SWF Storm

[Thoth 0]

The Arrowhead Pond fades into view as SWF Storm begins to broadcast. Standing in the ring, microphone in hand, that salty snack treat, Funyon.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the national anthem,” Funyon states and clears his throat in preparation.

 

A strain of very familiar music rumbles over the speakers, but it’s not the anthem, but the fans are cheering anyway.

 

“Oh let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dream

I am a traveler of both time and space, to be where I have been

To sit with elders of the gentle race, this world has seldom seen

They talk of days for which they sit and wait and all will be revealed”

 

As Funyon belts out Led Zepplin’s “Kashmir”, the SWF-Tron crackles to life, displaying the highlights and memorable moments from Tom Flesher’s career.

 

“Talk and song from tongues of lilting grace, whose sounds caress my ear

But not a word I heard could I relate, the story was quite clear

Oh, oh.

 

Oh, I been flying... mama, there ain't no denyin'

I've been flying, ain't no denyin', no denyin'

 

All I see turns to brown, as the sun burns the ground

And my eyes fill with sand, as I scan this wasted land

Trying to find, trying to find where I've been.”

 

Boilermakers and bootscrapes. Yakuza kicks and Railgun suplexes. Palm strikes and the Cement Series. Ego Busters and Trips. Victories, titles held aloft, and headdrops, countless headdrops in a veritable “Best of: Tom Flesher” compilation.

 

“Oh, pilot of the storm who leaves no trace, like thoughts inside a dream

Heed the path that led me to that place, yellow desert stream

My Shangri-La beneath the summer moon, I will return again

Sure as the dust that floats high in June, when movin' through Kashmir.

 

Oh, father of the four winds, fill my sails, across the sea of years

With no provision but an open face, along the straits of fear

Ohh.

 

When I'm on, when I'm on my way, yeah

When I see, when I see the way, you stay-yeah

 

Ooh, yeah-yeah, ooh, yeah-yeah, when I'm down...

Ooh, yeah-yeah, ooh, yeah-yeah, well I'm down, so down

Ooh, my baby, oooh, my baby, let me take you there

 

Let me take you there. Let me take you there”

 

The music fades away, but an image remains on the SWF-Tron: A pair of Doc Marten boots. Funyon lowers the microphone and turns to face the entrance way.

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

BOOM!

 

As the twenty-one pyrotechnic salute ends, Funyon slowly exits the ring as the SWF logo replaces the Doc Martens on the screen.

[Thoth 0]

“The following broadcast may contain swearing, partial nudity and strobe lighting. It will certainly contain violence. It’s wrestling, what do you fucking expect?”

 

 

 

 

FIVE...

 

 

 

 

FOUR...

 

 

 

 

THREE...

 

 

 

 

TWO...

 

 

 

 

ONE...

 

 

 

 

SWF STORM IS ON!!!

 

 

*BAM! BAM! BAM! BU-BU-BU-BU-BU BOOOOOOOOMMMM!!*

 

 

“WELCOME GOOD CITIZENS, TO S...W...F... STOOOORRRRMMMMM!!”

 

The fans packed into the Arrowhead Pond in Anaheim, California go absolutely wild as the lights come up, the pyros go off and the cameras go panning around the arena to focus on them in all their rabid glory! They scream, they shout and they hold signs high in the air, signs with messages such as ‘OMGZ FLESHER COME BACK!!’, ‘DAVID’S CROSS!!’ and several proclaiming ‘CARN-I-VAL!!’.

 

“We’re in Anaheim, California,” Cyclone Comet yells above the noise, “and we are LIVE as we bring you the biggest after-show party in SWF history! Last Sunday at Genesis V the whole direction of the fed changed-”

 

“-and jubilation and sorrow go hand-in-hand!” Bobby Riley cuts him off, visibly tearful. “Comet, I hope you realise what a sad day this is. Tom Flesher... has retired.”

 

“Indeed Robert, you are correct,” the superhero says, for once sensitively not jibing his commentary partner about his attachment to the wrestling legend. “Tom Flesher, possibly the greatest match technician ever seen in the SWF, has retired after that mind-blowing 6-man tag match that saw the team of ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens, Landon ‘La Cucuracha’ Maddix and Edwin MacPhisto - yes, I said EDWIN MACPHISTO! - defeat Flesher and his compatriots Chris Raynor and the Suicide King!”

 

“It’s a sad, sad loss,” Riley sniffs, for once speaking the truth. “To think that after all this time, after all he and I have been through... still,” he continues, brightening up a little, “I suppose there is the fact that we have a NEW WORLD CHAMPION to console me a bit!”

 

“Sadly true as well,” Comet sighs. “For those cheapskate Citizens who did not shell out for the Pay-Per-View I must regretfully inform you that Johnny Dangerous’ run at the top was short-lived, and it is my unpleasant duty to inform you for the second post-PPV Storm running that the new World Heavyweight Champion is-”

 

-but Comet is cut off as the entire Smarktron whites out and all the lights in the arena hit ‘full’. For a moment there is only the faint sound of a needle scratching gently over vinyl. Then:

 

‘WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!!’

 

The crashing guitars of ‘Battle Ready’ by Otep kick up immediately and the mood in the Arrowhead Bowl turns hostile in half a second. The words hang heavy on the white screen for a couple more seconds as the California fans start to boo, then the screen starts to flicker and Revolution Zero’s slogan is replaced by images of its members dealing out merry hell on a democratic basis to the rest of the fed.

 

*BOOOOOM!!*

 

As the drums pick up and the bass kicks in lightning seems to spear down from the arena roof, striking the sound stage and causing red and gold pyros to shoot up creating yet more smoke in the already hazy atmosphere.

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

And through the noise and the smoke...

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

...with smiles on their faces and gold around their waists...

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

...comes Revolution Zero.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, “making their way to the ring at this time, accompanied by Jet and Marcus Washington; the SWF Hardcore Gamer’s Champion AND one-half of the NEW SWF Tag Team Champions ‘The Perfect Storm’ Sean Davis, his tag team partner and NEW Tag Team Champion ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins and the NEW SWF WORLD... HEAVYWEIGHT... CHAMPION, the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’ Toxxic. Together, they are... RRRRREEEVVVVOLUUUUUUUTIIIIOOOOONNNN... ZEEEEERRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The volume in the Arrowhead Pond is overwhelming, the hostility so thick you could cut it. Jet and Marcus Washington speed ahead of the three competitors like scouts ahead of a conquering army - and tonight, that is a good a comparison as any for Revolution Zero - but Sean, Spike and Toxxic are unhurried. They put all the effort in on Sunday; tonight they can afford to relax a little. Spike is grinning like a loon and acknowledging all the pretty ladies in the crowd, whether or not they smile back. The faint hint of a smile even touches Sean Davis’ usually stern countenance as the big man climbs into the ring, the ropes held open for him by a beaming Marcus Washington. Toxxic just looks around at the hate-filled faces on all sides and a malicious, knowing lopsided grin creases his face as he rolls into the squared circle.

 

“Here they are,” Riley says with some excitement as Spike finally catches up with the others, “the new force in the SWF has really arrived now, Comet! Just look at all that gold!”

