Toxxic 0 Report post Posted July 18, 2004 'Due to a technical error, the show Storm began before live broadcast did. We therefore bring you the opening segment here, on the SWF.net! [OK, there I was chattin with Muzz and Drazon yesterday afternoon when my connection suddenly died and my computer went weird. I was able to get back on later JUST long enough to send my match in, then it died again. Seems OK now, so here's the promo that was written by Tuesday evening but I didn't get around to sending before my computer died...] A Storm is brewing. FIVE... FOUR... THREE... TWO... ONE... *BOOOM!! BOOOM!! BANG! BANG! BANG! BU-BU-BU-BOOOM!!* The lights come up, the pyros go off and several thousand SWF fans go absolutely stark staring wild as SWF Storm touches down in Buffalo, New York! The cameras scan the arena to seek out evidence of the locals’ wit and humour, lighting on lovingly hand-crafted creations such as “All F’n Day, All F’n Night!”, “Januz Stealz Movez!” and “Andrea, Will You Eat My Babies!?”... as well as a suspiciously company-made one proclaiming “Wayward Sons Were Robbed!”. With their brief overview completed the cameras return to the announce table where the ever-petulant Bobby Riley sits alongside the masked man (no, not that one) known to the world as Cyclone Comet. “Greetings Citizens, and welcome to STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRMMMMM!” the spandex-clad one proclaims, spreading his arms in benevolent greeting and causing Riley to duck. “We are here in the HSBC Arena in lovely Buffalo, and do we have one hell of a show for you tonight!” “For once I might be inclined to agree with you,” Riley remarks, trying to regain his poise. “If nothing else, the main event of Flesher vs Toxxic should be a display of wrestling memorable through the ages, whilst earlier on you get to see Dace Night get totalled by ‘The Prodigy’ Ace Lezaire, and Martin ‘Big Country’ Hunt gets his chance to wrest the Hardcore Title from the unworthy grasp of Ryan Dustin!” Comet opens his mouth to refute Bobby Riley’s claims - but much to his partner’s delight, the superhero is cut off by an unexpected production effect as every single light in the arena kicks up to full, causing a blaze of white to stab out from the stage area around the Smarktron which is itself a pure, dazzling white. “...what’s going on?” Comet asks in confusion. “I don’t know,” Riley muses. “It’s as if someone’s got tired of every single wrestler having the lights go down for their entrance, and decided to do the opposite...” A faint sound becomes audible over the arena PA system... that of a needle on a vinyl record, making other noise as yet. For a few seconds nothing more happens, then- “WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!” The crashing guitars of ’Battle Ready’ by Otep kick up the moment the scratching finishes and in the same moment the stage seems to explode as lightning spears down from above... *BOOOM!* -setting off an eruption of red and white pyros that manage to deafen the nearby fans for the second time in what has so far been a very short evening! The smoke starts to drift away, and the shapes are three men are revealed. One is big, dark-skinned, heavily muscled and stands to the right with the air of a nightclub bouncer. The one with the golden Californian tan is far smaller and more wiry and stands on the left, looking easily relaxed in his black shirt bearing the white letters ‘sXe’ and with the shiny Cruiserweight Title around his waist. But it is the shortest, smallest, palest and youngest man in the middle of the trio that grins out at the world with a lopsided smile, grey eyes glinting in the arena lights. Behind them, the Smarktron shows clips of all three, and interspersed between each one is the word “Revolution”. ‘The Perfect Storm’ Sean Davis. ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins. And Toxxic, the Straight-Edge Sensation. This is Revolution Zero. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” The fans in Buffalo absolutely shit on the trio as they start to make their way down the ramp, but none of them seem to pay much attention although halfway down the ramp Spike does pause to pose cheesily for the camera with two screaming teenage girls holding a ‘Marry Me Spike!’ sign. Meanwhile Davis and Toxxic continue down to the ring, and moments later they are joined by Hollywood as they enter. “Comet, you are looking at the finest bevy of promising athletes since the Magnificent Seven,” Bobby Riley tells his co-commentator. “United under their leader there is nothing they can’t do, and no-one they can’t beat. Except Tom Flesher, of course.” “I suspect Todd Cortez and The Masked Man will have something to say about that,” Comet notes as Spike requests - well, demands - a microphone from Funyon. “Hey dudes, what’s up?” Spike asks the arena, causing some of the fans who are only used to faces addressing them politely to start to cheer before they are shushed by their companions. “Welcome to Storm, brought to you this Saturday by REVOLUTION ZERO!