SWF Lockdown, July 20, 2005!

[Ace309 0]

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “please rise for the National Anthem.”

 

Well have you been to cities but you've had enough

Have you been to Paris France?

And if you doubt that paris was made for love

Give Paris one more chance

The home of Piaf and Chevalier

Must have done something right to get passion this way

If you don't think Paris was made for love

Give Paris one more chance

 

Well now I'm calling it arrogant, calling it cruel

(Give Paris one more chance)

And also trop civaliser et mon dieu, c'est trop cool

(Give Paris one more chance)

But if you don't think Paris was made for love

Maybe you heart needs a telegram from up above

If you don't think Paris was made for love

Give Paris one more chance

 

Well now there's some things I don't like and some things I do

(Give Paris one more chance)

I can see why Paris can be ugly for you

(Give Paris one more chance)

The home of Piaf and Trennet too

Must have done somthign right

Must have something for you

If you don't think Paris was made for love

Give Paris one more chance

 

Now hear boys singing Beegees songs under the skies

(Give Paris one more chance)

And on the steps of Montmartre they harmonize

(Give Paris one more chance)

Because if you don't think Paris was made for love

Maybe your heart needs a telegram from up above

If you don't think Paris was made for love

Give Paris one more chance

 

Weel if you've been to cities and you've had enough

Have you been to Paris France?

And if you doubt that paris was made for love

Give Paris one more chance

The home of Piaf and Charles Aznavour

Must have done somethin right

And will so something more

If you don't think Paris was made for love

Give Paris one more chance

 

The crowd applauds as the stirring rendition of “Give Paris One More Chance” comes to an end, and the patriotic furor continues as the show’s opening fades in.

[Ace309 0]

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents...

SWF LOCKDOWN, WEDNESDAY, JULY 20TH, LIVE FROM THE PALAIS OMNISPORTS DE PARIS-BERCY IN PARIS, FRANCE

(8:00 PM EST, 5:00 PM PST; check local listings)

 

Tonight will mark the beginning of a new era in Lockdown. On the heels of the recent fiasco at the Cassa Rossa Sex Club, the SWF's network has slapped them with a warning about violence, nudity, and swearing. As a result, the SWF executives have made a compromise.

 

- Storm will remain booked by Joseph Peters, and will remain the hardcore show. To reflect this, the timeslot for Storm will now be 12 PM, allowing all the cursing and violence that you're all used to.

 

- Smarkdown will remain booked by Tom Flesher, and will remain the old-school wrestling show. It's timeslot will be 10 PM, allowing the mild cursing and high-impact moves that you're all used to.

 

The network let a lot of stuff go, but they did request one thing. And as a result, the SWF is proud to present the first of many...

 

FAMILY-FRIENDLY LOCKDOWN!

 

No cursing! More promos! Less wrestling! We might even bring in a new commissioner, just for the kids!

 

MAIN EVENT

Wildchild (SWF Tag Team Champion) v. El Luchadore Magnifico

-> Is Wildchild ready for the World Heavyweight division, as Melissa Fasaki assured him on Storm? His convincing win over Mak Francis certainly turned many heads. But here comes Wildchild's ultimate test, the chance to prove he can hang with the heavyweights, and the chance to prove that Melissa won't be the only Fasaki he'll put his hands on. Yes, now he faces former three-time World Heavyweight Champion El Luchadore Magnifico. But is Magnifico the proper test for the Tag Team Champion? After all, the Hall of Famer went so far as to call his comeback "fucking pathetic". Though this is Family-Friendly Lockdown, so we're not only going to change that dirty word to "funnily", but we're also going to pat Magnifico on the back and tell him that self-esteem is for everybody.

Rules: Standard.

 

BACKSTAGE INTERVIEW FEATURING JAY HAWKE!