 

Sure enough, Spike Sean and Toxxic stand back-to-back in a rough triangle shape in the middle of the ring, each holding a belt (or one in each hand, in Sean’s case). The chanting and heckling continues for a couple of seconds as they stand motionless - then, as one, they each raise their hands to the skies and proudly display the fruits of their labours as the camera flashes go off on all sides!

 

SWF Hardcore Gamer’s Championship

 

SWF Tag Team Championships

 

SWF World Heavyweight Championship.

 

“Oh, Zeus have mercy,” Comet groans as Revolution Zero continue to pose in the ring, “will someone please do something about this?”

 

Someone does, although not the someone the masked superhero would have wanted. Toxxic finally lowers his belt and approaches Funyon to request a microphone, which the veteran ring announcer gives up to him.

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“Y’know, if I suck then what does that make Johnny Dangerous?” the straight-edger asks, looking around at the California fans.

 

“JOHN-NY!”

 

“JOHN-NY!”

 

“Sure, chant all you want,” Toxxic continues, slinging the belt over his shoulder, “it won’t change anything. Let’s just get this straight though - even though you people don’t like us, you should at least respect Sean and Spike for pulling two wins out of three matches at Genesis. Sean not only defended that Hardcore Gamer’s Championship, but together they ended the run of the longest-reigning tag champs ever to dethrone Hollywood Boulevard!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“YOU ALL SUCK!”

 

“YOU ALL SUCK!”

 

The chants wash over Sean and Spike, but the pair couldn’t seem to care less. They have their titles, and they know that whatever the fans in Anaheim think they did what no-one has ever done before at Genesis.

 

“Now,” Toxxic carries on, “I’ve heard some people suggesting that I may have gifted Johnny his brief title run simply so I could destroy him on the rematch, thereby ruining his confidence and any hope he may have had of cementing himself at main event status. Some people think I put the Open Challenge out there in the knowledge that our resident James Bond impersonator would jump at the chance. These people think that I didn’t want to give Johnny a run at the World Title at his own pace, but sucker him in and then knock him back down.

 

“To these people I say... get a damn grip, morons.”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“Johnny, I wasn’t playing games with you,” the Straight-Edge Sensation says, turning his attention to the back. “You did beat me fair and square the first time, even if you didn’t have to do anything to get the match but walk down that aisle and waste some oxygen. But the key to surviving at the top is consistency, and that’s something Genesis proved you just don’t have.”

 

“What a character assassination!” Comet splutters. “Johnny Dangerous is one of the most reliable competitors this federation has, and for Toxxic to suggest that one loss cancels his record out is sheer sacrilege!”

 

“If you ever want another run at this belt Johnny - well, I’ll be waiting,” Toxxic tells the absent Secret Agent. “I don’t think you’re first in line anymore though. I know that one wrestler in particular won herself a title shot at any belt she chooses, and to Andrea Montgomery I say - choose the World Title if you dare.”

 

“DR-EA!” *clap-clap-clap*

 

“DR-EA!” *clap-clap-clap*

 

“Hah! As if she would!” Riley snorts.

 

“I suppose Landon Maddix is going to fancy himself with this belt now he’s finished fiddling around with the old folks,” the straight-edger continues. “Mind you, I’ve got a little score to settle with him myself stemming from that time he decided that Mark Stevens wouldn’t benefit from a little head percussion with a steel chair - don’t be shy now Landon, because if you come near this belt then I’ll make you wish you were back home eating your mother’s lemon pie.”

 

“LAN-DON!” *clap-clap-clap*

 

“LAN-DON!” *clap-clap-clap*

 

“It’s a time of opportunity,” Toxxic says, grinning lopsidedly into the camera. “We’re undergoing a period of change. All the old guns are dropping away. We’ve lost Flesher, we’ve lost John Duran, we’ve lost Janus, Danny Williams, Charlie Matthews is gone for good apparently...” the Straight-Edge Sensation stops for a second and his smile widens, “...hell, even My Personal Bitch known as Dace Night seems to have disappeared!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“HOR-ROR-CORE!”

 

“HOR-ROR-CORE!”

 

“Think about it everyone,” the now straight-faced straight-edger tells the roster, the fans and the world in general. “The old strata has gone. This is a chance like never before to forge yourself a new destiny. People are going to look back on this era in the SWF and see that this was when the Revolution got into full swing,” he gestures to Sean and Spike, “but each and every one of you has a chance to make a name for yourself whether you are with us or against us.

 

“Just remember one thing,” the World Champion concludes, patting his belt. “The closer to you get to the top, the closer you get to this, that’s the closer you get to me. I’ll be waiting for you, and if you don’t think I’ll be ready...”

 

The lopsided grin reappears as Toxxic stares into the camera, dark-rimmed steel-grey eyes seeming to bore into the lens.

 

“... Prepare To Be Proved Wrong!”

 

 

FADE OUT

[Thoth 0]

"I don't take pleasure in ending people's careers..."

 

 

 

"I'm not some demented freak..."

 

"RAGE UNLEASHED! MY GOD, THE RAGE UNLEASHED!"

 

"Disgruntled veteran..."

 

"NOOOO...DEMONSTAR DRIVEEEERRR!!!"

 

"Or obsessive champion..."

 

"Not the...the... DAAAANGERLUST!!!"

 

"No...I'm Landon Maddix."

 

The face of the current SWF Intercontinental Television Champion (Yeah, I do still have it, remember. I mean...I didn't defend it at the biggest show of the year, but I am still champion. Mmm-hmm.) Landon Maddix appears in shot, and on the SmarkTron in the arena to cheers from the crowd.

 

"I'm not any of those things and never professed to be. Well, except maybe obsessive champion. But, those days are over. I'm just...regular, plain ol' me. Landon Maddix. A little kid from the country, born and raised in a little place in South Dakota. Yet...it appears I've assembled myself a little 'rep' around this parts, amongst the roster, in the locker-room, amongst the staff and with the fans. The past never really goes away it seems. And, I think it's about time some thing got cleared up."

 

Pause and a smile.

 

"This reputation didn't just come from nowhere. I've done some rough things in my time with the JL and here in the SWF, I know that. Hey, believe it or not, when I first arrived in the JL people loved me. And not the 'you people love me, you just don't know it yet' crap I've been spewing in the past. I was what those in the know have deemed a fan favorite. I came into the company with a bang, beat Todd Royal and did some goofy stuff with baguettes and pies that I'd rather not go into right about now. All that though was before I started losing. I was young. I was naive. And I'll be damned if I didn't think losing a wrestling match was the end of the world as I knew it. I guess that's what winning your first 8 professional matches in a row. An ego, I think they call it. So, here I was, stuck in a rut. And along comes Todd Royal. I needed some sort of a boost, he provided. Naive little me, I grabbed onto his coattails like a baby grabbing on it's mother's teet and I clinged on with all I had."

 

Stopping again, Maddix shakes his head with another wry chuckle as he re-takes in what he's talking about.

 

"He gave me a pick-up. Suddenly, things were looking a bit more positive and before long the JL European and World Titles were mine. I'm not exactly proud of trying to blind Alan Clark, or the things I did to other JL wrestlers. But, at the time, winning was all that mattered. Then came the SWF and then came The Unnamed. Oh, and once they'd all gone, I had Chris Card approaching me looking to become my manager. And yes, I was still naive and yes I took the money."

