms in victory.

Comet: "And so ends another chapter in SWF history...the Urban Decay has been ended."

Riley: "It's about damn time."

Comet: "Have you no feelings, Citizen Riley?"

Riley: "Please, you know the answer to that. Where's Flesher at?"

Comet: "He's coming. For now, it's time to get ready for Jay Dawg and the one and only Boston Strangler!"

Dragon is still out cold and covered with the Urban Decay t-shirt as Robertson slides in the ring, the crowd readying for the next segment on the show, Dragon's butler checking on the masked Englishman while Duran goes to the back to get some help for his jaw, in victory.

Victory.

The Urban Decay has been eliminated.

September 29, 2003

As Genesis IV continues on its merry way, the shot suddenly cuts to the One and Only Ben Hardy, stationed at the official Genesis Interview Booth. Grinning broadly, the tuxedo-clad Hardy raises a microphone to his lips and greets the viewers at home, who really want nothing to do with the limp-wristed sissy.

“Hello, everyone!” Hardy announces, “Once again, I’m Ben Hardy, here to bring you another EXCLUSIVE interview with a former SWF Superstar!”

Hardy then shifts in his chair and motions to a rather large television behind him, which was previously out of the shot. “So, it’s my great pleasure to present to you, live via satellite from Chapala, Mexico, the former 3-Time SWF World Heavyweight Champion...El Luchadooooooore Magnificooooooooo!”

With that, the television flickers to life, bringing forth the smiling face of El Luchadore Magnifico. In the corner of the screen, the phrase “Live Via Satellite” appears, while a pristine beach, complete with gentle, rolling waves, makes up the background.

“Hola, mis amigos!” greets Magnifico, cheerfully. “Thank you very much for having me on.”

“The pleasure is ours, Magnifico.” Responds Hardy, just as cheerfully. “Now ELM...almost six months ago, you left the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation amidst a flurry of controversy. In your last words to the Federation, you admitted to being an illegal immigrant to the United States, right before vanishing without a trace. To be honest, I’m shocked that we tracked you down.”

Magnifico’s mood sobers a bit, but the smile remains on his face as he answers Ben’s question. “That’s the one thing I regret about my leaving the fed.” ELM begins. “I wasn’t able to give the fans a proper goodbye, the one they deserved after supporting me for almost two years straight. But, as you know, I needed to leave the federation as quickly as possible, before I could question my own actions. And although I occasionally miss competing in a SWF ring, I’m happy right where I am, in my rightful home of Mexico.”

Ben smiles. “Well, we’re very glad to hear that you’re happy, Magnifico. Have you been following the SWF as of late?”

“To be honest, I’ve been a little lax in watching the shows.” Magnifico admits, grinning sheepishly. “But I do manage to catch a few matches every now and then. In my defense, I made a point of watching Genesis IV tonight because...well, because I’d be on it!”

Ben laughs a bit before continuing. “So, what do you think of tonight’s card? The SWF roster has changed quite a bit since you left.”

Magnifico nods. “That it has. But even though I don’t know some of the wrestlers as well as I’d like to, I know that every single competitor in the SWF has a rightful place there. The collection of talent in the federation might be the greatest I’ve ever seen in a wrestling company.”

“That being said, there are a few matches on the card that really catch my eye. I can’t believe La Punta...perdoname, Jay Dawg is still in the fed, and taking on The Boston Strangler no less. Also, even though it could be the most violent and disturbing match out federation has ever seen, I’m really looking forward to seeing Edwin MacPhisto compete against Nathaniel Kibagami. That match has been in the works too long for it to not be a classic. And of course, the Main Event, in which one of my greatest rivals, Tom Flesher, takes on his subordinate, Judge Mental. Not to sound selfish, but this reminds me quite a bit of Genesis II’s Main Event, a 6-Way Match for the World Title that involved, among others, myself and Chris Wilson, who was my boss at the time. Am I saying that the subordinate will triumph over his “superior” once again? We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Well, Magnifico, we can’t thank you enough for your time, and we hope you join us here again someday.” Says Ben, apparently trying to hint at something.

“It was my pleasure, Ben. Thanks for having me on.” Magnifico grins broadly, and with that, the screen turns dark once more.

“El Luchadore Magnifico, everyone! Stay tuned, because there’s oh-so-much more action to be seen here, at Genesis IV!” cries Ben. Mere seconds later, the inevitable starwipe occurs, sending the viewers to their next designated segment.

September 29, 2003

TALE OF THE TAPE

Jay Dawg

Age: 30

Height: 6'4"

Weight: 243

Bench: 400lbs

Move List: 28 practiced moves, 5 variables.

Finisher(s): JD's Revenge, JD's Avenge, Shining Black.

Accomplishments: SWF Tag Team Champion, SWF ICTV Champion, SWF United States Champion, SWF Hardcore Champion, IGNML World Champion, IGNJL Tag Team Champion.

Last Five: 0-5

The Boston Strangler

Age: 31

Height: 6'9"

Weight: 303lbs

Bench: 525lbs(possibly skewed by steroid use)

Move List: 17 practiced moves,

Finisher(s): Southie Slam, The Boston Massacre.

Accomplishments: IGNJL Triple Crown, SWF Hardcore Champion, SWF World Champion.

Last Five: 2-3

POWER ADVANTAGE: The Boston Strangler

LEVERAGE ADVANTAGE: The Boston Strangler

SPEED ADVATAGE: Jay Dawg

EXPERIENCE ADVANTAGE: Jay Dawg

TECHNICAL ADVANTAGE: Jay Dawg

HOT/COLD: Jay Dawg(cold)

OVERALL ADVANTAGE: PUSH

September 29, 2003

Madison Square Garden is rocking as loudly as possible as Genesis IV cuts back from a promo spot for the Judge/Tom Flesher matchup in tonight’s main event to the faces of Bobby Riley and CYCLOOOOOOOOOOONE COMET! The two men finish leafing through their notes as the camera zooms in, and the two men look up at the camera.

“Welcome back, loyal citizens! Alongside Citizen Robert Riley, I am CYCLOOOOOOOOONE COMET! And this, as you all most assuredly know, is perhaps the greatest and most splendiferous event ever put forth by this fair corporation! This, good people, is GENESIS IV, and it seems as if all events manage to overshadow those that came before them!”

“Comet, you know that I normally think that you’re totally full of shit…”

“Language, Citizen Riley!”

“We’re on PPV! We could assassinate the Secretary of Agriculture here and it’d be legal! But as I was saying, I normally think you’re full of shit, but you made a good point there! Tonight’s show is about as jam-packed as I can remember! Legends are everywhere, matches have been great so far, and we still haven’t seen Silent break Edwin’s neck, or see TOM FLESHER defend his title against Judge Mental! Sure, he’s a talented guy, but Tom Flesher is TOM FLESHER!”

“Interestingly put, Robert. I am sure that the Edwin/Silent matchup will be most spectacular, and the World Title match is also quite intriguing, and will provide a fitting end to one of the great PPV’s in our history. However, coming up now is the man who was World Champion until two weeks ago, as he rekindles a rivalry with the man he made his SWF debut against, Jay Dawg!”

”Comet, if I were Strangler, I wouldn’t be worried about Drazon. I’d be worried about all the rumors floating around the back. If Chris Wilson is really back…well, if he is, Strangler doesn’t stand a chance. He might as well save himself an asskicking and run for it now!”

“Robert, you know how I feel about rumors. Has anyone here seen Citizen Wilson anywhere here tonight?”

“Comet, do you think a mastermind like Wilson would just waltz in the front door? He’s probably hiding in the kitchen right now, waiting for his moment to strike! And an uncle of mine said that he saw Wilson come into the building with some dynamite! He also said that Nintendo was going 3rd party, and that Ben Affleck was dating Matt Damon!”

“You, Citizen Riley, do not deserve microphone privileges. I am convinced that the Boston Strangler need only concentrate on defeating Jay Dawg, and not worry about vile, fiendish shadows in the night such as Christopher Wilson! And now, speaking of fiends, we go to Citizen Funyon in the middle of the ring to get things started here tonight in the latest entry of the night of champions!”

Funyon raises the mic to his lips, but before he can even say a word, “Godzilla” immediately kicks up, and a massive burst of pyro explodes from the stage. The noise drowns out the fans briefly, but as the Boston Strangler comes storming out onto the stage, the cheers intensify, filling Madison Square Garden to a fevered pitch. Strangler looks up and spies the luxury box filled with the legends of the past of the SWF, and stares at it for a second before extending a middle finger to the box, drawing a huge pop from the fans. “Looks like Citizen Strangler has some bitterness built up towards the legends of the past…or at least one, in particular…” notes Comet as Strangler starts to walk quickly down the ramp while totally ignoring the cheers of the fans.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” proclaims Funyon, “THIS MATCH IS SCHEDULED FOR ONE FALL!!! INTRODUCING FIRST, WEIGHING IN AT 303 POUNDS, FROM BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, HE IS THE BOSTON….STRRRRRRRRRANGLER!” Strangler slides into the ring and, instead of hopping onto the top turnbuckle, instead snatches the mic from Funyon’s hand quickly. Funyon looks miffed at Strangler, but stands back as Strangler raises the mic to speak.

“Before this match gets started, I got something real important to say! Now, for those of you who didn’t know, there’s been a lot of rumors going around here about Chris Wilson! Everyone’s saying that he’s coming back here, and that he wants a piece of TBS! Well, these rumors might be true, and they might be not! But Wilson, if you’re watching tonight, or if, god help you, you’re here tonight, listen to me, and listen to me GOOD! If you want a piece of me, don’t pull any of this goddamn evil genius mastermind BULLSHIT! I’m right fucking here! Come and get a piece of me if you want some!” With that, Strangler shoves the mic back into Funyon’s stomach, and waits as the crowd cheers for Strangler’s impromptu speech. Strangler keeps his eyes on the entrance ramp, and takes quick glances around the ring, with his eyes usually settling on the luxury box of SWF legends.

“Do you think he’s coming, Comet?” asks Riley with enough anticipation in his voice to sound like a kid on Christmas morning. Comet looks over to Riley with a cool stare and says, “I’ll believe it when I see it, Robert.” Suddenly, the silence is broken as the P.A. system starts blaring….but instead of Chris Wilson’s music hitting, an evil voice rings throughout the arena:

THIS!

IS!

MAH!

HOUSE!

The crowd explodes into boos, more disappointed at the lack of Chris Wilson than at Jay Dawg in particular, as Jay Dawg appears on stage in the midst of a huge round of explosions. “Du Hast” blares throughout the building as the Hardcore Maniac shakes his head quickly side to side, then starts a slow, casual walk down to the ring. “AND HIS OPPONENT! FROM VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA, HE WEIGHS IN AT 243 POUNDS! HE IS THE HARDCORE MANIAC, JAMIE “JAY DAWG” DRAZON!”

“Damn…I thought that we were actually gonna get Wilson there for a second, Comet!”

“I told you, Robert. Christopher is assuredly not in this building tonight. Now, if we could, let us focus on this matchup, which should be a very intriguing matchup between two longtime veterans of the SWF who have done battle twice in the past!”

Drazon slides into the ring, and he immediately walks up to Strangler and initiates a staredown with Strangler. TBS seems much more relaxed, and gets right back into JD’s face, returning the stare. Referee Nick Soapdish starts lecturing the two men about the rules, but neither man is interested in what he has to say. Finally, Soapdish just stops in the middle of the speech and calls for the bell to get things started.

DING DING DING!

Strangler finally breaks the stare by lunging forward and throwing a hard right cross. JD quickly sidesteps the blow, and spins around, drilling Strangler square in the jaw with a brutal reverse spin kick. Strangler immediately crumples to the mat, and the crowd goes dead silent as JD drops to the mat and a very surprised Nick Soapdish falls to the canvas for the count.

ONE!!

TWO!!!

TH-NO!

“That one came out of nowhere, Robert!”

“One kick and Strangler is out like a light! Wow, THIS guy was a worthy SWF Champ, huh?”

“Obviously Citizen Strangler got caught off-guard, but this match isn’t over yet, and I sincerely doubt that Strangler will allow something like that happen to him again.

Strangler shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs out, as he looks up at Jay Dawg. Drazon is standing above Strangler, staring down at the much larger man with a cruel grin on his face. Strangler comes rising off the mat with a clothesline, but JD quickly sidesteps the move and drops Strangler face-first onto the mat with a drop toe hold. Before Strangler can claw his way up again, JD immediately locks on a fujiwara armbar. Strangler struggles, trying to escape the extremely strong grip of JD on his right arm. Strangler quickly reaches out and grabs ahold of the bottom rope with his left arm, which draws a small cheer from the crowd, who are still in shock over Drazon’s early dominance. JD continues to apply the armbar as Soapdish steps in and begins the five count. As Soapdish reaches four, JD releases the hold and steps to a standing position as Strangler pulls himself up with his left arm on the ropes, looking rather pissed off.

“It’s rare to see someone take it to Strangler like this early on in the matchup, Robert! I have to wonder what’s going through Strangler’s head right now!”

“Probably nothing but tumbleweeds!” cracks Riley, which gets nothing but a sharp look from Comet.

Strangler stands up and cracks his neck once before stepping forward to meet JD again. Strangler throws a left hook that makes glancing contact with JD, but JD quickly fires back with a left kick to Strangler’s abdomen. Strangler manages to avoid the brunt of the contact, but walks into a hard right elbow to his collarbone. Strangler winces and moves backwards slightly, leaving his right side totally unprotected. JD lunges forward with a hard right hook towards Strangler’s kidney, but Strangler manages to step aside, sending the blow harmlessly past him. Strangler grabs JD’s outstretched arm and pulls Drazon towards him roughly, sending JD forward off-balance. JD stumbles straight into a Strangler clothesline, which levels him. Strangler quickly drops to the canvas, trying to capitalize on the momentum change.

ONE!!!

TWO!!-NO!

“And it looks like Strangler might have finally figured Citizen Dawg out, Robert!”

“But even if he has “figured him out”, which is unlikely, since Strangler apparently hasn’t figured out how to use a shower yet, he’s absorbed a ton of punishment so far!”

“Citizen Strangler is capable of absorbing a ton of punishment!”

“But so is Drazon! Right now, the advantage clearly goes to Jay Dawg!”

Strangler pulls JD up to his feet, and quickly backs him into the corner. Strangler starts throwing a series of hard right and left hook shots into JD’s stomach, which sends the Hardcore Maniac reeling in the corner. Strangler keeps throwing punches, which draws a huge round of cheers from the crowd. Finally, Strangler pauses for a moment, then flies forward and cracks JD square in the jaw with a huge right uppercut to the jaw. JD woozily goes stumbling out of the corner, and starts to fall forward, but Strangler grabs him around the throat before JD can fall. Strangler points out to the fans in the crowd, who are on their feet, then hoists Drazon into the air before planting him to the ground with the Plunge, which sends the crowd into hysterics.

“Strangler just chokeslammed JD! This match could be just about over! Robert, it looks as if Strangler truly still has his A game with him tonight!”

“Oh crap…”

Riley has no comeback as Strangler stands over his fallen opponent, who is starting to stir on the mat. Strangler screams out “MASSACRE!” at the top of his lungs, sending a cheer throughout the front rows that quickly spreads like wildfire to the far corners of Madison Square Garden. Strangler crouches down, staring at JD, waiting for him to get to his feet. Suddenly, the crowd explodes into some cheers, some boos, and a whole lotta noise up at the top of the ramp. “What’s happening, Robert?” exclaims Comet as he looks up, then looks revolted. “Oh no….it cannot be…”

“It is, Comet! It has to be!” screams Riley as a man, clad in a pair of blue jeans, a Genesis IV: The Voyage Home t-shirt, and a ski mask comes sprinting down the ramp with a steel chair in his hand. Strangler finally notices the change in the crowd’s noise, and turns to face the entrance ramp at the exact moment that the masked man slides into the ring and quickly hops to his feet. Strangler charges forward with a clothesline, but the masked man ducks underneath Strangler’s forearm, and immediately plants a steel chair squarely in the skull of the Boston Strangler as the big man turns around. Strangler drops down to the canvas in a stunned heap as the masked man quickly fishes around in his pockets, and pulls out something almost invisible to the camera. The masked man fiddles with it for a moment, then reaches down, grabs Strangler’s wrists, and starts fiddling around with something.

“That’s…that’s PIANO WIRE!” screams Riley at the top of his lungs! Piano wire! And he’s tying Strangler’s hands together! It’s straight from the vault! Classic Wilson!” screams Riley as the masked man ties Strangler’s hands together tightly with a quick pull on the piano wire. Strangler cries out from the tightness of the extremely sharp wire, and relaxes his wrists to avoid putting pressure on the wire as he desperately tries to free his hands. He struggles as best he can without digging the wire into his skin, and looks over for the referee or Jay Dawg for some kind of assistance, but instead sees both men laid out, motionless, on the canvas. He looks up, and sees another steel chair shot coming straight towards him. He only has time to close his eyes before the chair drills him in the skull, knocking him flat on the canvas.

“Somebody must stop this debacle of justice! Where are the forces of security and order?!” cries Comet, looking around in vain for someone to stop the beating. The ring bell sounds throughout the suddenly hollow-sounding Madison Square Garden, signaling the official end of the “match”, as the masked man slams Strangler a third time with another chair shot. A small cut has opened up over Strangler’s right eye as he groggily rolls on the canvas, rolling onto his stomach. The masked man quickly takes advantage of this and smashes a chair shot onto the back of Strangler’s skull, knocking him totally limp on the canvas. The masked man rolls Strangler onto his face, and places the chair directly over his face, which is now starting to seep blood from two or three open cuts. “Oh no…” mutters Comet as the masked man sprints backwards, bounces off the ropes, and charges forwards before leaping into the air and coming down, foot-first, with a brutal stomp onto the chair placed on Strangler’s face. The crack of the metal against Strangler’s face, and of Strangler’s nose bone moving an inch to the left, echoes throughout the totally quiet arena. The masked man pulls the chair away from Strangler’s face, revealing a badly misshapen nose and a VERY bloody face. The masked man drops the chair, still covered in Strangler’s blood, to the ground and wipes his hands in mock satisfaction before turning to the ropes and hopping to the outside, with a definite spring in his step. An EMT crew comes running down to check on Strangler, with a stretcher team behind them, as the fans finally break their silence by booing the living hell out of the man behind the mask.

“I can’t believe what we just saw, Robert…Strangler was absolutely DESTROYED by that….that….”

“Say it, Comet. You know who it was.”

“…by Chris Wilson. The horror…one can only hope that this is the only evil that Christopher brings to this promotion. While the EMT’s tend to Citizen Strangler, let us show you a video package highlighting the feud between Andrew Blackwell and Mak Francis.”

The video quickly cuts in, but not before one more image of the bloodied TBS is shown in the middle of the ring as EMT’s tend to him.

September 29, 2003

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Ben Hardy up in the skybox. I'm standing right next to the Smarks Junior League's commissioner and former SWF Superstar, Chris Raynor!"

Hardy motions to his side and the camera zooms out to reveal Chris Raynor sitting comfortably on the sofa, eyes on the crowd.

"Raynor arrived here early on for Countdown, and he's staying for the great SWF action - whaddya think so far, Chris?"

Raynor, all smiles, turns to the camera.

"I love it, Ben. This year's Countdown was probably the best the JL has ever had - I'm infinitely impressed with the talent we have, and the only problem is trying to decide who gets bumped!"

A good natured chuckle.

“How about Genesis, Chris? Looking forward to anything in particular?”

“Well Ben, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little bit interested in Edwin vs. Silent, but the real clincher for me tonight is the main event - Tom Flesher vs. Judge Mental, one on one, for the World Heavyweight Title? It just doesn’t get any better than that.”

“Well there you have it, folks,” Ben Hardy says... "Well... hey Chris... how about one more? Just for old time's sake?"

"One more what?"

"You know."

Raynor chuckles quietly, then grabs the mic and booms "CHRIIIIIIIIIIIS SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!", much to the delight of the crowd!

"That's the Raynor we know and love!" Hardy withdraws the microphone. "Now then. I had a chance to speak..."

In the background, Raynor's left eye begins to twitch.

"... they gave their views on tonight's line..."

A small thread of drool comes down the side of his mouth.

"... see what they..."

smash

Hardy looks over his shoulder at Raynor, who's slowly rising from his chair. He turns back to the camera and stammers "Uh, uh, a-a-a-and they s-"

Chriiiiis

Hardy takes a few nervous steps away from-

CHRIS SMAAAAAAAASH!

Drinks are spilling, dry roasted peanuts are flying, and poor Ben Hardy is launched into the skybox window, and the cameraman uncerimoniously dumped next to him! Hardy grabs his mic...

"My god, what have I done?! What have I- NO! SOMEONE STOP HIM! DON'T LET HIM OUT-"

SMASH!

AIEEEE!

MY FIBULA!

NO! NO TICKLING!

"Comet, Riley, it's absolute chaos! The Caveman is loose, I repeat, The Caveman is loose!"

"Well what are you waiting for?!" Riley shouts. "Go after him!"

"Citizen Riley!" Comet interjects. "Surely you don't want to put Citizen Hardy in danger!"

"Aw... please, Comet? Pleeeeeeeease?"

"Well... I don't know..."

Riley clasps his hands together and gives Comet the puppy-dog eyes...

"Oh... I can't say no to you, Riley... ok!"

A tranq gun is thrust into Hardy's hands by two men in black, and he's dragged kicking and screaming to the door.

"No! No! Don't make me go out there! It's safe and warm and fuzzy in here! No! Please no- HE'S COMING! HE-"

*CHCHCHCHCHCHHHHCHCHCHCHCHCHCH!*

Riley and Comet look at each other... shrug... and move on.

September 29, 2003

TALE OF THE TAPE

Mak Francis

Age: 20

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 236lbs

Bench: 395lbs

Move List: 28 practiced moves, 4 variables.

Finisher(s): Franchise Tag, Bittersweet, Brotherly Love.

Accomplishments: SJL Television Title, SJL World Title, SWF US Title, SWF ICTV Title(current, longest reign).

Last Five: 4-1

Andrew Blackwell

Age: 28

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 228

Bench: 340lbs

Move List: 30+ practiced moves, 4 variables.

Finisher(s): Cruel Fate, the Narcosynthesis.

Accomplishments: IGNJL World Champion, SWF Tag Team Champion, SWF Light Heavyweight Champion, SWF Hardcore Champion, SWF ICTV Champion, SWF World Champion.

Last Five: 2-3

POWER ADVANTAGE: Mak Francis

LEVERAGE ADVANTAGE: Push

SPEED ADVATAGE: Andrew Blackwell

EXPERIENCE ADVANTAGE: Andrew Blackwell

TECHNICAL ADVANTAGE: Andrew Blackwell

HOT/COLD: Mak Francis(hot)

OVERALL ADVANTAGE: Andrew Blackwell

September 29, 2003

It’s every wrestling fans dream to be at the Madison Square Garden. To see the men and women of the SWF you either love, or loathe. To witness epic encounters that will be talked about for years, even decades to come.

…To stare at that back of a cardboard sign that reads, “Craven 4 Prez!”

Whilst some fans grumble, plotting to murder the Craven sympathizers blocking their view, most all are on their feet and cheering. The electricity flowing amongst the thousands on thousands of loyal SWF fans is nothing short of amazing.

Then reality hits… we’re not even half way through this show!

Whilst the blood of the last brutal contest is wiped away, some staining the canvas, the crowd continue to show their excitement and enthusiasm, eagerly awaiting the next match like wolves on the prowl. The camera pans across the vast expanse of fans, then to our commentators for this night of nights, their names appearing on the bottom of the screen.

Cyclone Comet is first. His warm, genuine smile welcomes the fans as he announces, “Welcome back ladies and gentleman, just in time to see the next match of the evening! And oh my lord, what a match it promises to be, Bobby! In one corner we have a fabled champion of justice, and ALSO the ICTV champion, Mak Francis! And he is set to wage war with evil… with the devious and manipulative, Andrew Blackwell!”

“Oh, stop it Comet, you’ll make him blush,” replies Riley, a chorus of jeers ringing out as his name is sprawled across the screen. “DESPITE what most people here this evening believe, Andrew Blackwell is on the verge of something great… again. And I, Mr. Comet, believe in him one hundred percent!”

“But you have to remember, Bobby that I, nor the fans, listen to you at all. We still believe in truth, justice, and the American way!”

“Mak’s gonna drop a Daisy Cutter on Blackwell?”

“That’s quite enough from you! It’s time to get serious and ponder the following contest, which, by the way, will be a submissions match! But not only that sports fans, it will be two out of three falls! By golly, I’m hyped!”

“Yes, yes I’ve noticed that,” answers Riley with disdain, “but you’re enthusiasm is well founded. Two of the best will square off, and Comet, like it or not, Blackwell has to be coming in with the upper hand.”

“NEVER!” bellows Cyclone Comet whilst shaking his head furiously. “Blackwell the infidel cannot and MUST not prevail here tonight, and though you believe in Sacred, I believe in the heart of young Mak Francis. Face it, Bobby; it’s out with the old, and in with the new!”

“That’s what they said about your career in Hollywood, but that never –“

“SILENCE, Bobby! I’ve had enough of your insolence; it’s time to cross to Funyon in the ring!”

The bickering at the announce desk continues as it always does, but the show forges ahead. Funyon, mic in hand and smile on his face, delivers his message to the crowd, whilst they wait on tenterhooks for the match to begin.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMAN!” shouts the SWF legend, calling to attention to audience, getting quite sick of the fans incessant cheering after three years. “The following match is a two out of three falls SUBMISSIONS MATCH! …And it is for the Smarks Wrestling Federation ICTV championship!”

Funyon groans as the fans cheer their proverbial heads off in anticipation for the match. Their blissful attitude, however, is about to be severely dampened…

“Introducing first…” continues Funyon, “From Adelaide, Australia, standing six foot one, and weighing in at two hundred and twenty eight pounds… He is a Hall of Famer…”

The fans don’t let Funyon say anymore as spiteful jeers fill the Garden. A few upstart Smarks manage to get a small, “Bullshit!” chant going…

“Have some god damn respect!” cries an angered Bobby Riley. “I expected at least a little better from the New York crowd, yet they continue to soil his achievements!”

“… And former ICTV Champion himself. Ladies, Gentleman, join me in welcoming the Sacred One, ANDREW BLACKWELL!”

Indeed, a welcome of some description greets the Sacred One, but the noise from the crowd is soon silenced as they hear…

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

The crowd begins to boo once more…

“I will control the vertical. I will control the horizontal…”

Then, they grow louder.

“I am controlling submission…”

Suddenly, the crowd releases its anger in orgasmic fashion, as the lights recede and “Tainted” by Lycia begins to play its slow and haunting tune. Shortly thereafter, The Sacred One appears himself, a confident, almost cocky smile written on his face. This prompts only more jeers from the crowd.

The latex hero simply shakes his head in disgust, saying, “What a vile human being Sacred is! For a month now he has played games with Mak Francis, twisting his mind at will! But tonight, Francis will wipe that smile right off his face!”

“Don’t be so sure my incompetent companion; after all,” reminds Riley, “Blackwell is a master of the mind games, and he’s not about to let all his good work go to waste at the final hurdle. Sacred has the Franchise on the ropes before this match even begins, and he knows it too well.”

Looking so assured, evident in his confident swagger, Blackwell slides into the ring. His physical preparation is light, but his mental preparation is great, as the buzz in the arena grows around him, and Funyon begins to shout:

“AND his opponent...”

The lights stay dimmed as the sound of a xylophone echoes through the Garden. Strobes begin to pulse preceding the sharp violin strokes, overshadowing the initial rhythm. Then comes the fully sik rapping.

“So do ya wanna’ be a franchise, and live large, a big house, five cars, the rent charge…”

The SmarkTron comes to life, showing the photonegative image of the Francis, which is then, replaced by the words, “The Franchise.”

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

The reaction is deafening, nearly drowning out the music of Cypress Hill as “Rock Superstar” begins to play!

“… From Philadelphia, Pennsylvania! He stands six foot two, and weighs two hundred thirty six pounds. He is the current reigning ICTV Champion and a member of International Incident… He is “The Franchise”, he is, MAK FRANCIS!”

The fans look down to the entranceway to find nothing…

Then the camera focuses up and to the left, atop a huge marble set piece…

Cause in fact, The Franchise is not even on the ground…

Spotlight’s dance up to the top of the marble structure, and then one fan and another and another, raise their heads up in surprise, as Mak Francis stands atop the building, before leaping off…

…As the Franchise begins his descent strapped to a zip line! The crowd cheers louder as Mak ‘zips’ down the cord, and I’m shot for using that pun.

The crowd turns their cheers up a decibel as Mak slides down from his perch, soaking up the crowds’ reaction.

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

At those lyrics a massive explosion of pyrotechnics comes forth from the set, while Francis pumps his fist back and forth, making his way down to ringside in style! Though connected to the zip line, Mak still manages to adjust his sunglasses and flash a confident smirk, landing safe and sound in the centre of the ring!

“Pfft, what a bloody show off,” says Riley, thoroughly unimpressed, “you would never see me gliding down to the ring like that.”

“Of course, Citizen Riley, why waste such a grand entrance on someone who is going to lose anyway?”

“… I’d take the time to think of a witty retort, but we’ve got a match to cover. Francis can look confident on the surface, but underneath, I know he’s stewing, because he’s deathly afraid of this match up.”

“Never underestimate Citizen Francis, Bobby. His track record speaks for itself! When the grandest of grand situations calls, he answers with youthful vigour! But, yes, I am afraid of what Blackwell is still yet capable of and how unprepared citizen Francis may be.”

Francis undoes his harness and pushes it away, turning his attention now to Andrew Blackwell, who still waits patiently. The two exchange confident, yet cocky smiles as they back away from each other to separate corners. With the crowd beginning to die down and Funyon leaving the ring, the ref has the ICTV title handed to him, and he holds it aloft for all to see. Both Mak and Andrew look at the title, enticed by the gold and the respect and prestige that come with it.

“The prize is on the line, but oh so much more!” yells out Cyclone, he too looking at the gold, then each competitor. “Neither man has a significant height or weight advantage, but each man’s game plan will be vastly different.”

“As much as I love Sacred, I doubt he can keep up with Francis’ technical style and background, so he’ll have to rely on his unorthodox offence and unpredictable movements to avoid being drawn into a mat game, which Mak specializes at.”

The ref brings the title down and hands it to a ringside official, before motioning to ringside to begin the match.

DING! DING! DING!

The two men begin to circle each other, keeping a safe distance away as they sum each other up, looking for the best avenue for attack. Francis, surprisingly, is the first on the offensive with two swift kicks to Blackwell’s breadbasket. Mak then follows up with a wristlock, twisting Sacred’s arm around and holding him in place. The Australian spins around completely, reversing the wristlock into one of his own, then working into an Irish Whip that sends Mak into the strands. Sacred leapfrogs over Francis, then pivots around, falling onto his back with his legs high into the air, waiting for the Franchise. The Monkey Flip is well scouted however, and Mak stops suddenly, grabbing Blackwell’s ankles and pushing him forward, causing the Aussie to somersault over and back onto his feet. Francis instantly takes Blackwell by the hand, sending him into the ropes with an Irish whip, but sacred returns and spins circles around Francis, grabbing him in a waist lock. A standing switch sees Mak in the lead as he lifts Sacred into the air and turns him over, slamming him face first and quickly moving into the front face lock.

“A hot opening sequence between these two athletes, but Citizen Francis takes the opening honours as I knew he would!”

“Pish posh, it’s still too early to feel so confident, Comet, besides,” Riley answers, “Mak has to get an advantage early to keep the fans happy, before Sacred absolutely rips him apart like a wild animal.”

Sacred makes sure he doesn’t last too long in the move, taking Mak by the wrist and spinning one full revolution and putting on another wristlock. Francis finds it easy to simply work back onto his feet, pulling Sacred in close before connecting with a gut wrenching knee strike. With Blackwell doubled over Francis hits the headlock, but the infamous rest hold gets nothing but cheers of adulation as Mackenzie begins to tightening his grip. Andrew grunts, pushing Francis into the ropes, falling onto all fours allowing Mak to step over him and hit the opposite strands. Sacred plants his hands on the mat and pushes himself up onto two feet, before leaping into the air, connecting with a leg lariat that takes Mackenzie down!

“Ooh, a beautifully executed lariat by my boy. Despite going on his years, Sacred is still as quick and agile as ever, allowing him to gain a foothold into this match,” observes Riley.

“Oh hush, Bobby! The only thing age has proven with Sacred is how jaded and misguided he is! I was willing to give him a chance, too see the error of his ways, but no! He has forsaken the honourable code of this sport and the fight for justice. Mak simply cannot let him take control of this match early, or the Narcosynthesis will soon give Sacred the first fall!”

Scrambling across the canvas, Sacred locks his hands with Mak’s in a knuckle lock, holding Mak’s arms outstretched on the canvas. Francis again gets back to his feet with relative ease, but Sacred soon takes him back down with a leg sweep, letting go of the knuckle lock to instead grapevine Mackenzie’s left arm and wrench it with an armbar. The youthful and nimble Francis pushes all his weight back, roll onto his neck and scissoring Andrew’s head with his legs, turning the Aussie over onto his back. Mak again works into a front face lock, climbing onto one knee whilst clubbing Sacred in the back of the neck. Back onto his feet, Mak pulls Sacred over in a front chancre before whirling around, digging his knee into Sacred’s spine and putting on the Chinlock of minor discomfort.