-> Consider this the first of many changes in the way Lockdown is booked. Jay Hawke has been dominating as International Champion, and has won quite a few matches. In this segment, we're going to give him the unique opportunity to talk about whatever he wants -- and to name his opponent at Ground Zero! (Jay, if you need help thinking of someone, PM or IM either Tom or Raynor)

 

IF THIS WAS A DANCE CONTEST, WOULD THEY DO THE ROBOT?! MATCH

Toxxic v. Ghost Machine

-> I don't know about you, but I feel like throwing Toxxic a Cherry Coke Bash after his astounding victory over Scott Pretzler in their best-of-five series match on Storm. And Ghost Machine? Get him some oil or something to loosen those robotic joints. The latter has suffered some tough losses lately, most recently to a very determined Todd Cortez on Storm. Now Ghost Machine has a chance to step up and hang with a former three-time World Champion, smooth talker, and all around great guy. Or he could just smash him into the ground. Whatever works. And maybe Toxxic just wants a little workout. Will he take the Could-Be-Robot lightly? Not bloody likely.

Rules: Standard.

 

TAG TEAM MATCH

Manson and Zyon v. JJ Johnson and "The Critic" Scott Pretzler

-> Old Revolution Zero mates team up once again! Manson's last tag team partner unceremoniously ditched him, leaving him to find a new tag partner. Well, okay, so he didn't, but the new Lockdown booker decided that it'd be genius if he teamed Zyon and Manson and thus, THIS TEAM WAS BORN. Can they defeat the hated Johnson and Pretzler, or will Scott and Silent JJ shut them down?

Rules: Standard.

[Ace309 0]

*TAPTAPTAPTAP!*

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

"He did it!"

 

"He STOLE it."

 

 

*rewind effect*

 

 

And the torque on the back is significant as Maddix sits back...

 

 

*TAPTAPTAPTAP!*

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

"He did it!"

 

"He STO..."

 

 

*knockknockknock!*

 

"Yeah yeah, just a minute..."

 

Tossing his TV remote casually besides him, Landon Maddix stands up with a groan and opens his locker room door, with a little trepidation at who might be behind it. But there's no need to worry, as it's just Benjamin Hardy. Resident tool and backstage reporter.

 

"Is this a good time?"

 

"Benjy, it's a great time!" smiles Maddix, inviting Hardy with with an open handed gesture. "I was just reliving the greatest victory of my career. Take a seat, make yourself at home."

 

Hardy stammers a bit, before shrugging and lounging into Maddix's leather seat.

 

"Drink?"

 

"Uhm...no, I'm good."

 

"You sure?" asks Maddix again, waving a bottle in the air. "Finest French wine..."

 

"No, I'm...I'm good. I actually came here to try and get an interview with you."

 

"Isn't that a surprise." Maddix smiles again as he pours himself a glass of the red wine in his hand. Making a big deal of holding the wine up to the light to check it's colour, then checking it's aroma, Maddix hardly comes off as a wine connoisseur. But hey, when it Paris... "So, where do you wanna start? Let me guess...you want to know how I'm feeling tonight, after my triumphant victory over three time World Heavyweight Champion, El Luchadore Magnifico, right?"

 

Hardy begins to answer, but thinks better of it, deciding to let Maddix have his moment.

 

"Right."

 

"Well, I'm feeling mighty good Ben. See, Pete happened to bring it up during the match, that ELM was a big influence to me in my earlier days as a wrestler. Around the time I was getting started in the business, Mags was on top of the SWF. He was defying all the odds as World Heavyweight Champion. To look at him, it would have been hard to buy him as champion. Guys like him, unfortunately, never got the right breaks in the wrestling business back then. He wasn't the tallest. He wasn't the strongest. But he went out and held that belt for months and beat pretty much everyone there was to beat. Now, to me, that was big encouragement. I was about his sort of height, getting to be his sort of weight. He had the luchadore background just as I was beginning to get. So, to see him as World Heavyweight Champion made me think 'yeah, one day, that could be me'. I remember watching the SWF, week in and week out, thinking to myself that one day, one day, I wanted to be El Luchadore Magnifico."

 

Smiling, Maddix takes a sip of his wine. Apparantly, it's not quite his sort of drink as he squints slightly while swallowing, but tries to remain sophisticated regardless.