 

Maddix sighs.

 

"So here I am now. Do I regret some of the things I've done? Oh yeah. I haven't even scratched the depths here of some things I've pulled in the past. And yet, I go out into the arenas...and you people are cheering me?"

 

"YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!"

 

"It's ironic really. See...yeah, I regret some things I've done. Who doesn't? I'm still a young kid though. And believe me...although a lot of my mis-conceptions are being altered, I haven't changed. I don't loath the fans anymore. But rest assured...I'm not going to be walking to the ring doing the conga, kissing babies and putting items of my clothing on children. I'm still...the same Landon Maddix. The same little ol' kid from the country. The same kid who has developed somewhat of a dependancy on other people when I'm out in the ring or backstage. I'm still the same kid who finds winning of the upmost importance. I'm still going to jab someone in the eye if I don't like the look on their face. Don't get me wrong, you people cheering me isn't going to make me go soft. I haven't changed. I'm still...Landon Maddix."

 

With a smile, Landon stands up and begins to walk across his dressing room, the camera following him as he strolls over to a small leather sofa and slumps in to it, turning on the T.V as he does so.

 

"With that out of the way...back to my original point. I didn't drag those clips up for nothing. I have a point to make. Yes, I'm still the same Landon Maddix. But I have never gone out into a wrestling ring with the intention of ruining or killing someone's career. I've been on the recieving end, believe me. Aecas knows that. But I've never set out to seriously force someone into retirement. Which is why it's such a surprise...that I'm actual happy that I've ended someone's career. Tom Flesher's."

 

With little more than a flicker of emotion, Maddix reaches for the remote on the arm of the sofa...little more than a second before Megan Skye strolls over and steals it away. Maddix sighs, and then turns back to the camera.

 

"Tom Flesher. He's gone. It's crazy to think that little more than a month ago I idolised Flesher. We were tag team partners, just as when he returned we were tag team opponents. Either way, I always had great respect for him. Until...he sided with The Suicide King. With that one, swift move I lost a lot of respect for him. And now I can plainly say I'm glad to see the back of him. And I'm glad that I was the one to put him into retirement. Not...not, in a grudging way. Oh no. I hold no grudge with him. But, I am glad that I put him into retirement because now the skittles are slowly falling. One...by one."

 

Smiling, Maddix holds up all five fingers (well, four fingers and one thumb for all you scientists out there) on his right hand.

 

"Alan Clark...DOWN! He won our last match, sure. But where is he now? At home."

 

Down goes the thumb.

 

"Chris Card...DOWN! He got one over on me, but I got the last shot in. And now where is he? At home."

 

Index finger.

 

"Johnny Dangerous...DOWN! Oh, he's still around. But he's not the World Champion anymore."

 

Middle finger.

 

"Tom Flesher...DOWN! I pinned his ass, and where is he now? At home."

 

The...ring finger?

 

"The Suicide King...DOWN! He said I wasn't worthy of the main event position I wanted. Until, of course, I pinned his golden boy and in the process got a win over King himself. And where is King now? You guessed it...at home, trying to think up some new scheme."

 

Finally, down goes Maddix's little finger, leaving his fist balled up and pointing threateningly at the camera to emphasis his point.

 

"So...what does that leave? Oh, you've guessed it...

 

 

 

...Toxxic!"

 

Maddix spits out the name of the new SWF World Heavyweight Champion angrily, taking his fist back down to his side.

 

"Sure, I'm predictable. 'Quick, Genesis is over. Challenge the new World Champion'. Toxxic, this isn't just about you. This isn't just about me wanting that title belt. This is about me proving to King, to my doubters and to the world that I can be an SWF World Heavyweight Champion to be proud of. I'm not just coming out here because I want a shiny belt...I already have one of those, I'm the ICTV Champion. No, I'm just sending you a message Toxxic. It may not be this week, it may not be this month. Hell, knowing King, I may even have to wait until Clusterfuck to even get a shot at the number one contendership. But Toxxic...I am after you. Sooner or later, something's going to break for me. Sooner or later King won't be able to deny me any longer. And then Toxxic...

 

...'strike'."

 

With a chuckle, Maddix sighs and turns back to his T.V monitor nochalantly as the camera feed fades slowly out to black.

[Thoth 0]

"Hey, this is Nathaniel and you’ve reached my voicemail. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you whenever I have the chance. Thanks.”

 

*Beep.*

 

“NTD, where are you man?” The sound of Austin Sly’s voice floods out. He sounds anxious, but calm at the same time. “I know you’re on a vacation and you’ve got that whole honeymoon thing going for you, but I really need some advice. I’ve left you five messages in the fast few days, and I’m beginning to think that you’re ignoring me. Give me a call back as soon as you get this. Later.”

 

Austin slowly lowers his cell phone from his ear before flipping it closed and shoving it down into his pocket. He exhales heavily while running his right hand back through his poorly dyed hair. His body language shows despair.

 

Clap... clap... clap...

 

The sudden noise breaks the serene silence of the scene, shocking Austin, who had believed he was alone, and causes him to turn on his heels defensively. The alarmed look on his face quickly fades away, only to be replaced by an angry sneer showing that he’s obviously less than amused by his new-found audience. He goes to speak, but he’s too slow.

 

“Do you miss your man, Austin?” Danny Dagda’s Jersey antagonizing voice spews out. He forges a look of sadness and traces a tear falling from his eye. “What could possibly be so important that you’d need to interrupt a man on his very own honeymoon? You know NTD never liked pants before, and on a honeymoon…” Dagda begins but Sly cuts him off. Danny stops and cocks his head to the side with full attention while fishing out a cigarette.

 

“My business is just that, my business. I don’t see why it’s any of your worry what I do with my own time, Dagda. You don’t have any ties to me or NTD,” Sly bites back.

 

“But I’m just such a loving and caring guy, Sly,” Danny pauses and brings a cigarette to his lips. “Ha, I’ve made a rhyme. See I’m the ‘Good God’; I’m just perfect at everything. I can hop scotch to out box you.” Danny pauses and then reconsiders. “Or maybe I’m just getting some demented amusement from this… you know, like when you get entertained by car wrecks. That sort of thing,” He says as he lights the cigarette. With a shrug he inhales and blows it directly at Austin’s face not getting quite the reaction he’d hope for.

 

“You want some entertainment?” Austin smirks to himself before continuing, “how about this, Dagda. I find it very entertaining that you’re almost an exact carbon copy of me when I first entered the SWF so many months ago. Cocky, egotistical, rude. All qualities that we would share if I hadn’t changed. How’s that sit with you?”

 

Danny pauses and stares for a second. Then with a big grin he takes out the cigarette and bitterly rebuttals, “Please, stop, I’ll blush. I much rather take briberies than flatteries. For the record,” Danny says as if he’s getting bored, flicking his Zippo lighter.

 

“I’m not trying to flatter you, Dagda. I would like you to consider this as more of a warning than anything. Keep acting like you’re the center of the world and someone will come along and smack that stupid little vision of yourself right out of your head,” Austin calmly states.