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “That’s us, by the way.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Y’know,” Spike goes on, “I’ve been around here for quite a while now and I really like the SWF. It’s way cool man - I get to come out here a couple of nights a week and do this thing I love, and,” he smirks “get all these way hot chicks coming onto me... but it’s just got even better now I’ve got this!” “His crotch?” Bobby Riely asks, squinting. “For shame, Robert! I am sure that Citizen Jenkins is pointing to the Cruiserweight Title around his waist!” Comet responds. “Ahh... if only Wildchild were here to claim that belt.” “Pfah! Fat chance!” Riley laughs. “Last I heard he was jobbing to Judge Mental in Japan! Anyway, I prefer to think Spike is talking about his crotch.” “You would.” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” The chants ring around the arena, and Spike looks so hurt - rather like a puppy that’s just been kicked - that some of the more impressionable female fans feel slightly sorry for him. Most of the hardcore beer-swilling male audience ignore it though, and continue yelling abuse. “C’mon dudes, what gives?” Spike pleads. “So you don’t like the guy - I took up with him, and two matches later I’m Cruiserweight Champion. I mean, that’s success, right? And it’s not like I’ve been doing anything bad, y’know? Hey, I’ve become straight-edge!” Only the most observant TV viewer would see the slight spasm of pain that crosses Toxxic’s face as his ‘follower’ utters those words, but the Brit quickly recovers his composure. “It’s really cool!” Spike enthuses to the disbelieving crowd. “Like, I’m thinking straight, and my reactions are way better, and I’m not doing all that bad shit... and I’m champion! I’m telling you, this guy’s the...” his lips move as he counts momentarily “...third best thing to ever happen to me! So no, please, just be quiet for a bit and let him speak?” With that truly unlikely request Spike hands the mic over to the Straight-Edge Sensation... and Buffalo responds predictably. “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “Please, is that the best you can do?” Toxxic demands, looking around contemptuously at the crowd. “Is that meant to be offensive?” He spreads his arms wide, turning on the spot as the derision rains down on him, before raising the microphone to his mouth again. “I retired Nathaniel Kibagami... for good, this time.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Has anyone seen Danny Williams lately? No, didn’t think so. He packed his bags and headed off to Japan after I made him tap out.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Now that I come to think of it,” Toxxic continues, “I haven’t seen the Insane Luchador around much after I gave him the Dangerlust through a table.” He cracks a lopsided grin. “So at least I raised the workrate around here.” The boos for that comment are fewer - Andrew Rickmen hadn’t made many friends before his departure - but this is Buffalo, and a new chant gradually becomes audible. “TAAAAAAAAAAA-MO...” “TAAAAAAAAAAA-MO...” “TAAAAAAAAAAA-MO...” Toxxic looks confused for a moment, but then realisation dawns as Spike mouths ‘hometown!’ to him. The grin appears again, just for a second, but then the Brit gets back down to business. “I hope you realise that saying I ‘suck’ is a pathetic insult compared to what I’ve achieved here. Come on, I’ve prevented you from watching your favourite wrestlers in action, and yet you still chant that tired old thing at me. And speaking of tired old things... Tom Flesher.” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “I want to give you a brief history lesson Tom, before our match tonight,” Toxxic says, leaning against the ropes. “See, I come from Britain, which as I’m sure most of you know has a monarchy.” He looks around, and his face falls. “Kings and queens?” he tries, hoping that meets with more understanding. “Anyway... at one point the monarchy actually ruled the country - you know, set the laws, everything. But then eventually the normal people decided that this wasn’t such a good plan, and King Charles was deposed. Now I won’t bore you with details of the Civil War and Oliver Cromwell’s disastrous first Parliament, but suffice to say the monarchy was eventually brought back - but with much less power. And these days things have changed to the point where our Royal Family have no real power at all.” The crowd are confused. The chants have died away and they are listening with... well, not interest, because that would suppose they cared about