Decided the dreaded hold must be broken quickly, Blackwell crawls forward, hampered by the fact he has a young black man sitting on top of him. The young kid shows his already harnessed experience by stopping Andrew before he can grab onto the bottom rope, letting the chin lock go and working into a Guillotine Choke!

“Already I can see Sacred’s overconfidence overshadowing his experience as Mak does the intelligent thing, keeping Sacred grounded!” shouts Comet, his support unwavering for Francis.

“It’s just the mind games continuing, Cyclone. See, Blackwell will lull Mak into a false sense of security, then BAM… Sacred gets the fall with the Tom Flesher special. Simple as that.”

“What is that exactly? Down, down, forward, A and B?”

“…Yes, yes exactly. Then Mak’s head explodes from a side headlock.”

With his free arm Blackwell struggles to grab the bottom rope, air escaping from his lungs as the young Francis chokes him, although legally according to the referee. Riley shakes his head and disputes, but Blackwell counters the move before it goes anywhere, slipping away like a greasy ethnic minority and rolling onto his stomach, locking his hands across Mak’s face, pulling his neck back with a crossface! The ICTV champion lunges forward as the crowd gasp then breathe a sigh of relief and clap appreciatively as Mak reaches the ropes. Sacred, however, refuses to break the hold! The crowd clamors in unison for a rope break, but the official can only look and shake his head.

“See, I told you about Sacred’s experience factor and it’s coming into play right now! He knows the rules and there are NO rope breaks in this match.”

The ref stands, ready and waiting to ring the bell, asking Mak if he would like to submit, but Sacred lets Mackenzie go without a second through and climbs back to his feet, as if to say that it is just that simple. Instead of capitalizing like maybe he should, Blackwell backs away, watching Francis climb onto his feet, chuckling to himself and letting Mak know full too well who got the better of that exchange.

“The sheer arrogance of this man is absolutely frustrating!” cries Cyclone in protest. “Francis has clearly had the better of him so far, but with each small victory of his, he has to flaunt it!”

“But doesn’t Mak usually do the same…?”

“You’re living in the past, Bobby, quit living in the past!”

Inching closer and closer to his opponent, Mak holds his arm outstretched, slowly it touches Sacred’s and the two lock together, but much to the crowd’s delight, Francis kicks Blackwell in the stomach! Keeping hold of Andrew, Mak whips him into the ropes. On returning, Sacred is suddenly tossed into the air by the hip, and slammed onto the canvas by a diving Mackenzie, who keeps hold of the arm, scrambling into a Fujiwara armbar! Not only that , but he hooks his left arm over Sacred’s, keeping hold of it whilst he reaches over and tries to put on a crossface, aiming for the neck yet again!

“His strategy is glaringly obvious,” notes Riley, rather displeased, “and Sacred better realize that before Francis can do too much damage to the neck.”

“It’ll be gosh darn tough for him, Bobby, considering how proficient Mak is at targeting the neck.”

“Ooh, proficient, that’s a big word!”

“That it is, Citizen Riley! And here’s another: Charisma. Ever heard of it before, Bobby?”

This time, it’s Sacred who’s the one scrambling for the ropes! But he quickly remembers his own lesson and rolls forward out of the pressure. Francis is so surprised by this action that he unwillingly let’s the Sacred One slip through his grasp. Mak doesn’t let go just yet, attempting to gain some kind of leverage to get back in control, much to the sheer delight of the fans!

“Let him go Mak! There’s no submission that you can do from that position.”

Finally, Sacred squirms away and rolls to a crouch, as the Franchise does just that, fully prepared to let his foe go and step away, smirking as Sacred jerks his head around, a look of pure anger written on his face. Mak beckons Blackwell to him and Andrew takes the bait, stalking the Franchise. Suddenly, Mak kicks Sacred in the midsection, not once, not twice, but three times! With Blackwell now doubled over in pain, Francis latches onto his neck with a front face lock, before lifting up and over with a textbook Suplex! Keeping his firm grip on his opponent and the match, Mak rolls back to his feet effortlessly, another Suplex attempt on the way! However, Mackenzie allows Sacred to land back on his feet, his back arched, but Francis then pulls him down with a Hangman’s Noose Neckbreaker!

OOOOOH!

“ANOTHER beautiful move from the Franchise!” cries Cyclone Comet, marveling at the move as the fans do. “The current trend of the match is NOTHING like anyone expected, with Mak taking firm control of the Sacred One!”

“Ack! I don’t know what it is… maybe Mak is just more focused than Blackwell…? Is Sacred’s mind too pre-occupied with delusions of grandeur that he can’t seem to concentrate on actually competing?”

The tremendous impact has Andrew reeling as he rolls away clutching at his neck, having to use the turnbuckles to help himself to his feet. Feeling ever more confident as the match wears on, Francis runs across the ring, looking to aggravate the neck with a clothesline, but Sacred halts hi charge with a boot to the face! Rubbing the side of his neck, a disgruntled Blackwell takes a few steps forward, rearing back…

“WHOO!”

… And nailing Francis with a knife edge chop!

“WHOO!”

And another! An Irish whip later and Mak is bounding back from the ropes, getting caught on the jaw with a spinning kick from Blackwell! Francis whirls straight back to his feet, but Sacred is not to be outdone by a rookie, and as the Franchise stumbles towards him, he lifts him up, spins him around in a whiplash like tilt-a-whirl, and then drops him down jaw first on his knee with a face buster!

“Haha!” laughs Riley, taunting his commentary cohort. “Good ‘ol Sacred, just when you think he’s down and nearly out, he surprises us all! And was that his very own version of the factor bomb I saw there?”

“You better believe that was Citizen Sacred’s second wind right there! No doubt about it, Blackwell is blowing up in this match already!”

“Ok, Cyclone Dusty, settle down.”

After the high impact of knee meeting face, Sacred stands and receives a chorus of boos, to his delight. While the Franchise is slowly but surely making his way to his feet, Andrew now presses his advantage lifting the ICTV champion to his feet and blasting away with forearm blows, meant to soften him up for an Irish whip by Blackwell, but this time Mackenzie reverse and flings Andrew away sending him towards the cables. Sacred, being the acrobat that he is, upon his return, leaps into the air and locks his legs about the head of Francis, pulling him down in a Hurricanrana…

“Wow, can you believe it Bobby! What a counter from Citizen Francis!”

…But Mackenzie has turned the tables and he sends the Sacred One down to the mat, on his back! Francis continues to hold the legs arching back and stepping into a wide stance, completing a High Angle Boston Crab!!

Blackwell looks quite shocked by this action and pushes up on his hands, trying to relieve some off the pressure on his upper back and neck. The referee moves into position, asking the Sacred one if he wants to surrender, but he just shakes his head, signifying his willingness to go on. Not to be outdone though, Sacred, once again showing his dexterity, wiggles through Mak’s legs and with a quick hop lands an Enziguri!

“Sacred is always one step ahead of Mak, Comet. It’s like me and you in a way…”

“Yeah, Bobby, but that’s because I’m afraid to walk in front of you.”

Quite dizzy from the blow to the head, Mak stumbles towards the ropes and tries to collect himself, as Blackwell rises to his feet, feeling a small twinge in his neck and back. Sacred doesn’t let that bother him though and as Francis takes a step forward, he dives forward with a spear that knocks the ICTV champ completely through the second and third ropes, causing Mackenzie to land with a dull thud on the outside.

Blackwell calmly stands up to his feet and shakes out the few remaining kinks, before stepping out of the ring and stalking his prey. Sacred lays the boots to Mak, stomping away and asserting his dominance, but when he reaches down to pick Francis up, the Franchise wraps his legs around the neck of Blackwell and snitches in a flash triangle choke!

“Sacred taps, Sacred taps!” shouts Comet, as sure enough the Sacred One smacks the floor with hand three times signifying a submission.

“Submissions don’t count on the outside Comet, and I think Sacred knows that! Mak obviously tweaked that neck of Blackwell’s, and the reaction he got was the tap! Just luck I say, pure luck.”

Mak clearly not thinking straight loosens the hold just a little bit, which allows Blackwell to hoist the Franchise up and drop him head first on the concrete in a modified Powerbomb!

“Once again, Sacred outwits his younger opponent with his ring experience and knowing the rules. If he had passed out in that hold Mak would have been in complete control of the match, but just like that Blackwell has re-affirmed his dominance!”

The shock of tapping still with him, but with a new determination to out-do and out class his opponent, Sacred picks up a lifeless Mak Francis and rolls him back into the ring, sliding in after. Sacred takes a running start, leaping into the air and dropping a knee down on the back of the Franchise! Keeping it there for the moment, Blackwell reaches out with both arms, hooking Mak’s leg first, followed by his neck, and then briefly looking up at the audience with a smile, before rolling onto his back and locking on a Bow and Arrow Backbreaker!

”Nefarious cretin!” shouts Comet, obviously outraged. “Citizen Francis SHOULD be one fall up! But instead, Andrew Blackwell gets a second chance, and now he’s putting the hurt to poor Mak!”

Mak’s back is whack as he is bent like the golden arches. But the youngin’ soldiers on and takes advantage of the no disqualification stipulation, straining himself so he can reach down with both free hands and claw at Sacred’s eyes! The Australian lets out an almighty cry and let’s go of the Franchise! Climbing back to his feet, Blackwell stares at Mak, mighty pissed. Francis realizes he doesn’t have much time to recover and crawls to the ropes, using them to climb to his feet.

Stalking him from behind, Sacred slinks his arms around his waist, trying to hoist him over in a German Suplex, but Mak reverses the waist lock, and in a lightning quick motion, heaves Sacred over his head and simply let’s go, letting him land on the back of his neck with a Filthy German!

“Dirty Sanchez!” cries Riley enthusiastically.

“You wish, Bob, that was, in fact, a perfect Release German Suplex from Citizen Francis! He can hit that from anywhere, and that, was from ANYWHERE!”

The sheer impact and force of the move causes Sacred to bounce back up onto his feet, though dazed and confused. Mak sneaks up behind the Aussie, catching him underneath the arms with a Double Chickenwing!

“The Cattle Mutilation!” is all Comet can cry.

“Damn it, that’s plagiarism! That’s blatant stealing of Andrew Blackwell’s finishing maneuver!”

“I think it was Christian’s first-“

“Oh, shut up you!”

However, Sacred plants both feet forward and throws his head back, throwing caution into the wind and countering with a head BUTT! Francis stumbles backward as Blackwell turns around, a smirk on his face, but a dazed look evident in his eyes, still feeling the effects of that German Suplex. He still fights on, charging Mak with his head down to take him out for good this time, but Mak simply steps aside, letting Sacred cannon into the turnbuckles!

“Again, his overconfidence is his undoing!” notes Comet. “But Mak HAS to capitalize here!”

And capitalize he does, falling onto his back, but wrapping his legs like a vice around Sacred’s left arm, taking hold of it with both hands and turning it to an impossible angle! It takes only a few seconds of determined resistance before Sacred has to relent under the awesome strain of the Cross Arm Breaker!

DING! DING! DING!

The crowd is in shock for a moment, as is Blackwell, but soon they are on their feet and screaming in pleasure! They chant and cheer as the referee points the ringside and Funyon gets on the house mic.

“Ladies and Gentleman, the winner of the first fall via Cross Arm Breaker… “The Franchise”, MAK FRANCIS!”

“OH MY! OH! He did it! Mak has gone one fall up in this two our of three falls match! And again, Mak opts for a submission that is risky if not placed on correctly, but if it is, then the tap out is almost instant!”

“NO! Damnit! I can’t believe it! After all the mind games he’s played, after all the time spent screwing with Mak, the tables have now been turned! Mak now has the advantage, physically and mentally! This has to be devastating for the Australian; I still CANNOT believe it…”

“What impressed me was the speed in which he put the hold on, and the near flawless technique. He must have spent countless hours getting it just right, and his hard work has paid due dividends!” shouts Comet, still in disbelief and awe.

Rolling away, still in utter shock, Sacred employs help from the strands to help him to his feet, as the ref goes to check on him. Blackwell simply jerks his head towards him and shows a spiteful glare.

DING! DING! DING!

The clock runs down to zero and the match begins yet again, Mackenzie and Andrew both on their feet and ready to do battle once again. Mak hopes to further injure the neck of Blackwell with a clothesline, but Sacred ducks underneath, taking Mak’s arm as he does and spinning it around his head, looking for the Knifey Spoony!

Mak keeps spinning and reverses the arm lock, whipping Sacred into the ropes. On returning, Sacred ducks underneath another Lariat attempt, locking his arm underneath Mak’s, searching for the Spanish Inquisition! The desperate move is blocked however, and Mak comes back with a kidney punch to soften up Blackwell, before pivoting around to his side, locking his leg in a grapevine and falling backward onto the mat with a Russian Leg Sweep!

“The breakneck speed and pace of this match is amazing! These men are going counter for counter, move for move, but clearly, Citizen Francis is looking the stronger of the two!”

“With the breakneck speed of the match comes sudden momentum changes, and at any moment, Sacred can pull something out of his bag of tricks to put the young Mackenzie back in his place and where he belongs; in the unemployment line.”

“Did you just insult Black people, Citizen Riley?”

“Uh… of course not… shit, I did, didn’t I…?”

Floating over, Mak attempts to lock on an inverted face lock, looking for the Dragon Sleeper, but Sacred rolls back and hooks his ankles around his head, taking him over in a headscissors. Mak tries to grab both of Andrew’s legs for an STF, but Sacred kicks him square in the chest and escapes. Both men whirl back to their feet, with Mak attempting a Yazuka kick, but Sacred JUST manages to avoid the blow. As Francis turns around, Sacred suddenly takes him by the head, runs forward and ‘cuts’ Mackenzie with an R.K.O!

“As I said, with ‘breakneck’ speed comes sudden momentum changes and ‘breakneck’ counters, and that proves me right!”

The crowd roars to life with that move, booing the absolute hell out of Blackwell. The Australian cares little though as he steps through the ropes and out onto the outside. He stands still for the moment, looking back in the ring at Mackenzie crawling across the mat, trying to recover. Blackwell then turns his attention to ringside, reaching forward and snapping up a steel chair!

“What the…?” asks Comet, desperately wondering what the fiend has in store. “DAMN IT, BOBBY! That’s why he was so confident! He made this stipulation to his advantage, so he could beat the absolute hell out of Mak with whatever vile weapon he deemed necessary! Surely the referee won’t let him do it, will he!?”

“Pipe down frenchy, he’s followin’ the rules baby, nothing can stop him now.”

Sliding back into the ring, steel chair in hand, Sacred climbs to his feet slowly, watching Mak’s every move as he struggles to his feet. The vile chair drags along the mat as Blackwell inches closer to the inevitable. Francis, obviously dazed, climbs to his feet, his mind elsewhere, unable to see the…

CRACK!

…The steel chair come crashing down on his head!

“His aura is of a man in control, who knows what he’s doing, but when he’s pushed to the limit and beaten comprehensively, his true side rears its ugly head! Citizen Francis is out like a light after that brutal chair shot!”

“It’s just academic from here, Comet. All he has to do is simply slap on a submission and the falls are tied at one a piece. Genius, I tell ya.”

“I CANNOT believe you are ok with this! This should be a pure, athletic competition! I know both men are capable of great things and a great contest, but this is just wrong! Foreign objects have no place in this match!”

RRAAAAHHHHH!

The crowd is absolutely livid with the actions of the Sacred One, but he cares little, calmly placing the chair on the mat as he crouches down, simply a matter of waiting until Francis climbs to his feet.

Though shaken, his brains scrambled by a wicked chair shot, Mak tries to climb to his feet showing his great resilience. As soon as he is on two feet however, Blackwell grabs him from behind in a double Chickenwing!

“Sacred is ready for the Narcosynthesis!” announces Riley thankfully. “Blackwell said he would use this move, and Mak would suffer the physical pain, but also the mental anguish as past traumas is brought to a horrific light.”

Blackwell pushes Mackenzie forward suddenly, grinding his face into the canvas as he prepares himself, hopping on both feet while keeping hold of the Franchise. Finally, Sacred flips over the top of Mak, into the bridge to complete the move…

…

BUT NO! While Sacred leaps into the bridge, Mak slides out of the hold! Before Sacred even knows what’s going on, Francis is on him like a bad rash, mounting his back, yanking back on his neck in a Dragon Sleeper!

“HE REVERSED IT! Francis actually reversed the Cattle Mutilation! He knows the hold all too well, and now he’s set to take the match right here!” Comet shouts proudly.

“NO! This can’t be it, Sacred has to do something, ANYTHING to get out of this…”

But while the announcers are out of their seats, rooting for both wrestlers, Sacred crawls forward inch by inch, fingernails clawing at the canvas, striving closer for the thing that will save him.

His hand clasps onto the cold steel and he drags it in, able to free both arms from Mackenzie and take the chair firmly in his hands, flinging it back over his head and nailing Mak in the face!

CRACK!

Mak suddenly flies backward, hitting the mat after a second chair shot! Sacred thanks whatever god there may be for his lucky escape, but plans his next move almost immediately, lifting his foe onto his feet and taking him in a double Chickenwing…

Repeating the move used by his brother, Andrew dives forward, crushing Mak’s skull against the steel chair in front of him. He then flips over into the Cattle Mutilation!

“In an ode to Christian Blackwell…” begins Riley, “Andrew Blackwell locks on the Cattle Mutilation, while Mak’s face meets the steel chair! No one could stand this for long! Could they..?”

“Citizen Francis has been defiant up until now, and that cannot waver now! Justice must prevail!”

But in the ring, the pain for Francis is just too much, finding no escape in sight. He tries to maneuver his body away, but Sacred has the hold firmly locked on with no salvation on the horizon for Mackenzie. The referee gets in Mak’s face, which is in the face of the steel chair. He asks him again and again…

“Do you give up…?”

Mak cries out, “NO! NO!” While Blackwell yells out something incoherently, loving every second of this. Suddenly, the referee gets off the mat and points the ringside, telling them to ring the bell!

“HE TAPPED! Mak tapped, and we’re now tied at one fall a piece!” cries Riley happily.

DING! DING! DING!

“The winner of the second fall via Narcosynthesis, “The Sacred One”, ANDREW BLACKWELL!”

With this announcement, the fans are just about ready to storm the ring. But Blackwell is pleased with his own efforts as he climbs back to his feet, gazing out at the fans and nodding his head approvingly. The referee checks on Mak Francis, but is soon pushed away by the cocky young upstart, who is determined to get back to his feet. Though a wide, deep cut has been opened on his forehead by the two, Mak is able to roll out of the ring, blood trickling down his face and dripping onto the canvas as he does.

“Oh no… Francis has been busted open by those two massive chair shots from the Sacred One… I can’t believe this is the same man I tagged with! That I fought alongside in Regeneration X! He just isn’t the same man at all, this ‘Experiment’ thing has gotten out of hand…” Comet reports solemnly, watching Mak crawl in front of him, desperate to get up.

DING! DING! DING!

“Hahaha!” Riley mockingly laughs. “They’ll be no time for Mak to recover, the third fall is already underway, and Sacred is heading out here to join us! What fun that will prove to be, huh Cyclone?”

“I can’t stand idly by while Citizen Francis is beaten like this, I must stand up for justice, I must-“

“Sit back down! You’re not allowed to interfere! What happens happens, and you just have to deal with that.”

“But surely there was a time when you wanted to help Tom Flesher, and save him from defeat and disgrace?”

“Like I’ve ever had to.”

Mak is finally back on his feet, but Sacred does not dig that, and flies off the apron with a flying forearm. Blackwell takes Mak by the head and beats him against the announce table again, and again, and again, and again, and again. Riley has to physically restrain Comet as Blackwell shoots him a wicked smile, before taking Mak by the hand and whipping him across the floor…

CLANG!

… And Francis’ head collides with the steel ring post! Bouncing back after the sickening impact, Blackwell takes a spent Mackenzie and heads over to the announce desk while the Spanish Announcers converse with wild arm movements, wondering what Blackwell has planned, like the crowd, who boo him loudly, but nothing can get through to the Aussie.

The announcers step back as Sacred climbs onto the table, and pulls Mak’s lifeless body up with him, slapping on a front face lock, then into a tiger chancre position, locking his left arm over Mak’s…

“NO! No, he wouldn’t! Not here!” cries Comet, pleading with Sacred to let Francis go. “This match has simply degenerated into a brawl! And Blackwell is the nefarious culprit, that fiend!”

As Blackwell begins to lift his leg forward, ready to swing it back with the Cruel Fate, Francis’ eyes open suddenly, and with all the strength he can muster, grabs Blackwell by the waist and lifts him over his head, flinging the Aussie into the air, off the table…

THUD!

And through the opposite announce table with a release Northern Lights Suplex! But the table refuses to break!

“Strongest Spanish Announce table ever, Comet,” Riley proudly announces.

“Oh come on, that was just too easy, Citizen Bobby!”

The crowd goes wild as Mak lies in front of Bobby and Comet, Riley trying to get a few cheap shots in but Cyclone puts him back in his place, while Sacred looks up, looking at the Mexican equivalent of Bobby Riley and Cyclone Comet, thinking he’s concussed as they speak in Spanish tongue. Francis thanks his lucky stars as he slowly slides off the table, receiving a chorus of cheers from the crowd who spur him on. He looks at them all, the moment meaning so much to him, knowing how much he’s sacrificed to be at Genesis 4.

And it looks like he’s ready to sacrifice himself in order to win this match, as the Franchise climbs up onto the ring apron, and then, up each tier of the turnbuckles!

“The Franchise is ready to take flight, Bobby! This is a risky gamble, but something must be done to keep Blackwell down long enough!”

Francis finally reaches the top, taking a deep, deep breath as he looks down at Blackwell, who still lies prone on the table, squirming but still completely out of it, his head still ringing after hitting a TV monitor on his way down.

Standing tall on the top rope, flash bulbs already beginning to go off in the crowd, the Franchise holds his arms out, a smile seen on his face as he leaps from the turnbuckles, and a blinding white flash envelops the arena as the Franchise flies through the air with a Frog Splash…

WHAM!

THAT CONNECTS!

“HOLY TOLEDO, RILEY! Mak Francis just hit a Frog Splash, from the top turnbuckle, all the way to the Spanish Announce table! He landed RIGHT on Blackwell’s ribcage with so much impact, the table finally broke!”

“What a view we had of that, Comet. I can’t stand this punk kid, but even I must admit, that was a sight to behold, but he looks to be in trouble,” replies Riley with a hint of a satisfied smile.

Francis begins to grimace in pain, groaning and yelling out incoherently, his hands clutching his knee as he rolls away.

“The impact must have been so hard and so fast that Mak tweaked his knee… I worry for this champion of justice, Bobby. His knee always brings him pain, and now it hurts ten fold…”

“So great, ain’t it?”

Still swearing like a sailor, Mak tries to fight through the pain, getting himself onto one knee, then onto one and a half feet, his leg proving difficult to stand on properly. Mak hobbles over to Blackwell, who curls up in the fetal position against the side wall. Taking him by the scruff of the neck, Mak takes the Sacred One and brings him up, throwing his head against the crowd barrier, much to the crowd’s delight. Next, he introduces Sacred to the crowd, he introduces him to the steel ring post, numerous times in fact, busting open the Aussie slightly. Mak wipes the blood from his forehead, becoming light headed. Ducking low, Mak lifts Sacred up from underneath, dropping him rib first onto the crowd barrier, causing the fans to chant Mak’s name!

“FRAN – CHISE! “

Clap! Clap! Clap!

“FRAN _ CHISE!”

Clap! Clap! Clap!

“FRAN – CHISE!”

Clap! Clap! Clap!

“FRAN – CHISE!”

“Who’s Fran Chise?” Bobby asks genuinely.

“I’m sure she’s a lovely woman.”

Blackwell bounces off the rail, literally, stumbling back towards Francis, who tries a Yazuka kick with his healthier leg!

… But he’s too slow using his wrong leg, and sacred manages to duck underneath it, hook his arm underneath Mak’s suddenly and lift him up off the floor, nailing him back down on his spine with the Spanish Inquisition!

“I bet that makes Jose and Eduardo happy, eh Comet?”

“What are you talking about, Citizen Riley!? We have a match to call! That move was hit out of desperation, but it worked! Now Blackwell has bought himself some time, what can he do with it…?”

The Australian, despite blood loss and hazy vision whirls back to his feet, grabbing Mak and lifting him to his feet. Blackwell looks down at the braced knee and smiles, patting it once or twice, before taking Francis by the hand and whipping him across the floor…

CLANG!

And propelling him, knee first, into the STEEL~! Ring steps! Francis flips over the top of the now scattered ring steps and lands awkwardly!

“HOLY SMOKES!”

“Stop that! This is brilliant work by the Australian. Who would have thought to attack Mak’s knee like this? Simply genius work on the levels of Tom Flesher himself.”

”Quiet you! This is despicable! Simply atrocious behaviour! But sadly, it’s working, as Mak is crumpled and in pain!”

Blackwell chuckles gleefully as he walks over to Mak, picking him up and sliding him back into the ring. Andrew takes his sweet, hard earned time as he slides into the ring and swoops on Mak, lifting him to his feet. A few well placed, stiff forearms connect on Mak’s cut above his eye, and an Irish whip sends him into the nearest corner chest first. Suddenly, Blackwell uses a burst of speed to slide out of the ring at the turnbuckle, grabbing Mak by the ankles and tripping him up! Sacred pulls Francis towards him, crotching him on the ring post!

The crowd boos his devious methods, but they grow wild as Blackwell bends Mak’s injured leg around, then locks his own around it, locking on a Figure Four around the ring post!

“What pain Mak must be feeling right now! His legs are firmly wrapped around that steel post, and intertwined with Sacred’s! Blackwell is like an animal right now, throwing his head back again and again as he delivers more pain to poor Citizen Francis!”

“This is just beautiful. Seeing Mak in so much pain, sniff, it bring a tear to my eye.”

Even the referee has seen enough, and does what he can to tear Blackwell away, but nothing doing. The Sacred One holds onto his prey and doesn’t let go for anything, as pain shoots up and down Mak’s leg, causing him to yell out in tongue’s, but not tapping out. Just as Blackwell tells the referee to let go, saying this is all apart of his experiment…

THUD!

… Mak pries his legs away from Blackwell’s in one sudden and shocking move, causing Sacred to fall on the top of his head on the concrete floor!

“He countered! He reversed! Ah heck, it doesn’t matter what happened, he just did it! Now both men are down! C’mon Mak, do it for me! Do it for justice!”

At this point, I’d like to remind the reader that I haven’t slept, and am heavily medicated. Lying motionless for a minute, Blackwell moves his arms and legs to keep the blood flowing and recover from the minor stinger he received. Mak Francis on the other hand, is up on one leg, using the ropes to keep him from toppling over. As the crowd begins to chant his name again, cheers of adulation showering him, Blackwell reaches under the bottom rope and yanks his good leg out from underneath him!

“Good work Sacred! Damn cripples get in my way too, luckily they’re so easy to take advantage of.”

“One day, Citizen Riley, one day I swear…” Comet replies, shaking his fist of justice.

Blackwell quickly slides back into the ring, and the end seems to be looming to the fans who watch in vain as Andrew rips Mak’s leg brace off and throws it away, smiling the biggest smile he’s ever smiled at the greatest bit of exposed skin ever. Holding the leg outstretched, Blackwell performs a handstand, before dropping his knee down on the injured joint. He does it again, every time he does, the crowd grows angrier, booing louder and louder at the travesty they see before them. Deciding its taking too long to beat on the leg, Blackwell calmly picks up the steel chair…

THWACK!

Three chair shots ring out as Mak cries out for help, trying to protect his knee in any way possible. It’s Pay Per View Time, and Blackwell can sense the leg is weakening steadily to the point of collapse. In his mind, he formulates the best way to… ‘Axisize’, Francis’ leg.

“I can’t believe it… no, I don’t want to believe it. I just want this to be over… there’s no need to destroy this young man’s career… and for what?” asks Comet, “Because Mak was stepping on Blackwell’s toes? Because Sacred thought it was great once, why not do it again?”

“That doesn’t matter now, because it’s just a matter of time before the finish comes… and here it is!” cries Riley. “Blackwell is locking on the Deprogrammer! He’s locking on the Standing Figure Four Leg Lock!”

“NO! He’ll… he’ll… his leg won’t hold!”

Their legs resembling a car wreck, as does Mak’s agonized expression, the two lies facing each other by the ropes nearest the ramp way. His leg burns like fire, indescribable pain shooting through his knee, causing him to cry out suddenly every few seconds. Deciding this is taking too long, Blackwell reaches back, grabbing onto the middle rope to increase the leverage and multiply the pain over and over, his whole body getting in on the act to increase the pure torture…

Then, someone comes running down the ramp, terrified to the point of tears coming from her eyes. It’s his sweetheart, Marie, a frightened look in her eyes as she watches blood trickle down Mak’s nose, over his lips and down to his chest, while he groans constantly. He turns his head slightly to meet her gaze.

“Please, please Sacred let him go… please…” She pleads, putting a hand on his arm.

Blackwell looks at her, his smile fading and his eyes looking into the past.

“Anna…” he whispers to himself.

It pains him to do so, looking into Marie’s face, but Blackwell continues to synch the hold in even tighten the noose forming around Mak’s neck. When she concedes that Sacred won’t let go, she turns to her darling…

“Don’t do this to yourself… please; I can’t see you in pain like this, I can’t watch you do this to yourself….”

“I have to- ARRHHH!” Mak cries out as another shooting pain tears up his knee.

“No! Honey, please!”

“This is too unbearable to watch…” reports Comet. “She’s pleading with him, as I do…”

“Oh boo freaking hoo, Mak knew the risks before coming into this match, he should have EXPECTED it!”

“How can you be so emotionless at a time like this!? It’s so obvious she cares about him deeply, and he for her…”

Mak reaches out for her hand, and she holds out hers, their fingers brushing together and she smiles, holding his left hand, before suddenly…

His right hand drops to the mat once, slapping it once…

Twice…

Three times.

DING! DING! DING!

“He’s done it!” Riley announces happily. “Sacred has won the third and final fall to become the ICTV champion!”

Sacred lets go straight away, backing away slowly from Marie who holds her love on the canvas. Andrew shakes his head, closing his eyes and apologizing to someone… he rolls out of the ring, escaping the wrath of angry fans at ringside, who finally hear the announcement made official.

“The winner of the third fall via the Deprogrammer… and the… NEW! S W F Intercontinental Television Champion… “The Sacred One”, ANDREW BLACKWELL!”

“Mackenzie suffered hell in that ring tonight…” Cyclone tells the people at home, “but he can hold his head up so very high, and DESERVES the respect that the fans are giving him right now. I just hope to lady justice that he is all right…”

“I think you’re missing the real story here, Comet… Sacred is a THREE TIME ICTV Champion! Woo hoo!”

“THAT’S IT! You and me, outside! NOW! I’m tired of your non-caring attitude! Mak Francis put it all on the line, his title, his health, and though Sacred has captured the title and mauled him, he has gained something far greater. He has my respect, and I hope, the respect of everyone in the back.”

Backstage officials and medical staff come from the back holding a stretcher as Blackwell walks past them, the referee running up to him and carelessly handing him the title, rushing back to the ring to check on Mak.

Andrew looks at the chaos in the ring one more time, before turning his back and walking away…

As we fade.

September 29, 2003

As the referee finally vacates the ring after the Andrew Blackwell/Mak Francis matchup for the ICTV title, cracking a joke to Funyon on his way out, the crowd finally starts to calm down. Still on the air, Riley and Comet look to each other and let out a deep breath. “Hell of a match, huh Comet?” exclaims Bobby as the defender of truth, justice, and merchandise looks tired just from watching the match. “Well, I must say, that was quite the match that…”

Suddenly, Comet’s words are cut off as “Godzilla” by Blue Oyster Cult explodes over the arena speakers once again. The crowd is surprised at the music, but quickly explodes into cheers. The pyro is eschewed this time as Strangler steps out onto the stage. His nose has been taped up, and two band-aids line his face, but his eyes are fully visible, and the fire burning in them is perfectly evident as the Boston Strangler walks straight down the ramp, fuming to himself. Funyon simply lays the mic down in the middle of the ring and exits, making haste for the ringside table, as Strangler slips underneath the bottom rope and pops up in the ring. Strangler grimaces briefly as he puts weight on his bad leg, but ignores the pain and quickly scoops up the microphone from the canvas. “Robert, there is only one reason that the Boston Strangler would grace us with his presence right now after such a brutal attack. I have a strange premonition that things are about to come to a head here tonight.”

Strangler rubs his wrists, which have some small cuts on them from the piano wire used earlier during the sneak attack, and pauses for a moment. The crowd keeps cheering, but a quick “SHUT UP!” from Strangler silences the crowd. Strangler takes a moment to compose himself, then raises the mic, and begins to speak.