 

Daniel Dagda stares right into Sly’s eyes before pausing. He lets the cigarette drop from his mouth and he puts it out. “Now enlighten me, Sly, who might that someone be? You...? Because I’d have to say you have more of an ego than Francis and Flesher’s lovechild if you think you can even touch me. I’m a prodigy, you’re a deadbeat, I’m the uprising star, and you are the falling star.” He makes a fist and reenacts his right fist rising and left fist plummeting. He steps closer to Sly for intimidation but it’s not successful. “Now are you going to shatter my ‘little vision’ out of my head or are you going to just sit there and bark?” He asks while his temper begins to waiver.

 

“I never said I was going to, but I know I sure as hell can be the one,” Sly says as he boldly steps forwards and shoulder bumps into Dagda before walking away.

 

“Better run and hide, Austy, because you’re going to get a colossal crash course in reality of superiority!” Danny pauses and chuckles. “I made more rhymes, damn I am good! Now where’s Levy hitting his bong because I could learn how to make couplets…” He takes the cheap shot as he walks away.

 

-Fade-

[Thoth 0]

As SWF Storm returns from another promotional spot for Judge William Hearford’s day-time small claims court show, the Arrowhead Pond is plunged into complete darkness. An explosion of green pyro gives a reprieve from the gloom, and from behind the curtain steps Andrea Montgomery.

 

“What on earth is she doing out here? She’s not scheduled to have a match!” Riley exclaims.

 

“You dolt, Andrea Montgomery is most likely planning on informing us as to what Smartmarks Wrestling Federation championship belt or belts she wishes to make a challenge for,” Comet explains.

 

“So? That doesn’t mean she should be out here, wasting my time. Can’t she just send Zenon an e-mail?” Riley questions.

 

“You mean the same way that cabana boy broke up with you?” Comet replies.

 

“No, that was an e-card,” Riley says. “Showed no emotion...” is all Riley manages to say before breaking down in tears.

 

Andrea waves to the crowd, but remains on the stage, apparently waiting for something. That something of course being her music and an introduction. “Just a Girl” by No Doubt hits so Andrea figures one out of two isn’t bad and heads down the ramp, greeting fans on the way.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, ANDREA MONTGOMERY!” Funyon shouts, a bit flustered at having been caught napping.

 

Andrea leaps onto the apron, grabs the top rope, and vaults into the ring. Drea turns around and makes a throat-slashing gesture, indicating to the people in the sound booth to cut her music, which they do. Andrea calls for a microphone, receives one from Funyon, and brings it to her lips.

 

“Hello Anaheim!”

 

Andrea pauses to allow the crowd to cheer their city before continuing.

 

“I’ve never been the person to make long-winded speeches, and I’m not going to start tonight. My message is going to be as short as possible, because if you fine fans are anything like me, you’d much rather see wrestling than a monologue.”

 

Andrea stops once more despite the crowd reaction not being overly loud.

 

“I just want to briefly mention a man that I have a great deal of respect for. ‘The Barracuda’ Johnny Dangerous.”

 

Now Andrea is forced to be quiet as the fans roar in approval of the former world champion.

 

“Yes, I respect him on many levels. That respect I have for him makes what I’m about to say very difficult. As you all know, Johnny lost the world title to Toxxic.”

 

TOXX-IC SUCKS!

TOXX-IC SUCKS!

TOXX-IC SUCKS!

 

Andrea holds up a hand in an effort to quiet the crowd and continue on with her statement.

 

“And as you know, I won a match at Genesis Five wherein I can challenge any champion for his belt, or champions for their belts.”

 

Andrea stops once more as the fans cheer.

 

“Now you might know why I said my respect for Johnny would make this so difficult for me to say. I believe that Johnny Dangerous deserves a rematch with Toxxic. After all, Toxxic got a rematch after Johnny beat him. But, I ask Johnny to wait to cash in that rematch, because I’m going to use my reward from Genesis Five to challenge Toxxic for the world title!”

 

Andrea knows better to try and keep speaking with the crowd cheering, so she simply tosses the microphone back to Funyon, exits the ring, and heads back up the ramp.

 

“What an announcement! Andrea Montgomery will challenge Toxxic for the world heavyweight championship!” Comet exclaims. “She could very well be the first female champion of the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation, a feat she nearly accomplished three years ago!”

 

“Bah! She’s got no chance against the Straight-Edge Sensation. He’ll tear her to bits,” Riley states.

 

“I don’t know. Toxxic used his speed to take the title away from Johnny Dangerous, and Andrea Montgomery is much quicker than Toxxic,” Comet points out.

 

“No problem. Toxxic will just drop Andrea on her head a few dozen times and then we’ll see how much quickness accounts for,” Riley says.

 

The crowd is still buzzing over Andrea’s announcement as SWF Storm once again fades to a commercial for Mitosa. Provides a long-lasting eleven day erection. Warning: May cause bleeding, detachment of penis, enlarged heart, projectile defecation, loss of motor function, swollen eyes, testicular rot, death, or upset stomach.

[Thoth 0]

As we come back from commercial break we immediately return to the announce desk and the smiling if somber pair of Cyclone Comet and Bobby Riley.

 

"Citizens," Comet begins, "If you saw Genesis you know that an era came to an end here in the SWF that night. None other than 'The Superior One' Tom Flesher made a simple and powerful statement at the end of his six man tag by leaving his trademark Doc Martens in the ring."

 

Riley looks up, any trace of a smirk absent from his face. "Love him or hate him, there is no denying that Tom Flesher has been the most dominant force in the federation for two years now. Well, even though some of us knew that he wanted to go out with a quiet dignity and let his legacy stand for itself we couldn't let that slide by. He has meant too much to this fed for too long."

 

"Agreed, Robert. The locker room would have revolted if they didn't get the chance to tell the world what Tom meant to them and to wrestling in general. And as such the boys in the back and our stellar production team have been burning the midnight oil to try and make a tribute to Tom Flesher. We thinkn they just may have succeeded."

 

"Ladies and gentlemen... Tom Flesher, in the words of his colleagues."

 

We fade to black. The SWF logo appears and then fades again just as fast. Nothing appears on the black screen for a few seconds... but as the screen brightens the epic strains of Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" can be hear building in strength. The raucous cheers of a capacity crowd can be heard junt under the music as the image itself becomes clear for the first time. It is the Superior One himself alone in the ring, one hand raising the SWF World Heavyweight Championship high into the air. The camera switches in quick succession to different images with different belts, but always the same wrestler... the SJL European Championship. The SJL World Championship. The SWF Light Heavyweight Championship. The SWF Cruiserweight Championship. The Tag Title. The US Title. The ICTV Title. And once more to frame the sequence, the World Championship a second time. As the camera fades once again, a familiar and appropriate voice begins the video retrospective.

 

“Tom… there’s so much to say about Tom." Sitting on a simple stool against a plain background, "Judge Mental" William Hearford sits with a small smile on his face. "I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with so much raw talent as him. I’ve been in this business for over 20 years and every time I saw him go into ring there was always something new that he was doing that I’d never thought of before. He really tried to live the idea of ‘The Superior One’; his matches were always the best, his pops and boos the loudest, his storylines the most compelling… everything he did, he made sure it was the best it could have been done. I don’t think there will be another like him in this business.” The grizzled veteran looks at the camera for a moment before the screen fills with images from the classic Magnificent Seven years, first the Chris Wilson version and then the Flesher-led Seven.