 

"I've grown up since then though. And I've realised one thing in this business. It's no good being 'the next' anyone. When I debuted, people were comparing me to ELM, just on height, weight and style alone. We had a lot in common, sure. And back then, it was great. To even be mentioned in the same breath as him was special. But as time grew on, I realised that being 'the next ELM' wasn't going to do anything good for me. I didn't want to be 'the next ELM' anymore. I wanted to be me. Landon Maddix. And now...now, I've done that. If there was any lingering doubt, I've brushed it aside. My boyhood dream has come true Ben. And then some. I haven't just 'become' El Luchadore Magnifico. I've SURPASSED El Luchadore Magnifico!"

 

"Surpassed?"

 

"Yeah, surpassed. See, on Storm, what you saw was a changing of the guard. I don't know what's happened to Magnifico, but he's a shell of his former self now. I went out there expecting the fight of my life. To be honest, he disappointed me. Any little inner childhood memories I had going in, thinking about wrestling a semi-idol of mine, were wiped away by how easily the guy gave up. ELM's time has come and gone. He's on the way out. What you saw on Storm was the passing of the torch. From El Luchadore Magnifico, to La Cucaracha!"

 

"You still have some way to go to surpass ELM though, Landon." argues Hardy. "I mean, he is still a former three-time World Heavyweight Champion."

 

Much to Ben's surprise, Maddix chuckles at him.

 

"It's funny, Benjy. The past few weeks, there's been this little 'Three Time Champ Challenge' between Magnifico, Toxxic and Danny Williams. It's been getting all this big hype, about these 'monumental matches'. All it is, is another example of the SWF living in the past! Three time World Champion...that's a great accomplishment, don't get me wrong. But instead of living in the past, we should be embracing the Next Generation of the SWF! The first time I met three-time 'World Champion' Toxxic, I made him tap out to the Land Of Nod. The first time I met three-time 'World Champion' El Luchadore Magnifico, I made him tap out to the Land Of Nod."

 

With a wry smirk, Maddix takes another sip of his wine.

 

"So, what's left?"

 

"Danny?" asks Hardy, trying to supress a laugh. "You're not seriously saying you want to face Danny Williams, are you?"

 

"I'm doing more than that." snaps Maddix in response, clearly not happy with being laughed at. "I'm issuing a challenge to 'Deathwish' Danny Williams!!"

 

Hardy's eyes open wide in surprise, wondering what happened to Landon Maddix's brain in the past few weeks to have such a...well, a deathwish.

 

"Who else can say that they made ELM, Toxxic and Danny Williams submit in their first ever one on one meetings? Huh? Nobody I can think of. I'm one Land Of Nod away from doing exactly that! Three, three time champs. Three victories. Three tapouts. All I need to do is make Danny Williams slap that steroid fueled hand of his on the mat and say he gives it up. One submission...and I will have achieved something that will stand in stead far longer than the record of being three time World Heavyweight Champion. I will have defeated them all, first time out. Well...except Rane, but he doesn't count since he's not around. But, hey, if they wanna exhume him and put him in the ring with Landon Maddix, I'll gladly make it four out of four too. Until then...three out of three will be more than enough. More than enough to finally gain some respect in this company, from the bookers, to the fans, to people like you who think Danny Williams walks on water and shoots thunder and lightning out of his BUTT."

 

"You obviously have some big plans..."

 

"Of course."

 

"...but, what about Todd Cortez? Did you hear what he said about you on Storm? Or see what he did to Ghost Machine?"

 

"He beat up a robot. Big whoop." sneers Maddix. "Last week, my toaster broke, so I put my foot through it. Does that impress you Ben?"

 

"Uhm, no..."

 

"Exactly. Call me when Todd Cortez does something that deserves my attention. Until then, I've got bigger fish to fry and better ways to bring Megan back to her pretty little senses." Maddix downs the rest of his wine, motioning for Hardy to stand up and quickly lounging back in the vacated seat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got more self-appreciating to do."

 

With a defeated nod, Ben begins to shuffle out of the room.

 

"Oh and Ben..." calls out Maddix, with another full glass of wine in his hand, raised in Ben's direction. "Bonjour."

 

"Bon...uhm...yeah, Au Revoir Landon."