“I’m..I’m sorry for telling you to shut up. But right now, there are more important things than cheering. Right now, the most important thing is dealing with what you people witnessed here just minutes ago. You saw me call out Chris Wilson at the beginning of my match, and nothing happened. You saw me tell him that I didn’t want his goddamn manipulative bullshit. And what fucking happens? I get going early, and that son of a BITCH runs in and destroys my goddamn face with a goddamn steel chair! Good one, Chris. Great move. But guess what, you fucker? This time, you didn’t lock me. This time, I’m still standing, 20 minutes later, waiting for your bitch ass. And that’s your goddamn mistake, Wilson. In that video tape you showed me, you told me you weren’t gonna leave anything unfinished this time. But you did, Wilson! You had your chance, and you didn’t fucking finish me off! And now, you’re gonna pay the fucking price!”

Strangler takes a moment to breathe, and to receive a quick round of applause from the fans, before he continues onward. “Well, Chris, you and I know each other well enough. You know what you did out here a moment ago. You know that I’m ready to kick your ass from one end of this building to the other. You, and whatever pathetic army you managed to build up this time, can get your ass down here! You have until the count of 10, or else I will go backstage, and I will hunt you down like a pathetic little animal, Wilson! Do NOT make me come back there after you! If you get your ass out here by 10, you get a chance to explain yourself. If you don’t, then my retribution will be short, sweet, immediate, and totally merciless. And you know what? I’ll even make it one step easier for you! Whoever the hell is running the goddamn tech booth back there, hit Chris Wilson’s music! Do it now! Everything’s set up for you, Chris! Now walk your ass out here, and explain to me why the HELL you decided that you needed to fuck up my life?”

Strangler drops the mic to his side and waits for a moment. The crowd is electric as they get a “WE WANT WIL-SON! *clap clap clapclapclap* WE WANT WIL-SON! *clap clap clapclapclap*” chant running throughout the arena. Finally, Wilson’s video lights up the SmarkTron, and the all-too-familiar words run throughout the arena, sending chills down the spine of the 25,000+ in attendance at Madison Square Garden:

"Ah....Ah.ah.....ah....ah.ah...ah..."

"I am the king of this city, top down, windows up, puffing like diddy...."

As Wilson’s music launches into full gear, the crowd is on its feet, craning for a look at the entranceway. Strangler waits for a solid 20 seconds, then raises the mic back up to his mouth. “I’m starting to count now, Chris! ONE!” screams Strangler as the song continues onward. The top of the ramp remains empty, devoid of life, as Strangler yells out “TWO!” into the mic.

“Where is he?” asks Riley impatiently, looking at Comet for an answer.

“THREE!”

“I don’t know, Riley! I’m not Wilson’s keeper…thank god for that….”

“FOUR!”

“C’mon, Wilson! Get out here and show Strangler what a REAL man looks like!”

“You mean the kind of man who attacks, with a mask on, from behind with a steel chair?”

“FIVE!”

“He’s more of a man than Strangler could ever hope to be, Comet! He’s the man! Strangler’s a pathetic druggie who couldn’t carry Wilson’s jock!”

“SIX!”

“Strangler was able to reform himself! Wilson is still a cold, heartless sadistic bastard! He’ll never change! He’ll always be scum, and everyone in this goddamn building knows it!”

“SEVEN!”

“Guess what? I don’t know it! I know that Wilson is a proven winner…”

“…who lost to Edwin MacPhisto THREE TIMES FOR THE TITLE LAST YEAR…”

“…who has been in more big matches than Strangler’s seen on PPV!”

“EIGHT!”

“If he’s so great, Riley, why hasn’t he gotten out here yet? Where’s your hero now?”

“Unlike Strangler, Chris Wilson knows how to make an entrance! He does things on his terms, not on the terms of some loser who couldn’t take out the man who SUCCEEDED Wilson in the Magnificent 7!”

“NINE!”

“Last chance, Robert! Where is Citizen Wilson? Where is he?”

“Don’t worry, Comet. Take the stick out of your ass, and just enjoy the return of one of the greatest men ever to grace this federation!”

“TEN! GODDAMN IT, WILSON! I’M COMING! HERE I C…”

Suddenly, the voices of Nelly and the St. Lunatics fade away, and the arena goes totally silent. Strangler looks around, pissed off, unti a new song hits over the speaker system…and the entire arena turns to noise.

“Riley….this isn’t…”

“…Comet…I…I don’t think it can be…”

And over the still-open microphone that Strangler has in his hand, the words “Oh, fuck…” echo throughout the arena….

….only to be drowned out by the opening notes of “Downfall”, by Trust Company!

“Holy SHIT, Comet! It’s not Wilson! It’s….it’s…..”

“It’s EREK TAYLOR!”

The crowd goes absolutely NUTS for the music as Strangler drops the mic to the canvas, which goes to static before the tech people kill it. Meanwhile, Strangler just looks up at the top of the ramps, past all the Roman columns lining the path, to the very top, where a figure appears, still wearing a mask. His back is to Strangler, but he quickly twirls around, and tears the mask off. The familiar blond spiky hair…the same devilish eyes….Erek Taylor….

Erek steps all the way to the very top of the ramp, and raises his arms in a victory pose as the crowd is as loud as it ever has been in Madison Square Garden. Willis Reed returning to the court in 1970…The Rangers winning the Stanley Cup in 1994….Erek Taylor’s return….the noise is deafening, beyond comprehension, as the High-Flying Prince looks around at the 25,000 screaming fans, and then down at the only man who has gone silent in the entire arena.

“Oh god…this is even better! We thought we were getting Chris Wilson, the man who retired the Boston Strangler last year! Instead, we get Erek Taylor, the man who the Boston Strangler retired last year! Strangler might not make it out of this building ALIVE, Comet! That beating he took earlier is gonna look like a trip to the fucking petting zoo!”

“I…I have nothing to say, Riley. But I do not envy Citizen Strangler at this moment…”

The final notes of “Downfall” fade away, but the absence of music is hardly noticed by the MSG crowd, who have gotten a huge “ER-EK! ER-EK! ER-EK!” chant going throughout the arena, and out the building into Penn Station, and to Times Square itself. Erek smiles and looks down condescendingly at Strangler from the top of the ramp. Strangler is still frozen in time, totally caught off-guard, with all the pomp and circumstance and passion from his countdown a moment ago totally gone, evaporated into the night sky. Strangler finally reaches down and gropes around blindly for the dropped microphone, never once taking his eyes off of the ghost from his past that might disappear at a moment’s notice. Strangler reaches down and flicks on the microphone, and raises it to his lips….and pauses, without a word to say. As he holds the pose, with the sound of his labored breathing the only noise coming out of the speakers, Erek reaches into his pocket and pulls out a microphone of his own, which gets another loud pop from the crowd. Erek flicks it on, then hoists the microphone into the air, holding it aloft like the torch in the hand of the Statue of Liberty just a mile or so away. The voices of 25,000 crazed New Yorkers fill the microphone, and the cheers over the PA system slam into the live cheers, making the arena even LOUDER. Finally, Erek signals for the crowd to quiet down, and the fans slowly but surely bring the volume down to a respectable volume. Finally, Erek takes his mic to his lips and speaks for the first time in an SWF arena in 13 months.

"That's right! Erek Taylor, the High Flying Prince, the Wonder Kid, he's back in the SWF!! And how fitting it is for him to be back at Genesis IV, here, in NEW! YORK! CITY! There's only one, I repeat, ONE word that can describe the intensity, the excitement, and the feeling of being on this stage...”

“CRRAAAAZZZZZZYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The crowd explodes once again as Erek is starting to loosen up even more, pacing around the stage. He looks down at Strangler, and that ever-present arrogant, cocky smirk returns to the face of Erek Taylor. He looks at the stil-frozen Strangler, still with the mic raised to his lips, and raises his own mic: “Don't worry Strangler, I haven't forgotten about you. But you're not important for now…not that you ever HAVE been…but what IS important is that the people here in NEW! YORK! CITY! get to be the so lucky as to be at Genesis IV when the Wonder Kid, the High-Flying Prince, Erek Taylor himself takes the ring one more time! I can hear the girls screaming! I can hear the people cheering! And guess what, Strangler? They’re not cheering for you! They’re cheering for me! EREK TAYLOR!”

“God…Comet…I’m still stunned! EREK TAYLOR!”

“I know, Robert…I know.”

"Now, people are wondering about some things, and I'm going to give them answers. I'm going to give YOU answers, Strangler, so you better listen up closely. Why am I back? Why am I here? What is my motive? Why is there a sissy look on Strangler's face? I'm going to explain all that from the top.” Strangler doesn’t even react to the insult as he just stands there and takes the verbal whipping, still totally stunned at the proceedings. Erek pauses for a moment, and an “ER-EK! ER-EK! ER-EK!” chant starts up again, causing Taylor to lower the mic and bask in the chant, which grows even louder. Finally, the chant dies down, and Erek raises the mic to return to his address.

”Now, it’s time for us to hop into Erek Taylor’s copyright Way Back Machine©. It was about a year ago when I was brutally forced out of the SWF. Why, you ask? Well, APPARENTLY I wanted to force someone out of the Dateless 7 and take him away from the teat of the great evil genius Chris Wilson. So like the headstrong guy that I am, I accepted a retirement match and I lost. Yes, fucked up. Pretty badly, really. I had to leave the SWF, and the spotlight, and most importantly, the FANS. Actually, I'd made millions in the SWF, so I spent the last year training. I'm much quicker, Strangler. MUCH quicker. And I know I can leave stars circling your undersized pinhead. Now I was ready to return, but I was unfortunately BARRED from rejoining the SWF, due to that pesky little retirement clause. Fortunately, I used those millions I had to hire a damn good lawyer. You know he’s a smart one since he can READ and everything, which is a skill that our friend down in the ring doesn’t happen to possess. And he found me a nice little loophole, due to the unfortunate dismissal of good Commissioner McWeed. See, Strangler didn’t do a good job drawing up this contract. And under the terms of that contract, when McWeed left the SWF’s payroll, my forced retirement was NULL and VOID!”

The crowd bursts into cheers at the “good” news, which finally seems to jolt Strangler from the daze he’s been in for the past five minutes. He finally brings the mic back up to his mouth, and speaks, which draws Erek’s attention away from the cheering crowd. “Erek…but…why are you here? What do you want from me?” The crowd has no reaction for Strangler’s words as they look over the man who, 10 minutes ago, was their hero, trying to decide where he falls now.

Erek’s eyes narrow at Strangler’s words, and the High-Flying Prince seems to shift gears. “I’m glad you asked that, Strangler. You see, during that nice little year off that I had, I had a LOT of time to sit around and watch television. And what do you think I saw? I saw El Luchadore Magnifico, a man I BEAT for the SWF Light Heavyweight Title, win the SWF World Title again, and go on to a record-setting reign. I saw Tom Flesher establish total dominance over the SWF. I saw TNT, a man who couldn’t get me down for a two count before I retired, somehow become SWF WORLD CHAMPION. Then, I saw something that made me sick to my GODDAMN STOMACH. Do you want to know what that was, Strangler?”

Strangler offers up no inquiry, and Erek rolls right along. “I saw you come back, Strangler. I saw a man who forcibly retired a bright young SWF superstar, a man who put others, and himself, in danger with a serious drug problem, a man who had an odor like an unwashed yak, come back to this fed while I sat at home. I saw that man feud with Tom Flesher, and main event 13th Hour, and get a match for the SWF World Title. I saw that man get a lucky title shot against Thoth, and I saw that man get even FUCKING LUCKIER and win that goddamn belt. THE BOSTON STRANGLER became the SWF WORLD CHAMPION! And it made me goddamn SICK!”

Erek pauses for a moment, but the cheers aren’t quite as loud this time, as the NYC fans try and make sense of the war between these two men. “You see, Strangler, you and I both know that I was the better one between us! Hell, I proved it at Ground Zero last year, Strangler! You remember that, don’t you? Sure, you beat Thoth in a Street Fight at Ground Zero THIS year, but what about last year’s Street Fight, Strangler? I hit that corkscrew moonsault off the top of the SmarkTron, and I pinned your ass 1……..2……..3. I was the SWF Intercontinental Television champion, an SWF Light Heavyweight Champion who had beaten El Luchadore Magnifico! I was the hottest young star this federation had ever seen! And everyone who saw me compete knew that I was gonna be SWF Champion someday, and sooner rather than later! But YOU…YOU took that from me, Strangler! I lost one match, and I never got to compete again! You lost a ton of matches, and you got chance AFTER CHANCE AFTER CHANCE, and you made it to the top of the fucking MOUNTAIN!”

Erek, who is now EXTREMELY worked up, doesn’t miss a beat, and continues onwards and upwards: “Guess what, Strangler? This ain’t gonna happen ANYMORE! I will not stand by and watch you fuck up until somebody fucks up worse and drops the goddamn WORLD TITLE into your hands! This time, Strangler, I have only one focus. I am going to hold you accountable to every goddamn mistake you make. And right now, I’m holding you accountable to the biggest goddamn mistake you ever MADE, and that was you ending my fucking career!”

The crowd cheers for Erek’s speech, which grabs Strangler’s attention. Strangler raises his mic, obviously heated over the course of this conversation. “Erek, I’m sorry, OK? I made a fucking mistake, you’re right! I’m not all that proud of what I did last year! But I’m a changed man, Erek! I’m reformed! And don’t you DARE belittle my goddamn accomplishments! I worked my ass off for MONTHS to reclaim my spot on this roster! I worked for months, I sweated, I bled, for my spot in the SWF, and I worked my entire damn LIFE to have my turn on top of the mountain! I looked in the mirror, realized the mistakes that I made, and I changed, Erek! You knew a monster, but that’s not me, Erek! I’m a different fucking person, and you have to recognize that I did my time, paid the piper, and then worked my way back to the top!”

The crowd pops for Strangler’s story this time, which sends a HUGE scowl across the face of the Wonder Kid on top of the ramp. “Oh, listen to him, folks! It’s the Boston Strangler, success story! Ugly loser turned to ugly heroic success story! Strangler, I’m not buying that for ONE GODDAMN SECOND! You snapped before, and you ran me out of the league! You killed my hopes, my dreams, my career, and my future! You did it before, and you could do it again! And I’m not gonna let it happen again!”

“Back the FUCK up, Erek!” screams Strangler into his mic, obviously VERY angered. “I told you, I’m a changed man! I repented for my misdeeds back then, and now I’ve earned my place!”

Erek starts laughing into the microphone, which pauses Strangler. “REPENTED? Strangler, even you’d have to admit that I’m the biggest goddamn mistake you ever made. So where were you, Strangler? Where was the Great Reformed Boston Strangler to give me a phone call to see where I was, to give me some support, to try and get me back into the league? Strangler, you never reached out to me ONCE! You never said a word, made a call, or acted in any manner ONCE to show that you cared about me! I could have forgiven you for making a goddamn mistake, Strangler. But you didn’t just make a mistake. You made a mistake, and then you hoped everyone would forget about it. You thought that Erek Taylor would go quietly into the night, and that he’d be forgotten, and then everyone would love you again! Didn’t you?”

“That’s not true, Erek! That’s…”

“You figured that I was dirty laundry that could be swept off to the side, and that I’d be the dark little secret that your conscience forgot about, that nobody but you would remember!”

”NO! Erek, no…”

“You retired the greatest young high-flyer, the fan favorite, because you were threatened by me! You knew I would eclipse anything you would ever accomplish! And you couldn’t deal with that! After Ground Zero, you knew that as long as I was there, you’d never be #1, so you got rid of me! And then you made it to the top, and Erek Taylor was just another name in the ICTV Championship list! That was your goddamn plan all along!”

“No…no…”

“Well Strangler, those days are LONG over, as I’m here to STAY! So it’s time for you to figure out what you’re gonna do to explain yourself, Strangler. The fans love me, Strangler. They always have, they always will. But they never liked you, Strangler. And right now, I’m guessing they’re not all that crazy about you. So I suggest that you think up a way REAL fast to explain how you’re a changed man, and all that jive. But even if they buy it, Strangler, I never, EVER will. Now talk to New York City. See if you can face them.”

Erek suddenly lightens his tone, and turns back to the crowd. “You see, I dunno if the big bad Strangler can face the crowd, but I know that the Wonder Kid, the High Flying Prince, the man who flew off the SmarkTron and into your hearts, can face you! And now that I’m back, things are gonna be a LOT more fun around here! So hold onto your hats, your wallets, and any small dogs, because I think a hurricane of controversy just formed off the coast of Manhattan! And whenever you fall asleep at night, and you don’t know if the world is a good place to live, all you need to remember is that Erek Taylor is back, and this time, he will NEVER EVER LEAVE!”

With that, “Downfall” kicks up again, and Erek Taylor exits the stage to a subdued pop from the crowd, who are still stunned from the barrage of insults, accusations, and lies thrown around. The question running through the minds of every SWF fan in Madison Square Garden, and throughout the fans watching on PPV across the globe, is the same: Who do we cheer for?

Strangler is still in the middle of the ring with a microphone, and a totally befuddled look on his face. Strangler looks around at the crowd, who seem to be demanding some sort of explanation for what just took place. Strangler starts to stammer into the mic: “I….I…..I have to go.” He drops the mic to the canvas, this time for good, and slides out of the ring. “Godzilla” kicks up, but the pop that usually accompanies the song doesn’t come this time. Strangler walks up the ramp, with the eyes of 25,000 people following him the entire journey. A small section of fans start a “NA-NA-NA-NA! HEY HEY HEY! GOODBYE!” chant, but the rest of the arena allow Strangler to leave in silence as he thinks, trying to figure out what comes next.

“Comet…I….I don’t know what to say.”

“Riley, many of us are simply stunned by what we just saw here. Do we really know the Boston Strangler? And do we really know Erek Taylor, for that matter?”

“Whatever might have just happened, Comet, the amazing thing is that Genesis isn’t even half over.”

“Oh my…you are indeed correct, Citizen Riley. Next up, we have a matchup that mirrors the rivalry we just witnessed, as Wildchild takes on Johnny Dangerous. Can Wildchild truly be a drug smuggler like Citizen Dangerous claims him to be? Who is truthful, and who is spreading lies throughout this land like a true scoundrel? The truth may be revealed tonight! Stay tuned, folks!”

The video package for Wildchild vs. Johnny Dangerous starts up, but the question from the last segment remains.

Who is right?

September 29, 2003

Ben: Folks, this is it, the biggest show of the year is about to get underway; but first, I just had to talk to this gentlemen: former SWF superstar and now an SJL trainer. Tod deKindes, how you doing?

The man, with fresh haircut and dyejob, steps into view with a shopping bag in hand.

Tod: I'm doing mighty fine, Ben and I gotta mention offhand, I'm definitely proud of John Duran and English Dragon. Tonight they get to be on the biggest show in this company's history and I couldn't think of two guys who deserve it more. I watched these two guys grow in the Junior Leagues and now this is the chance of a lifetime for them. Guys, give 'em hell.

Ben: That's all well and good, but um, I gotta ask, Tod. What's in the bag?

Tod: This? Heh. Funny story. Y'know, I feel like we had this conversation back at Ground Zero. Y'see, when I took a gander at tonight's card, there's one match that jumped out and reached out to me, Ben. Of course, you got Tom Flesher against the Judge, you know that's gonna tear the roof off MSG. Then you got JD against Strangler, two guys who I've had some of my best matches with! I'm totally looking forward to this one. But that's not what got my attention, Ben. There I saw it, black on white ... "Deathwish" Danny Williams versus Taylor Nicholas Thompson ... On one hand, you got the guy who messed up my shoulder so bad, that it STILL affects me to this day! Not that I'm bitter ... (clears throat) On the other hand, you got the guy who I'll forever be linked to. The man who ended my career. TNT. Don't get me wrong, I'm not holding a grudge. But there are days when I still feel like punching a hole in the wall, because he's still in the ring, kicking ass; and I'm relegated to backstage duty. But my point is this: these two guys gave each other a hell of a beating way back when at Ground Zero. And now tonight, they're set to do it again. Now, King had me all set up in the owner's box for tonight. I was gonna get the royal treatment and watch a hell of a show. But I decided to swing by his office and made a little request.

Ben: Regarding the match between Danny Williams and TNT?

Tod: Yep. We chatted for a little while and he gave me his thumbs up. I decided to give up my choice seat in the skybox, and so tonight, I'm gonna have an even better view for this match ...

He dove his hand in the shopping bag, flashing a sly smirk.

And retrieved a striped referee's shirt.

September 30, 2003

TALE OF THE TAPE

Wildchild

Age: 21

Height: 5'11

Weight: 214lbs

Bench: 285lbs

Move List: 30+ practiced moves, 3 variables.

Finisher(s): The Wild Ride, The Wild Driver, Falling Star Press.

Accomplishments: SJL World Champion, SWF Hardcore Champion.

Last Five: 4-1

Johnny Dangerous

Age: 28

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 217lbs

Bench: 290lbs

Move List: 30+ practiced moves, 4 variables.

Finisher(s): The MI Slam, Framed, D.F.A.

Accomplishments: SJL World Champion.

Last Five: N/A

POWER ADVANTAGE: Push

LEVERAGE ADVANTAGE: Johnny Dangerous

SPEED ADVATAGE: Wildchild

EXPERIENCE ADVANTAGE: Johnny Dangerous

TECHNICAL ADVANTAGE: Push

HOT/COLD: Wildchild(hot)

OVERALL ADVANTAGE: Wildchild

September 30, 2003

The camera centers on the announce table at ringside, where we see a forlorn Cyclone Comet sitting alongside an impassive Bobby Riley.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” begins Comet, “this is the timeslot in which we were scheduled to bring you the Hardcore Championship match between Johnny Dangerous and the Wildchild, but after the brutal attack earlier by Johnny Dangerous that sent Wildchild to the hospital, it doesn’t look as though we’re going to be able to provide that match for you tonight. I only hope that Wildchild manages to make a speedy recovery, and that we’ll be able to see those two settle their differences some time in the near future…”

I’M TOO SEXY FOR MY LOVE!

TOO SEXY FOR MY LOVE!

LOVE’S GOING TO LEAVE ME!

The capacity crowd in Madison Square Garden begins booing as the obnoxious sound of Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy” begins to blare through the speakers. The lights dim to nearly total darkness, and a series of multicolored strobe lights pulse throughout the arena. Johnny Dangerous steps from behind the curtain, looking like the cat that ate the canary as he poses with his arms outstretched at the top of the stage.

“Get a load of this guy,” mutters Comet. “Walking out here like he owns the place!”

“Before you rush to judgment,” replies Riley, “how about we find out what he’s doing out here, anyway?”

The Barracuda struts down the ramp towards the ring, ignoring the litany of boos being rained down from all corners of the arena. Several fans attempt to jump the barricade in order to get their hands on Johnny, only to be restrained by arena security.

“You can tell that a lot of the fans here in the Garden want a piece of Johnny Dangerous,” notes Comet.

“If they knew what was good for them,” says Riley, “they’d stay in their seats and eat their cotton candy and shut up! He is a secret agent, after all! He could probably make them all disappear, if he got mad enough! And anyway, they should be cheering this guy! He’s fighting to protect them, after all. And, he’s just about to bring a known drug dealer to justice!”

“First of all,” replies Comet, “Wildchild ISN’T a ‘known’ drug dealer! He’s been accused by Johnny, but that doesn’t mean that he’s actually guilty!”

Bobby looks at Comet skeptically. “How much proof do you need? Johnny’s the spy, and HE says he did it! That’s good enough for me!”

“Well,” replies Comet, “You’re a little on the gullible side, Citizen Riley. I’d prefer to see this evidence that Dangerous claims to have before I pass judgment. And secondly, did you not see Johnny attacking Wildchild backstage earlier tonight? Even if there were some shred of truth to Johnny’s accusations, responsible public defenders don’t viciously attack and brutalize their suspects!”

Funyon stands inside the ring at the edge near the announcer’s table, and lifts up the microphone to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen, making his way to the ring at this time, ‘The Barracuda,’ Johnny Dangerous!” As Johnny approaches the ring, he walks up the steel steps and between the ropes to enter the ring, before walking over towards Funyon and demanding the microphone. Funyon’s normally neutral face betrays a mild sense of disgust as he surrenders the microphone over to the Barracuda and quickly flees the ring.

“I still can’t get over the nerve of this scoundrel,” growls Comet. “As a fellow protector of innocents, I must protest his actions! This man is a disgrace to his profession!”

Bobby shakes his head, thoroughly exasperated by his broadcast partner. “Look, Comet; there’s a big difference between you and him. For starters, he actually is a real-life hero, and not just some nut in a jumpsuit!”

“Now, see here, Robert…”

“And, second of all,” continues Riley, “in case you happened to forget, Wildchild is a DRUG DEALER! And a foreign one at that! Hell, he could be a terrorist for all we know! I don’t understand why you’re standing behind that guy, and not behind one of this country’s finest! A REAL hero!”

The lights come back on in the Garden, and Johnny signals to the audio technicians to cut his theme. Raising the microphone to his lips the Barracuda proceeds to give his own personal account of what happened earlier backstage. “I’m sure that all of you fine New Yorkers were looking forward to seeing me bring Wildchild to justice here tonight in the center of the ring, but as you may have seen earlier, he’s decided to flee the scene, most likely into some non-extradition territory!”

JOHNNY SUCKS!

“That’s a damned lie,” exclaims Comet. “He attacked Wildchild in the back and sent him to the hospital! That poor kid isn’t fleeing from anything!”

“What makes you so sure of that,” asks Riley. “I, for one, am inclined to believe the secret agent. Why do you think that he’d lie to us?”

Comet turns to face Riley, his eyes ready to bulge out of his head. “We got it on videotape, you idiot! Everyone in the world saw Johnny attacking Wildchild earlier tonight!”

“That footage was doctored,” backpedals Riley. “It’s probably just like when Oliver Stone made that movie to try and prove that Gary Oldman killed Kennedy!”

“Wildchild may have managed to flee this arena,” continues Johnny, “but I can assure you that he’s not going to escape the long arm of justice! I’ll track him to the ends of the earth, if I have to, and then I’ll bring him back here to rot in prison for the rest of his life! You’ll all be able to sleep soundly, knowing that there’s one less drug dealer terrorizing the streets of our great nation!”

JOHNNY SUCKS!

“I knew it,” chirps Riley. “He is a terrorist! Dangerous just confirmed it!”

Comet rolls his eyes. “You’re nearly as deluded as he is!”

“I’m deluded,” quips Riley. “This coming from a man who walks around wearing a cape, and changes clothes in a soda machine?”

“…”

“My only regret is that I couldn’t get my hands on that little criminal here tonight,” says Dangerous. “After compromising my status as an agent, and everything else he’s done to me, I wanted to tear him apart with my bare hands tonight. But rest assured, I’m going to get my hands on his sooner or later, and then he’ll feel the cold, hard sting of…”

YOU KNOW I’M NOT DEAD!

The defiant scream of Billy Corgan kicks off Smashing Pumpkins’ “The Everlasting Gaze!”

YOU KNOW I’M, YOU KNOW I’M NOT DEAD!

YOU KNOW I’M NOT DEAD!

Eighteen thousand fans in Madison Square Garden erupt as Wildchild’s theme begins to blast through the speakers!

“Is that who I think it is,” wonders Comet.

“It can’t be,” says Riley. “That’s impossible!”

“Bobby, we both saw Wildchild carted out of here in an ambulance,” says Comet. “He was taken to St. Vincent’s! He can’t be back here!”

He surely can’t, Comet…

… But, he is!

As loud as the crowd had been at the advent of Wildchild’s music, they absolutely EXPLODE as the Bahama Bomber steps out from behind the curtain. Johnny Dangerous drops the microphone in shock as he stares out towards the stage at his former tag team partner.

“Holy Resurrection,” shouts Comet. “Wildchild must have copied Gil’s special attack to be able to come back like this!”

Still in obvious pain, Wildchild holds his right arm across his chest, clutching his heavily taped ribs tightly. His braids are strewn around his head in disarray, and his facepaint has been completely wiped off, but his face is blanketed by and expression of sheer determination as he shuffles slowly but surely across the stage and onto the ramp.

Reaching into the ring behind the Barracuda to recover his discarded microphone, Funyon says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the SWF Hardcore Championship! Making his way to the ring at this time, from Morgan’s Bluff, in the Bahamas, weighing in at two hundred fourteen pounds, the SWF Hardcore Champion… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

“I guess that after everything Johnny Dangerous has put Wildchild through, he wasn’t going to miss this match,” says Comet emphatically. “This poor kid’s been put through hell; he’s been abandoned by his partner, he’s been humiliated, he’s been beaten and battered, and he’s been falsely accused of a felony!”

“Hey,” replies Riley. “We don’t’ know that he’s been FALSELY accused!”

Comet ignores him. “But, even after being carted out on a stretcher, Wildchild wasn’t going to allow himself to miss this match. He wants to get his hands on Johnny in the worst way!”

Johnny hastily removes his jacket and absent-mindedly whips it across the canvas in the general direction of the ring attendant. He raises his arms and drops into a ready crouch as he prepares for the Hardcore Champion to approach the ring. As Wildchild continues his deliberate pace down the ramp, he reaches behind his back with his left hand and begins to unbuckle the Hardcore Championship belt that is strapped to his waist. Just about three quarters of the way to the ring, he manages to remove the belt, and drops it to the ground without warning as he suddenly breaks into a dead run! The fevered roar in the Garden begins to reach a deafening crescendo as Wildchild sprints towards the ring!

WHAM!

As Wildchild approaches the ring, the Barracuda charges towards the edge of the ring and dives feet-first, smashing into his chest with a baseball slide that sends him tumbling backwards to the foot of the ramp, and promptly knocks the air out of the eighteen thousand faithful!

DING! DING! DING!

The bell rings and Dangerous wastes no time in pressing his advantage, rolling underneath the bottom rope to the outside and picking Wildchild up, grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him across the arena floor into the barricade! The Human Hurricane screams out in pain as his ribs collide with the hard rubber wall!

“Johnny Dangerous gets this match off to a quick start,” reports Riley. “He’s wasting no time in dispensing justice!”

“It’s always tough to be the second man down to the ring,” notes Comet. “Especially when there’s so much bad blood between the two competitors, like there is here!”

Johnny stalks over to Wildchild and grabs two handfuls of braids, jerking him forcefully to his feet. Leading him by the hair, Johnny pulls him over towards the opposite side of the ring…

BANG!

… And pushes him head-first into the steel steps! Standing over his fallen foe, Johnny leans into his ear. “I’m glad you came back, Dominic,” he says. “I was beginning to think that I wouldn’t get a chance to break a sweat bringing your ass to justice!”

With that, he pulls Wildchild to his feet and wraps his arms tightly around him in a front waistlock, before pushing him backwards into the barricade, further injuring the ribs! Fans rush to ringside, patting the wounded champion on the shoulder to express their support, before the Barracuda pulls him away, leading him over towards the ring and rolling him underneath the bottom rope.

“Johnny rolls Wildchild into the ring,” reports Comet. “And, for the first time in this match, we’ll have both men inside the ring.”

Dangerous stands up and pulls Wildchild to his feet as well, only to grip him tightly around the head with a three-quarter nelson, and flip him back to the mat with an aggressive snapmare takeover…

CRACK!

… And follows it up with a stiff kick to the back, directing his foot towards the side, in order to further target the injured ribs! He pulls him back to his feet and repeats the process…

CRACK!

… This time targeting the opposite side! The Barracuda pulls Wildchild to his feet for a third time, but the Bahama Bomber spins quickly out of the three-quarter nelson and lines his back up with Johnny’s, hooking their arms together before dropping to his knees, sending the surprised challenger onto his shoulders with a backslide pin! The referee quickly dives into position to assess the pinfall:

ONE!

TW—

Before the referee can even complete a two-count, Johnny squirms his way out of the backslide. Wildchild attempts to roll across the ring in hopes of buying himself some time, but Johnny quickly gets back to his feet and rushes towards the Champion, diving forward and driving a double axe-handle blow into Wildchild’s taped ribs!

“I don’t know if Wildchild should have come back here in this condition,” says a worried Comet. “He hasn’t been able to get into a flow so far in this match, and the way it’s going, Johnny may not ever give him a chance to get up!”

WHAM!

Johnny pulls Wildchild back to his feet and applies a standing waistlock. He lifts the Caribbean Cruiser off the mat in a gutwrench, only lower him back down onto his outstretched thigh with a fierce gut-buster!

“Well, he certainly shouldn’t have allowed the hospital to tape him up like that,” adds Riley. “Hell, he might as well have stopped by Wardrobe and have them paint a bulls-eye on him!”

Continuing to pour it on, Dangerous again pulls Wildchild to his feet and backs him against the ropes, grabbing by the wrist to whip him towards the opposite side of the ring, and charging after the Champion at full-speed as he rebounds, driving a running knee-lift into Wildchild’s midsection that sends him flipping over onto the canvas.

“Johnny hitting Wildchild with the Kitchen Sink on that exchange,” says Comet.

JOHNNY SUCKS!

The boisterous New York crowd lets Johnny know how they feel about him, as the challenger pulls Wildchild back to his feet and pushes him against the ropes. Dangerous grabs him by the arm and whips him across the ring, charging after him once again as he rebounds, but the quick-thinking Bahama Bomber wraps his arm around the Barracuda’s thigh and floats behind him, rolling him back onto the mat with a school-boy pin!

ONE!

TWO!