 

"Tom's impact on the SWF was just something. It was something that had never been seen before, to be honest, and you know, it sort of pissed a lot of people off." The voice changes, becoming the unmistakable timbre of former world champion TNT, Taylor Nicholas Thompson! We fade in on him sitting on a similar stool looking earnestly into the camera. "Not too far into his career in the big leagues he replaced Chris Wilson as the leader of the Magnificent Seven, and it was the usual... people wanted to complain, and to rant on about how someone as new as Tom didn't deserve this and shouldn't be bumped up to so-and-so level this early... but I think everyone was just a little bit bitter because, well, he had enough talent to prove that he deserved everything that he got." The screen fills with shots of all those M7ers who went on to dominate the federation for so long, and in each shot the image of Flesher can be seen in the background... Frost. Danny Williams. TNT. Judge. Ejiro Fasaki. Sometimes the men are on the same side. Sometimes they are on opposite sides of the ring. Frequently they are both. But as the focus switches from those he fought with to those he fought against, one man stands apart.

 

"There are no words to describe the kind of competitor Flesher was." The Mexican Sensation himself sits on the stool now, the one and only El Luchadore Magnifico! " Regardless of whether you loved him or hated him, you had no choice but to recognize his unmatched prowess in the ring. Tom Flesher took me to the limit every time I faced him, and I am proud to have called this man my rival." Images fill the screen of the epic contests between the two men. Flesher ekes out a win over the dominant Cruiserweight Champion! Magnifico spoils the King's Road for Flesher as he escapes with the World Championship!

 

Magnifico looks straight into the camera as if Flesher were behind it.

 

"Godspeed, Superior One."

 

From Magnifico's smiling face we turn to a very familiar smirk indeed. Rivals of the past become rivals of the present as the camera homes in on the man who is so straight edge he just might cut you. He is your current SWF World Champion. He is Toxxic.

 

"'The Superior One' Tom Flesher. Undoubtedly one of the most talented performers in our business today, or for that matter ever. A mat genius and excellent at working the crowd. A rightly-reknowned World Champion." Toxxic says all this seriously, with something that might be an inkling of a hint of admiration were this another man. "And one of my favourite people to have ever beaten cleanly in singles competition." Toxxic's grin widens at this one last chance to twist the knife... before nodding his head in a quick but genuine sign of respect.

 

We fade into Hollywood Boulevard, Todd Cortez holding a microphone.

 

"You know something, in this business, people can love you or hate you. Some people love Tom Flesher, and some people just loathe the man. However, no matter what side of the fence you're standing on, you have to respect what he's done. The titles, the controversy he's caused...when you're talking about a man who's done it all and then some, you're talking about Tom Flesher. When people come into the SWF, myself included, they look at the roster and Tom Flesher has always been the measuring stick. He's been the pinnacle of this company for a long time, and now it's time for someone else to step up and try to fill those shoes. We're not talking about an overnight sensation here...we're talking about a dominant individual, and one that the wrestling world is going to miss."

 

Cortez passes the mic to Mike Van Siclen, who begins to speak himself.

 

"Tom Flesher... Tom Flesher was a legend in my eyes, and I was lucky enough to step into the ring with him several times. I was the first person of many to lose a title to him, and he was the one who put me on the shelf for three months. In what appears to be our last match together, I got the win over him, and despite my record-breaking Tag championship reign, my SJL World championship win, I count the best moment in my career as the moment I heard the bell signaling that I beat Tom Flesher. So few people can say that they did that; that I can is a true achievement. Tom Flesher was one of the true greats in our federation, and Tom... it was a pleasure to share the ring with you."

 

The present returns to the past one last time as we look upon the sometimes monstrous, but now serene countenance of one of Tom's most fearsome opponents.

 

"Tom Flesher was the best wrestler I ever fought in this federation. I teamed with Fallout, I fought Erek Taylor, and I was even in a match with Edwin MacPhisto, but nobody ever challenged me like Tom Flesher did." The voice is unmistakable, even is the face weren't. The Boston Strangler, the man Flesher beat for his second World Title, has come to pay his respects. "I came back to the SWF to get the SWF Title away from him, and to get some belated revenge, but by the time I left the SWF, I had come to respect Tom Flesher. We fought each other so often, and so hard, that it was impossible not to be in awe of his skill. I may have lost the SWF Title to him, but if I had to lose the title, I'm glad I lost it to the best man I ever fought in the SWF. It won't be the same without you, Tom."

 

The litany of champions continues in rapid fire succession, and this time the Secret Agent is at the altar! “Tom Flesher?” repeats Johnny, half smirking at the thought of the Superior One. “Well … he certainly was one cocky son of a bitch. The fact that he could back it up though – that’s what got my respect. And when you were in the ring with Tom, either on his side or facing against him, you knew you had to be at your best.” Johnny pauses just briefly and looks up at the cameras. “The legend of the Superior One will be a hard one for anyone to top.” The camera pans over a few feet to his left, before settling in on Johnny's former partner-in-crime and erstwhile tag buddy, the Wildchild! The Bahama Bomber nods in agreement.

 

"ELM was de one who taught me dat a light-heavyweight could become a champion. Tom Flesher taught me dat a light-heavyweight could become a dominant champion. Flesher brought out de bes' in me an' everyone else he ever got in de ring wit'. He was like de dominant champions in other sports; everybody always brought dere 'A' game against him... an' he usually beat dem, anyway. Jus' bein' in de ring wit' him made people's careers, an' he helped make mine... Like de' song said, he is 'da man!"

 

At Wildchild's prompting the background music of "Kashmir" switches to the frenetic beats of the Philosopher Kings' "I'm the Man." We see shots of Flesher's biggest wins interspersed with his greatest moments, moments that have shaped and defined the past two years for all SWF fans. Once the seizure-inducing sequence ends, the camera finds a man sitting in the stool who is certainly unaccustomed to singing anyone else's praises...

 

"Tom Flesher, in my eyes, is simply the finest competitor to ever lace up a pair of boots. Period." Sitting in a sedate suit, the Suicide King looks genuinely into the camera. "This business needs bad guys the way fish need water. Without us, there is no conflict, no story, no reason to watch except for the most diehard of fans. Tom was the best bad guy we have ever had, present company included. And to top it all off, everytime he went out there the diehard fans couldn't help but love him as he wrestled circles around everyone." King looks into the camera. "The man was scary good. It was my one wish before he or I had to depart the SWF for different pastures that I got to be in the same ring with him. With or against, it didn't matter to me. Well, I got my wish and it is one of the highest honors of my career that I was able to participate in Tom's last match."

 

King pauses for a moment before reaching up to clear his eyes. "The thought of an SWF without Tom Flesher frightens me a little, to be honest. I can only hope that all these people who were as inspired by him as I was have even half the ability, the desire, and the utter fearlessness to go out there and do some of what he did." King looks up at the camera, grinning. "But if you ever feel that huinger again Tom, you have my number. There are any number of jobs here that your keen wrestling mind would excel at."

 

"We'll miss you."

 

The camera switches again to the one man who just might understand. Someone else wrestled his last match at Genesis, albeit for different reasons. John Duran sits before us now.