 

Ben shakes his head and makes his leave, as Maddix takes a sip of the wine, smirking as he lays it beside him.

 

"Au revior?" chuckles Maddix. "Moron. We're in France, not Italy."

[Ace309 0]

I’m born.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

 

I’m alive.

 

I breathe.

 

As those three sentences flash up on the Smarktron, signifying the imminent arrival of the reigning SWF Hardcore Champion, the crowd’s distaste for both Americans and protagonists shows through as Pete and King’s mics are turned on.

 

“Hello ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to FAMILY-FRIENDLY SWF LOCKDOWN, LIVE from the Palais Omnisports de Paris-Bercy! I’m the Longdogger, joined as always by the Self Boo-boo King, and we are ready for a tag match!” says Pete as King looks at his partner incredulously.

 

“SELF BOO-BOO KING?!” The Gambling Man is outraged at such an infantile substitution for the real first word of his moniker. “Why couldn’t you just go with Su-”

 

“Because, King, we can’t say that on the air! It’s not FAMILY FRIENDLY!” Pete makes the “save” before King can utter an unutterable. King only shakes his head as the chorus to Zyon’s theme kicks in, the rebellious French crowd nearly booing him out of the building as he headbangs on the second rope.

 

You stare at me like I’m a vitamin

On the surface you hate, but you know you need me

I come dressed as any pill you deem fit

Whatever helps you swallow truth all the more easily

 

A bit thrown off by an unusual reaction, Zyon drops back down onto the relative safety of plywood and steel as the lights dim, to be replaced by multi-colored strobes. The instant “Crusher Destroyer” hits, the fans are on their feet. Booing again.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

As Manson emerges, throwing the metal horns up to even louder boos, Funyon lifts the mic to his mouth and begins the announcements.

 

“The following contest is a tag team match, and it is scheduled for ONE FALL! On his way to the ring, from Denver, Colorado, weighing 240 pounds...MANSON!!! And his partner in the ring, from Elkhart, Indiana, weighing 200 pounds, he IS the SWF HARDCORE CHAMPION...ZYON!!”

 

Manson slides under the bottom rope and pops up, discussing some strategy with Zyon as the French crowd waits for the non-Americans, and thus de facto faces, to make their entrances.

 

“Manson and Zyon both won on Storm, Manson beating Jay Hawke and Zyon retaining his Hardcore title in a very interesting stipulation match against JJ Johnson. Pretzler lost to Toxxic. In terms of wins from four days ago, it’s 2-0 against 0-2 here.” Pete notes.

 

“Yeah. OK. Whatever. All I want to hear is some bagpipes and the immediately following heavy metal, and some classical music, and then watch a wrestling match. Now, the question is, who’s making their entrance first?” Pete’s comment is completely no-sold by King, who brushes it off with a request to hear both Johnson and Pretzler’s entrance music.

 

*skritch-skritch*

 

Request denied.

 

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

 

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

 

The French crowd goes nuts for the two Canadians as the deep voice booms out around the Palais Omnisports and the brutal guitars of Otep’s “Battle Ready” grind their way out of the speakers, going on for a few seconds before the drums kick in, followed by...

 

 

*BOOOM!!*

 

...lightning seemingly striking the soundstage, setting of a massive blast of red pyro! The smoke clouding the entranceway is soon broken by the figures of the Cruiserweight Champion and the man who could have been Hardcore Champion, both of which are slightly confused by the crowd reaction. They simply go about their normal way, however, Pretzler walking up the ring steps first. Johnson follows, and drops his somewhat expensive robes over the top rope to Gus, who doubles as both stuff-handler and backstage cameraman.

 

"And their opponents, from Windsor and Toronto, Ontario, Canada respectively, JJ Johnson and the SWF Cruiserweight Champion, "The Critic" Scott Pretzler!"

 

His spiel complete, Funyon sits in his uncomfortable ringside chair as the two teams decide that Manson will start for what’s supposed to be the faces, and Johnson for the intended heels.

 

"Manson and Johnson starting things off, King, and how about that? We thought we’d seen the last of Rev-0." Pete says.