THR—

Once again, Johnny manages to kick out easily, rolling backwards to his feet ahead of Wildchild, and racing to deliver a running elbow drop to the Champion’s ribs! Flattening him on his back against the canvas, Johnny applies a lateral press as he makes his first attempt at a pinfall:

ONE!

TWO!

THR—

KICKOUT!

Wildchild barely manages to get his left shoulder up, and rolls onto his stomach as he attempts to stand up, but Dangerous sees that as an opportunity to grab Wildchild behind the hair and lead him over to the edge of the ring, dumping him between the top and middle ropes and onto the arena floor!

“The Barracuda decides he wants to take the action back outside,” notes Comet, “but give Johnny credit for identifying a point of attack on Wildchild and exploiting it.”

“You’re damn skippy,” throws in Riley. “That’s pure expertise at work! They probably taught him that in Spy School!”

Johnny stalks over towards the timekeeper’s table and chases Funyon away, snatching his seat away!

“Johnny’s been the aggressor this entire match,” says Comet, “and it looks like he’s going to be the first to introduce an international object into this match!”

CRACK!

Johnny raises the chair above his head with both hands, and lowers it down onto the back of the Bahama Bomber!

“Does that mean that Johnny was the ‘chair’-man of Wild and Dangerous,” Riley wonders aloud.

Comet rolls his eyes. “Citizen Robert, your ability to fail to be amusing never ceases to amaze me…”

Johnny pulls Wildchild to his feet and lines the edge of the steel chair up just underneath his heart…

CRACK!

… Before pushing them both down towards the arena floor, jamming the chair into Wildchild’s breastbone! The Bahama Bomber drops to his knees, gasping desperately for air and clutching at his ribs in horrifying pain!

JOHNNY SUCKS!

What a hideous attack by Johnny Dangerous,” barks Comet. “You can end a man’s livelihood doing something like that!”

“Good,” replies Riley. “Then that’ll be one less drug dealer that we have to worry about in this country!”

Comet shakes his head. “I can’t believe you actually think that Wildchild is really a drug dealer…”

“Of course I believe it,” says Riley. “Johnny said so himself! Why would he lie?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that he just might be misinformed,” asks Comet.

Riley looks towards the rafters thoughtfully. He scratches his chin as he ponders his broadcast partners’ question. “Nope. I can’t say that it ever has.”

Johnny pulls Wildchild back to his feet and rolls him into the ring, sliding the chair in after him. Sliding underneath the bottom rope, Johnny stands up and pulls Wildchild up with him, grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him towards the ropes, bending down as the Bahama Bomber rebounds and lifting him over head, hurling him through the air with a back-body drop that sends Wildchild crashing back-first into the steel chair!

“Big backdrop,” shouts Comet.

“Onto the chair,” adds Riley. “Johnny’s been doing a superb job of keeping Wildchild from catching his breath, which just goes to show you how familiar he is with his former tag team partner; he knows what Wildchild’s strengths and weaknesses are, and is not allowing him to get any kind of momentum going whatsoever!”

Johnny picks the steel chair up and unfolds it, setting it onto the canvas before pulling Wildchild to his feet. The Barracuda backs Wildchild against the ropes and grabs him by the arm to whip him towards the opposite side of the ring, but the Tropical Tumbler reverses, sending Dangerous into the ropes and tripping him as he rebounds with a drop toehold…

CLANG!

… That sends him crashing face-first into the steel chair! Johnny rolls over onto his back, holding his face in pain, as Wildchild crawls over towards a neutral corner, using the ropes to pull himself back to his feet. The fans in the Garden begin to clap in unison, rallying Wildchild to get back to his feet.

“Beautiful reversal by the Wildchild,” says Comet, “and now Johnny is feeling his first physical advantage of this match! In order for Wildchild to successfully defend his title, he’s going to have to take advantage of this momentary respite, and go on the offensive!”

Wildchild leans against the turnbuckles for support, grimacing in pain as his injured ribs make even breathing an arduous task. Dangerous gets back to his feet and charges towards the corner…

CRASH!

… But the Bahama Bomber takes a step out of the corner and, somehow finding some hidden strength deep down inside, snatches Johnny off the ground with a hiptoss that sends him flying over the top rope, clear to the outside of the ring! Wildchild drops to his knees, clutching at his ribs as Johnny falls down to the arena floor!

HOLY SHIT!

“TREMENDOUS counter by the Wildchild,” exclaims Comet. “He sent Dangerous all the way out the floor with that move!”

Wildchild pulls himself back to his feet as Johnny attempts to recover outside the ring. Sensing that he may not get another opportunity to press this momentary advantage, Wildchild races back towards the opposite ropes to build up momentum, biting back the pain as his ribs bounce off the solid steel cables, and rushes back towards the other edge of the ring, leaping over the top rope and twisting through the air as he plummets outside, crashing into the Barracuda with a phenomenal corkscrew plancha!

“Wildchild with a corkscrew plancha to the outside,” exclaims Comet. “I have no idea where he scraped up the energy to do that!”

“He’s a drug dealer,” replies Riley. “He probably made a deal with the devil, or something.”

“That’s funny,” Comet quips back, “the last I’d heard, Suicide King still doesn’t care much for Wildchild.”

Wildchild crawls over to Johnny and assumes a mounted position atop his chest. The New York fans count along with the Hardcore Champion as he begins to rain piston-like right hands into the challenger’s face!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!

The Garden roars in appreciation after the tenth blow as Wildchild rolls away from Johnny, using the edge of the barricade to pull himself to his feet. Walking over to the ring apron, Wildchild reaches down underneath and pulls out at kendo stick, holding it above his head to the delight of the crowd. Holding the kendo stick in one hand, Wildchild waves at Dangerous with the other hand in a challenging manner, daring him to stand up. As the Barracuda pulls himself to his feet, the Human Hurricane dashes towards his challenger, swinging the kendo stick wildly and slamming it into his back!

CRACK!

The Garden cheers loudly as Wildchild jams the small of Johnny’s back with the bamboo stick!

“Wildchild’s laying the wood to Johnny Dangerous,” crows Comet.

“Somebody inspect that kendo stick,” demands Riley. “I’ll bet he corked that!”

CRACK!

The crowd lets out another cheer as the Hardcore Champion blasts Johnny in the back once more with the stick!

CRACK!

After another two shots, Wildchild lines the point of the kendo stick up against Johnny’s throat, and proceeds to return the favor to the Barracuda, pushing them both towards the arena floor, and jamming the kendo stick into Johnny’s throat!

“Holy karma,” shouts Comet, “Johnny Dangerous just got a taste of his own medicine!”

“I notice how it was okay to you when the drug dealer does it,” barks Riley, “but you were all over Johnny’s case when he did it! What about Wildchild ending Johnny’s livelihood, huh?”

“Hey,” replies Comet, as Wildchild rolls back inside the ring, “after some of the things Johnny’s done to Wildchild tonight, that’s the least that should happen to him. And please, Citizen Riley, try to keep your facts straight; he’s only accused of being a drug dealer. It hasn’t been proven.”

Wildchild walks over to the corner and grabs the top rope with both hands, using it to pull himself onto the top turnbuckle. Pausing only long enough to take a quick breath before drawing a bearing on his target, the Caribbean Cruiser leaps fearlessly off the top turnbuckle to the outside of the ring, landing in a seated position on Johnny’s shoulders and spinning around, arching his back as he pulls Johnny overhead and down to the padded concrete floor with a sensational Dragonrana!

“Dragonrana to the outside,” exclaims Comet. “The momentum in this match has now swung firmly in favor of the champion!”

“Perhaps,” agrees Riley, “but he can’t afford to let up an inch! Did you notice that pause before he jumped off the top? Wildchild NEVER pauses before a high-risk maneuver!”

Comet nods his head. “Indeed, Robert. I also noticed the way he climbed onto the top turnbuckle, as opposed to just leaping up there. Those ribs have to be hurting him more than we can imagine!”

“Maybe more than you can imagine, you costumed creep,” Riley throws back, “but I’ve had my ribs broken before, and I can tell you, even breathing is painful when you have broken ribs. Wrestling is next to impossible, especially the way that Wildchild likes to wrestle; every time he jumps in the air, every time he bounces off the ropes, he’s putting pressure on those ribs. The only chance he has at winning this match is for him to try and knock Johnny out before breathing becomes more problematic for him than it already is!”

Wildchild drags Dangerous over to the edge of the ring, lifting him up off the ground and rolling him underneath the bottom rope. Using the bottom rope to pull himself onto the ring apron, the Human Hurricane walks over to the corner and ascends to the top turnbuckle.

“How dose he intend to hit Johnny from there,” wonders Comet. “Dangerous is parallel to the ropes; whatever he intends to hit, he’s probably not going to land at a good angle.”

As if to answer Comet, Wildchild leaps off the top turnbuckle towards the ropes, twisting in the air to face the crowd, and lands in a seated position on the top rope, flipping backwards as he launches into the ring, crashing into the Barracuda with a springboard moonsault! The Garden cheers excitedly as Wildchild bounces off of Johnny’s chest, clutching his own in pain.

“Wow,” says Comet. “That was a VERY impressive moonsault variation! He sure shut me up!”

Bobby’s ears perk up at this. “Wildchild, if you can make this comic book geek shut up, I promise I’ll take back every mean thing I ever said about you!”

“…”

Wearily, the Hardcore Champion slumps forward, trying to reach across Johnny’s body to hook the leg, as the referee counts the pinfall:

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEE— NO!

The strain to Wildchild’s ribs prove to be too much for him to maintain positive control over Johnny’s leg, enabling the Barracuda to kick out.

“Wildchild is really feeling the injury to the ribs,” notes Comet. “I have to admit, Citizen Robert, you may have been on to something about knocking the Barracuda out!”

“You’re damn right I was on to something,” replies Riley. “The longer he has to breathe in that ring with broken ribs, the slower he’s going to get. Wildchild without the benefit of his quickness isn’t much better than a glorified punching bag, so it’s pretty much incumbent on him to try and put this match away as quickly as possible!”

Both men get to their feet, and Johnny regains the advantage, stunning the Bahama Bomber with a knee-lift to the midsection. Bending him over at the waist, Johnny stand in front of the Tropical Tumbler and applies a standing waistlock. He lifts him overhead into a Canadian backbreaker position, and then charges towards a nearby corner, slamming Wildchild’s tender ribs into the top turnbuckle, and leaving him there dangling upside down!

“That was a devastating maneuver by Johnny Dangerous,” says Comet. “You have to think that he’s succeeded in regaining the momentum in this match.”

“That was very smart by Dangerous,” adds Riley. “Not only the initial impact of the move, but by leaving him hanging there, he’s forcing Wildchild to try to breathe with the solid-steel turnbuckle and his own body weight, pushing against his already-injured ribs! I can’t imagine Wildchild is going to be able to last much longer!”

From his precarious perch on the top turnbuckle, Wildchild begins to cough violently as he attempts to pull himself back to an upright position, and a trickle of blood can clearly be seen running from his mouth.

“My God,” groans Comet, “Wildchild’s got to have some kind of internal damage going on there! He’s bleeding from the mouth!”

Johnny, still trying to shake off the effects of Wildchild’s attack, walks over to the long-forgotten steel chair picks it up off the canvas, folding it flat. He turns around and makes his way back towards the corner…

CLANG!

… When Wildchild, in an act of utter desperation, explodes off the top turnbuckle, blasting the steel chair into the unsuspecting Barracuda’s face with a missile dropkick! The Garden erupts as Johnny drops the chair and falls backwards to the mat!

“Wildchild dug down deep to surprise Johnny Dangerous with that missile dropkick,” says Comet. “He needs to try and put Johnny away, while he still has some strength left!”

Wildchild pulls himself to his feet and raises his arms in the air, spinning his hands above his head in a circular motion to signal the Falling Star Press, but the pain from his ribs forces him to quickly lower them again.

“He can’t be serious,” says an incredulous Comet. “He can’t be thinking about going for the Falling Star; not with those injured ribs!”

“You haven’t seen many of Wildchild’s matches, have you,” quips Riley. “He’s not exactly known for thinking these things through.”

Forcing himself to try and ignore the pain in his ribs, Wildchild races towards the edge of the ring, leaping onto the top rope and springing backwards as he flips forward in a 450º motion, crashing into Johnny’s chest with his desperation winning gambit!

SPLASH!

“Falling Star Press,” shouts Comet. “He caught him dead on! But the injury to his ribs may have caused that to hurt him as much as it hurt Dangerous!”

Sure enough, the impact from the Falling Star sends Wildchild falling backwards away from the Barracuda. The Human Hurricane flops on his back on the canvas, the pain from his broken ribs sending him into convulsions, as Dangerous lay motionless. Unable to do anything else, the referee begins to administer a ten-count to both men.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

“You’d hate to see this match end like this,” says Comet. “After what both of these men have put themselves through tonight, I think everyone here wants to see a winner!”

SIX!

At the count of six, Wildchild manages to roll himself onto his side, trying to place as little pressure on his chest as he can, and begins to slide his body over towards Dangerous.

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

At the count of nine, Wildchild succeeds in dragging his body over to the challenger and collapses tiredly onto his chest. The referee immediately drops down to assess the pinfall:

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEE— NO!

“Oh my God,” moans Comet. “Johnny Dangerous managed to kick out after the Falling Star Press. Admittedly, Wildchild, rib injury caused him to take an inordinate amount of time to attempt a pin, but nevertheless, the Barracuda is still in this match. And, you have to wonder whether or not Wildchild has anything left for his opponent!”

“I don’t believe that he does,” replies Riley. “That Falling Star was a desperate gamble; one that didn’t pay off! With the damage that he’s already sustained to his ribs, that move only would have been worthwhile if he could have won with it. Now, Johnny’s still in this thing, and that gamble’s going to end up hurting the champion more than it did the challenger!”

Johnny realizes the gamble Wildchild took himself. He grins with a sickening smile as he begins to pull himself to his feet. “Thought you could beat me with that?” he shouts as he stalks over towards Wildchild, grabs a lock of his hair, and DRAGS him to his feet – kicking and screaming!

“YOUR GOING TO PAY FOR THIS, DOMINIC!” shouts Johnny. The Barracuda shoves Wildchild back, and SLAMS his knuckles into the Bahama Bomber! Wildchild stumbles a step towards the ropes, while Johnny continues to rant:

“All this time you’ve been doing this shit, pretending to be my friend?!”

WHAM!!

Another fist blast Wildchild in the mouth! “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?!”

Johnny rears his fist back, grits down on his teeth, and let’s loose a mighty growl as he sends his fist flying into the Bahama Bomber-

-Wildchild suddenly ducks under the blow, grabs the back of Johnny’s head as the Secret Agent spins from the missed swing, and nails a neck breaker! The fans let out a joyous cheer for the Wild One – finally showing some signs of life! Wildchild slowly rolls onto his stomach and pushes himself off the mat. Once to his feet he smacks his hand against the side of his head to loosen some of the cobwebs. Johnny shaken but not stirred from the Bahama Bombers quick retort, reaches for the near ropes and pulls himself up while clenching the back of his neck.

“I think Wildchild might have found a sore spot on the Barracuda there.” Notes Bobby. “Johnny got messed up pretty bad by Bastion three shows back, so it wouldn’t surprise me if theirs a nagging bruise still present.”

“What about Wildchild’s ribs?” says Comet, “that happened TONIGHT!”

From behind Johnny Dangerous, Wildchild slips in and hunkers down, standing in wait for the Barracuda to spin back around and flash that million dollar smile!

He spins around towards Wildchild - his mouth running like a race car: “It’s not like your going to beat aww shit!”

KA-RAAAAAAAAAAAAACKKKK!

“GOD DAMNED!” shouts Bobby! “I could almost feel the aftershock of that super kick!”

“Go ta’ HELL Johnny!” shouts Wildchild, staring down towards his former partner lying flat on his back, then spits in his face! The heel of Wildchild’s foot slamming into the Barracuda’s jaw managed to put Johnny in a totally delusional state of mind! For a beat he couldn’t feel anything lower than his neck, and everything in sight was spinning around like an out of control plane spiraling towards the ground! Slowly, he turned his head towards the Bahama Bomber - drool dripping down the side of his mouth, as Wildchild THRUSTS both fist – tightly balled up – high into the air!

“What the hell?” sputters Bobby, forced to take a double take just to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Wildchild’s going for an … Armed and FRICKIN’ Dangerous! That move is trademarked, copyright, and patented by Johnny Dangerous, he can’t use it!”

“By Hecate, he can’t!” snaps Comet. “Maybe it’ll knock all these lies Johnny’s been telling right out of his head!”

As if being immobile in the middle of the ring wasn’t bad enough, the sound of the crowds exploding into a tremendous cheer serves as an added slap to Johnny’s already red face! To top that one off, Wildchild leans back and lets loose a blood curdled battle cry at the top of his lungs, and the crowds simply explode!!

The Wildchild quickly bolts for the far ropes, leans into them, and launches off of them like a freshly fired bullet - an aquamarine, black, and yellow bullet to be more precise. He charges back towards the Barracuda with a series of flips until he nears his target, takes to the air one last time - spinning completely over as he extends his clenched together fist, and DRIVES it—

WHAAAAAMMM!!!!

“--ARMED AND DANGEROUS! ARMED AND DANGEROUS! RIGHT INTO THE HEART OF JOHNNY DANGEROUS!” shouts Comet as Johnny’s body convulses like a epileptic on crack when Wildchild’s fist slams into Johnny!

“How humiliating!” cries Bobby, “Johnny doesn’t deserve to be shamed by his own move!”

“That’s the whole point of it, Bobby!”

With the crowds LOUDLY cheering him on, Wildchild hooks onto Johnny’s leg, rears all the way back, and FIRMLY pins the Barracuda’s shoulders to the mat! As expected, the Referee drops to make the count… with the crowds help of course!

ONEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

TWOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THREEEEE!!!!!!!!!

“NO! God damned crowds always trying to jump the gun!” says Bobby. “That was barley a two count!”

The frustration can clearly be seen in the Bahama Bomber's face – slamming his fist into the mat, and biting down on his lip as Johnny crawls to the ropes. He swipes his hand past his forehead, wiping it clear of the sweat and pushing his hair out of his face as he climbs to his feet. Suddenly a sound begins to echo that brings a familiar smile to the Wildchild’s face; reminding him why he comes here night after night and gives it his all! The crowds cheering for him and chanting his name as he rises to his feet!

DUB-CEE!

“The support for Wildchild despite these wild accusations is incredible!” says Comet.

“That’s just because he’s got the ‘Hook Up’ if ya know what I mean.” Replies Bobby.

As the chanting dies down Wildchild turns his attention back towards Dangerous, catching the glimpse of a fist headed towards him right before it smashes into his skull!

*WHACK!*

“Oh my God! Cheap shot by Johnny Dangerous!” shouts Comet!

The shot catches Wildchild completely off guard and knocks him clear into the turnbuckle, sending the crowds into a frenzy of booing! Dangerous charges in with his fist drawn back, slamming a second shot straight into Wildchild's temple and following with his opposite fist for a third! Johnny rears back for one more shot, channeling all the strength he possible can into it as he swings forward with a punch strong enough to knock the Statue of Liberty's head straight off her sweet shoulders!

"But what a catastrophe that would be if Johnny misses." Says Comet, almost predicting the future as Wildchild ducks down just at the right moment and Johnny's fist whizzes right over the top of Wildchild's head! Wildchild shudders as he feels the winds from Dangerous' fist slicing through the air almost parting his locks straight down the center, but quickly snaps back into his fighting mode sinking his foot into The Barracuda’s gut! Johnny doubles over clenching his stomach, practically begging for Wildchild to abuse him by giving the Bahama Bomber the opening he needed! Wrapping his arm around the Secret Agent’s head Wildchild falls backwards, and lets his head meet the mat with a strong DDT!

*WHAM!*

"Ohh!" Comet is drawn back, imagining the pain from that maneuver. "What a counter by the Wildchild! I think he's trying to show Johnny Dangerous as well as the rest of the locker room that even though he may have been Ejiro’s bitch for the past month, he’s still got some fighting spirit!

"Well he can deliver the goods straight through one of them tables!" adds Bobby, pointing towards a nearby table peaking out from under the ring. "I want to see some blood and smashed tables! I mean come on this is no HARDCORE, time to break out the light bulbs, Singapore Canes, and whipped cream!"

"Whipped cream?" ask Comet with a raised cape.

"Yeah, you know. Smack them in the back of the head with the can?"

"Sure thing, Bobbi, Whatever you say… " Comet rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Let's get back to the action at hand."

With Johnny knocked to a whole different universe for the time being, Wildchild slides out of the ring and locates an always trusty weapon of the Hardcore element, a steel chair! Funyon knows the drill, when he sees the Bahaman coming with them beady eyes set upon his chair, and makes for the hills, leaving one freshly shined and waxed steel chair for the taking! The crowds let out a cheer as Wildchild grabs the chair and loudly folds it with a CLANG~ then rolls back into the ring.

"Here come those weapons you asked for, Bobby."

"You think your so smart?" Wildchild yells towards Dangerous as he stomps over towards him. "See if you can SPY this smacking into your sorry ass!" Wildchild reaches down and pulls Dangerous back to his feet by his chin, and rears back with the chair teasing a swing. The chair slices through the air as Wildchild swings towards Dangerous' face, but Johnny (playing opossum) comes back to life just in the nick of time clasping his palms together he catches the edges of the chair just a mere inch from his face! Dangerous rips the weapon from Wildchild's hand and in one fluid motion swings the weapon back at Wildchild's head!

WHACK!!!!!!!

AND ABSOLUTLEY PLASTERS WILDCHILD’S FACE WITH THE CHAIR!

Wildchild crumples to the mat as Johnny snickers evily, and raises the chair high over his head… and slings it down into the Bahaman’s skull for a second time!!

WHACK!!

JOHN-NY SUCKS!

The chants begin to spill over from the fans, but Johnny tries to pay no mind to them, opting to open up the chair and sit it on the mat. He grabs Wildchild, pulls him to his feet, and shoves him face down through the back of the chair.

“What the hell is he doing?” ask Comet. “He’s got Wildchild seated all wrong in that chair! You don’t lie down on the seat with your head sticking through the back of it! Why if it were to accidentally fold… wait a second!”

“Ohhhh yeah.” Adds Bobby.

JOHN-NY SUCKS!

The chants grow even louder as Johnny prances across the ring, leaving Wildchild prone in his weapon of mass hurtin’… THEN RUSHES IN, LEAPS UP AND DROP KICKS THE BACK OF THE CHAIR, FOLDING IT RIGHT INTO WILDCHILD’S RIB CAGE!!

WHAM!!!!

“OH MY ZEUS! LEAVE THAT MAN’S RIBS ALONE! THAT’S CHEATING!”

JOHN-NY SUCKS!

The chant mixed with a horrendous boo grows to an astronomical point, and FINALLy the Dangerous One has heard about all he can stands! He storms over to the side of the ring, neglecting his sure fire pin fall, and reaches for a microphone! The techies seem rather confused by his request, especially during the middle of the match, but oddly give in to his demands, handing him a microphone.

“WHAT the HELL is wrong with you people?!” He shouts. “I’m doing this to save you and everybody else in the world from the Wildchild’s plot!”

Johnny ranting only seems to get the crowds going even harder as the chants grow faster.

“You boo me, yet the only reason I’m here is to make a difference and stop something bad from exploding onto the streets!”

JOHN-NY SUCKS!

All the while, unbeknownst to the Secret Agent, Wildchild begins to push himself off the mat. His face was painted in crimson, and he could smell it, taste it, feel it. With one hand holding himself off the mat, Wildchild begins to tremble. He looks up towards Johnny ranting like a raving mad lunatic to his fans, trying his hardest to put HIS fans against him.

JOHN-NY SUCKS!

He can hear the chants of opposition towards his opponent as the start to become clearer and clearer, and his anger and frustration begins to slowly boil…

JOHN-NY SUCKS!

Until it’s like a tea pot screaming for somebody to take it off the burner!!

“YOUR ALL INSANE!!” shouts Johnny, extremely irate! “IM DOING THIS FOR ALL OF YOU, GOD DAMNIT, STOP BOOING ME!!!”

“RAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!”

September 30, 2003

Startled, Johnny cocks his head to the side, and suddenly drops the microphone as Wildchild comes TEARING across the ring towards him frothing at the mouth!! Johnny tries to assume a cocky martial arts pose, but before he can even decide what kind of art to use, the Bahama Bomber PLUMMELS him with a storm of flying fist!!

WHAM!

WHACK!

WHAM!!

WHAM!!!

WHAM!!!!

Johnny is backed all the way into the ropes by the blows! Wildchild then grabs onto his arm and slings him across the ring towards the opposite ropes, and charges just a foot behind! Johnny hits the ropes, bounces back, and…

WHAAAMM!!!

A stiff shoulder block, sends Johnny stammering backwards into the ropes for a third time! Johnny stumbles forward, and right into a beautiful spinning heel kick straight to his square chin!

KA-RACK!!

Blood begins to drip profusely from Johnny’s mouth as he stumbles back, and the Bahama Bomber cuts loose with another Spinning Heel Kick, nailing him in the exact same spot as before!

KA-RACK!!

Not quite a knockdown, but Johnny is far from in his right state of mind! Wildchild makes another spin on his heel, throwing out his leg and nailing Johnny with a third and final Spinning Heel Kick that takes him right off his feet!

KAA-RAAACCCKKK!!!

The fans rejoice with a huge roar of approval after seeing the man they wouldn’t so much as dare to even piss on him if he were on fire put down like the lying piece of trash that they believe him to be! Hacking and trying to hang on, Johnny rolls over, trying to crawl his way across the ring from the clear and present danger, but Wildchild grabs him by his slick black mane, rips him off the mat, and SLAMS his face into the canvas! Johnny’s head bounces off the mat like a well aired basketball – Wildchild snatches his hair again, pulls his head back, and once again SLAMS his face into the mat!!

WHAM!!

Johnny rolls over onto his stomach – stars circling over his head as Wildchild pounces onto him, flinging his fist into Johnny’s face with all his might!

WHAM!! “ONE!”

WHAM!! “TWO!”

WHAM!! “THREE!!”

WHAM!! “FOUR!!”

WHAM!! “FIVE!!”

WHAM!! “SIX!!”

WHAM!! “SEVEN!!”

WHAM!! “EIGHT!!”

WHAM!! “NINE!!”

WHAM!! “TEN!!”

Wildchild leaps off his victim as the crowds reach the count of ten, then leaps onto the second rope, flips off, and lands his knee into Johnny’s mid section!! Johnny crumples up with what little remaining energy he has left to do so. Wildchild stands almost motionless - save the slow-deep breaths he takes while boring a hole right through the bloodied Secret Agent with his eyeballs… then his eyes roll into the back of his head, and the Caribbean falls to the mat.

“OH MY GOD!” cries Bobby. “What in the HELL just happened there? I mean, OH MY GOD! I never would have believed that Wildchild could be so damned vicious, he just KILLED Johnny Dangerous! What the hell did he fall over for though? Nobody even touched him! What a wuss! ”

“Wildchild, simply put,” snaps Comet, “exploded like a ticking bomb there! After six weeks of Johnny chasing him, and causing problem after problem, the Wildchild lost control of himself! He gave EVERYTHING he had there and it took EVERYTHING out of him!”

“But what the hell are we going to do now, Comet? We got two men beaten senseless, passed out in the ring, and the only way for this match to end is for someone to make the pin! They are out like Michael J. Fox in a game of Jinga!”

The crowds however are already on it. They unleash a flurry of chants for the Bahama Bomber, hoping to awaken him.

DUB-CEE!

Still no one moves. Johnny on one side of the ring with a small pool of blood by his head, Wildchild on the other side, covered in blood – his and the Barracuda’s. In the middle of it all, the Referee stands. He steps over towards Johnny and softly nudges him with his foot.

DUB-CEE!

Shrugging his shoulders, the Referee walks to the other side and nudges Wildchild as well. Neither man moves. The chants slowly begin to die down - the crowds begin to stand… wondering… concerned.

Silence.

“What’s going on?” says Bobby, frantically. “Don’t tell me it got this bad again? We don’t need another Genesis Three reoccurrence.”

About this time, the Referee signals to the backstage paramedics. Three of them, flank out from behind the curtain - two with a stretcher.

“Dear Odin! I think we might have to call an end to this match. I can’t believe we aren’t going to get a clear cut winner out of this one, but I don’t think there is anyway Johnny or even Wildchild for that matter can continue.”

“I knew they shouldn’t have let Wildchild wrestle! He’s so strung out he doesn’t realize the power he’s using!”

The paramedics slide into the ring. Two of them take to Johnny, while the third checks on Wildchild. Slowly the two slide the stretcher behind Johnny, and carefully roll him onto it.

“Folks,” says Comet, staring into the camera. “I’m not sure exactly what is happening here, except for Johnny Dangerous is apparently in pretty bad shape. I can’t help but think this is all in due course for Johnny. His actions have finally come full circle and bit him in the rear! Wildchild as we… “

“Wait Comet!”

Inside the ring, Wildchild slowly comes to, although quite depleted of his energy. The paramedic ask him several times if he’s ok, which he shakes his head yes in response.

“Well, that’s at least a little bit more comforting to know at least ONE person is alright.” says Comet.

The paramedic leaves Wildchild sitting up against the ring post, and heads towards where Johnny is. Carefully the three begin to strap Johnny in, when the Secret Agents eyes bolt open.

“Damn Wildchild.” Says Bobby. “Not only is he going to be free to spread his drugs across the globe, but he also Killed Johnny Dangerous in the process!”

“I wouldn’t exactly go THAT far, Bobby. We have yet to get a report on Johnny’s status. Hopefully we’ll get some information before the show ends.”

“I hope so, Comet. Well, next we have plenty more exciting action coming- WHAT THE HELL!”

Bobby’s eyes widen a mile when Johnny grabs the paramedic by the arm! Johnny growls viciously as he shoves the paramedics back and begins to unfasten the restraints on the stretcher.

“WAIT A SECOND! WAIT A SECOND! THIS MATCH MIGHT NOT BE OVER YET!”

Johnny rolls off the stretcher and shoves himself off the mat. The paramedics try to block him from going anywhere, but one drawing back of his hand sends them fleeing away! In the far corner Wildchild begins to pull himself up out of the turnbuckles, not exactly eager for more, yet compelled to try – he stands holding his ribs. The crowds let out a might howl of approval! Though the combatants may not want any more, they sure in the hell do!

“This is ludicrous!” says Comet. “These two are in no shape to continue this match! The Hardcore Championship is NOT worth this much!”

“They have to!” replies Bobby. “It’s the only way for this match to end, and I have YET to hear a bell ring!”

The Referee tries to step in Johnny’s way as the Barracuda stammers forward. “No way!” he barks, “Nobody is getting killed on my watch, this match is over!” He turns towards the timekeeper and raises his arm, but before he can make any signal, Johnny buries his knuckles deep into the back of his head!

WHAM!!

You could probably already guess, but the Referee is passed out for the rest of the year – dropping face first to the mat.

Johnny balls up his fist, and bares down on his pearly whites. Stepping over the Referee’s shattered body, Johnny inches closer towards Wildchild. The Bahama Bomber replies with the same face, and he himself steps in closer.

“I simply can not believe this. These two are determined to go until there is a death involved!”

“Please, we got you here to step in before it gets THAT far along, Comet.”

“Are you saying…”

“No… No you can’t go into the ring.”

“ … ”

The crowd’s cheers get louder with ever step the two take that brings them even closer, until it reaches a boiling point when the two stop nose to nose. They both breathe hard, staring deep into the others eyes with a burning hatred. Their teeth are the only visible details that peek through their red mask.

“We have like a fresh start here!” says Bobby. “They got a quick breather and now the match can continue twice as long!”

“It might take the entire show to find a winner here.” Comet replies. “Both of these men know each other inside out! How do you put your worst enemy down, when he knows you like the back of his hand!”

Without a single word, the pair launches two clash with a collar-and-elbow lock up which surprisingly sets this crowd on fire! Both men struggle to keep the other at bay until Johnny finally overpowers Wildchild and manages to slap on a quick face lock! It doesn't last long, however as Wildchild breaks free of the hold, shoves back on Johnny, and immediately darts for the far ropes. Dangerous spins around to face his oncoming adversary, ready to plow one right into Wildchild's jaw as he rears back with his fist and-

-No! Wildchild proves to be a little lighter on his feet obviously, and swings out his leg into Johnny's neck, leveling him with a HUGE leg lariat before Dangerous can put his deadly right hook into play!

Without skipping a single beat, Wildchild keeps his speed up charging straight for the opposite ropes just as Johnny jumps back to his feet, apparently ready for more! Wildchild swings out his arm, but this time Johnny is equally prepared and ducks the clothesline, pops up from behind, locks his hands around Wildchild's waist, and hauls him up, and over, and neck first into the canvas with a German Suplex!

WHAM!

"I don't think I have seen Johnny pull many of those out before." says Bobby. "Of course most of his opponents aren't this light, so we may finally be able to see what Johnny Dangerous has in terms of power moves tonight!"

"Your acting like this match just began!” says Comet! “Besides we’ve seen Johnny wrestle what, twice in the last two months? I almost forgot what the heathen looked like!”