 

"Tom Flesher is one of the greatest to step into an SWF ring. His athleticism combined with his knowledge of all kinds of wrestling, whether professional or amateur, made him a force to be reckoned with. I must say that if there was one person I admired the most in this locker room full of losers, it'd be Tom Flesher." Duran grimaces at the thought of the men that he and Tom had to share space with. "If I could step in that ring again, I'd most certainly want it to be with Tom Flesher in my corner as a tag partner. He's set the standard for future SWF superstars who want to reach the pinnacle of this business, but I'm proud to say that there can never be another one quite like the Superior One."

 

Injuries or life changes have forced many wrestlers to the sidelines here in the SWF. And of those who have come and gone before, no one knows that better than...

 

"Big Tom...What can I say yo...Dat's my n**ga!" The Hville Thugg sits there in his own massive way, a gigantic grin lighting up his face. "We came up in difference eras of this fed, but I remember when he was comin' up, I was like...damn, he's gonna be big s**t. And, you can just look at his career and see what he did, and you can't help but be impressed. After I retired, I was always backstage and shit...doin' the road agent thing...and this man was always there workin' on shit, gettin' better...gettin' his game up. In the ring, you couldn't touch him...wit da mic, he was one of the best of his era. And no one ever minded gettin' their ass handed to them by him. Plain and simple yo, Tom Flesher is a bad mutha f***a!" HVT throws some sort of complicated urban handsign that probably means something. "You'll be missed my n**ga!"

 

The video switches one last time, to a man who understands tributes perhaps more than anyone.

 

"Over the last few days, I've put a lot of thought into what I'm going to say here tonight. I've scribbled literally pages of notes in between cities. Hell, I've recorded this twice already. I finally decided to keep it simple." "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens sits on the stool now, a very serious expression on his face. Maybe it's guilt at being partially responsible for Flesher's retirement. But that is neither here nor there!

 

"There are three big parts to being a great wrestler. You have to be good in the ring and know how to put a match together. You have to be good on the mic and make the fans care about you or hate you. And you have to be a good guy backstage so the other boys will work with you and make your time at shows something more than just a day at the office. Tom has all three in spades. He's a true student of the sport and every single movement in the ring means something when Tom is involved." Stevens marks off the mental checklist of what makes a good wrestler before looking up at the camera with a smile.

 

"I'm going to miss his attempts to convert me to puro. I'll miss my VIP access to his incredible backlog of wrestling tapes and DVDs while on the road. And I'll miss coming to the arena every day and not seeing Tom in the ring working on his match."

 

Mark is silent for a moment.

 

"I'm sure someone else will say it, but I'm going to anyways. From here on out, they will always talk about the 'Tom Flesher Era'. He really is the 'Superior One'. Congratulations kid, and enjoy your retirement."

 

The image fades to black again, before filling with images of packed houses and roaring fans! Various announcers provide the soundtrack for this section as the screen fills with accomplishments and praises...

 

"-in awe of his skill-"

 

"-dominant champion-"

 

"Tom Flesher has become your SJL European Champion!"

 

"-'Tom Flesher' Era-"

 

"-raw talent-"

 

"-legend."

 

"Flesher has done it! He is a TWO-TIME SJL World Champion!"

 

"-utter fearlessness-"

 

"-leader-"

 

"Flesher has beaten Magnifico for the Light Heavyweight Championship!'

 

"Flesher wins! He is the only man to have ever held the Light Heavyweight and Cruiserweight Championships!"

 

"-bridge between generation-"

 

"-the pinnacle of this business."

 

"'da man!"

 

"Tom and Frost are your new Tag Team Champions!"

 

"-everything he did was the best."

 

"-scary good."

 

"He ties the record for most US Title reigns! Three, count 'em, three!"

 

"-Superior."

 

"Superior."

 

"SUPERIOR."

 

"'The Superior One' has beaten Perfect Bo and claimed the ICTV Championship for himself!"

 

"-true student of the sport-"

 

"-best bad guy ever."

 

"Flesher wins! FLESHER WINS! Flesher has climbed the mountain and is now the SWF World Champion!"

 

"-mat genius-"

 

"finest competitor ever."

 

"-the best."

 

"-most talented-"

 

"-best wrestler I ever fought-"

 

"Strangler is down, and Tom Flesher has become a SWF World Champion for the SECOND TIME!"

 

"-my friend."

 

"-my rival."

 

"-my enemy."

 

"-my idol."

 

"superior."

 

"Superior."

 

"SUPERIOR."

 

The word echoes through the air. The camera focuses in on the scene that will forever define the end of this era. A pair of Doc Martens stand alone in the ring as a crowd pours out its respect for a man who gave them everything he had.

 

"FLESH-ER!!! FLESH-ER!!! FLESH-ER!!! FLESH-ER!!!"

 

Godspeed Tom. It's been an honor.

Edited September 25, 2004 by Suicide King

[Thoth 0]

On one side of the dressing room sits the SWF World Heavyweight Title. On the other sits its current holder, the Straight-Edge Sensation. Toxxic sits slumped forward, elbows on knees, looking at the piece of gold he took from Johnny Dangerous at Genesis, and reflects.

 

Johnny gave it his all on Sunday, Toxxic knows. It was a struggle and a half to wrest the title from the Barracuda’s clutches but he did it in the end... just as he promised. And when he won the belt for the second time, as he knelt exhausted in the middle of the ring, the Straight-Edge Sensation had broken down. For once, the walls he so carefully builds to keep the outside world away when he’s under the lights failed him. Not for long, certainly - but it happened.

 

So what if the same thing happens in a match? If I suddenly freeze... or just lose it completely?

 

Briefly, the recollection of a few weeks ago comes back. The weight of Justin Bowers on his shoulders just before he pulled the rookie forwards and down into the Dangerlust, and the odd angle of Bowers’ neck when he looked down at his body in the ring.

 

I was angry then. Johnny had just pulled that upset out of his arse, and Bowers got in my way. Besides, Hearford should never have let him near me.

 

But Toxxic knows that isn’t right. William Heardford III had done everything he could to talk Justin Bowers out of the match the Human Lightning Bolt had so rashly asked for, to the point of pleading with both Justin and Toxxic. The straight-edger had been in control for the majority of the match and could probably have stopped Justin’s brief run of offence without resorting to the measures he did. The question is, was his reaction instinct or spite? And Toxxic knows he doesn’t have the answer.

 

But Bowers was gunning to take me out. He said so himself, in revenge for what we did to Hearford. Whether or not he could have done it, the intent was there.

 

Another memory surfaces; the vague recollection of leaning exhausted against the turnbuckles at 13th Hour, watching as Nathaniel Kibagami fails to answer the ten-count in their Last Man Standing match. Kibagami was certainly trying to take Toxxic out, and he definitely had the means to do it, but then again Toxxic himself had gone into that same match with the sole intention of ending the River Dragon’s career.

 

I promised I’d do that, too. I promised Nathaniel I’d end his career and remove him from my life. And God help me, I always keep my promises.