 

"We might have, Pete. Note that they were announced seperately. They’re just Rev-0 by entrance music only. Nothing more." is King’s response, although a dejected one.

 

Meanwhile, in the ring, Johnson is inviting Manson to a test of strength. The Raging Bull accepts, and the two lock hands, first the right, then the left. It’s even at first, but then slowly but surely, Manson begins to overpower the Ultimate Fighter. Johnson escapes the pain of losing a test of strength by delivering a sharp kick to the knee of the Raging Bull, then backs away. Manson winces a little, but shakes it off and moves towards the Canadian, and the two lock up with a traditional collar-and-elbow tie-up. Manson forces Johnson towards the ground, but the smaller man capitalizes on the situation by letting go of the Denver native’s neck and bringing Manson to the ground with a fireman’s carry takeover, then applying a keylock.

 

"Some nice moves by Johnson to start off, and keeping Manson on the ground may be the best thing for the former Rev-0." Pete notes.

 

"Yup. He can’t overpower you if a) he’s on the ground, and b) he can’t use his arm. That’s what that keylock is for." King shows off some of his wrestling expertise, instead of making a smarmy comment. It is Family-Friendly Lockdown, after all.

 

Manson manages to make it to his feet, although he’s currently doubled over by the keylock on his left arm. The Raging Bull ignores the pain coursing through his shoulder and kicks Johnson in the shin. The Canadian loosens the hold, although slightly, but it’s still enough for Manson to free his arm and deliver an elbow to the stomach. Manson then runs the ropes, throwing a clothesline off the rebound, but Johnson ducks, then throws a clothesline of his own when Manson turns around. He then tags in Pretzler, who, upon entering the ring, delivers a quick stomp before dropping down and locking on...a side headlock.

 

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!!"

 

Pretz is so startled by the reaction that he releases the hold and puts his arms up to defend himself as best he can from what, judging by the cheers, can only be an oncoming Toxxic...

 

...but no. They were cheering the headlock, not a run-in, and so with the situation secure Pretzler slaps it back on to the delight of the audience.

 

“I don’t believe it. The French are CHEERING a hold that gets either a negative or no reaction elsewhere.” Pete points out.

 

“Well, they obviously appreciate good technical wrestling, Pete. You know what I appreciate? Dick.” says King.

 

“WHAT!?” Pete is alarmed at the foul language on what is supposed to be a family-friendly show.

 

“...and Jane.” finishes King. “That’s why I’m reading this book.”

 

King holds up the timeless children’s classic and grins as he flips through the pages.

 

“See Spot. See Spot inside. See Spot make a spot. See Jane mad. See Spot outside.”

 

As King reads, Manson makes his way up to his feet, countering out of the side headlock with a back suplex, then bridges up for the pin.

 

ONE

 

 

TWO

 

 

But only two, Pretzler releasing the hold in order to avoid losing the match so early, if he can prevent it at all. The Critic rolls back and to his feet, then shoves Manson into the corner and starts choking him! Referee Andy D’Urso is on it, getting in between Manson and Pretzler to prevent any foul play.

 

WHAP!

 

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!

 

Well, as much foul play as he sees, and he didn’t see Johnson kick Manson in the head, showing great leg extension as he kicks over the top rope.

 

“And Johnson with the cheap shot!” cries Pete.

 

“Awwww...” says King. This confuses Pete, as the Self Boo-Boo King is usually for the bad guys...that are now good guys...whatever.

 

“This is ADORABLE! They have a song in this book, but instead of notes, they have SPOTS! That’s awesome!” King exclaims, thus showing that it was not a “Awww, darn”, it was an “Awww, I wanna squeeze it”

 

“What’s with all these high spots, though? Is this the Zyon book?” King checks the cover, adding action to his witty pun. Meanwhile, Pretzler has regained the advantage thanks to Johnson’s sneak attack, and holds Manson in a front facelock. That facelock becomes a guillotine necklock as Pretzler wraps his legs around Manson’s torso and drags him down to the mat, torquing the head and cutting off the supply of oxygen. With his opponent down, Pretzler reaches out for a tag to Johnson. Johnson obliges, and Pretz sustains the hold as long as he can, D’Urso counting for him to get out of the ring.