Johnny reaches down and grabs onto Wildchild and pulls him to his feet, then spins him around and locks his arms around the Bahama Bomber's waist again! He begins to jerk Wildchild off his feet-

-But is stopped short when the Bahama Bomber's elbow comes roaring into his jaw! Crack! Johnny's head snaps back but he refuses to loosen his grip until another elbow flies back- CRACK- forcefully knocking him off the Caribbean Cruiser!

Johnny stumbles back, putting a hand to the side of his face he massages the stinging sensation in his jaw, wipes some more blood from his face, then spins back around…

SMACK!!

"..and Wildchild absolutely LEVELS Johnny with a cross body block!” says Bobby, just after Wildchild dashes for the far ropes and comes charging back in with the before mentioned attack!

Wildchild manages to make it back to his feet, but the pain in his ribs after executing that move is obvious. Making sure Johnny has little if any time to recover, Wildchild grabs onto him by his arm from behind as he staggers to his feet, spins him around, and quickly pops him one right in the kisser! Johnny stumbles back from the punch, and almost falls into the ropes- which he would have if it weren't for Wildchild being so kind and pulling him back by his arm- right before he SLINGS Johnny to the opposite ropes! Wildchild catches him as he returns, raises him above his shoulder, pivots, and slams Johnny face first into the mat!

WHAM!!

"Wildchild getting some good height with that one thanks to Johnny’s momentum coming off them ropes!” says Bobby. “He’s going for a cover!"

One!!

Two- Johnny thrust his shoulder up, breaking the count, and shoves the Bahama Bomber off of him!

Wildchild jumps to his feet, reaches down and grabs Johnny's arm just as the self proclaimed 'Super Spy' tries to get back on proper footing, and CRANKS back on his wrist! Dangerous lets out a small whelp as he fans with his free hand, trying to sooth the burning sensation, just before Wildchild sticks out HIS elbow and plows it into the back of Johnny's elbow, driving his arm into the mat!

"Ouch!” gasps Comet, “He's going to tear Johnny’s arm in half there!”

"Wildchild is just showing some technical expertise there." Bobby adds. "You can thank Ejiro Fasaki for teaching him that. I’m surprised Wildchild is finally putting some of the lessons into action.”

"I’m sure Ejiro is just tickled pink backstage too.”

Wildchild jumps back up, all the while never releasing Johnny and sinks his knee into his arm! Johnny grunts and tries to scramble to his feet, but a sharp kick to the head knocks that plan out of commission! Once again, Wildchild bolts back up then drops his knee back into the same spot on Johnny's arm, only this time causing Johnny to scream out louder than a room filled with five cent whores!

“I can’t believe Wildchild’s going at this rate after all Johnny’s put him through!” says Bobby. “He has GOT to be on something!”

“What’s Johnny’s excuse, then?”

“A Secret Agent must always go the extra mile, Johnny’s just showcasing his vitality that only a spy could posses!”

Quickly trying to capitalize, Wildchild clenches Johnny’s arm in between his legs, locks his fingers around the Barracuda’s chin, and with the fans rejoicing locks in a Cross Face submission!

“CROSSFACE!” cries Comet. “He’s got this one locked in, and it just may be the final curtain call for Johnny Dangerous!”

“Don’t be so sure about that one,” counters Bobby. “Johnny’s just resting up before he deals the real damage!”

Johnny groans in pain. Tears almost begin to form in his eyes when the Referee stoops down and ask Dangerous if he gives, to which Johnny stubbornly shakes his head no. A nearby chair brought into the ring earlier catches his wandering eye. It is but a few feet, maybe even inches away… if only he could reach it. Johnny gives it his all to fight back the surging pain as Wildchild pulls back even harder, while slowly trying to edge himself closer to the chair.

“Oh, no.” says Comet. “I don’t think I like where this one is heading.”

Johnny reaches his free arm out and sinks his nails deep into the canvas, and DRAGS his body slightly to the side. Reaching out again, he can almost feel the steel on the tip of his fingers. “Just one more inch!” he mutters to himself in between embarrassingly audible groans, and reaches his arm out just as far as it can possibly go… AND GRABS THE LEG OF THE CHAIR!

The Bahama Bomber’s eye catches this from the corner of his eye, so he suddenly releases the hold, trying to scramble towards the chair just as—

WHACK!!

The side of the steel chair meets and greets Wildchild’s skull, catching him by surprise! He falls back holding his forehead, giving Johnny the second he needs to try and regain control! Wildchild rolls to his feet, stumbling forward as he holds his forehead, knowing he can’t give Johnny that second! However, don’t tell Johnny he can’t have his spotlight! The Barracuda slithers in from behind, grabs onto Wildchild’s arm with one hand and wraps his other arm around Wildchild’s leg…

“Ah HECK NO!” shouts Comet!

Johnny hauls Wildchild off his feet—

“MI SLAM!” shouts Bobby, gleefully. “I knew Johnny could put this criminal away!”

--Wildchild suddenly makes a do or die break for it, wrapping his arm around Johnny’s neck, and pushing himself off of the Barracuda’s shoulders for a improvised swinging Diamond Cutter—

“NO REVERSED INTO A DIAMOND CUTTER!”

--Johnny slams the breaks on this reversal, clamping his arms around Wildchild’s waist he hoist the Bahama Bomber up and over his head while falling backwards—

“REVERSED AGAIN INTO A GERMAN SUPLEX!!”

-- Wildchild flips out of the move, landing right on his feet as Johnny lands flat on his back! Wildchild leaps up right over Johnny’s head, extends his knee out—

--Johnny rolls out of the way, making sure Wildchild’s knee hits nothing more than the mat! Both men jump back to their feet, Johnny spins around as he drops down to quickly snatch the chair off the mat, and—

WHAAMM!!!

--Wildchild leaps into the air, planting both feet right into the chair, and smacking Johnny right in the head!

“Oof! Bad idea by the Barracuda, this one could be costly!”

Johnny immediately drops the chair as his hands cover his face - another bruise to add to the day’s list of already growing injury list. Wildchild rushes in, and quickly slings his foot into Johnny’s midsection, knocking the Secret Agent down to his knees! The crowds jump to their feet, holding their breath – Standing directly over the fallen chair, Wildchild slaps on a reverse standing head scissors, hooks Johnny’s arms from behind, then rolls over placing Johnny onto his back!

“HERE IT COMES!” cries Comet as the crowd’s anticipation begins to build to what could be a massive crescendo! “Although with his ribs in such bad shape, I’m not sure if this would be such a wise idea!”

AND---

“YES!! KILL YOURSELF IN THE PROCESS YA DAMN DRUG SLINGING NAZI!!”

THE CROWDS LET OUT A MONSTROUS CHEER LIKE NEVER BEFORE HEARD FOR THE WILDCHILD AS HE STANDS WITH JOHNNY LOCKED ONTO HIS BACK, LETS OUT A HUGE BATTLE CRY THROUGH THAT BLOOD STAINED FACE, AND-

- HE JUMPS BACK, KICKING HIS FEET OUT, AND FALLS TOWARDS THE CANVAS, GRINDING JOJNNY’S HEAD STRAIGHT INTO THE CHAIR!!

WWWWHHHAAAAAMMMMMM!!!!

“WILD RIDE, BY ZEUS! WILD RIDE INTO A FREAKING CHAIR!!”

Wildchild immediately collapses to the mat after dispensing of Johnny Dangerous, and for a moment he just lies there with the crowds screaming and chanting his name!

DUB-CEE!

As always, Wildchild will never let his fans down, nor turn his back to them. When they call he MUST act, and so he does, even despite his extremely fatigued state. Mustering up the courage and strength, Wildchild rolls over onto his stomach, inches over towards Johnny, and makes the pin!

“ONE!!”

“TWO!!”

TWO ½

TWO ¾

MOTHERFUCKINGTHREEEEEEEBITCHES!!!

THREEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DING! DING! DING!

The Garden erupts like Mount Saint Helen’s, going completely BALLISTIC, and drowning out everything else inside the arena! Even Wildchild’s music – The Everlasting Gaze - kicking up can barely be heard, or Funyon for that matter as he makes his announcement!

“HERE IS YOUR WINNAH… AND STIIIIILL SWF HARDCORE CHAMPION… THE WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

Retrieving his championship belt from the referee, Wildchild slings it over his shoulder as he leans against the ropes for support. Tears of exhaustion run down his face, and he winces in pain as the referee tries to raise his hand in victory.

“What a cathartic victory by the Wildchild,” says Comet. “He’s overcome three months of adversity, frustration, and humiliation to defeat his former tag team partner here tonight, and retain the Hardcore Title at Genesis! What a spectacular performance these two just put on!”

Wildchild turns out to face the crowd, leaning over the top rope for support as he holds his Hardcore Championship belt out towards the fans, who chant his initials enthusiastically:

DUB-CEE!

As we:

FADE OUT

September 30, 2003

The camera focuses on the marble pillared lined entranceway for a moment before sweeping up and over the cheering Madison Square Garden crowd. The shot transitions with a slight fade to find the beaming faces of Cyclone Comet and Bobby Riley at their post ringside.

“As we reset the ring for our next titanic tussle,” Comet starts in with his usual grandiose style “we will take this opportunity to speak with a former SWF wrestler…”

“Supersta’” a southern twanged voice bellows from off screen. “A former SWF supersta’ and sta’ of the world over!” says the Memphis Eel as he waddles in behind Riley and Comet with a folding chair in one hand and a small black case in the other.

Riley rolls his eyes, “What are you doing here? Are the New York City hookers on strike? I hear they are unionized now.”

Comet seems slightly ruffled and points at the Eel as he sits down. “Citizen Riley, who is this uncouth cretin?”

The Memphis Eel unceremoniously slaps Comet in the back of the head. “Don’t be using ten dollar words when I can’t even afford a two dollar steak.”

Riley grumbles and points a thumb at Eel while Comet rubs the back of his sore noggin. “He’s the Memphis Eel. He started hanging around the back long after you left. He’s some sort of associate of the Magnificent 7.”

“And executive vice president of Frost Brand Enterprises,” the Eel chips in as he readjusts his sunglasses and ever present “funk” medallion.

“Ah, so you are here to assist with the following presentation.” Comet states.

“Boy, you’re as smart as a Alabaman trying to get a driver’s license in Jersey. If you don’t watch yourself, I’ll whip you like Wahoo McDaniels in a cage match.”

“I…I…” Comes stammers “cannot decipher a word this man is verbalizing.”

Riley buries his face in his hands. “I feel like I got dropped in the middle of a CBS sitcom.”

Cyclone Comet regains his composure and returns to addressing the camera. “Other SWF awards for greatness in this past year have been presented at a ceremony prior to the show tonight. However,” Comet brings up a huge black plaque with gold plating attached “at this time, we would like to present the SWF Sponsor of the Year Award to the one organization which has had closer ties to and done more for the SWF than any other. Frost Brand Enterprises.”

“Let me see that there fancy bowlin’ trophy.” The Eel basically rips the plaque out of Comet’s hands and looks it up and down. “Woo-doggie! This looks like that there award I busted Buddy Rich open with that night down in Tupelo.”

“To OFFICIALLY,” Riley punches the word “accept the award on behalf of Frost Brand Enterprises we have the company’s founder and CEO and former SWF wrestler…”

“SUPERSTA’!” The Eel corrects again.

“Superstar,” Comet says “Frost. Mr. Frost is currently on an extensive wrestling tour of Japan, but joins us now live via satellite.”

The scene splits in half and frames the two shots. On the right side is the three men at the commentators’ table with “New York” listed below them on the left is Frost sitting in a high backed chair and wearing a blue kimono with silver dragons on it. His shot is marked with “Tokyo, Japan” below it. Frost nods his head in recognition of the group in New York.

“Sorry you could not be with us here tonight in New York, Citizen Frost.” Comet makes small talk to begin.

“So am I,” Frost says rather stiltedly “If for no other reason than to introduce the fans to my new line of Frost Brand Oriental Dipping Sauces.”

“I just happen to have some right here,” The Memphis Eel bleats out and brings up the small case. He opens it and starts setting up bottles of various colored liquids at the front of the commentator’s table. “There’s Soy, Teriyaki, Wasabi, Oriental Sweet Tang. Don’t quite taste like the Asian ‘tang I’m used to. Not that old Bobby here would know anything about that, no what I’m saying boy?” The Eel elbows Comet in the ribs, who seems very perplexed.

He turns back to Frost. “There are rumors that you might return at the SWF’s annual Christmas pay-per-view, tentatively titled at this time Jesus-Fest ’03: The Night the Philistines Crossed the Line, to take on one of your old enemies. With Tom Flesher vanquished last month at Ground Zero, perhaps you would like another shot at Michael Craven.”

Frost’s face is a mask of confusion. “Who?”

“Michael Craven, the King of Nightmares.” Comet clarifies.

Frost narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “Who?”

“He means Ash Ketchum!” Riley screams.

“Oh,” Frost nods his head in recognition. “I have no plans to return to the SWF at this time, but any and all competitors should be in the best of shape should I return. A key to training is the proper nutrition and new Frost Brand Oriental Sauces are packed with nutrients to put the razzle-dazzle in your armbar.”

The Eel stacks more bottles on the table, nearly obscuring Comet and Riley. “There’s Thai Chili Sauce, Sweet ‘n Sour, Sour Pork, General Frost’s Rape Yo’ Mama chicken marinade…”

Riley stops him short and throws up his hands. “Hold it, hold it!” Bobby points directly at the camera. “Frost, are you reading this crap off of cue cards.”

Frost squints his eyes and slightly moves his lips as if he’s straining to read something off camera. He finally says flatly, “no.”

The Memphis Eel slaps Riley in the back of the hand like he did to Comet earlier. “Never cut me off like that boy. I’ll break yo’ legs like you were Ricky Gibson.”

Cyclone Comet holds a hand to his throbbing forehead and seeks to rush this train wreck of a segment to a conclusion. “Frost, we all hope that your tour of Japan is going well. From what we hear you are putting on some of the best matches of your career against the top puro stars.”

Frost pipes in with the somber tone he’s been using the whole interview. “Fine competitors all over here, but I believe they would be better served to use less elbows and more of my new Frost Brand Orie…”

Riley breaks in, “Great to hear. Now we would like to present you with the SWF Sponsor of the Year awar…” Bobby goes to take the plaque from the Eel. He refuses to give it up and the two have a tug of war over it.

“Nah, you don’t. I’m gonna’ present the award!”

“Give me that thing you hillbilly!”

“Stuff it you reefer smoking porch monkey!”

“STOP!” Comet commands in his best superhero voice. The two men halt and Comet takes the plaque. “Citizen Frost, on behalf of the SWF board of directors and our vast legion of fans, we would like to present you with the SWF Sponsor of the Year award for your company Frost Brand Enterprises. It is our hope that we will be able to present this to you for many more years to come and see you once again in an SWF ring.”

Frost puts his hands together and bows respectfully. “Konishawa, Suzuki, Nissan Ultima.” Frost throws his hands up. “Oh, hell, I don’t know. Let’s get out of here.” Frost stands up and exits the frame. A platoon of tiny Asian girls then parades by following him.

The scene zooms back to full frame with Comet and Riley sighing with relief. The Memphis Eel starts putting his wares back into the case.

“There you have it folks,” Riley moans. “That there was worth the price of tonight’s show on your cable bill alone.”

Comet adds, “And our thanks to Citizen Eel, a representative of Frost Brand Enterprises in the presentation. Our next contest will be underway in just a few short moments.”

The Eel stands up and goes to leave, then has a thought and leans down to address the announcers. “Did I ever tell ya’ boys about the time I killed Buzz Sawyer with a trident?”

September 30, 2003

Backstage. Away from the flashing lights and thunderous crowds, is another world. A world where groups of people work non-stop to make certain the SWF shows go off without a hitch. Especially tonight, at Genesis, the biggest Pay Per View of the year. But the problem is, nobody is working. Everyone is standing around the matte curtain that hides the offstage area from the main arena. Some are cheering, some are hooting and clapping, but all of them are focused on a man standing in front of that curtain. A man who’s back is turned conveniently to the camera, and who’s head is covered by a gray hooded sweatshirt. But with his staff not on their Ps and Qs, Production Manager Skip Martin isn’t one bit too happy.

-Skip “What’s goin’ on over here, guys? We’ve got a show to run here, the next match is comin’ up in a few minutes, and Applewhite’ll have our jobs if we…”

He stops, coming around to the front of the man and seeing the face that the camera doesn’t see.

-Skip “You? Ha ha, what the hell are you doin’ here, man, its good to friggin’ see your face!”

He gives the man a brief hug, as everyone else chatters. Some clap the hooded man on the back, while others try to ask questions, and still others just stand in awe. Skip shakes his head, quieting his workers down.

-Skip “Whoa now. Look man, you’ve got to get out there and let everyone know what’s going on! We thought you were dead or something!”

The man chuckles and nods, as Skip hands him a fresh microphone and gestures to a nearby intern.

-Skip “Chad, put the special music on. We’re doing the whole entrance, the works!”

He turns to the hooded man once more, and smiles.

-Skip “Time to put on another show, eh Night?”

The man just nods. Then steps towards the curtain as Skip runs over to a board to punch in a couple of cues. Almost instantly, the entire inside arena goes black. The SmarkTron fades. The air is silenced. But not for long.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And I WANT YOU!!!”

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM

“YOU ARE THE PERFECT DRUG! THE PERFECT DRUG! THE PERFECT DRUG!!”

The huge pyro explosion, blinding white light, and shooting sparks all illuminate a figure from behind. His hood has been lowered, revealing a mane of thin dreadlocks atop his silhouetted frame as the crowd cheers with reckless abandon and chants.

“X-STA-SEE! X-STA-SEE! X-STA-SEE!”

The microphones are all switched off. Not that it would matter, the commentators and announcer both look on in disbelief. The music drowns out all speculation, and only the chants and cheers can be heard over its volume as Xstasy, the young upstart, saunters down the ramp past the Greco-Roman decor as if he had never been away. He hops the top rope, and gets to the center of the ring, bringing the microphone up to his lips and smiling.

“X-STA-SEE! X-STA-SEE! X-STA-SEE!”

He looks down as the chant continues, his eyes hopeful and his shoulders square. X lowers the microphone and soaks up the spectacle, the incredible event that is Genesis, the history that is Madison Square Garden, the awe that is the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation. And he is filled with respect for all three.

“X-STA-SEE! X-STA-SEE! X-STA-SEE!”

The kid brings that mic up again to his lips and looks up. He throws back his head, closes his eyes, and hopes that it all comes back to him as easily as to the crowd…

-Xstasy “Now… does anybody want to HAVE X… back in the SWF?!!!!!”

The people, both in attendance and backstage, ROAR their approval as X nods solemnly, and almost humbly, there in the center of the ring. He takes a deep breath and sighs in relief. Its as if he thought, for a second, they wouldn’t want him back.

-Xstasy “The Perfect Drug… has returned!”

Another roar mingles with his music, which has never stopped playing, as he goes to the far turnbuckle and climbs it, crossing his arms in an X over his head! As the people do the same, he drops down and crosses to the opposite post, doing the same thing. Then he backrolls over the ropes, stands outside the ring, and walks back up the ramp. As he reaches the top, he turns around, making the X sign once more to the happiness of his fans. Then, he backs out and is gone, leaving the crowds wanting more of a Drug that they haven’t had in a long time.

And just like that… the Joy is back…

... for real this time...

September 30, 2003

TALE OF THE TAPE

Danny Williams

Age: 23

Height: 5'10"

Weight: 243lbs

Bench: 400lbs

Move List: 25+ practiced moves, 4+ variables.

Finisher(s): Powerbomb Pin, Juji-Gatame

Accomplishments: SJL European Champion, SJL World Champion, SWF US Champion, SWF ICTV Champion

Last Five: 3-2

Taylor Nicholas Thompson

Age: 22

Height: 6'6"

Weight: 275lbs

Bench: 400lbs

Move List: 24+ practiced moves, 5 variables.

Finisher(s): The Mushroom Cloud

Accomplishments: SJL Television Champion(longest reign), SWF United States Champion, SWF World Champion, SWF Clusterfuck 2003 Winner.

Last Five: N/A

POWER ADVANTAGE: Push

LEVERAGE ADVANTAGE: Taylor Nicholas Thompson

SPEED ADVATAGE: Danny Williams

EXPERIENCE ADVANTAGE: Danny Williams

TECHNICAL ADVANTAGE: Danny Williams

HOT/COLD: N/A

OVERALL ADVANTAGE: Danny Williams

September 30, 2003

“O Fortuna” blares from every set of speakers in Madison Square Garden, and the New York crowd creates a low hum, anticipating the next match…

||||||||||||||||||||

“A student and a mentor…”

The Smarktron sparks to life, and the screen is completely consumed with the black-and-white image of Taylor Nicholas Thompson doing push-up after push-up in an empty weight room as a wiser-looking Danny Williams counts each one out for him. These aren’t the TNT and Deathwish that exist today, however. Though only a year younger in age, Taylor’s mannerisms are decades more juvenile than they are now – he looks fresh, unbroken, and very excited to be apart of the fed, even if it was just the SJL. Williams meanwhile has shorter hair in this image, and he too looks much younger, though for some reason far more experienced than his student TNT. This wasn’t all that long ago, but it’s amazing just how many changes can come in a year…

||||||||||||||||||||

“Two fresh faces in the SWF…”

Now we see a clip of Taylor and Danny battling eachother at SWF Snake Eyes 2002 in a four-way match for the #1 Contendership to the SWF United States Championship. The black-and-white photography and vicious brawling between the two makes the entire scene look like a shot from Raging Bull. The two are a little older and a little wiser than in the previous shot, but they’re still at the very beginning of their SWF careers. They still have a long way to go to get to now…

||||||||||||||||||||

“Fellow stalemates, fighting for the same cause…”

Taylor and Danny work together to spread Midnight Carnival blood across two rings at SWF Ground Zero 2002 in an epic and brutal War Games match. They’ve now made an impact on the Smarks Wrestling Federation, but under the guidance of the maniacal mastermind Chris Wilson in the Magnificent Seven, they still haven’t quite achieved individuality yet…

||||||||||||||||||||

“Two men fighting for the same goal, desperate to make an impact… a dent in history…”

A few select clips from the SWF Clusterfuck are shown, climaxing with a slow-motion shot of Taylor Thompson hitting a sickening Detonation Drop on one Annie Eclectic, while Danny Williams – battered and beaten to the point where even the biggest of hearts can’t pull him up to his feet – lies motionless just a couple feet away. And then it was official: the student had surpassed his mentor…

||||||||||||||||||||

“…Bitter enemies, willing to do anything to accomplish their personal goals… to prove themselves to themselves, eachother, and everyone else.”

And now we see the grapplers as they are now. Or at least, one or two months ago at the SWF Ground Zero PPV. Danny is a wise and calculated wrestling mastermind, rarely making even a single mistake, and his hair has grown out. Taylor meanwhile, is completely and utterly unlike himself a little over a year ago. This man is no longer a man of naïveté, with eyes full of enthusiasm and a fun-loving heart, but instead a grizzled and hard veteran of this federation, looking as though he’s been fighting here longer than Jay Dawg. His eyes are now more focused – more intent on accomplishing whatever needs to be accomplished… his eyes are more… cold. This is no longer a green rookie. This is an ice-cold warrior, completely engulfed in the SWF world. All that matters to him now is one thing – proving that he’s the best. Danny too, wants to prove that he deserves the top spot in this fed – that he should be the one to main event the next SWF Genesis… and just like his rival, he’s willing to go to great lengths to accomplish his goal. Both of these men have ambitions, and their ambitions require one thing – to fight.

So tonight, they do just that… they put it all on the line – pride, honor… and in the wrestling world, that’s all that matters. Your pride and honor are your life. So tonight, at SWF Genesis IV, “TNT” Taylor Nicholas Thompson and “Deathwish” Danny Williams put their very lives on the line in a match where the winner is crowned the better man, and the loser… loses… everything.

||||||||||||||||||||

The black-and-white imagery fades from the Smarktron, and with that, “O Fortuna” blasts right into Marilyn Manson’s “Antichrist Superstar,” as who else but Tod deKindes steps out onto the entrance ramp, sending the crowd into a frenzy of cheers!

“And now it’s time for one of the most significant battles of the night!” Cyclone Comet wails in his best announcing voice. “Citizen Danny Williams against Citizen Taylor Thompson, and… wait, who in the blazes is this… why, it’s Tod deKindes!”

“That’s right,” Bobby Riley says with a grin. “Earlier tonight, the greatness that is Suicide King made Tod deKindes the official guest referee for this match, and… Wowza! Look at that physically-fit maple leaf! What has he done with his hair!?”

“I must agree that Tod deKindes’ new hair-do isn’t of the highest calibu—“

“I don’t think – in the history of this fed, not including Tom Flesher matches of course – that I have EVER seen anything so sexy! By Joe, the man could pass off as Mickey Rourke!”

“Not only is there absolutely no resemblance there, but also – I’m failing to see how you raving on and on about a wrestler’s new hair style is at all productive. So please Citizen Riley, could we please just drop the hair ball and get on with this dual of strength and wits?”

“…You know, on second thought, his profile does scream ‘Val Kilmer’ a little more than it does ‘Rourke’… hrm, maybe from a different angle?”

Tod marches down the entrance ramp, complete with short black tights and a polo referee’s shirt, and despite being a heel for his final tenure in the SWF, he’s receiving quite an ovation! The Toronto resident slides underneath the bottom rope of the ring and pops right back up to his feet, bypassing all of the Spirit Breaker mumbo-jumbo of the old and instead resorting to simply raising his arms into the air, soaking in the applauds! Tod half-smiles, obviously getting a little nostalgic about being out here in front of all of the fans night after night, but soon the music fades out, the crowd’s heat dies down, and Funyon takes the stick so that he can introduce the retired wrestler to those who’ve just started watching the SWF within the last few months.

“Ladies and gentlemen… YOUR official SWF referee for the following matchup… a resident of Toronto, Canada… returning for one night only to act as the official for this bout… please give him a welcome-back round of applauds… TOOOOOOD DEKIIIIIIIIIINDEEEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!”

And boom! The crowd pops like a popcorn kernel, the only difference being that tonight – there are tens of thousands of popcorn kernels, and they all refuse to stop popping for at least a minute, giving Tod plenty of time to get used to being back in the ring.

“Citizen deKindes has not been in an SWF ring for months on end now, after being retired by a competitor in this very matchup – Taylor Nicholas Thompson, not too long ago. And this of course, brings up another point – will Tod hold any grudges against his long-time nemesis? Can Tod deKindes call this match right down the middle?”

“Of course he can!” Bobby chimes in. “Remember, Danny has also been a little bitch to Todski in the past, injuring his shoulder at one point, so I’m sure that Todski won’t have a second thought about being just as cruel to Williams as he’s going to be to Thompson. The World just hasn’t been fair to poor, poor Tod deKindes. Even now they don’t have any respect for the Godliness of deKindes, as you can tell by the fact that they won’t just shut the hell up.”

“But Citizen Riley, can you not see!? The fans of the SWF are CHEERING Tod deKindes! He’s enjoying it! He has come to the light side once again!”

Bobby’s ears perk up, as if he’s just noticed that the crowd is indeed giving Tod a POSITIVE response… and then they turn a bright, bright red. Cartoon-like steam might as well be coming out of them. “No way! This can’t be… how could he…” Bobby downright shrieks as if the World is coming to an end. “TREASON! TREASON!! HOW COULD YOU TODSKI!? HOW COULD YOOOOOU!????”

We’re not given a proper answer to Riley’s query however, as just as he says this, “Jester’s Dance” by In Flames flows out of the speakers like fine wine, and the almost soothing melodies of the song are accompanied by an even louder pop from the live audience!

“DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E!” some of the more rambunctious members of the audience begin to chant as the Kentuckian himself brushes through the backstage curtains and starts the long walk down to the ring. Not one member of the crowd is in their seat and the volume is reaching some sort of World record, but Danny doesn’t seem to even notice the fans, wanting to get right down to business! He’s a man on a mission, and tonight, he’s here to do one thing – kick some explosive ass!

“Citizen Williams has not been active in the SWF for quite a few shows now, after the dynamite warrior put him out of action a few weeks back via a half-nelson suplex from the ring apron onto the cement floor! The leader of the Unholy Trinity suffered a concussion after the devastating maneuver, but even a legitimate injury couldn’t stop him from coming back tonight to face his most infamous rival! Danny looks very intense tonight, and if he’s not at 100% condition, he’s making sure not to let us know that! In fact, probably thanks to some extra time in the gym while away from the ring – Danny is looking even BETTER than usual tonight!” Comet marvels as Deathwish enters the ring, shooting a cautious glare in Tod’s direction.

“As much as I detest the guy’s morals, I can’t debate the fact that he’s been in the gym a little extra lately! Look at those abs!” Riley says in aw, a small amount of drool streaming down his chin. Comet kindly hands him a handkerchief to clean up with.

Danny paces back and forth impatiently, hardly being able to wait for his opponent, but a distinct tinge of what could be nervousness can be found in all of his mannerisms – he’s a little bit more jumpy than usual, his eyes are darting from side to side constantly, and his stride doesn’t contain its usual confidence. But who can blame him? Tonight’s the biggest night of his life, and in just a moment, he’ll have to face his toughest opponent to date…

>insert guitar riff here<

>insert crescendo of drums here<

>insert “Oy!” here<

…and so on, and so forth, until the crowd finally catches on…

>insert MAJOR POP here!!!<

AC/DC’s “TNT” churns and grinds its way out of the Madison Square Garden speaker system, and the crowd goes ABSOLUTELY BANANA!! Bon Scott’s shrill voice echoes throughout the arena as the chorus of Taylor Thompson’s theme song ensues, but it can’t be heard practically at all, as the explosive one parts the backstage curtains and stomps out onto the stage to one of the loudest ovations in SWF history! The crowd is really psyched up for this matchup, as anyone could tell from their reactions, and just as they did with Danny moments ago, the fans start up a “T-N-T!!” chant as the big man makes his way down to the ring, and Bon Scott’s voice hits its climax…

“WATCH ME EXPLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

*** BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM ***

Explosions of red and orange pyrotechnics cannon up from the stage, causing a deafening sound only matched by a gunshot, and yet the entire population of MSG can hear Taylor let out a “KABOOM!!” as he raises his arms into the air! The volatile grappler slides under the bottom rope after he’s made sure that Danny’s on the exact opposite side of the ring, and after making sure that neither his opponent or the guest referee are making any sudden moves on him, he proceeds to let out a second and final “KABOOM!!”, just as his music fades out. The crowd is still hollering and whooping however, and they won’t seem to shut up as Funyon waits patiently so that he can announce tonight’s competitors. The “T-N-T!!” chant is still going strong, but soon enough, another distinct chant arises from the tumultuous volume of the New York mass…

“DAN-E!”

And with that, it’s an all-out war between two evenly-split sides of the arena, each rooting for one of the two wrestlers in the ring!

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“Would they PLEASE be quiet!? Now that I’ve realized that this match is heel-free, I’m trying to rest up before Tom’s match!” Bobby complains.

“Would you look at this!?” Comet semi-successfully screams over the crowd. “The live audience here in Madison Square Garden – every citizen of NYC, is rooting for one of these two warriors that are about to do battle, and each man’s fan base seems to be the exact same size! There IS no fan favorite tonight Bobby! There’s just two men, both very qualified wrestlers, trying to surpass eachother… and we’re going to find out who the better man is tonight!”

“I can’t wait either Comet! Tom versus Judge is so close yet so far away!”

“Ladies and gentlemen…” Funyon bellows, giving up on waiting for the crowd to hush up and just giving the announcements anyway. “The following match is scheduled for one fall, and will be held under standard rules! There is a sixty-minute time limit!” The one-piece-tux-wearing announcer pauses for a moment, and then continues… Introducing first, weighing in at 243 pounds and wrestling out of Louisville, Kentucky… he is the leader of the Unholy Trinity… ‘Deathwish’ Dannnnnny WILLLLLLIAAAAAMMMMMSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Usually the crowd would transition into a huge pop at this point, but tonight they seem to be ahead of themselves, as all they have to do is maintain their current volume and it’s probably one of the biggest ovations that Danny’s ever gotten!

“Listen to these people!” Comet says, urging people to listen to these people. “If this is how they sound NOW, then I’d better get my earmuffs out for when the match actually starts!”

“And his opponent… 275 pounds of shell-shock… hailing from the duck-infested depths of Anaheim, California… Taylor Nicholas Thompson… but you may know him better as TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE ENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

With that, Funyon is out of the ring and headed right for the nearest soundproof room, as the crowd respectfully quiets down, readying themselves for the action that they are about to behold! Tod deKindes beckons for the opponents to gather in the center of the ring, and the rivals slowly, veeeery slowly, and cautiously, veeeery cautiously, take small steps toward eachother, until they’re less than two yards from eachother, the only thing stopping them from going at it right then and there being Tod deKindes, who looks a little concerned that he might get trampled in the upcoming scuffle. But a job’s a job, and having read the “Idiot’s Guide to Being a Professional Wrestling Referee” previously today, Tod knows what he’s doing. He explains the rules to TNT, and then to Danny, and then to TNT again. He checks their boots and tights for any illegal weapons of any sort, and makes sure that they know that he’ll be calling this match right down the middle. Then, just for kicks, he explains the rules to both men one more time, and by the time either man is about to clean Tod’s clock the next time he says “no hitting below the belt,” the Canadian retiree has backed away from the opponents, and signaled for the bell!!