 

Toxxic’s eyes are unfocused now, staring off into the distance. His conscience is clear on Kibagami’s count - from the moment they both stepped into the ring, only one man was walking out. They both knew that, Alex Zenon had signed the match knowing that, and it was a particularly inattentive fan who wouldn’t have known that. But now, only five days after seeing the totally unexpected return of Edwin MacPhisto - albeit for one night only - and hearing the speech the MacDaddy made, Toxxic has had to consider something that he never thought of before. Did Kibagami know that it was him who was going to take the fall, that in the end he simply would not be able to beat Toxxic again, no matter how hard he tried? Was the knowledge of what was going to happen some twisted way of atoning for Genesis IV, a final act for the Silent One’s career to mimic that of MacPhisto? Toxxic will probably never know. He didn’t have the history and the backstory with Kibagami that MacPhisto did with Raynor, or that Nathaniel did with Edwin. Their match wasn’t the culmination of a grudge held for years, or another chapter in a former friendship gone sour. It was simply him removing another obstacle from his path in the most effective way possible.

 

Nathan was always looking back. That’s what stopped him, in the end - he didn’t bow out when the time was right because he was still fixated on the past. Then before he knew it, the future stepped up and took him out. I took him out.

 

I can’t afford to make the same mistakes. I have the title, I’ve got Sean and Spike depending on me and I’ve got enemies - oh so many enemies - in the here and now. I will always move forward and face what’s coming.

 

Toxxic stands up, picks up his title and stows the twenty pounds of gold safely in his trusty black holdall before stepping out of the locker room door. The rest of Revolution Zero will be waiting in the car park.

 

But as he walks down the quiet, empty corridors, Toxxic cannot get one image out of his head. The sight of Justin Bowers being slowly, carefully loaded onto a stretcher as William Hearford III stands and watches with a look of powerless horror on his face.

[Thoth 0]

For one final time the camera returns to the Arrowhead Pond. It does not spin or observe the crowd.

 

Comet: Welcome back Citizens! We only have a few minutes left, but I hear they are going to be a doozy…

 

Riley: If this is who I think it is, I’m just going to puke…

 

It focuses on the entrance stage just as the lights go dark…

 

::Crack!!::

 

The crowd begins to cheer and clap, knowing that the Heavy Hitter has finally arrived! As the bass and drums thump the lights around the stage flash in multiple colors.

 

That's the way it begins -

you try to behave,

yeah, you try to fit in.

Uh-Huh

 

But when you rise and stand

you find a lock-step march -

no room for jazz.

 

Then finally, the loud guitar riff hits and the lead singer of the Gone Jackals sings out “Born Bad!” Red and white pyro explode from either side of the curtain area and a bright white light bathes the audience in it’s glare. When their vision clears and the sparks have died away, they are rewarded with their hero, “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens standing front and center!

 

I've been down.

Yeah, I've spent some time downtown.

I've covered sacred ground,

soft and slow and round.

I gave up.

Yeah, I learned to give it up,

thinkin' that's the final cut.

But it turns out I was wrong

 

He starts down the ramp as Funyon raises the ring mic to his lips…

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome the Heavy Hitter… ‘GRAND SLAM’ MARK STEVENS!!!”

 

Grand Slam works his way down the ramp, slapping hands with his fans all the way. Once to the ring, he rolls under the bottom rope, heads to the nearest corner and climbs to the second rope. He pumps his fist several times in the air as the crowd takes pictures, filling the ring with a strobe effect. Stevens reaches up and pulls his Anaheim Angles cap off his head and tosses it out to the crowd, giving someone a unique souvenir.

 

I grew hard.

Over time my scars toughed up.

When gettin' even just wasn't enough,

I had to choke my conscience off.

I've come far.

Yeah, I had to travel far.

Peel through layers sick and raw

just to taste and touch once more.

 

Mark climbs down from the ropes and accepts the mic from Funyon. The crowd is still cheering him loudly, keeping him from using the mic. Finally, a smile on his face, Grand Slam walks calmly to the opposite corner and climbs to the second rope. Again, the crowd lights up the ring with flashes. Grand Slam fires them up a little then drops back to the mat.

 

“Born Bad” fades out and still the crowd cheers, now rising to their feet. In the ring, Grand Slam is visibly moved; looking around the arena like it is his first time in a ring. He reaches up and wipes a tear out of the corner of his eye. He nods his head slowly, then raises the mic.

 

“Thank you all. You have no idea how good that feels.” Another cheer rocks the house and Grand Slam must wait for it to quiet. “Ok… ok… As much as I would love to stand here and listen to your cheers all night, there is some business I have to discuss.”

 

Once more there are cheers from the fans, but they taper off to a respectful silence quickly.

 

“Last Sunday at genesis, I was part of a match that will go down in SWF history. It was a gathering of legends both past and present. And I was fortunate enough to be on the winning side of that match thanks to my partners Edwin MacPhisto…” Massive cheers for the Clown Prince of Flash and Panache rock the house which Grand Slam happily claps along with. “And Landon Maddix!” Again the crowd goes ballistic, cheering for the man who made the deciding pinfall over Tom Flesher.

 

“Now as you all know, I was forced back into action a couple of months ago by the part owner of this Federation, my former friend, the Suicide King.” Boos, many of them, fill the air now. “I’ve been beaten within an inch of my life more times than I care to count since then, but it is almost over. Almost.”

 

With that, a familiar haunting laugh echoes through the arena…

 

ALL ABOARD AH HAH HAH HAH…

 

Once more tonight, “Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne blasts through the speakers causing the fans in attendance to start up another round of boos. Looking pleased with himself, the original Gambling Man, the Suicide King, steps out of the curtain and motions to the tech guys.

 

“Cut the music… cut it! Mark Mark Mark… what am I going to do with you? You’ve been hanging onto this fallacy that you are almost out of my reach. You should have learned by now that I don’t limit myself to humiliating you in the ring. I plan to humiliate you utterly. I want these fans to think of you as a joke, as a worthless lump of flesh who couldn’t wina match by himself to save his life. As someone I personally destroyed. I’m not done yet.”

 

“Doesn’t matter King. I’ve got one match left on my contract and…”

 

“You think a little thing like a contract will stop me? Buddy boy, I can make sure that your pension is gone, that your medical insurance is cut off. I can make sure that every damn dime you have saved from every damn job you or that wife of your ever had is gone. You know it, I know it. And there is only one way to prevent it.”

 

“And that would be?”

 

“Why… You sign a new contract! I’m going to send you to every promotion we do business with, and you’ll guys nobody has ever heard of, guys that are hungry for the opportunity to make a name for themselves by destroying a former legend like you. Then, once in a while, I’ll bring you back up here, to the big show, and put you against a monster and you will lose. Pretty soon, every kid in the country will be laughing at you, calling you ‘Grand Scam’. The Internet will be all over you, calling you a fat-ass and a waste of airtime. And then, finally, I will have my victory.”

 

“That’s a nice plan King. You’ve put a lot of thought into this. But you forgot one thing. I taught you everything you know, I mentored you back in Texas and I got you this job. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be selling underwear part time while you dreamed of being a professional wrestler.”

 

“What’s your point Mark?”

 

“My point is that I know you as well as I know myself. I know how your ego has grown these last few years, and I know how that tiny little brain of yours works. And finally, this once, I got the drop on you.”

 

King looks a little disturbed, but covers it quickly with a chuckle. “You think so? Well then Mark, enlighten me. How did you finally get one over on the Suicide King.”

 

“Did you ever read the contract for the match at Genesis. I mean, really read it closely? Like the part that talked about the stipulations if I won?”