the subject. But most of them are certainly curious about where the Straight-Edge Sensation is going with this, and indeed why. “But the funny thing was,” Toxxic continues, “you still had this person on top who believed they were... for lack of a better word... Superior. Today the Royal Family are tourist attractions - in wrestling parlance, they ‘put asses in seats’ - but they have no real function. They have no real purpose. They have no real power beyond that which the public allow them to have, and that power is allowed through tradition and what you might call a national memory of authority. But they still think they are Superior.” Toxxic walks out of the corner to where Spike and Sean are standing, and together the three look out at the Buffalo crowd. “You see Tom, if the people wanted to, they could depose the Royal Family,” the straight-edger says. “Normal, everyday people whose potential is unrealised,” he lays his left hand on Spike and Sean in turn “could - with the right leadership - rise up and surprise everyone, and they would be doing it purely on their own merit. Not through some superstition that they are above everyone else and other people just accepting that, and not through some remembrance of old glories, but through their own hard work.” Toxxic turns away from his stablemates and appeals directly to the backstage area. “And when that day comes, Tom, the people at the top who think they’re Superior to all the others... they may be about to get a nasty surprise.” The straight-edger smiles once more, as if at a joke only he understands. “Whatever else you are Tom, I know you’re not stupid. You might even be able to spell ‘metaphor’.” Spike and Sean break into smirks, and Toxxic’s grin widens. Some of the crowd are jeering mindlessly and some of them are still trying to work out what he means, but quite a few have got the point. Several of those are jeering as well mind you, but then Toxxic wasn’t setting out to be popular. And he’s started as he means to go on, because he gestures to the two men in the ring with him. “I’d like to present to you the heart and soul of Revolution Zero - ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins and ‘The Perfect Storm’ Sean Davis.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Tonight, these two men are going to compete together in a bid to bring the SWF Tag Team Titles to our ranks!” Toxxic says, the volume of his voice increasing. “I know what you’re thinking ; ‘Sean and Spike against one-half of the current tag team champions, who have been a very dominant team, and a man trained by one of the two greatest SWF tag team wrestlers ever? Surely that won’t work!’.” The straight-edger looks around at the Buffalo faithful... and smiles. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Spike’s got a new toy.” Proudly, ’Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins holds his belt up in one hand, beaming at the hostile crowd. “This is the SWF Cruiserweight Championship,” Toxxic continues, “and I suggest all of you cruisers in the back take a real good look at the closeup that I’m sure the production crew are providing right now” the TV shot shows the belt, with ‘Spike Jenkins’ engraved on the nameplate “because you sure as hell won’t be holding it in your hands anytime soon! Get the point? We are the Revolution! With us in the game, all bets are off! Don’t try rules, cos they do not apply! And if you want to know why we’re Revolution Zero...” Toxxic pauses for a moment to let the atmosphere of the HSBC Arena wash over him. The fans are booing and the people, as ever, hate him. But that doesn’t matter when he has a cause and a belief. “It’s because YOU’VE GOT... NO...CHANCE!!” There is a ‘thud’ as the microphone falls to the canvas. Sean Davis and Spike clamber out through the ring ropes and Toxxic rolls under them before the SWF’s newest coalition makes their way back up the ramp towards the backstage area. Each man looks straight ahead - well, Spike does steal a quick look over at his giggling fans, but apart from that. And above them, the white Smarktron still bears their message. WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Beingz0wningj00 Report post Posted July 18, 2004 You could have just told us you suck, you know. Now you making me have to read this. I hate you. Otherwise... the promo uses basic British politics as a metaphor for Flesher to be prepared, there's another ass in town. Good stuff... I should go read that show though. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Dace59 0 Report post Posted July 18, 2004 Epic, rambling, mad and a set up. Good work man. Toxxic seems to be getting more and more strange and into himself. Good introduction to the stable and what you plan to be doing and etc. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