*** DING DING DING ***

“And this match is on,” Comet says with excitement. “Just think Citizen Riley… so much history packed into one ring… if we didn’t have Edwin MacPhisto versus Silent ensuing later tonight, I’d say that this showdown could have more backstory than any other match we’ve ever seen!”

“Backstory shmackstory. I always preferred the old ‘Tom makes fun of illegal immigrant’ feuds better anyway.”

The crowd is buzzing like an entire beehive, and even the popcorn and cotton candy guys throughout the arena stop right where they are and turn to look at the ring, where Danny and Taylor drill holes into eachother with their eyes, before slowly but surely beginning to circle eachother. Former mentor and student, former friends… inaudible “Star Trek” music plays in the background as Captain Kirk and Spock do battle. Neither man is willing to make the first move it seems, and slowly the two familiar chants start building up once again…

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

And at exactly the same time, both not having the patience to go on like this – to resist trying to kill eachother in an attempt to find out who the better man is… the men lunge forward, locking together in a solid collar-and-elbow tie-up! Each combatant plants his feet into the ground and strains as hard as he can to make the other one budge, but Danny knows that he’s the smaller man with the disadvantage here, and immediately shifts gears – cinching an airtight side headlock on the behemoth that is TNT! Taylor won’t have it though, and goes to push Williams right off of him, but Danny somehow sees this before it even happens, and when TNT tries to make the deciding shove, Danny grabs a hold of one of his arms, twists it all the way around and positions himself behind his opponent, now with a hammerlock to his credit! Taylor hops on one foot a few times, preparing for his instantaneous escape, and he makes it look really quite easy, as he twists DANNY’s arm all the way around, and reverses the hammerlock into one of his own! Just like his opponent, Williams has too much pride to even stay in the hold for a second, and with TNT’s head right behind him, Danny revs up and swings a back elbow right into Taylor’s temple! Or at least, where it would be, if TNT hadn’t ducked! Danny’s elbow whooshes right over Thompson’s head, and the explosive one pops his head back up… but Danny is somehow ready for him, jabbing forward with a brunt elbow smash! Again Taylor sees it coming though, and barely bobs backwards in time to avoid a possible broken nose! TNT wearily withdraws a few paces back from his opponent, recreating the distance between them that existed earlier, and the crowd lets out a brief ovation for the skillful exchange that just took place! Even Tod looks a little amazed at how these guys somehow know what the other will do before they even do it.

“Wowza!” exclaims Comet. “I knew that these two knew eachother well, but I didn’t know that they could read eachother’s minds! As far as I can tell, they have some sort of telekinetic connection!”

“How kinky.”

Thompson and Williams begin circling eachother once again, and the crowd forms a hum of anticipation for the fifty-thousandth time tonight, eagerly wanting to see what happens next. At one point, Danny half-lurches forward, feigning an attack, but Thompson is on the very tips of his toes, and he immediately puts his guard up, not letting Williams feel that he even has a slight opening! The men circle eachother without either making a move for a full minute, and now approaching two… before TNT – knowing that his best chance at getting the advantage here is with a test of strength – pounces forward, going for yet another collar-and-elbow tie-up! Danny doesn’t want to be in a position of vulnerability however, and he jukes to the side to avoid the attempted attack, but Taylor is quick to swerve right around and come running at Danny again from the other direction, going for a lariat! Yet again, Deathwish avoids TNT’s offense by a hair, ducking underneath the big man’s arm, and spinning around so that he can take out Taylor while his back is turned! For a change of pace, someone actually looks like they’re going to COMPLETE a move when Danny dives in and locks his arms around TNT for the rear waistlock, but Taylor knows his stuff, sandbagging right away, and when Danny releases him with one arm to nail a stunning elbow to the back of the head, Taylor is out of reach in a split second, having slipped away and rolled over to the other side of the ring before Williams can hit anything but air! Again, the crowd pops for the masterful exchange, but they are still patiently awaiting an actually completed move!

“You know,” Riley states in a sarcastic tone. “This match would be a whole lot more interesting if, you know, something actually HAPPENED. Don’t you think?”

“I myself Citizen Riley,” Comet replies, “am thoroughly enjoying this match of wits. These two clearly know every hair on eachother’s heads. For instance, just then, not only did Williams fail to hit his devastating German suplex, but he couldn’t even hit an elbow to the back of TNT’s head to stun him for the move! Even the simplest of strikes are being dodged here tonight, as neither foe here wants to be on the receiving end of the first blow!”

“Yes, when it comes to this ‘blow’ that you speak of Comet, I always much preferred giving it than receiving it. Because though it’s a little extra effort, you get a sweet surprise at the end and the taste of personal victory.”

“…Are we talking about the same time of blowing here, Bobby?”

“Wait, wha--… crap!”

And here we are, playing the circle game for a third time in this matchup… but this time it’s all rather short-lived, as Taylor comes rushing forward for another attempted lariat almost right away!!

“And the more confident of these two – TNT – has had enough and is charging into battle! He has to know that Danny will probably duck this… will he be ready to take the consequences??” Comet wonders aloud.

*** WHOOSH ***

Taylor’s thick, meaty arm whizzes right over Danny’s head and he goes plowing forward, completely passing his opponent, but he’s ready for the elbow that Williams will inevitably attempt in retaliation, ducking right away… only, that elbow never comes! Indeed, Danny simply turns around and watches rather than counterstriking this time, and when Taylor pops back up after what he thinks is a narrow evasion of his opponent’s elbow, he’s in for a big surprise…

*** CRACK ***

Taylor only has time to half-turn around and half-process what the heck is going on before being absolutely DEMOLISHED with one of the stiffest elbow smashes in the history of this sport!!!!!!!!!! And the crowd goes WILD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“ELBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!” Cyclone Comet-san wails! “Taylor’s confidence cost him big here as he was promptly fooled by a crafty Danny Williams and blasted right in the cranium when he thought he had narrowly avoided one of Danny’s attacks… and that means… Deathwish gets in the first move of the night! Just listen to these fans!”

“Oh like I can help it!”

Usually the tough-as-nails TNT would be able to take just one elbow courtesy of Danny Williams and then some without going down for the count, but his unready state of mind and lopsided position causes him to lose balance in this case, and fall to the mat in a pile of dismemberment! Deathwish is quick as lightening in following up on his strike, and is on TNT like duct tape on just about anything in the blink of an eye, pounding elbow after elbow into his prone head!

*** CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK ***

The point of Danny’s elbow batters and bruises TNT’s face, but after about four smashes Taylor has developed some sense of awareness, and he manages to put his arms up just in time to block the fifth elbow! TNT’s side of the arena marks out big at Thompson putting a stop to Danny’s barrage of strikes, and needing to come back with something fast, Taylor tightens a grip on a handful of Danny’s long black hair, winds up as much as he can while lying back-first on the canvas, and totals him with a closed-fisted punch that simply rocks his World! Danny flops back onto his back, and Taylor begins to rise to his feet, but by the time he’s about halfway up, Williams has sprung back up, and is right there next to him… GRABBING A HOLD OF HIS ARM AND GOING FOR THE JUJI-GATAME!!!!!!

“JUJI-GATAME!! THIS COULD BE IT!!”

“Finally!”

The crowd is out of their collective seat and cheering their heads off for a potential early match-ender here, but TNT soon gives them reason to scream even louder as he leans over to Danny, who’s on his back on the mat and trying to get his legs around Taylor’s arm… and nails yet another punch right to his face!! Danny’s nose flattens under Thompson’s fist and a little blood clots up inside it, but he knows that this could mean victory for him if he can still pull it off, and relentlessly tries to take Taylor all the way down with the hold!! Despite Williams’ efforts though, TNT isn’t going to let himself get locked in Danny’s finishing submission hold this early in the matchup, and he brings his free arm up into the air one more time, only to bring it right back down onto Danny’s face with a punch! Williams grimaces in pain, and the impact of TNT’s first is enough, as he finally releases his arm and goes limp on the mat, trying to catch his breath. Tod tries to tell TNT something about not using closed-fist punches, but Taylor isn’t listening. He stands up straight, observing his downed opponent for one quick second, before leaping up into the air and plummeting back down onto Danno with a jumping elbow drop!! And with forearm grinding into Danny’s chest… that’s the first cover of the night!

“ONE!!”

“T—NO!!”

“Citizen Williams tried to capitalize on his first blow with a series of elbows, and then thought that he could catch TNT by surprise after a quick recovery from his punch, going for the Juji-Gatame! It was a no-go though, because despite being a little off guard, Citizen Thompson was not about to let this match – a match of such importance to his career – end that fast!”

“You know, it surprises me that no one has ever tried to invent a fast-forward mode to live your life in. Something like that would make this experience so much more bearable. I mean… I respect this match’s importance to TNT and all, but there’s a little thing called good PPV time that that he’s sucking up right now!”

TNT rises to his knees after the near fall, looking up to Tod as if to say “You only counted one and a half, I’m disappointed in you,” but it’s quite obvious that Danny’s still got some gusto left in him… gusto that desperately needs to be sucked dry. TNT comes to this conclusion through deductive reasoning as well, and by the time Danny can collect himself, he’s already the victim of a kneeling sleeper hold, courtesy of Taylor Thompson! This clearly isn’t just any regular rest hold though, as TNT mercilessly grinds his knee into Danny’s back and wrenches his arm around his throat as viciously as he can, trying to milk Danny of every last ounce of life he has in him. The crowd drones with hushed excitement, as blood starts to cascade from Danny’s nose and his eyes roll into the back of his head so that he looks much like Uma Thurman after snorting heroine in Pulp Fiction, minus the sexiness. Slowly though… slowly… gradually… over a period of maybe a minute, maybe five… a distinct sound can be heard forming… forming once again, for the third time tonight…

“DAN-E!”

And with that, Danny Williams – a man possessed and now in no need of a three-count – seems to be rejuvenated, shaking all over and hulking up it seems… straining every muscle in his body just to roll over to one knee, then two… then a kneeling position…

“Danny won’t be kept down!”

“He’s like Jason Vorheese!”

“Or the Shredder from the Ninja Turtles!”

“Or Michael Myers!”

“Or Wile E. Coyote!”

Finally, with pore dripping with sweat and every muscle burning with tension, Danny manages to reach his feet!! Taylor wrenches away still – refusing to give up on the simple sleeper hold, but Danny is still only getting started in this match, and he’s not ready to go down just yet!

*** BAM ***

Danny snaps back an elbow that flogs Taylor in the side of his oh-so dreadlocked head in an attempt to break free of the giant’s grasp, and then another… but TNT wants to avoid getting hit in the head tonight as much as possible, releasing Danny and backing away from his swinging elbow!

“Remember folks, these two are both recovering from pretty darn serious concussions, so they want to keep the head-bumps to a minimum tonight to avoid any injury,” Comet reminds the fans at home. “Taylor doesn’t want to beat Danny a second time, only to once again find out that he’s out for ANOTHER two months thanks to a few too many shots to the head, now does he?”

“Oh bloody hell Comet, it’s not what he wants. It’s what the FANS want! Drop ‘em on his skull Danno!”

Taylor takes a step or two back from his opponent and his deadly elbow of deadly death, but not wanting to let up on his assault, he lurches forward with one of his patented lariats!

*** WHOOSH ***

The lariat is ducked once again by Williams, and when TNT passes him by, Danny is ready with a wear-down hold of his own!! Quick as a cat and swift as a minx, Deathwish pounces on Taylor from behind, and within a second or two, he’s wrapping his leg around his leg, and reaching forward for the facelock… but no, Taylor will have none of that, summarily reaching back and grabbing Danny so that he can take him over onto his back with a hard-hitting hip toss!

“Danny successfully escaped that sleeper hold wear-down maneuver, but when he tried to take on TNT with a submission hold of his own, it turned out that the dynamite warrior wasn’t quite battered enough to fall victim to that, and he took Danny up and over with a picture-perfect hip toss!” Cyclone commentates, being the commentator and all, as Williams skids across the ring and then spins back up to a standing position.

After speedily recovering from yet another move, Danny once again tries to catch TNT off guard with a running elbow, but is caught with yet another hip toss! He tries to spin to his feet again, but this time around, Taylor is right there to catch him in a kneeling position with a high-impact running knee-lift to the side of the head! Ribbons of blood and saliva fly from Danny’s mouth in all directions, as he seemingly loses consciousness and collapses onto his side against the ring ropes!! Taylor backs away a few feet from his completely out-of-it opponent, preparing to hit a second knee-lift upon his recovery, but Danny doesn’t seem to be moving one bit, and the crowd lets out a roar of concern.

“I think Danny Williams is DEAD!” Riley says with legitimate concern in his voice. Oh, wait, scratch that one: “Thank Heavens!”

“Well, those hip tosses were pretty stiff themselves, but that knee lift was unlike anything I’ve ever seen! The stiffness of that move alone, from my point of view, is physical proof at just how much TNT wants to win this match! I mean, did you see the IMPACT!?”

Taylor paces back and forth across the ring a couple of times, perhaps a little frustrated at Danny’s refusal to get up, as all that the leader of the Unholy Trinity seems to be able to do at this point is totter incoherently from side to side. Finally, after a full twenty seconds (which can seem like an hour inside the wrestling ring,) TNT says, “fuck it,” and briskly strides towards his opponent, with the intentions of picking him up. Taylor comes closer and closer, and still, all that Danny has managed to do in the last half-minute is reach up and adjust his aching jaw… but when Thompson is no more than a yard away, Danny surprises everyone by kipping up to his feet, wrapping his thick and meaty arm around the explosive one’s head, and briskly DDT-ing him right down to the mat!!!! The crowd realizes that Danny was playing possum for a good amount of the time that he was down, and upon seeing his surprise DDT they erupt with thunderous cheers!! Meanwhile, across the ring, Tod lets out a light chuckle.

“What’s so funny to that traitor over there, Comet? That bastard Danny got my hopes up for nothing! I don’t see to much funny-ness in that!”

Comet is obviously in the know-how here: “Well, if you’d have watched your JL back when Citizens Williams and Thompson and even deKindes were in it, you’d realize that that right there, was a spot that Williams used on deKindes during one of their numerous matches!”

“…How, in the hell, do you know all of this,” Bobby deadpans, just a little freaked out at how well Comet remembers these pointless and trivial facts.

“Hey there Riley, I had a lot of time to burn while I was away. The Smarks Junior Leagues are actually quite entertaining if you watch them in the right state of mind!”

Meanwhile, as Bobby is busy giving Comet his “you have know life” look, Danny has raised Taylor up to his feet and lugged him away from the ropes, only to snatch his head under his armpit once again, DDT-ing him a second time in the center of the ring!

“Danny couldn’t cover the volatile avenger upon first DDT-ing him, as he didn’t want to risk a rope break considering how close they were to them… but one DDT later, he’s got him laid out once again at the midpoint of the squared circle!” Comet says excitedly. “And here’s the cover! If Jake the Snake could get pins with the DDT, then so can Danny!”

“Lord knows they take the same amount of drugs.”

“ONE!!”

“TWO!!”

“NO!!”

Taylor’s arm shoots off the mat like a rocket, and the crowd pops ha-yuge!! Tod leaps up to his feet and holds up two fingers, but Danny is right up with him, insisting that it was three! He screams with fury and insists that he should be the winner of this bout, but seeing as how this referee still very much in-shape and not ready to back down from anyone, Tod gets right in Danny’s face, shooting down any claims that Danny makes about being the rightful winner of the match.

“Disqualify that pest!” Bobby yells to Tod, maybe just looking for a way to have this match end early. “Tod deKindes backs down for no man!”

“TNT kicked out at two, but he has to be feeling the after effects of being dropped on his head twice in a row, especially seeing as how he’s recovering from a concussion,” Cyclone points out.

Taylor rolls slowly over onto his stomach, holding the top of his head and kicking both of his feet into the mat in an attempt to get rid of his headache. He then gradually starts to get up, but he only makes it to one knee before Danny turns around from his argument with Tod, grabs a handful of TNT’s dreads, and yanks him to his feet! Danny holds Taylor in place by his hair, and promptly turns his face into a Picasso painting with some STIFF-looking elbows!!

*** CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK ***

Taylor’s eye is bruising shut and upper lip is swelling, but he doesn’t have time to even register things as trivial as this, because before he knows it, Danny delivers one last cracking elbow…

*** CRACK ***

…and then yanks his head down between his legs, locking him in the standing head-scissors! Every New Yorker in the building goes into a wild frenzy, because it’s POWERBOMB TIME!!

“And this match is all but over!! Deathwish is going for the POWERBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMB!!!!!!!!!!!” Cyclone shrieks, his Cyclone senses telling him that the end is near.

“How many versions of the powerbomb has Danny used over the years as a finisher, anyway??” Bobby asks. “I’m serious here. Isn’t this like the fifth one?”

The crowd is at an all-time buzz by now, and all TNT can do is stand there bent over like Divine in a vacant parking lot as Danny dips his ass down so that it just about touches the mat, and strains to lift the 275 pound big man up for his finisher! TNT sandbags just in the nick of time however, not letting his opponent get him even an inch off of the ground, but Deathwish refuses to give up!! Bullets of sweat drip from Danny’s face and the veins of his neck bulge as much as veins can possibly bulge… but even as he contracts his muscles as much as he can and dips his behind even CLOSER to the mat, Danny STILL can’t get TNT up for the powerbomb!

“Jesus, you know you need to go on a diet when Danny ‘Steroids Incorporated’ Williams can’t get you off the damn ground,” Riley says with a roll of his eyes.

“Try as he might, Citizen Williams can simply NOT get TNT up into the air!” Cyclone exclaims, pointing out the obvious.

Finally, after at least four separate tries at lifting his opposition, Danny runs out of gas, and loosens his grip on Taylor for a moment to catch his breath. This opening is all that TNT needs though, and within two seconds, he’s planted his feet into the ground, strained the bulking muscles in his thighs, and lent Danny Williams for the riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide!!

“BACK BODY DROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Oh really? See, it’s good that you screamed that into my ear, otherwise I never would have guessed what that was. That drop – I mean – where he sent his body… back.” Riley’s sarcasm rate is off the charts tonight, baby.

The crowd marks out like the markiest marks in all of Markville, as Danny lands on the canvas with devastating impact, and bounces right back off, holding his back as if it were on fire and letting out a grunt of pain!! Back body drop or not, Danny won’t be kept down, and he’s soon reached a vertical base once again, but when he turns around… an unrecognizable Taylor Nicholas Thompson (thanks to the plethora of bruises inflicted by Danny’s elbows, ouch) is charging right at him…

*** BAM ***

“LARIATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“OH MY GODOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Bobby mocks his Green Lantern wannabe of a co-host.

“He finally hit it!”

Just as implied by Cyclone and the live audience somehow topping their last pop with one even more explosive, a very lively TNT nearly takes Danny’s head off with a VICIOUS burning lariat!!! Danny shoots down to the mat as if the Earth’s gravity suddenly became a hell lot more harsh for him, and Taylor continues to charge aimlessly for one or two more yards before collapsing towards the ropes.

“Heavens to Betsy!” Comet cries out. “TNT just hit one of the most hard-hitting lariats that I have ever seen, but he couldn’t put off selling those elbows that he received just a moment ago for long, and now he finds himself nearly unconscious on the mat, feeling the aftershocks of Danny’s brutal arsenal of elbow smashes!”

“Oh no! Taylor has collapsed!? This is HBK versus Owen Hart all over again!”

“I’ve said it before Bobby, and I’ll say it again if I have to – sarcasm is evil’s younger brother.”

“Well Ted Flink was evidentially Stubby’s younger brother and I still can’t see the resemblance.”

The crowd stomps their feet into the floor of the stadium over and over again to create a thunder-like noise, but Danny just took one of the hardest lariats of his life, and TNT just took some of the hardest elbows of his life, so they’re not too reliable in the ‘getting up’ department right now. They lie utterly motionless on the mat for what seems like ages, but as Tod nears the end of his ten-count, both men start to rise to their feet at the exact same time, moving slowly as if they just woke from a deep, deep slumber!

“This bout has been ensuing for quite some time now,” Comet starts. “And it’s been a back-and-forth roller coaster all the way through! Neither of these men have had the advantage for more than just a few moves so far, because both are just so determined to win, and they can’t afford to let their opponent get a clear lead! Just when one of them seems to be getting the upper hand, the other pulls an ace out of his sleeve!”

“…Isn’t having an ace in your sleeve considered cheating? DISQUALIFICATION!! DISQUALIFICATION!!” Bobby is obviously desperate for an excuse now.

TNT shakes the cobwebs out of his head as Danny slowly regains a standing position behind him, and just as Taylor turns around, Williams approaches him as stealthily as James Bond, meeting him with a most unpleasant elbow smash to the jaw!

*** CRACK ***

And another… that’s blocked! The crowd heats up a little more now, and they’re really getting into this as TNT returns fire with a devastating right hook to the face!

*** BAM ***

And another!

*** BAM ***

And… TNT’s third punch in a row is cut off by another crisp elbow courtesy of Danny Williams!

*** CRACK ***

Pretty soon, the two grapplers – or more appropriately brawlers – break out into an all-out fight, and the crowd goes wild as the two exchange blows!!

*** BAM ***

*** CRACK ***

*** BAM ***

*** CRACK ***

*** BAM ***

*** CRACK ***

*** BAM ***

*** CRACK **

*** CRACK ***

“It’s like King Kong versus Godzilla!” Comet observes.

“Huh, Danny does kind of look like a gorilla.”

The crowd is going apeshit by now, as Danny gradually gains the advantage with his piercing elbow smashes!! TNT, though groggy as can be, continues to fight back with a few aimless and unmotivated punches, but when a particularly astray one is ducked by Williams…

*** WHOOSH ***

Taylor spins all the way around with the momentum of his missed punch, and Deathwish efficiently grabs hold of him from behind, sets him up, LIFTS him up, annnnd…

…FALLS BACK, PLUNGING HIS HEAD DOWN INTO THE CANVAS WITH AN APOCALYPTIC BACK DROP DRIVER!!!!!!! THE CROWD CHEERS SO LOUD THAT I CAN’T EVEN HEAR MYSELF TYPE!!!

“BACK DROP DRIVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Comet sure can drag those vowels out for a long time.

“TNT is looking worse than Tony Montana did at the end of Scarface thanks to Danny’s strikes, but it doesn’t matter now, because I think this damn thing is almost over! C’mon Danny! Make the cover!”

TNT lands straight on the back of his head and does a backwards somersault before flopping down on his stomach in a lifeless heap, but Danny’s a very tired man too, and all he can do is lie their – chest heaving – as a very potential pinfall attempt slips away!

“Danny had to dust off one of his older finishers – the back drop driver – to take TNT down to Chinatown here, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be able to dust off any energy and actually use it to make the pin,” Comet says, with a hit of worry in his voice. “These two have simply torn eachother apart tonight, but maybe a little too much, because every time either one of them hits a big move, they don’t have enough left in the tank to actually make the pin.”

Again, Tod is left to make the ten-count, and as the numbers get higher and higher, the chances of the two combatants actually getting up become slimmer and slimmer! But at around seven, perhaps thanks to some of the encouraging cheers from their fans, both Danny Williams and Taylor Thompson find the strength to begin rising to their feet. Danny – the much more… well, alive, of the two – rises much faster, while TNT stops at a kneeling position to shake his pained head. Finally, just as Tod deKindes shouts out “nine!,” Williams makes one last heave of effort, finally lugging himself to a vertical base, sending the crowd into a wave of “whew.”

“I don’t think anyone here wants to see this match end in a draw,” Comet says, but Bobby immediately shoots down this theory…

“Says who? I don’t care if we get a Dusty finish involving David Blazenwing, as long as the match flippin’ ENDS.”

The fans are on their feet, eager to see what Danny will do, but for a few seconds, the only thing that he can manage is to lean over and let some of the blood drain out of his nose. This all changes when he sees that TNT is up though, and the moment Taylor gets both feet on the ground, Danny Williams backs into the ropes behind him, and simply PLOWS forward… NAILING TNT RIGHT ACROSS THE FACE WITH A RUNNING ELBOW!!!!!!!!!!! THE NEW YORK CROWD BLOWS THE ROOF RIGHT OFF OF MSG!!!!!!!

“RUNNING ELBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Comet says way louder than necessary. “This match is over!! This match is OVER!! Men as tough as Jamie Drazon have gone down to that move, and after all that’s happened to TNT already, I don’t think he’ll have the energy to make the kick-out!!”

Indeed, Taylor falls to the mat like a sack of wet mice, and a tick or two of the clock later, Danny drops down onto him with a lateral press, making what could be the pinfall that puts him in the main event!! Tod drops down to make the count…

“ONE!!”

“TWO!!”

“THR—NO!!!”

The Taylor Thompson fans in the arena pop like they’ve never popped before, legitimately surprised that he managed to kick out of that, but a frustrated Danny Williams refuses to believe that that was anything more than a muscle spasm, and he makes the cover again, hooking the leg!!

“ONE!!”

”TWO!!”

“THRE—NO!!”

Again, Taylor escapes just in time!!!

“What will it TAKE to put Taylor Thompson down for good!?” Comet asks.

“…Who are you talking to? Yourself, or what?”

Deathwish is – to put it lightly – very, very disappointed and very, very furious at not being able to get the pin here, but he knows that he can’t sit around and sulk about it, so – with blood oozing from his mouth; his nose; his ear – Danny Williams pushes himself up to his feet, and lugs Taylor Thompson right up with him. TNT is basically in the same shape as Danny, except with a lot more swelling in the eyes and a small stream of blood running down from his forehead thanks to an opened bruise, and once Williams sees that his opponent is in no shape to put up much resistance, he clocks him with a “safety elbow,” just to make sure that he’s legally dead, and then shoves his head once again into a standing headscissors!!

“And here we go again!!” C.C. shouts animatedly. “But this time, Taylor might not have it in him to make the reversal!!”

The crowd starts to cheer as soon as they realize what’s going on. Danny squints his eyes and grits his teeth, preparing for what should be the lift of his life, but when it comes time to dip his behind down low and emphasize the veins on his neck and lift TNT all the way up onto his shoulders only to drop him back down again, it turns out that the explosive one does indeed have something left in him!! Just enough left in him – that is – to drop to the mat and sandbag as best he can. Deathwish will have none of that, though, and not wanting to waste perfectly good energy on something so hopeless at this point, Danny releases the standing headscissors, stands TNT up straight, and grabs a hold of his wrist, whipping him into the ropes with an Irish-whip!! Taylor lumbers across the ring, trying his darndest not to collapse before he even hits the ropes, and when he does, he rebounds back off of them, coming right back at his readied opponent! Williams winds up and slices forward with what should be an elbow that could dash TNT’s brains across the mat, but just when it looks like that’s about to happen, TNT manages to DUCK!! It’s not the most original idea ever, but it sure seems to work, as Taylor continues to run, bouncing off yet another set of ropes and coming back at Williams! Danny turns around once again, swiping at his hurtling opponent with another elbow, but Taylor ducks that one too, and stops dead in his tracks as soon as he passes Danny, turning around and grabbing him from behind with a half-nelson!!!

“Here it comes!”

The crowd doesn’t even have time to pop, because within a blink of an eye, the terribly surprised Williams finds himself being hurled backwards, right over TNT’s head, and cratered head-first into the mat with a vicious half-nelson suplex!! Every TNT fan in the arena lets out a deafening ovation at Taylor’s turning of the tide here, but the big man doesn’t go for the cover, instead spinning to his feet, and pumping his fists into the air! The crowd eats up every minute of it as Taylor slashes his thumb across his throat, signaling for the end… but instead of lifting Danny up and going for the Mushroom Cloud as one would expect, TNT turns toward the nearest ring post, and begins ascending it, step by step!!

“Don’t do it Taylor!” Bobby shrieks sardonically, trying his best to sound like a policeman beckoning with a suicidal man. “You have every reason to live!!”

Comet ignores Riley completely, voicing his own opinions on what’s going on: “We saw this very same spot end a match last week when TNT pinned Xcalibur with an earth-shattering moonsault… will Danny Williams’ fate be the same, or will he be able to somehow get out of this tight spot? Tune in next time, sam—oh, wait. Here we go!”

Taylor reaches the pinnacle of the ring’s turnbuckle and tries to get a sense of balance, but he knows that he can’t spend any time whatsoever stalling, so in an instant, we hear a “KABOOM!!” and then see a 6’6”… 275 pound man… flipping all…

…the way…

…over…

…and COMING DOWN ONTO VACANT MAT WITH WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ONE HELL OF A MOONSAULT!!!!!!

“DANNY MOVES OUT OF THE WAY, AND IT LOOKS LIKE ALL OF HIS ORGANS WON’T BE SEVERELY CRUSHED AFTER ALL!!!!”

Indeed, the crafty Danny Williams managed to roll out of the way just in the knick of time, letting Taylor belly-flop right onto nothingness, to the sound of a collective gasp and then uproarious cheer from the crowd!

“TNT wanted to win this match so badly that he just said ‘to heck with it’ and risked the injuring of his own body at the chance of putting Danny down for good… but his own risks cost him, and now he’s got nothing but pain and a very sunburned-looking belly!”

“This is like an episode of Jackass, for crying out loud! ‘TNT jumps off of something high and hurts himself,” mocks Bobby.

TNT grimaces in agony and kicks his feet into the mat, but that’s all the movement that we’re getting out of him, as Tod starts up yet another ten count!! Deathwish, in the meantime, is a lifeless heap of quivering Jell-O as well, and all he can do is lie there as Tod comes closer and closer to calling the double count-out. With neither man moving, the audience only has one thing to do…

“DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN-E!” they chant, encouraging the Kentuckian to make his way to his feet and finish this match like a man!!

“T-N-T!!” the other side of the arena retorts, urging THEIR favorite to get up and win this match for them.

And so, for the third time in the night, the crowd is completely split down the middle…

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“Three!” Tod counts.

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“Four!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“Five!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“Six!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“Seven!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

“DAN-E!”

“T-N-T!!”

And just as Tod reaches “eight,” the two opponents start to stir at exactly the same time! They move slowly… sloooooooowly… both gaining their footing and working their way up to their feet…

“Nine!”

…and right before Tod has to end this match, the competitors get up on both of their feet at exactly the same time!! Both men are weary… both men can hardly tell what’s going on… but it is TNT who has the first desperate, last-ditch surge of energy, as he comes charging forward like an entire stampede of oxen and discombobulates poor Danny with the hardest lariat that he’s ever given!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*** BAM ***

The “T-N-T!!” and “DAN-E!” chants come to a sudden halt, and the only noise now is the sound of every resident of New York screaming and cheering as loud as they possibly can for the explosive one!!

“ANOTHER LARIAT FROM TNT, AND IF HE GOT THE PINFALL WITH IT AT GROUND ZERO, THEN THE VERY SAME THING COULD HAPPEN HERE!!”

“If Danny is dead, then TNT is forced into retirement because of being arrested, right?”

Taylor has thrown it all at Danny Williams tonight and gotten it all thrown back. You have no idea how much he just wants to collapse and go into the deepest sleep of his life. But he knows… he knows that it ain’t over until the fat lady sings… and he knows what’s at stake… and he knows that he’s got something to prove to every single person in Madison Square Garden right now…

Taylor Nicholas Thompson has been through a lot. C4 board matches… War Games… the Clusterfuck… that training promo with Tom Flesher where he ran into a wall… but this right here, could just be his most grueling experience yet. And he wants to finish it. He NEEDS to finish it. So with that in mind, TNT grabs a handful of his former mentor’s thick, long, black hair, and pulls him up into a standing headscissors…

…the crowd is on their feet…

…hooks his arms…

…they’re ready to explode on command…

…and heaves him up onto his shoulders with all of the strength he can muster, only to SPIKE HIM RIGHT BACK DOWN WITH THE MUSHROOM CLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUD!!!!!!!! The astoundingly momentous sit-out powerbomb that is TNT’s finisher causes the crowd to pop the loudest they have in this match so far, and with Danny Williams’ shoulders already pinned to the mat, the end of this match is academic!!

“TAYLOR THOMPSON HAS HIT HIS FINISHING MANEUVER, AND I THINK WE HAVE A WINNER!”

“ONE!!”

“TWO!!”

“THREE—NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“HOLY CLOSE FALLS BATMAN!!! DANNY WILLIAMS SOMEHOW KICKS OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Comet shrieks, but he can’t even be heard over the ear-splitting cheers of surprise coming from every direction!

“Just how long can these two drag this friggen’ thing out!?!?” Bobby asks, almost complaining.

“As long as these two are breathing, they’ll keep fighting! They’ve taken just so much punishment though, and I don’t think that either of them can risk taking another big move.”

Taylor spins up to his feet, looking worse than Apollo Creed after fighting the ruthless Russian in Rocky IV but still fighting on somehow, and he shoots Tod deKindes a hostile glare! Tod simply holds out two fingers though, refusing to back down, and seeing more productivity in killing Williams and getting the DEFINITIVE three count rather than arguing with a Canadian, TNT brushes his crimson red (as they’re now terribly stained with his own blood) dreadlocks out of his face, and goes to lift Danny up once again. Just like before, he grabs a handful of Danny’s black streaming hair and hastily jerks him up into a standing position! He’s seeing so much red though, and breathing such breathes of blind hate, that he doesn’t seem to notice Danny’s slight stirring, and when he lifts him up for another finishing maneuver of some sort, he is swiftly clocked right in the chin with a surprise uppercut elbow!!