 

“There weren’t any stipulations…”

 

“Oh yes there were. Buried very deep in the section about payoffs and bonuses there was a simple statement that you missed because you assumed you would win. You assumed that those things would never happen. Well your team lost. Mine won. And I have some things to take care of concerning my remaining match.”

 

“What? No!”

 

“Look it up King, and I’d suggest using a lawyer next time. I’d suggest a very good one, but that might be a conflict of interests since I sleep with her.”

 

“Ha ha… fine fine… what do you get, a title shot?”

 

“No King, I get to name the match, the opponent and the stipulation. Anything I want.”

 

“This is…”

 

“You and me King. One more time.”

 

“I’m not ready, I don’t have my gear…”

 

“Not tonight… not on Lockdown, or on Smarkdown or on Storm. You and me, one-on-one next month… at Ashes 2 Ashes!”

 

The crowd is going nuts cheering Grand Slam on as King looks stomps around on the stage pissed beyond comprehension.

 

“Fine, you want me, you got me. There are a million ways I can get the advantage…”

 

“Not this time King. This time, there’s not going to be anyone to hide behind, no crooked refs, no excuses. Just you and me… at Ashes 2 Ashes… no rules.”

 

“No rules? Mark, you have lost your mind. No disqualification is my kind of match! As your friend Landon might say… Cheat to Win!” The crowd lets loose on King with hate for stealing Landon;s catchphrase.

 

In the ring, Grand Slam is leaning on the ropes closest to the stage. His voice has dropped to a near whisper and his eyes are burning with hate. “Winning? I never said anything about winning. All I want is a level playing field. I’ve been waiting years for this King. I’ve pictured this over and over. I don’t want just to win, I want revenge. I want payment for everything you’ve done to me and everyone I care about.”

 

“Mark…”

 

“No more words. You… me… one more time… one on one… at Ashes 2 Ashes…”

 

Everyone in the area is quiet, hanging on the last word. King is finally speechless. It seems no one is breathing, waiting to hear what Grand Slam is going to say…

 

…

 

 

“HELL IN THE CELL.”

 

The crowd goes insane as “Born Bad” kicks up once again. Grand Slam tosses the mic behind him and rolls out of the ring, never taking his eyes off King. For his part, the Suicide King decdes that this is a gamble he can’t win tonight and walks offstage and through the curtain. Grand Slam makes it to the stage and is cut off by security, all of them making sure the pain doesn’t start tonight.

 

Comet: It’s set! The final showdown between “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens and his arch-nemesis, the dastardly Suicide King will be at Ashes 2 Ashes, and it will be a Hell in the Cell!!”

 

Riley: All I have to say is King is going to destroy Grand Slam.

 

Comet: I wouldn’t be too sure about that! But now it is time to go, but join us on Wednesday for Lockdown, where I am sure the repercussions from this will still be echoing through the SWF! Goodnight!

 

The last camera shot is Grand Slam turning from the security and throwing a fist up in the air, firing the crowd up one more time.

 

FADE

[Thoth 0]

It's an unusually cool evening in Anaheim, the effects of September and California seeming to cancel each other out. The show is done, the fans are gone, and the wrestlers are preparing for another erstwhile trek cross-country; a series of house shows before Lockdown.

 

Alexander Zenon sits on the hood of a white Honda Civic, tiredly looking at the still setting sun. It's just after eight o'clock, and he shouldn't be out killing time. There are forms to be filed, calls to be made; more papers to be pushed. A menial and boring routine he's followed on end for months, and always handled as if it was the last time he needed to do it, even the first time he had to. Except, maybe this time...

 

"Zenon... Zenon!"

 

The unmistakeable voice of the Suicide King only seems to dampen the slight chill in the air. Alex sighs. He's been waiting for this.

 

"Zenon, goddamn it, I've been looking for you all day," King growls, "you weren't in your office when I came and you haven't responded to my calls. What--"

 

"My cell phone is off," Aelx replies, without even bothering to turn around.

 

King scowls. "Well, whatever! I've got you now, and that's all that matters. What the hell were you thinking at Genesis? I bet you thought you were real smart pulling a fast one me like that, huh?"

 

Zenon continues to look boredly at the sunset, acting as if King isn't even there, only serving to make him even angrier.

 

"You stupid son of a bitch... Alex, you better pull your head from your ass because from your point of view everything looks like shit! You must WANT Kibagami to become commissioner after you, huh? I didn't forget that threat, and you can take it to the bank, I swear! You goddamn son of a bitch! You better give me one good reason why I don't fire you on the spot! If you started groveling at my feet for you job right now, I think I'd still kick you to curb!"

 

Alex continues to look away from King. With a scream, he kicks a tire of the Civic. "Don't you ignore me if you know what's good for you, Zenon!!"

 

Sighing again, Alex finally turns to face the King, swinging his legs over the fender of the car. "So you're done, then? I was going to let you finish first."

 

"What the hell is that supposed to..." King snaps, before being silenced by Alex's hand. Zenon closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair before he begins to talk.

 

"King," he starts, "I never really wanted this job. I took it as a favour to Mark, even if we weren't really friends. I was apparently the last guy he knew well enough to trust with it. Edwin was missing, Raynor wasn't a good choice, Spark and Sarah were who-knows-where... you certainly weren't a option.

 

"I left here the first time because I made a lot of mistakes. I couldn't handle Edwin being gone. I couldn't handle the Carnival leadership. I couldn't handle myself in the ring. I... couldn't handle Kibagami. I couldn't handle anything. Yeah, I guess was a fool for trying to think I could be commissioner of the league, but..." Alex shifts, opening his eyes. King still appears to be simmering.

 

"What I did with Kibagami," Alex continues, "No apology could make up for. I didn't realize that until Mark came back. I panicked, I called slime like you to help me out, which is boggling, since objectively you might be worse than Kibagami. When Mark came back, and when I found out what he thought, I could've run away again, just bailed out from my responsibility for the third time, but I felt, for the first time, that I owed it to someone to stick around."

 

King snorts. "Nice little solliloquoy. What are you getting at, Alex, or did that loss to Kibagami really rattle you that much?"

 

Alex glares. "What I'm 'getting at', King, is this. When I came down as the special referee for that match at Genesis, and when I counted that pinfall against Tom, I think I atoned for more than few of my sins."

 

"Aww," chortles the Suicidal one. "So you're redeemed now? Guess what, buster, I'm still going to fire you."

 

Alex shakes his head, sliding off the car hood and moving towards the door. "What an exercise in futility. My letter of resignation was on your desk this morning, King. You've been wasting your time all day. And besides," says Zenon, as he unlocks the door to the Civic, "What would you know about redemption anyway?"

 

King gives Alex a somewhat startled look as he backs away from the car, but shakes it off. "Yeah, well... good! I guess I'll see you [/i]later[/i], Alex," he chides, dripping acidic sarcasm.

 

"No, King..." Zenon begins, stepping into the car. "I'll see you never" And before he can even respond, Alex slams the door shut. King backs away further, muttering curses under his breath, totally unable to revel in this half-victory and taking it out on an unfortunate nearby bottle as he heads back towards the arena.

 

The civic pulls out of its stall, and not quite with a white hat, but white car and all, Alexander Zenon drives off into the sunset...