 

“GET OUT, SCOTT! ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!”

 

Pretzler breaks at four and gets out of the ring, grabbing the tag rope as Johnson turns Manson upside down and hangs him in the Tree of Woe.

 

“This can’t end well for Manson, if you ask me.” says Pete.

 

“See Dick run...” is King’s response.

 

Johnson then lifts Manson to where he it looks like he’s sitting on the second turnbuckle, staring at the ceiling and asks Scott to hold him there. Pretzler obliges, and Johnson pulls Manson’s shirt over his head, both blinding the Raging Bull and exposing his chest. Johnson then puts a finger to his lips, shushing the crowd, before raising his hand, spitting in it, and...

 

 

WHAP!

 

 

...bringing it down in a vicious slap, the sound of hand on skin echoing throughout the Palais Omnisports. Johnson then shushes the crowd again, brings the hand up, spits and...

 

 

WHAP!

 

 

...repeats the maneuver, Manson’s chest already glowing boiled lobster-red after only two chops. Both fortunately and unfortunately, that was the last of the chops. Pretzler lets Manson go, causing him to hang like one normally does in the Tree of Woe. Johnson takes several steps back before charging forward and participating in the cruiserweight Tree of Woe maneuver of choice, the baseball slide to the head!

 

THWOP!

OOOOOHH!

 

 

The crowd’s sentiments are almost that of “I feel your pain” as Manson brings his legs off the ropes and collapses into the ring, holding his head as he pulls himself up by the ropes, more out of ready availability than necessity. Johnson moves in for another strike, but Manson EXPLODES out of the corner with a clothesline that takes the Canadian off his feet. The Raging Bull then goes to his corner, and tags in the Hardcore champ.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

“And Zyon enters the match for the first time! Let’s see how he can handle Johnson now that there are rules in effect.” says Pete.

 

Johnson gets to his feet, a luck of bewilderment at the clothesline turning into nothing but a cold, angry glare as he notices the man who beat him is now the legal man. Which means he’s free to beat on him as much as he likes. As Johnson realizes this, the angry glare becomes a sadistic grin. Zyon goes for a forearm, but Johnson catches his arm, clutching it underneath his. Zyon tries a punch, but again, it’s caught, and again it’s trapped under the arm. Johnson, having successfully disabled Zyon’s arms for the moment, decides to do something every wrestler should be doing while in the ring.

 

Using their head.

 

BAM!

 

BAM!

 

BAM!

 

BAM!

 

The onslaught of headbutts complete, Johnson hurls Zyon over his head with a trapping suplex, loosening his grip enough to allow for a bridging pin.

ONE

 

 

TWO

 

But Zyon kicks out at two, and the match continues.

 

“Four hard headbutts from Johnson, and I think they busted Zyon open.” notes Pete, King still off on his magical ride down the reading rainbow.

 

“Stupid mother fucker” mumbles King.

 

“WHAT!?” Pete shouts, aghast at the thought of breaking the Family-Friendly stipulation.

 

‘What? I’m reading the novelization of “Meet the Fockers” now, and Mother Focker is being really dumb right now. What did you think I said?” King both explains and inquires.

 

“Never mind.”

 

Going back to that busted open thing, Zyon is indeed bleeding, although not too heavily. Johnson doesn’t care, slapping him across the forehead with a knife-edged chop.

 

 

WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

The stereotypical French fans pay tribute to the man that popularized the knife-edged chop as Zyon holds his forehead, standing up and turning away from Johnson to avoid another slap to the skull. However, in his wandering away, he wanders right into the former Rev-0’s corner, and Pretzler delivers a chop of his own to the cut.

 

WOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

This turns Zyon away, where Johnson gives him another chop.

 

WOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Then Pretzler!

 

WOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Then Johnson!

 

WOOOOOOOOO!

 

Then Pretzler!

 

WOOOOOOOOO!