*** CRACK ***

“And look at Danny! He’s like the energizer bunny! He just keeps going!”

Taylor starts to wind up for a counter-punch, but Danny knows that he’s on his last wind, and he can’t afford to take any more of TNT’s devastating punches, unleashing some rapid fire elbows of his own!!

*** CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK ***

Danny lets loose with everything he’s got, not letting up on his offense for even a millisecond, but his elbows aren’t as powerful as they normally are, and TNT manages to block one of them, coming back with a hard straight-punch right to Danny’s already swollen and probably broken nose! Danny stumbles back, as even a simple punch has him down for the count, and just like in Mortal Kombat when the word “FATALITY” comes up and you’re aloud to finish your opponent in any way you please, TNT takes the all-but-unconscious Danny Williams in his arms, and leans over, lifting him up in a reverse fireman’s carry!

“OH NO!!” Comet gasps along with the rest of the crowd. “Danny’s rapid-fire elbows didn’t have enough power in them to take out TNT, and I think that that was Deathwish’s final wind, because now TNT’s got him up for the Detonation Drop!! The jumping sheer drop burning hammer has only been used twice before, and it put down two of Taylor’s toughest opponents – Annie Eclectic and Silent!!”

“Well I’m pretty sure they both no-showed anyway, Comet.”

“And here it commmmmes!”

Taylor spins around a few times for dramatic effect, adding some suspense to the inevitable breaking of his toughest rival’s neck, and the crowd’s heat swells and swells to the boiling point… but just as TNT is about to drop Danny right on his head, the Elbow-Meister flips off of his shoulders at the last possible second!! Danny lands awkwardly on his feet, like some sort of mentally retarded cat, but Taylor is so surprised that he doesn’t even register what’s going on until he sees Williams spin all the way around…

…and ABSOLUTELY LIQUIDIZE HIS FACE WITH A ROLLING ELBOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“ROLLLLLIIIIING ELBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Comet marks out along with the rest of the crowd!!

Taylor’s eyes roll up into the back of his head and blood streaks from nearly every orifice in his body, but he doesn’t fall, as when he totters back to make the earth-shattering death-drop like the giant in Jack and the Beanstalk, he finds nothing but ropes, which simply rebound him back towards Danny! He takes a few steps forward towards the center of the ring this time – too dazed and stunned and absolutely demolished to know that he’s actually taking these steps, of course – but before he can take the Flair Flop, Danny catches him with a boot to the gut!! The crowd lets out a roar as Danny urgently shoves TNT’s head between his legs for what is hopefully the last time, and knowing that this is probably his last chance, he puts every ounce of energy into this last powerbomb attempt…

September 30, 2003

“And Danny is going to finish this match once and for all, so long as he can actually get his 275 pound opponent up into the air for his powerbomb!”

“Well he better be able to. This match has gone on long enough.”

Danny goes through his usual mumbo-jumbo…

…ass-dip…

…bulging veins…

…clenched teeth…

…desperate grunt of effort (“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”)…

…strained muscles…

…but all that matters to him now, is the actual lift…

…and so, with all of his usual “struggle to pick up something heavy” mannerisms intact, Danny makes one last try at getting his opponent off of the ground…

…AND HE DOES, FLIPPING TNT ALL THE WAY UP ONTO HIS SHOULDERS TO THE THUNDEROUS POP OF THE CROWD, AND SPIKING HIM STRAIGHT TO HELL, ALMOST POWERBOMBING HIM THROUGH THE MAT!!!

“HE HIT IT! HE HIT IT! POWERBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMB!!!!!!!”

The canvas actually RIPPLES underneath the impact of TNT, and Danny, along with everyone else in the arena, has a feeling that this is it, as he keeps a hold of Taylor, folds him up, and slides in for the pin!! Tod dives in for the cover…

“ONE!!”

“TWO!!”

“THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

*** DING DING DING ***

“Jester’s Dance” starts up, but it can’t be heard in the slightest, as the live audience here in NYC is just too loud!! Danny releases his hold on his former student, having finally proved himself superior, and with tears of relief that he’s finally done it streaming down his eyes, he backs away, collapsing against the nearest turnbuckle as Tod deKindes tries to raise his arm up in victory.

“DANNY HAS DONE IT!! DANNY WILLIAMS HAS PROVED HIMSELF THE BETTER MAN!!!”

“AND NOW HE CAN GO ON TO BECOME A MAIN EVENT JOBBER!! HURRAY!”

Funyon makes it official, but even his booming voice can’t be heard, as the crowd just WON’T calm down. Anyone got any Ritalin? “Ladies and gentlemen… the winner of this bout as a result of pinfall… ‘DEATHWISH’ DANNNNNNNNNNNNNY WILLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!”

Danny musters up the strength to stand tall and raise an arm in victory, before dropping to the mat and rolling out underneath the bottom rope, headed to the back for some medical attention. He keeps his arm raised all the way up the ramp however, and the tears are still streaming, as a distinct sound builds up once again…

“DAN-E!”

And with that, Danny finishes his victory walk, disappearing behind the backstage curtains – arm still raised.

“Danny Williams has proved himself the better man tonight, defeating his former student and former friend Taylor Thompson in what has to be one of the most grueling bouts I’ve ever seen!” Comet says, truly in awe of what he’s just witnessed.

“But now, we’ve only got two matches left until what will most definitely be the match of the year – William Heartford versus God! I mean, uhm, Tom Flesher, as all of you know him,” Bobby says, actually shaking with anticipation for tonight’s Main Event. “So why’re we wasting time?? Up next, a match for the TAG TEAM TITLES! Let’s get right down to it!”

TNT lies on his back in the center of the ring, completely motionless. His eyes squint with disappointment and a tear streams down his face, but it doesn’t get far before mixing in with the grotesque amount of blood that he’s covered in. A good portion of the crowd starts up a small “T-N-T!!” chant and gives him a minor ovation for his efforts, but they know that he’s crushed, and they’re crushed with him, so they soon go silent. Taylor lies there for what seems like forever, doing nothing but tearing up a bit and wallowing in a pit of dissatisfaction and regret… maybe even self-loathing… but the one word on the tip of his tongue can only be caught by any lip-readers out there thanks to a close-up of the man’s face just as we go to a video package for our next match.

…”Fuck.”

September 30, 2003

Genesis cuts away to a pre-taped promo of American Gladiators host Mike Adamle, standing on the set of the Eliminator next to Ben Hardy.

"Hello everybody, I'm Mike Adamle," Adamle says, grinning. "Next you're going to see the first-ever American Gladiators match, held right here on the set of the Eliminator. However, since many of you aren't familiar with the Eliminator, Ben Hardy and myself are going to demonstrate it for you."

OBSTACLE #1: THE VERSACLIMBER

"Obstacle number one is the Versaclimber. This is like a stairmaster, only a stairmaster that takes you twenty-five feet into the air."

Adamle and Hardy get on the Versaclimber, the two out-of-shape men climbing up it, huffing and puffing like mad until they finally reach the top.

"I beat you, Adamle!"

"Shut up, Hardy."

OBSTACLE #2: THE SLIDE

"After the Versaclimber," Adamle comments, breathing heavily, "contenders have to slide down this humongous slide!"

Adamle and Hardy slide down the slide, and Hardy races ahead of Adamle, leaping onto the handbike.

"So long, sucker!" Hardy calls.

OBSTACLE #3: THE HANDBIKE

"Next is the handbike, a grueling obstacle in which contenders use their arms to power themselves over this twenty-five-foot long pit."

Adamle grabs the handbike, pumping his arms as fast as he can -- or, extremely slowly. As he finally touches down, Hardy sticks his tongue out at him.

OBSTACLE #4: THE ROLLING CYLINDERS

"After the handbike, contenders must run as fast as they can across these rolling cylinders. They are very difficult to get across..."

Adamle charges forward, trying to get across and barely making it. Hardy does not fare so well, slipping off and falling to the floor. Adamle grins, his face red and sweaty.

OBSTACLE #5: THE CARGO NET

"After the rolling cylinders... huff, you suck Hardy... the contenders have to climb this cargo net."

Adamle climbs the cargo net, and Hardy overtakes him halfway up it, hitting the top first. Adamle struggles, trying to catch his breath as Hardy yells insults at him.

OBSTACLE #6: THE ZIPLINE

"From here, the contenders slide down this zipline, to the mats below."

Adamle gets on the zipline, taking off... and promptly falling. He hits the mats hard, breathing heavy as he runs towards the next obstacle.

OBSTACLE #7: THE WALL

"Next, contenders have to use a piece of rope to get over this wall."

Adamle climbs the wall, his arms straining as he finally gets over. Hardy is way ahead of him, on Obstacle #8...

OBSTACLE #8: THE TREADMILL

"Next, the contenders have to run up this treadmill, which is moving downwards at five miles per hour."

Breathing heavy as is, Adamle decides to skip the treadmill, instead walking up the treadless part and to Obstacle #9

OBSTACLE #9: THE ROPE SWING

"Finally, the contenders have to swing on this rope through this giant paper barrier."

"KIYAHAHAHAHA!"

Hardy swings, goofily slamming through the barrier and yelling "I WIN!" Adamle stares at him, sucking wind.

"And let me tell you, folks... anyone who completes this course is an excellent athlete!"

"Back to you, Comet and Riley."

September 30, 2003

TALE OF THE TAPE

Quiz & Show

Age: 32, 30.

Combined Height: 12'5"

Combined Weight: 488lbs

Bench: 450lbs (Show)

Combined Move List: 46 practiced moves, 8 variables, 4 tag-team moves.

Finisher(s): $64,000 Question, Final Answer, Survivor Driver, “Potpourri for 450” Splash

Accomplishments: SJL Television Champion(Show), SJL World Champion(Show), SWF Tag Team Champions(Current).

Last Five: 0-5(Show), 2-3(Quiz)

Dante Crane & Crow

Age: 25, 22

Combined Height: 12'3"

Combined Weight: 451lbs

Bench: 350lbs (Crow)

Combined Move List: 54 practiced moves, 5 variables, ? tag team moves.

Finisher(s): Natural Born Chaos, Sharpshooter, The Cure, Ethereal Suplex.

Accomplishments: SJL World Champion(Crow).

Last Five: 1-3-1(Dante), 1-4(Crow)

POWER ADVANTAGE: Show, Double Jeopardy.

LEVERAGE ADVANTAGE: Show, Double Jeopardy.

SPEED ADVATAGE: Dante Crane, Crow & Crane.

EXPERIENCE ADVANTAGE: Quiz, Double Jeopardy.

TECHNICAL ADVANTAGE: Dante Crane, Crow & Crane.

HOT/COLD: Dante Crane(Cold), Crow(Cold), Show(Cold).

OVERALL ADVANTAGE: Double Jeopardy

September 30, 2003

The strains of “O Fortuna” blast over the P.A. system, the crowd’s momentum from the last match, coupled with the introduction to the American Gladiators match, causing massive noise to come from the people, as we fade right in on Bobby Riley and Cyclone Comet, grinning for the camera!

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Riley begins, “that structure is what Double Jeopardy, Dante Crane and Crow will be battling in. They don’t call it the Eliminator for nothing!”

“Absolutely, Bobbo!” Comet exclaims. “The great show, American Gladiators, will be resurrected for one night here on SWF Genesis!”

“Well, we’re not going to waste any more time here,” Riley says with a grin. “Let’s send it to Sound Stage 27, where tonight’s guest commentators, Mike Adamle and Ben Hardy, are going to give us live coverage!”

The SmarkTron fires up on Sound Stage 27, where the Eliminator is set up, in all its glory! The Studio Audience™ goes wild, as we fade in on Mike Adamle and Ben Hardy, sitting in the remote booth!

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mike Adamle alongside Ben Hardy,” the former American Gladiators commentator says, “and first I’d like to say that I’m glad to be here, with an organization as proud as the Smarks Wrestling Federation!”

“Adamle,” Hardy says with a grin, “you’re just saying that because you couldn’t find work after American Gladiators went off the air.”

“Whatever you say, Ben,” Adamle sighs. “Anyway, it’s time to introduce the contenders! First, wearing red, the SWF Tag Team Champions, Quiz and Show, DOOOOOOOOUBLE! JEOPARDY!”

The studio audience lashes out in boos as “Come On Down” by Crystal Waters blasts over the audio system, and Quiz and Show step into the soundstage, wearing matching red American Gladiators singlets! The tag belts are strapped around their waists, and they pound fists, drawing even more boos from the crowd. Both men remove their titles, handing them to short, balding referee Jefferson Harding, and go over to the twin twenty-five-foot high stair masters known as Versaclimbers, leaning against the one on the right as they wait for the arrival of Dante Crane and Crow.

Adamle grins from the commentary booth. “And their opponents, the challengers! Dante Crane and Crow, by request of Double Jeopardy, the C N C GOTHIC FAAAAAAAAAAACTORY!”

Crane and Crow casually step down the steps in the crowd, the strains of Dimmu Borgir’s “Burn In Hell” emanating from the sound system as they step over the barrier and onto the Eliminator set, into the pit underneath the handbikes. The two are met immediately by a charging Quiz and Show!

BOOM!

Show catches Crow with a lariat to send him to the canvas while Quiz and Crane lock up. Crane gains the advantage on Quiz, using his twenty-pound weight advantage over the Tag champ to muscle him back… but as there is no turnbuckle, he merely succeeds in pushing Quiz back a few feet! Realizing his error, Crane breaks the lockup on Quiz, and Quiz takes advantage, catching Crane with a slick kick to the stomach! Crane doubles over, and Quiz grabs him by the neck, swinging over Crane’s head and catching him with a quick neckbreaker!

Show, meanwhile, grabs Crow by the shoulder-length black hair, lifting him to his feet. He grabs Crow by the inside leg, wrapping one tree trunk of an arm around Crow’s head and lifting the Antichristian Phenomenon up and into a Fireman’s Carry! The Live Studio Audience™ erupts in boos, seeing the setup to the $64,000 Question!

“He’s going for the ridiculously early finish on Crow!” Adamle shouts.

Crow, however, wraps both his arms around Show’s outside arm, pulling back with all of his weight on Show’s arms! The former Grappler tries to power out, but Crow’s weight is too much, and Show falls back into a cradle!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“TH – NO!” Kickout by Show!

“Good thought process from Show,” Hardy points out. “He doesn’t want to put any more pressure on his neck than he has to, and because most of his moves require the opponent on his neck and shoulders, he’d like to avoid giving Crow and Crane time to wear it down.”

“It’s a shame that didn’t work, Benjamin,” Adamle adds.

Quiz, meanwhile, gets to his feet, looking down at Crane with disdain. He grabs the Sick Boy by the hair, lifting him to his feet and rearing back…

*SMACK*

…catching Dante with two successive slaps to the face! The Live Studio Audience™ jeers at the cockiness of the champion, but Quiz only flashes them a smile before turning back to Crane … and getting nailed with a big kick to the gut by the Sick Boy! Quiz lets out an audible groan as he doubles over. Meanwhile, on the other side of the pit, Crow strikes with all of his might at the three hundred pound tag champion, to no avail. Crow backs up a bit from Show and shoots his leg out, aiming with a big kick…but Show catches the leg and hoists Crow into the air sideways, slamming him down hard onto the canvas with a modified slam!

“And the red team is really proving their mettle!” notes Adamle. “The C and C Gothic Factory are really at a disadvantage in this early test of physicalitude!”

“That ‘red team’ you speak of,” shoots Hardy, “are the SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS. Obviously they’re going to dominate this match.”

“Ben, from what I’ve seen of the SWF for the past month, these guys have done a heaping helping of nothing!”

“It’s the thought that counts.”

As the camera shifts back to the Quiz/Dante struggle, the Sick Boy ducks behind the champion and wraps in a tight waistlock. Quiz struggles to break free, but Dante keeps a tight grip, planting his feet for a German suplex. Just as he begins to arch back, Show charges across the canvas like a man possessed, lifting his leg into the air. Quiz ducks at the last minute, and Show BLASTS Crane right in the face with a face – discombobulating big boot! As Crane crumples to the canvas, Show walks over and picks up a ladder, whispering something into his partner’s ear. Quiz nods, as Show sets the ladder up against the hand bike podium, yelling, “Hurry up and do it!” at Quiz. Quiz scales the ladder, up onto the platform, and grabs a hold of a hand bike. As he begins wheeling it directly over Dante, Show keeps the nearby Crow incapacitated by dropping down to the canvas and wrapping his hand around the Antichrist Superstar’s throat with a blatant choke. When Quiz reaches his position, he lets out a battle cry:

“SURVEY

S

A

AYSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!”

…as he drops from the hand bike, using his leg to CRUSH THE THROAT OF DANTE CRANE~!

“MY GOD!” shouts Adamle, “I’ve never seen a showing of intestinal fortitude like that in my entire lifetime!”

“Perfect form!” notes Hardy, “These guys look completely in their element here, and I have no idea what’s going to take them off this peak that they’re on!”

Quiz rolls off of Dante, the wind knocked out of him. Seeing this, Show sprints over to Quiz and drapes his body on top of Crane’s, demanding that referee Jefferson Harding count the pin and end this match! Harding obliges, and the Live Studio Audience™ begins to stir as the count begins.

“ONE!”

*CHING!* …as Show watches the count, Crow comes up behind him and swings his leg out, catching the big man right in his soft spot with a massive punt!

“TWO!”

TIIIIIIIIIIIIMBERRRRRRR!!!!!!! The impact of the low blow causes Show to collapse forward, on top of Quiz, breaking up the pin! The crowd roars, and with Show down, Crow leaps into the air, dropping down with his own legdrop to the back of Show’s head! The big man rolls off of Quiz, holding his neck in pain, trying to avoid any further conflict for the time being. This only spells unfortunate doom for Show’s partner, however, as Quiz gains his senses back, and sees himself alone with the C n C Gothic Factory! The champ begins to beg off, frantically calling for Show’s help, to no avail.

“Well well!” begins Adamle, “it seems the tide has turned! Much like Malibu falling to a kick to the face in season one, Show is down and out! Quiz is all by himself out there!”

Crow looks on at Quiz with a sadistic smile, as Crane begins to shake the cobwebs out and reach his feet to join his partner. Without further ado, Quiz SPRINTS towards the ladder with as much fear as the naked chick in every “Friday the 13th” movie. With Crane and Crow in close chase, Quiz ascends the ladder and grabs for a hand bike, put back in position by a Sound Stage 27 production assistant. Quiz begins wheeling towards the giant slide faster than Bastion when food is in sight. Crow and Sick Boy make it to the top, but realize there’s only one hand bike left. Sucking up all the manliness they can muster, Crane grabs a hold on the hand bike as Crow wraps his arms tightly around Dante’s chest, gripping for life as the Sick Boy wheels across in hot pursuit of Quiz. When the Tag Champion reaches the other side, he desperately tries to scurry up the giant slide…but can only get half way before the steep drop causes him to slide back down to the bottom, just as Crow and Dante reach the other end! With nowhere to go and nothing to lose (except the Tag Titles, but hey, Show wouldn’t let that happen…would he?), Quiz runs at Crow and blasts him in the face with a forearm, trying to get something of an advantage.

It’s kind of like that saying about running from a sniper. You know, how you only die tired. After one forearm to Crow’s beautiful face, Dante saves his partner with a kick to the back of Quiz, halting him. With Quiz stunned, both Crow and Dante back up, measuring the Champ up as he stands with his back against the slide, and then they make their move…

*BOOM*

*CRASH!*

…THE LIVE STUDIO AUDIENCE™ GOES WILD!

“DOUBLE DANCING DAS WUNDER KICK!!” screams Adamle, pumping his fist in the air, “Quiz went flying from the force of that big double team, crashing right into the giant slide!”

“Damn it!” mutters Hardy, “where’s Show when you need him? His neck can’t hurt that bad, can it?”

Hardy speaks of the Satan, as Show appears on the ground, below the platform that holds the gigantic slide up. Crane notices this, and with the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, decides to let it all hang out. Crane DIVES off of the platform, sailing ALL – THE – WAY – DOWN TO SHOW WITH A GIGANORMOUS CROSS BODY BLOCK!

…BUT SHOW CATCHES HIM!!!! The crowd stands in awe as Show doesn’t lose his footing, and then runs forward, slamming Crane down onto the canvas WITH AUTHORITY!

“Good lord…Show just used the Maori Drop on Dante Crane!” notes Adamle.

“For once, I’d hate to be Show,” begins Hardy. “When he gets back to the arena, I’m deeply afraid that Va’aiga is going to ass rape him with a glass coated sponge boo yes!”

Show grabs his neck in pain as he gets back to his feet, shaking the kinks out a bit as Crow looks down at Show, obviously debating to himself if he wants to take a risk and leap off the platform onto the huge Tag champ…

But Quiz makes his decision for him, planting him with a huge dropkick to the back! The crowd lashes out in boos as Crow falls off the platform…

All…

The way…

DOWN AND TO THE FLOOR!

The Live Studio Audience™ boos like mad as Crow crumples on the mats, grabbing his back in pain as Quiz looks down at Crane and Crow, both crumpled in the pit below…

And poses on top of the platform! Show grins from the mat below, standing in front of Crow’s fallen form and yelling out a huge “NO WHAMMY!”, much to the Live Studio crowd’s chagrin!

“Crow gets distracted by Crane’s high-risk maneuver, and he pays the price with that dropkick!” Adamle shouts.

“And I couldn’t be loving it more,” Hardy exclaims. “This is fifty days of tagless aggression being taken out on Crane and Crow!”

Quiz goes over to the ladder, climbing down it as Show grins, grabbing Crow’s limp form and lifting him to his feet as Crane slowly gets to life, shaking his head and looking at the huge Show, crawling over to him as Show hefts Crow to his feet…

*CHING!*

…and bringing a huge fist upwards into Show’s balls! The Live Studio Audience™ pops like an over inflated balloon as Crow lashes out, swiping his seven-millimeter-long… nails across the chest of Show! The big man grabs his chest in pain, blood starting to ooze from the wounds as he falls to his knees, massaging the many cut lines on his stomach. Crane and Crow, meanwhile, divert their attention to the descending Quiz. Both men go over to the bottom of the ladder, waiting for the grinning Quiz to hit the bottom of the ladder.

Quiz, meanwhile, hits the bottom rung, and hops off of the ladder. Turning around, he sees the sadistic smiles of Crane and Crow… and his face contorts into a mask of horror, as he quickly grabs the ladder behind him, turning around and climbing as fast as he can! Crow grabs the ladder behind Quiz, starting to scale it himself, but Crane stops him.

“Let him go,” Crane whispers. “We can always pin Show.”

Crow grins, getting off of the ladder and going over towards the big Show as Quiz hits the platform, grabbing the hand bike and motoring as fast as he can!

“In his desperation to escape, Quiz has just left Show vulnerable!” Adamle exclaims.

“It’s not like Crane and Crow will take advantage of Show, though,” Hardy retorts. “They have about as much talent between them as I have in my left knuckle.”

Quiz lands on the other platform, charging across the spinning cylinders as Crane and Crow grab Show by the top of his red singlet, lifting him to his feet. Crow and Crane look at each other, exchanging a silent grin before spinning, Crow lowering himself to the mat and sweeping Show’s legs out from underneath him while Crane whips around, catching Show with a high roundhouse straight to the jaw!

*CRACK!*

Adamle cries out, “TOTAL ELIMINATION!”

The sound of Show’s neck snapping back is sickening, as the huge man slams back into the canvas, grabbing his neck in pain. The Live Studio Audience™, on the other hand, goes wild for the move, catching Quiz’s attention as he grabs the cargo net, preparing to climb. He turns around, expecting to see Crow and Crane following him but instead seeing Crow hook Show’s leg, looking for the pin! Desperate, Quiz dashes back across the spinning cylinders, trying to break up the pin!

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!”

“TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Show gets the shoulder up, but it appears too late as the Live Studio Audience™ goes wild, ignoring referee Harding’s quick washout gesture! Crow, however, doesn’t, and gets up in Harding’s face about it being a three count. Crane grabs Crow from behind, telling Crow to stay focused on the match, and reluctantly the Antichristian Phenomenon turns back to Show…

*CRACK!*

Only to get caught with a Super kick from Quiz! The Live Studio Audience™ boos as Crow whips back to the mat, and Crane and Quiz stare each other down, their bigger counterparts out on the mat!

“The Total Elimination takes Show out of the picture,” Adamle shouts, “while the super kick does the same to Crow!”

“Wise move from Quiz, using the super kick as an equalizer,” Hardy says, showing respect for strategy. “Now it’s down to the two smaller men, and Quiz should have the speed advantage!”

Quiz and Crane stare at each other for a few brief moments before Quiz charges, looking for a lariat on Crane, but the cruiser competitor catches him with an armdrag! Quiz quickly gets to his feet, charging Crane once more, but Crane again gets him up for an armdrag… but Quiz stays vertical, hopping through the move and proceeding to armdrag Crane! Crane, now, gets to his feet quickly, charging at Quiz and walking right into another armdrag attempt, but this time it is Crane who hops through, keeping a hold on Quiz’s arm! Quickly, Crane grabs the arm, wrenching it.

Quiz, however, rolls forward, kipping up so that both of their arms are straight. He proceeds to wrench Crane’s arm, before pulling Dante towards him and looking for a belly-to-belly suplex, but Crane wraps his arms tight around Quiz’s midsection so the Tag champ can’t throw him overhead! Quiz looks frustrated, and his frustration is cashed in for PAIN as Crane overhead belly-to-belly suplexes him! The Live Studio Audience™ pops as Quiz stares at Crane, resentment in his eyes as he slowly gets to his feet.

“Cruiserweight chain wrestling from the small men,” Adamle says, “with Dante Crane coming out the victor!”

“Beginner’s luck,” scoffs Hardy. “Quiz is the superior technical wrestler here!”

Quiz dusts himself off and charges at Crane yet again, but the Sick Boy sees this coming and lifts his left leg up for a kick…but Quiz goes low and sweeps Dante’s right leg out, tackling him to the canvas before latching his hand around his throat with a blatant choke! While this is happening, Crow pulls himself up, just as Show begins to exhibit signs of life, gingerly holding his neck. Crow meets the big man as he reaches his knees, and begins to batter his head with punches. In a sign of weakness AND vengeance, Show decides to payback Crow as he lifts his left arm up…

*CHING!*

…and socks Crow right in his testicles! The Live Studio Female Audience™ “awws” as the Antichrist Superstar crumples in pain, falling hard to the canvas.

“If I wasn’t a big fan of wrestling,” begins Adamle, “I’d think that these wrestlers just LOVE each other’s testicles!”

“Well, it’s just, uh…” stammers Hardy, “a, uh, way to gain the advantage! There’s nothing wrong with that, at least in a match like this!”

Still on his knees, Show begins to raise his mighty arm in the air, bringing it down continuously on Crow’s upper back with clubbing blow after clubbing blow. Meanwhile, the camera pans around to see Dante Crane still on the canvas, just as Quiz leaps into the air and sends his mighty 189 pounds down, back first, onto the Sick Boy! Looking for a change of pace, Quiz jogs underneath the spinning cylinders platform and climbing the ladder up to the cargo net platform, beckoning Dante to follow him. Quiz climbs up to the platform, right next to the cargo net! Groggily, Crane begins his ascent up the ladder. As he reaches the top, Quiz is waiting for him, grabbing Dante by the hair and lifting him up onto the platform!

“They’re brawling on top of the cargo net!” Adamle cries.

“They are indeed, Mike,” Hardy says, “and it’s looking cloudy with a chance of PAIN… for CRANE! Wocka wocka…”

As Show grabs Crow, lifting him to his feet, Quiz slaps Crane dead-on the jaw, causing Dante’s neck to snap over and his body to get wobbly, as he teeters on the edge of the platform. Quiz, sensing his opportunity, moves in for the quick kill on Dante, charging at the goth…

But Crane scissors Quiz’s legs! Quiz falls forward, helpless, falling like a star all…

The way…

DOWN AND TO THE MAT!

The crowd erupts as Quiz hits face-first, hitting the mat hard and coming up for air, blood pouring out of his nose from the hard collision. Crane poses on top of the cargo net, getting cheers for his gothic good looks, before walking over to the zipline and taking hold of the handles, sliding down it!

“Crane takes a celebratory ride after his small victory over Quiz,” Adamle says, using an overused war analogy.

“He may have won the battle,” Hardy retorts, using an even more cliché war analogy, “but he has yet to win the war!”

Show grabs Crow around the midsection, wrapping his huge, meaty arms around the Antichristian Phenomenon’s waist with the “Body Language” Bearhug! The Live Studio Audience™ lets their distaste for the move be heard, lashing out at Show with boos, but the large Show cares not, increasing pressure on the bearhug. Jefferson Harding walks over to them, asking Crow if he quits, but Crow growls a “no” at him and Harding backs away.

“BOR – ING! BOR – ING!”

Show roars back at the crowd with unintelligible gibberish as Dante Crane heads over to Quiz, looking to inflict even more pain on the small man. However, hearing the “BORING!” chant he goes over to where Show is, silently trying to please the crowd as he inches closer to Matthews…

*CRACK!*

“DAS WUNDER KICK!”

And catches the Tag champ in the back of the neck with a devastating roundhouse kick! With a roar of pain, Show lets go of the bearhug, falling to his knees and then flat on his face. Crow, upon the hold being released, lets out a huge gasp and falls to the mat, looking to catch a breather as Quiz, trying to catch a breather of his own, sees his partner vulnerable and gets up, trying to dash across the spinning cylinders… but he slips! Quiz goes toppling to the mat from six feet in the air as the Live Studio Audience™ roars, anticipating the end of the match as Crane rolls Matthews onto his back, looking for the cover!

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!”

Quiz gets to his feet again, dashing desperately at Crane…

“TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Crow gets to his feet, trying to stop Quiz from dropping anything on Crane…

“THREE…”

Quiz dodges past Crow, leaping forward with his elbow outstretched, looking to drop it across Crane’s back…

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“TWO COUNT!”

The crowd SCREAMS their disgust as Quiz takes a deep breath of relief, Crane getting to his feet, incensed, and grabbing the smaller tag champ by the shoulder of his red singlet, angrily lifting him to his feet.

“Das Wunder Kick from Crane NEARLY gets three,” Adamle says, “but Quiz arrives on the scene just in time to make the save!”

“We almost had new tag champs, Mike!” Hardy shouts. “Thankfully, we didn’t.”

Crow grabs Quiz as well, both he and Crane dragging Quiz away from Show, who lay curled up in fetal position, trying to forget the pain in his neck. The two men drag Quiz over the Zipline mats, over to the area between the treadmill and the glass wall. Angrily, Crane and Crow look at each other, trying to decide what to do… but Quiz decides for them, wrapping his legs around both of their inside legs and falling forward, taking both men to the mat with a forward Russian leg sweep! The Live Studio Audience™ boos like mad as Quiz gets to his feet, calling it out.

“GOTHIC ASSHEADS FOR $500, ALEX!”

Quiz’s insult is met with more boos, but Q pays them no mind, angrily sprinting around the wall to the side with the rope. Hastily, Quiz climbs up the wall, balancing himself on the top as he waits for Crow and Crane to get to their feet… and as they do, he flies off, looking for a cross body on both men!…

BUT HE GETS CAUGHT!

“Looks like Quiz’s high-flying strategy just worked against him,” Adamle remarks.

Hardy can do nothing but sputter as Crane and Crow hold Quiz there for a few moments, before turning them so that his head is pointed directly at the glass wall. Grinning like fiends, Crane and Crow charge forward, using Quiz’s head as a missile and throwing him straight through the glass wall! The Live Studio Audience™ goes MADLY IN LOVE with Crow and Crane, and both men grin as Quiz lay on shards of broken glass, cuts beginning to ooze blood all over his body, the fluorescent red matching his singlet perfectly as he groans his pain.

Show, from the other side of the arena, stumbles to his feet, woozy from the neck shots and looking for his partner. We shift back to a shot of said partner, as Crow and Crane look at each other, Crow nodding as he yells out loud, “K.O. BLOW!”

“Good Lord, what is Crow going to do?” Adamle questions. “Quiz is lying in a pile of glass, and now Crow is going to try to add injury to injury!”

“Show’s coming, Mike, have no fears,” Hardy says, assuring the former Gladiators announcer. “Our rightful champions will be back in control in no time.”

Crow climbs up the motionless part of the treadmill, standing on top of the platform and looking directly at Crane, with Quiz lying behind him. Crane nods, a “How did I get such a nutcase for a partner?” look on his face as Crow grins, hopping onto the down treadmill, letting it carry him down the ramp! As he hits the bottom, he uses his momentum to run forward faster than usual, charging straight at Crane! Dante winces, ducking as Crow runs over the top of him! Crane stands up, the force of his head into Crow’s midsection causing Crow to flip over in back-body-drop style…

AND HE LANDS ON TOP OF QUIZ! Crow’s back makes contact with Quiz’s midsection, re-introducing Quiz to the glass shards on the mat! The Live Studio Audience™ roars for the ballsy Aussie as he gets to his feet, taking a bow before covering Quiz!

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!”

Show, however, has found his partner, and he comes lumbering over. Dante Crane gets in his face, but an elbow to the jaw sends him to his feet!

“TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Show dives forward, looking to drop an elbow into Crow’s back…

“THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

And it connects…

“NO!”

Right in time! The crowd again boos like mad, for the second time being robbed of a Dante Crane and Crow victory! Crow groans, rolling over onto his back and looking up into the eyes of a seething Charlie “Show” Matthews, running off an adrenaline high.

“Again, Double Jeopardy robs the Live Studio Audience™ of the outcome they desire!” Adamle cries out. “But how many more times can they do that?”

“Double Jeopardy winning is the outcome these fans desire, Mike,” Hardy shoots back. “They just don’t know it yet!”

Show reaches down to grab Crow by the head, looking to pull him up into a standing position, but he’s caught from behind with a swift martial arts kick to the midsection!

It’s like shooting a rhinoceros with a spitball.

Show turns around, his huge frame trembling with rage as he kicks Dante Crane stiffly in the midsection, causing Crane to double over, gasping for breath. Angrily, Show grabs Crane’s arm and threads it between Dante’s legs, placing Crane into a pumphandle position. The huge former Grappler lifts Crane high into the air, in position for a pumphandle slam… and drops Crane down, sitting out with a huge Pumphandle Fire Thunder Driver!

“FINAL ANSWER! FINAL ANSWER!”

The Live Studio Audience™ boos like a KKK member at a screening of the Fighting Temptations, as Show drops forward, pinning Crane to the mat!

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!”

“TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE – NO!” Crow kicks Show stiffly in the jaw, causing Show to let go of his pinning attempt on Crane and massage his jaw. Trying to keep the huge Show down, Crow levels more shots at his head and neck, but through the pain Show gets to his feet, his huge frame even bigger in comparison to Crow as Show grabs Crow by the throat with both hands, easily lifting him up into the air, trying to squeeze the life out of him. When Show gets bored of toying with Crow’s oxygen levels, he throws the Antichrist Superstar down forcefully to the mat with a choke toss!

“I can’t believe the vitality of Show!” begins Adamle, “Despite all he’s gone through so far, he remains the only man standing in this match!”

“Obviously,” notes Hardy, “since he *DOES* have a seventy pound weight advantage over the next – largest man in this match, Crow. He’s simply a BEAST!”

Show looks at the destruction around him, and stomps on Crow’s chest once more for good measure before walking over to his fallen tag team partner, shards of bloody glass surrounding him. Show kneels down and picks Quiz up, trying to remove the glass stuck in his upper body. He puts his partner down on his feet, and Quiz stumbles around a bit, trying to regain his senses. Quiz says he’s okay, however, and tells Show to continue his domination over the Gothic Factory. Show obliges, heading back over to the Antichristian Phenomenon, who is pulling himself up. Just as Crow gets to his feet, however…

*CRAAAACK*

…Show nails him in the head with the Password Plus running elbow! Crow collapses to the ground, holding his head in pain. The big man drops down for a pin, but Quiz stops him, points at Dante Crane, and then at the cargo net, whispering something to Show. Show smiles and nods, as Quiz hurries (as fast as he can, at least) to the cargo net. Show lifts the Sick Boy to his feet, and then shouts the world’s loudest battle cry:

“NO WHAMMY~!”

“NO WHAMMY!” Quiz shouts in reply, scurrying up the cargo net. Show then grabs Dante and hoists him up into the air, in a gorilla press position! The Live Studio Audience™ shows their disdain, as Quiz reaches the top of the cargo net, and grabs a hold of the Zip-line! Show walks over right into the path of the zip-line, Dante still high above his head. Quiz gives the signal to his partner, and then jumps forward, riding down at high speed on the zippy contraption. At just the right moment, Show drops Dante from the gorilla press position, and Quiz leaps off of the Zip-line, bringing his leg down across the back of Crane’s head as he SICKENINGLY falls to the canvas below!

“DON’T PRESS YOUR LUCK!” shouts Hardy, leaping out of his seat in celebration, “THAT WAS QUITE POSSIBLY THE GREATEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!”

“The challengers are in big trouble here!” admits Adamle, “Dante just took an AMAZING double team, and Crow is nowhere to be found!”

With a mile-wide smile on his face, Quiz rolls Dante over as Show drops down and hooks his leg, pulling it back as Jefferson Harding counts…

“OOOOOOOOOONE!!!!!!!!!!!”

“TWOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”…

*SMASH~!*

…but CROW BREAKS UP THE PIN WITH A PANE OF GLASS TO THE HEAD AND NECK OF SHOW!!! The big man howls like a furry as he rolls off of Dante, clutching his bleeding upper body. Quiz THINKS FAST~ and shoots his leg at Crow for a super kick…but Crow grabs the leg and twists around, bringing Quiz to the canvas with a dragon screw leg whip! Fluidly, Crow laces his right leg between Quiz’s and locks them together, turning over as the Live Studio Audience™ shows their appreciation for THE SHARPSHOOTER~!

“I may have said this a lot during this match,” starts Adamle, “but this SURELY must be it! Show is down and OUT after Crow used some of that glass from the wall to incapacitate him, and NO ONE gets out of the Sharpshooter!”

“Save yourself the breath,” shoots Hardy, “the match ISN’T over, and it won’t be until Double Jeopardy walk out with those Tag Team Title belts. I don’t care if this is one of the most painful submission maneuvers in the world today. That’s…uh, that doesn’t matter.”

Quiz YODELS in pain as Crow arches back with the Sharpshooter. Show, meanwhile, begins to stir, and he sees his partner in danger. Sucking up the willpower and strength, Show rises to his knees, and then, exerting his last bit of energy, runs toward Crow, from behind. Show then jumps into the air while grabbing Crow’s head in a facelock, slamming it down to the canvas with a bulldog, breaking the Sharpshooter and nearly breaking Quiz’s legs in the process!

Show collapses on the canvas, exhausted. Meanwhile, Crow makes sure his facial features are still intact, and Quiz struggles on the canvas, desperately trying to regain his senses.

Of course, there is a fourth person in this match.

Dante Crane, fresh off of receiving the Don’t Press Your Luck double-team, approaches the action, after retrieving something from the broken glass wall. As he nears Show, he reveals the weapon: a ROPE~. The Live Studio Audience™ begins to buzz, as they can only GUESS what the Sick Boy will do with that. They don’t have to guess any longer, though, as Crane begins tying the rope into a noose~! When Dante reaches Show, he puts the noose around his neck, tightening it as the crowd reaches a fever pitch! With St. Anger ‘round his neck, Show begins to fight, but Dante simply pulls him up to his feet and stands back to back with him, before pulling on the noose and dropping into a sitting position, nearly DECAPITATING Show with a neckbreaker!!

“Hangman’s Noose Neckbreaker!” shouts Hardy, “…Literally! Show’s neck is being decimated by the C & C Gothic Factory!”

Show roars in sheer pain, but luckily, he is able to remove the noose from around his neck as he rolls around the canvas, away from his opponents…leaving Crow and Crane together with Quiz, yet again. Instead of trying to fight, the Tag Champion dashes towards the Zip-line, one of which is still positioned at the bottom. Quiz grabs onto the Zip-line and lifts his legs up, waiting for either Crow or Crane to approach him. Crane goes forward, and so Quiz, still holding onto the Zip-line, drops his legs onto Dante’s shoulders, lets go of the Zip and arches back, flipping the Sick Boy over with a hurricanrana! Once Crane’s head is spiked on the canvas, Quiz props himself up, posing to the jeering Live Studio Audience™, and looking around the set for Crow, who is nowhere to be found!

“Good god!” shouts Adamle, “Crow is on top of that cargo net, waiting for Quiz to turn around!”

Actually, Crow doesn’t wait. The Antichrist Superstar begins sliding down the Zip-line at a rapid pace, as Quiz slowly… slowly… slowly turns around…

…just in time for Crow to let go of the Zip-line and grab Quiz in a front facelock, spinning around and SPIKING Quiz’s head onto the canvas with a MURDEROUS DDT~!

“UN – BE – LIEV – ABLE~!” screams Adamle, “Crow took a page out of Quiz’s book, executing that maneuver from the top of the Zip-line, with flying colors!”

Hardy can only stammer in acknowledgement as Crow instinctively rolls away from Quiz. However, he quickly remembers what’s on the line, and crawls back over to the Champion, draping an arm over him as Jefferson Harding drops down to count the pin, the Live Studio Audience™ hanging on every number!

“OOOOOONEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“TWOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE - - - NO!” Dante Crane lands on top of Crow, breaking up the pin! The Antichristian Phenomenon looks up…and sees Show, who obviously just used the Sick Boy as a missile, with a menacing look on his bloody face. Crow gets to his feet and stands face-to-neck with the big man, but Show simply extends his hand out, palming Crow’s head, executing an Iron Claw! As Show squeezes with all of his might, Crow struggles…and then decides to use the world’s greatest all – purpose counter:

*CHING!*

“Another low blow!” shouts Hardy, “and that’s just NOT fair!”

“…after all we’ve seen in this match,” retorts Adamle, “you’re calling THAT unfair?!”

As Show doubles over, holding his precious testicles, Crow dashes, gingerly stepping on the pieces of broken glass that stand in his way. Show, with one hand on his package, continues to follow Crow in hot pursuit, ducking his way through the former glass wall. Crow dashes up the treadmill, against the current, of course, until he finally reaches the top, where he turns around and waits for the lumbering Show. As Show presses on forward, Crow once again jumps back onto the treadmill, going down and gaining momentum. As he approaches the bottom, Crow leaps off, onto Show’s shoulders, and he twists around, arching back and PLANTING Show’s head onto the pieces of broken glass with a twisting hurricanrana!!!

“The hits keep on coming!” says Adamle, “Show got spiked, yet again, this time onto broken glass! That can’t be doing any good for his neck!”

“A hurracanrana onto broken glass doing damage to someone’s neck? Get out!” says Hardy, sarcasm dripping off of his tongue.

Meanwhile, Dante Crane begins peppering the fallen Quiz with kicks, and then lifts him up to his feet, standing behind him. The Sick Boy laces his arms under Quiz’s in a full nelson, lifting him up for the Damnation DDT…

*CHING!* Back goes the boot of Quiz, into the crotch of Crane!

“You have to be KIDDING me!” notes Adamle, “ANOTHER low blow! *MY* testicles are starting to hurt!”

Show rolls off the glass in distress, clutching his neck. Seeing his partner in trouble, Quiz begins to approach him. Crow, however, drops right on top of Show, inadvertently landing in the 69-position as referee Jefferson Harding bounds through the glass wall to count the pin. Seeing this, Quiz begins climbing the glass wall as the count begins:

“ONE!!!!!!”

“TWOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!”

…

…QUIZ LEAPS OFF THE GLASS WALL, ARCHING BACKWARD WITH A MOONSAULT…

“…THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!”

…and lands on Crow, breaking up the pin JUST in time!!!

“HOLY SHIT!” shout Adamle and Hardy, simultaneously.

“THAT was just what the doctor ordered!” adds Hardy, grinning.

“Maybe for Double Jeopardy’s title reign,” begins Adamle, “but Show was at the bottom of that sandwich, so I think things fared the worst for him!”

The Live Studio Audience™ deflates, as all three men roll around, hurt from the big time move. Dante Crane decides to join the festivities, albeit gingerly holding his crotch. The Sick Boy immediately targets Show, lifting him up off of the canvas. However, once Show gets to his knees, he FIRES off a right cross to Crane’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and then swings his right arm back around, catching Dante in the face with a back-hand! As Crane staggers backward, Show sends a stiff kick into his midsection and grabs his head, putting it between his legs in a standing head scissors! Without hesitation, Show lifts Dante up into the air and as he powers him down to the canvas…

…Crane holds on, locking his legs around Show’s head and executing a Triangle Choke~! Show’s arms drop to his sides as he gasps desperately for air, to no avail. Meanwhile, Quiz reaches his feet, and seeing his partner in danger of submitting, Quiz runs forward, dropping a leg across Crane’s neck! This causes Crane to loosen the hold, distracting by the impact to the neck, and Show takes advantage, breaking the Triangle Choke!

“What a move by Quiz!” boasts Hardy, “Quiz just saved his partner from imminent doom. These guys are unbeatable!”

“That remains to be seen,” adds Adamle, “but yet again, the tide has shifted in this match, this time to the favor of the champions!”

Show, after catching his breath and making sure his neck is still intact, signals to Quiz, who nods and yells to the Live Studio Audience™, “DO YOU HAVE IT?!” With that, Quiz climbs up the treadmill platform, avoiding the treadmills themselves, and stands at the top. Show, meanwhile, picks Dante up and puts him onto his shoulders, in an electric chair position! With that, Quiz prepares to take flight for the Falling from the Aggro Crag…… but Crow appears behind Quiz, shoving him off with excessive force! Quiz does a flip in mid-air as he flies off – target, landing on the canvas! Dante takes advantage of this and rolls forward, bringing Show down onto the canvas with a victory roll as Jefferson Harding drops down to count!

“OOOOONE!!!!!!!!!!”

“TWOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!”

“THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!” Harding waves it off as Show shoots his shoulder off the canvas at the very last possible moment! Crow, meanwhile, still stands at the top of the treadmill platform, and with Show down on the canvas, decides to take a chance. With that, he hops, turning around in midair so that he lands with his back to show, and he quickly arches backward, his arms in a crucifix position as he flips through the air ALL THE WAY DOWN WITH AN EVENFLOW MOONSAULT…

…BUT SHOW ROLLS OUT OF THE WAY~! Crow’s body smacks against the canvas, and the big man quickly rolls him over, hooking a leg as Jefferson Harding counts again!

“ONE!!!!”

“TWOOOO!!!!!!”

“THREEEEE-“ …Dante Crane breaks up the pin with an elbow drop to Show’s neck! Dante stands up to deliver another elbow to the vulnerable neck, but as he does…

*SMACK!*

…Quiz catches Dante in the back of the head with a super kick~!

“That damn Quiz!” vents Adamle, “just when you think he’s out of this thing, he comes back at just the right moment with a perfectly-timed shot!”

“And that’s why,” begins Hardy, grinning, “these guys are the champions! Sometimes, Adamle, it’s the little things that make a team great.”

As Crane collapses to the canvas, the Champion walks over to Crow and brings him to his feet. He sets him up for a hiptoss, and as Crow hits the apex Quiz turns him, so that his head would be between his legs in Piledriver position…but Crow snakes an arm under Quiz’s, and this messes up the Tag champ’s timing! He sets Crow down on his feet, allowing the Antichristian Phenomenon enough time to armdrag the champ! The Live Studio Audience™ roars as Quiz lands hard on his back, Show getting to his feet and grabbing his neck!

“Quiz goes down,” Adamle calls, “but Show’s right there to STEP TO THA MIC~!”

“Double Jeopardy are always there!” Hardy screams. “When one is down the other is up, and when both are up HOO BOY IT’S ON~!”

Show and Crow look at each other, the big man and his smaller adversary staring into each other’s eyes… and then Crow reaches up, slapping Show across the face! The Live Studio Audience™ pops for the blatant show of disrespect, but Show is not as amused, and he reaches one arm out, wrapping his hand around Crow’s neck! The crowd boos, expecting a chokeslam…

*CHING!*

“Again?” Adamle remarks. “This is just out of hand!”

Show doubles over, massaging his manhood, and Crow walks forward quickly, putting his head underneath Show’s chin and dropping to his knees, stunning Show with a jawbreaker! The crowd boos, however, and as Crow looks for an explanation why he turns around to see Quiz, red blood mixing with his red singlet, obviously looking to finish off Crow!

“Quiz just can’t take enough pain,” Adamle says, “but I think Crow’s about to kill him out of mercy!”

“Or vice versa, Adamle,” Hardy shoots back. “I mean, it’s not like Quiz is a dunce.”

Crow is none too pleased with the interruption of Quiz, and he lets his feelings be known, kicking Quiz square in the stomach! Quiz doubles over, and Crow wraps one arm around Quiz’s neck, using the other one to grab Quiz by the bottom of his singlet, hoisting him into vertical suplex position! The Live Studio Audience™ ROARS, as Crow nods, smiling devilishly as he hops into the air, letting himself fall flat on his back, driving Quiz’s head into the mat in neck-breaking position with a jumping brainbuster suplex…

“NATURAL BORN CHAOS!” Adamle nearly EXPLODES, continuing, “This is all she wrote for Double Jeopardy’s tag title reign!”

“No way,” Hardy says, almost trying to convince himself. “No way…”

Crow gets on top of Quiz, hooking the leg! The crowd counts along with referee Jefferson Harding, KNOWING that THIS IS THE END!

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!”

“TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“NO!”

The crowd absolutely goes BANANAS IN BOOING at Show, as he punts Crow’s head like a football! Crow rolls off Quiz, grabbing his head in pain as Quiz lay on the mat, still feeling the effects of the Natural Born Chaos. Angrily, Show pulls down the shoulders of his singlet, yelling at the crowd in pure rage!

“This is a side of Charlie Matthews we have NEVER seen before!” Hardy cries. “He looks like he wants to DESTROY anything in his path!”

“I can’t help but think, Ben, that the punt to the head of Crow was just the tip of the iceberg!”

Dante Crane gets to his feet, behind Show, but the huge tag champ can sense the challenger’s presence behind him, and he whirls around, staring daggers at Crane. Angrily, Show charges forward, grabbing Crane’s inside leg and his neck and hefting him up onto his shoulders, into a fireman’s carry!

“ALL OF THE PAIN THAT HE MUST BE FEELING, AND HE’S BLAZING THROUGH IT LIKE NOTHING!”

Show runs forward, falling to the left and driving Crane’s head into the mat with a running Death Valley Driver! The Live Studio Audience™ lets their displeasure be known, but Show is too amped up to care, as he places all two-hundred ninety-nine pounds of his body on top of Crane’s limp form!

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!”

“TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“NO!”

The crowd ROARS, as Crow repays Show for earlier with a stiff kick to the face! Show, however, feels not a thing, standing up and angrily staring at Crow, visibly shaking with rage!

“Crow breaks up the fall after the $64,000 Question,” Adamle calls, “but what price will he have to pay now!?”

“One in BLOOD, Mike!” Hardy screams sadistically. “One in BLOOD and PAIN!”

Crow, almost scared but not quite, his demeanor never wavering as he lets loose with a stiff roundhouse kick to the head of Show, the Das Wunder Kick! Show feels it, his head snapping to one side, and this is all Crow needs, as he bolts, running for the 25-foot-high stair-masters known as Versaclimbers! Show, coming to quickly, charges after Crow. Crow arrives first, and quickly gets on the Versaclimber, climbing up it as quickly as he can! Show arrives mere seconds behind Crow, and with fury in his veins he hops onto the other Versaclimber and begins climbing murderously after Crow!

“Both of these men are looking to get to the top of the Versaclimber,” Adamle cries, “where the first arrival will surely have the advantage!”

“Show may be behind here, Mike,” Hardy says, “but I think his unadulterated fucking hatred will cause him to overtake Medium Bird!”

Both men near the top, the Live Studio Audience™ roaring, the anticipation level rising as Crow hits the top first, getting off and staring at Show, mere centimeters behind him! Thinking quickly, Crow decides on what he must do, the only way to eliminate Show from the matchup. To signify what he means, he makes a gun with his right hand, pointing it to his right temple…

…and pulling the trigger.

“I don’t know what he’s going to do, Ben,” Adamle says, a note of worry in his voice, “but he just signified that it was suicide!”

As Show nears the top, Crow takes a deep breath… but nothing can prepare him for what he is about to do…

HE LEAPS OFF THE PLATFORM!

Pulling a half a flip in midair, he wraps one arm around Show’s neck, the big man roaring as he falls backwards, off the Versaclimber as well! Both men fall, Crow’s arm wrapped around Show’s neck, ALL

THE WAY

D

O

W

N

!

*CRASH!*

The two land, twenty-five feet later, Show’s neck nearly snapping as it jars against Crow’s shoulder! Both men are unmoving, and show no signs of life… the impact probably knocked them unconscious, but the Live Studio Audience™ ROARS, showing their appreciation with a chant!

“HO – LY SHIT! HO – LY SHIT!”

And then…

“S – W – F! S – W – F!”

“Crow nearly KILLED himself for those tag belts, Ben!” Adamle cries. “A TWENTY-FIVE-FOOT HIGH FLYING NECKBREAKER… good God, Ben, you have GOT to respect Crow for that!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ben mutters, “I respect him, but he just incapacitated himself and Show. This match is going to be decided by one of the two cruiserweight competitors!”

Indeed, as Crane and Quiz struggle to their feet, both still feeling the effects of the finishers they received, they clumsily lock up, the tension high as ever as Crane takes advantage with a half-speed forearm to the face! Quiz stumbles back, trying to get away from Crane as he stumbles backwards. Realizing where he is slowly, Quiz formulates a plan, and walks around the treadmills, beckoning Crane to follow.

Crane, still knocked half-goofy, follows Quiz, who leads him past the treadmills and behind the giant sheets of paper that serve as a finish line. Crane catches up with Quiz, and the two engage in an exchange of punches – Dante with the left, Quiz with the right, Dante left, Quiz right, Dante left, Quiz right, Dante left…

And Quiz with a HUGE forearm to the jaw! Crane stumbles back a couple of feet from the impact of the blow, but rubs his jaw and comes roaring back at Quiz, looking for a lariat of some kind…

But Quiz reverses it into a hiptoss! And as Crane reaches the apex, Quiz shifts his body around so that Dante’s stomach is in Quiz’s shoulder, his head pointing straight down and between Quiz’s legs as the Tag champ sits out, piledriving Crane into the mat with a sleek hiptoss piledriver! The fans lash out in boos as Quiz goes over to Crane, thinking about pinning him but coming up with a better idea, and he goes back to the other side of the colored paper, walking over to the treadmill!

“Quiz doesn’t go for the pin after the Survivor Driver,” Adamle calls, “a move that may cost Double Jeopardy the tag belts!”

“Key mistakes late in matches causes titles to change, this is true,” Hardy says, “but I don’t think this move by Quiz is a mistake!”

Quiz dashes up the treadmill, reaching the top of the platform and grabbing one of the ropes used to swing through the giant sheets of paper. Quiz, tired, still finds a way to slip in a game-show related taunt…

“LET’S SEE… huff… WHAT’S… gasp… BEHIND DOOR… cough… NUMBER ONE!”

And with that, Quiz removes his feet from the platform, swinging straight at the colored sheet of paper behind which, he hopes, is Dante Crane!

*CRASH!*

Quiz crashes through the sheet of paper, leaping off and looking for an elbow drop on where Dante Crane SHOULD be…

BUT CRANE IS STANDING UP! Five feet away from where Quiz is falling, Dante Crane stands, kneeling over his knees, trying to catch his breath! The Live Studio Audience™ erupts as Quiz hits nothing but canvas, and Crane walks over to him, grabbing him by the jet black hair, lifting the dead-tired champ to his feet.

“QUIZ MISSES THE TARZAN ELBOW DROP!” Adamle roars. “This is the opportunity Crane and Crow have been waiting for!”

“They won’t capitalize, Adamle!” Hardy shouts back. “They aren’t the tag champs for a REASON, that reason being that they SUCK!”

Crane leads Quiz like a lamb being led to slaughter, Quiz half-dead as Crane leads him over to the ladder leading up to the cargo net platform. Crane lets go of Quiz’s hair, whispering desperately in Quiz’s ear.

“Let’s just go home, shall we?”

Crane begins climbing the ladder, yelling at Quiz to follow, and blindly the Tag champion does. Crane leads Quiz all the way up the ladder, the Tag champion slowly coming to with every step. As Crane reaches the top of the ladder he walks over to the cargo net, beginning to climb it as well. Quiz, upon reaching the top of the ladder, rushes over to the cargo net and starts climbing, obviously with the intention of beating Crane to the top to gain the advantage. Seeing this, Crane increases his pace, rushing to the top of the cargo net as fast as he can!

“Whichever one of these men hits the top of the cargo net first will have the definite advantage,” Adamle says.

Hardy shoots back a poor wisecrack. “I don’t think anybody’s disputing that!”

Tired, Crane reaches the top, heaving himself over. Quiz is not far behind, and he hits the top as well, only to take a stiff boot to the top of the head from Crane! The Live Studio Audience™ erupts as Quiz teeters on the top, trying to regain his balance… and luckily for him, Dante Crane backs off, allowing Quiz room to heave himself over the top as well. However, Crane is not so compassionate as to allow Quiz time to get up, and he levels a stomp at Q’s head! Quiz stumbles to his feet, battling back with a hard forearm as Quiz and Crane brawl on top of the platform!

“Those two men are a legitimate eighteen feet in the air!” Adamle calls. “It’s like the joust up there, the last man standing almost certainly will win!”

Hardy has nothing to add as Crane and Quiz battle on top of the platform, Quiz catching Crane with a hard slap to the face to send Crane reeling! Quiz pounces on this immediately, stalking after Dante and catching him with yet another slap to the face, this time sending Dante even further back! Quiz presses on, reaching back for another slap and bringing his hand forward…

BUT DANTE GRABS IT OUT OF THE AIR!

The Live Studio Audience™ erupts as Dante grins at Quiz, wagging one finger in the air before yanking on Quiz’s arm, pulling the smaller man towards him and leveling him with a short-arm clothesline! Dante stands victorious atop the platform – all that is left is the pinfall, and as Dante hooks the leg it looks to be reality!

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!”

“TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“IT CAN’T END LIKE THIS!” Hardy yells.

“THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“YES!” Adamle cries.

“TWO COUNT!” Quiz gets the shoulder up at the last possible second, and the crowd, once more hopeful that the match would be over in favor of Crane and Crow, has the wind taken out of their sails once more! Crane, frustrated, grabs Quiz by the hair, roughly lifting him to his feet!

“DAN – TE! DAN – TE!”

“This crowd is going WILD for Dante Crane,” Adamle says, excitement entering his voice, “and I don’t think that Dante is going to let them down!”

Crane grabs Quiz by the top of his singlet, roughly yelling at him, anger prevalent in his voice as he brings Quiz over to the side of the platform…

AND HE THROWS HIM OFF!

Quiz falls… three feet… five feet… eight feet…

BUT HE GRABS THE CARGO NET!

The crowd erupts in boos as Quiz grabs at the cargo net, hanging onto it for dear life as Crane looks down at the Tag champ, obvious shock in his eyes!

“And QUIZ GRABS THE CARGO NET!” It’s Hardy’s turn to get excited. “He just saved himself from certain defeat right there!”

Quiz, sweat dripping from his hair and mixing with the blood on his face, begins climbing the cargo net once more, laboriously, trying to think of what he’ll do when he meets Dante Crane. Meanwhile, on top, Crane tries to formulate a plan for when Quiz hits the top.

“Quiz is climbing to a destiny right now, Ben,” Adamle calls, “but is it his own, or is it Dante Crane’s?”

“I don’t know, Mike,” Ben responds. “I just don’t know.”

Quiz finally hits the top, hoisting himself over and right into another boot to the face from Dante Crane! Crane grabs Quiz by the jet-black hair, lifting the Tag champ to his feet and sending a stiff boot right into his midsection. With Quiz doubled over, Dante grabs his arm and wrenches it, before swinging his leg around and catching Quiz under the jaw with a hook kick! Q hits the pads, mere feet from the edge of the platform, and he quickly rolls towards the center.

But really, is that any safer?

The Sick Boy meets Quiz by leaping into the air with his leg extended, dropping it down across Quiz’s throat with a big legdrop! The Live Studio Audience™ begins to grow restless, as they expect some BIG HUGE ULTRA MEGA FALL to take place any second. Dante, however, is more focused on defeating Quiz than causing fan 121 in Row 8 to choke on his hot dog over a death-defying stunt. With that, Crane lifts Quiz to his feet and picks him up back-first onto his shoulders, in a reverse fireman’s carry! With the crowd’s approval, Dante jumps to his side, flipping Q over and onto his stomach with the Kingdom Gone! Crane drops to his knees again, cradling Quiz up as tight as he can while Jefferson Harding begins another count:

“ONEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“TWOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“THREEEEEEEEEEEEENO!!!!!!!!!! TWO COUNT!”

“I don’t believe this!” begins Adamle, “how is it even POSSIBLE for any of these men to still be able to kick out?!”

“This is GENESIS, Mike!” shoots Hardy, “and not only is it GENESIS, but it’s for the SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP. Double Jeopardy are making their very first title defense MEAN SOMETHING, baby!”

With a look of disbelief, Dante slowly brings Quiz to his feet, and flashes the international \m/etal sign to the Live Studio Audience™, which responds in kind! The Sick Boy positions himself behind Quiz and laces his arms under his, executing a full nelson!

“Here we go!” shouts Adamle, “it’s Dante’s patented Ethereal Suplex!”

Crane hoists Quiz into the air and begins to arch backward…

…but Quiz stops the momentum and rolls forward, cradling Dante up into a victory roll!!!

“COUNTER! COUNTER!” exuberates Hardy, “THIS IS IT!”

“ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“TWOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“T

H

R

E

…SHOULDER UP~!”

Dante kicks out, and the two men are just INCHES away from the edge of the platform! The Live Studio Audience™ reaches a FEVER PITCH as the two men groggily get up, and begin trading punches! Quiz charges at Dante (away from the edge) with a clothesline, but Crane ducks, spins around, and sends his leg around, catching Quiz in the back of the head with an enzuiguri!

*CRACK!*

Quiz flops down to the canvas, face first, and the crowd erupts!

“This is NOT GOOD,” begins Hardy, “NOT GOOD for the Tag Team Title reign of Double Jeopardy! I hate to admit it, but it’s true!”

“You’re very right, Ben!” replies Adamle, “and I have a feeling Quiz might be taking the PLUNGE once again, this time without grabbing hold of that cargo net!”

“Oh, don’t SAY that, Mike!”

Dante walks over, lifting Quiz up to his feet for quite possibly the very last time in this match, and prepares him for a…

*CHING!*

“You *HAVE* to be kidding me!” sighs Adamle, “That’s the SEVENTH low blow in this match!”

With Dante doubled over, Quiz backs up a few inches, before shooting his leg out forward, connecting with a super kick~!

*SMACK*

It doesn’t have the same force behind it, however, and only causes Dante to stumble backward a few feet, closer and closer to the edge of the platform! This is all Quiz needs, however, as he charges forward…but Dante catches him! Dante spins Quiz around, attempting to throw him off the platform…

…but QUIZ SPINS AROUND AT THE VERY LAST INCH OF THE PLATFORM, SPINNING DANTE AROUND AND SENDING HIM OFF THE PLATFORM! THE LIVE STUDIO AUDIENCE™ GASPS IN AWE AS CRANE FALLS

ALL

THE

WAY

D

O

W

N

TO THE CANVAS!!!!!!!!!!

“HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!”

Despite the Live Studio Audience™’s hatred for Quiz, they erupt into applause and chants for the move, as Dante lays motionless below!

“UN - BE – FREAKIN’ – LIEV – ABLE~!” shouts Hardy. All Adamle can do is sit with his jaw on the floor.

However, Quiz isn’t done; he can’t pin Dante from up there. The Champion instructs Jefferson Harding to go down the cargo net, and he does so. As Harding begins to climb down, Quiz stands at the edge of the platform, looking ALL the way down at the motionless Dante. Finally, he surveys the carnage around him: The glass. The blood. The sweat. His tag team partner with a broken – freakin’ neck. And, oh, yeah, the Tag Team Championships. This is Genesis, baby. And with that, he jumps…

…THROUGH THE AIR, COMPLETING A SOMERSAULT AS HE FLIES ALL – THE – WAY – DOWN, EIGHTEEN FEET, DROPPING HIS LEG ACROSS DANTE CRANE’S THROAT~!!!

“HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!”

“S – W – F! S – W – F!”

“OH MY GOOD DANCING LORD JESUS!” cries Adamle, “I CAN’T BELIEVE I JUST WITNESSED THAT!”

“A PICTURE PERFECT FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY DEGREE LEGDROP FROM EIGHTEEN FEET IN THE AIR!” shouts Hardy, “IF THERE WAS ANY DOUBT ABOUT DOUBLE JEOPARDY, IT IS ERASED~!”

Quiz is nearly motionless on the canvas…but he’s still on top of Dante Crane. And that’s all Jefferson Harding needs to see. The Live Studio Audience™’s awe suddenly turns to disdain as Harding begins to count the seemingly inevitable pinfall…

“ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!

“TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

“T

H

R

E

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE~!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

September 30, 2003

*DING DING DING*

“IT’S OVER~!” rejoices Hardy, “THAT’S IT! DOUBLE JEOPARDY RETAINS!!!”

“Come On Down” begins to blast over the loudspeakers as Quiz slowly gets to his feet, standing bloody over Dante Crane. He raises both arms in the air, soaking in the boos as Jefferson Harding hands him the tag titles. He holds them in the air, posing there.

By the Versaclimber, Show and Crow sit, Crow beginning to sit up, the crowd’s booing sinking in… Show is still out cold. EMTs swarm him, putting him on a backboard… Quiz shows no compassion, however, holding the tag titles in the air proud…

They are champions…

But is it worth it?

Fade to a video package for Edwin/Silent…

GENESIS IV!!!!!

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