 

The chopping fun done, Johnson drops Zyon with a hook kick and tags in Pretzler, who upon entering hoists himself up to the second rope and drops a knee on the Unique Youth’s forehead.

 

“See, that’s the kind of high-flying offense I like. How much room for error did that knee drop leave? Not a lot. How much would it change the tide of the match if he missed from the second rope, as opposed to the top? Not a lot. It’s risk-reward, and low risk, high reward is something everyone wants.” King notes, putting down his book to actually, you know, do commentary.

 

“Good point, King, and it seems that the former stablemates are working Zyon’s head for now, which is interesting, because that means they aren’t really going for a submission. Johnson’s Frostbite is a neck and arm submission, and the Snowflake Clutch is a neck and spine submission. I expect, if Johnson and Pretzler win, to see it done with a UDV or a Tildebang Driver tonight.” is Pete’s lengthy contribution.

 

Meanwhile, Pretzler brings Zyon to his feet before hitting him with a European uppercut that sends him staggering back into the corner, where he is met with a knee from Johnson. And so Johnson and the Critic play strike tennis once more, Zyon being bounced back and forth as his jaw and lower back are rattled repeatedly, before...

 

CRACK!

 

...Manson runs in and Yakuza kicks Pretzler in the back of the head, then catches Johnson with a punch to the jaw that sends him off the apron, landing on his feet. The Raging Bull is implored by D’Urso to get back in his corner, and he does so, but not before helping Zyon to a vertical base. With blood beginning to flow a little more freely thanks to the chops, Zyon drops a quick leg across Pretzler’s throat, then stands up and springs to the top.

 

“Oh, not this. I hate this move Pete.” King complains as Zyon turns his back to the ultimate fighter on the outside before launching himself into the air with a CORKSCREW BODY PRESS TO THE OUTSIDE!!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

“Love it or hate it, that No Regard caught JJ completely by surprise, and it leaves Pretzler without a heavy hitter to fall back on if Zyon maintains the advantage here.” Pete informs the King.

 

Zyon, who is up awfully quickly for a guy who just fell some 12 feet onto flesh, bone, concrete and really thin padding, slides into the ring and is greeted by...

 

 

SLAP!

WOOOOOOOOOO!

 

...another one of those accursed knife-edged chops, this one connecting to the chest. The stinging blow is, much to Pretzler’s dismay, returned by the fiery Hardcore champ.

 

SLAP!

...

 

...

 

...

 

...silence. The fans refuse to do anything that even hints at them being on Zyon’s side, but the champ has grown accustomed to the French by now and continues his attack with a few punches that rock The Critic, then goes for...a double leg takedown. Try as he may, Zyon can’t get Pretzler off his feet as the Canadian laughs, then locks on a gutwrench, lifts and...

 

 

“POWERBOMB! That snap powerbomb of Pretzler’s, and this one could be in the books!” shouts Pete.

 

Scott holds on for the cover, and D’Urso counts the fall

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

 

That’s as far as he gets, however, as Zyon rolls out of the pin and to his feet. Pretzler grins, as if he’s amused by Zyon’s fighting spirit, and tags in Johnson.

 

“Stiff as that Wildbomb was, Zyon has too much fighting spirit to stay down.’ says Pete.

 

“True. But here comes Johnson, but he’ll knock the fighting spirit right out of you. Speaking of “right out of you”, that cut on Zyon’s head is starting to look pretty bad.” King says, his voice oozing with apathy as he turns the page of “Dick and Jane”.

 

And indeed, Zyon’s cut is looking quite a bit nastier than it did before, more for it’s size than the amount of blood coming from it.

 

Johnson steps forward and throws a forearm that catches Zyon squarely on the bridge of his nose, then ducks around and grabs the waist for a German suplex.

 

“GERMAN SUPLEX!” cries Pete. Unfortunately, someone in the crowd overhears him.

 

“WHAT!? GERMANS!? RUN!!!” shouts the bilingual Frenchman, and the crowd evacuates the Palais Omnisports in record time, things like “Not again!”, “Where are my children?”, and “Someone call America!” heard over the pandemonium. However, before the SWF is forced to call the show due to lack of attendance and apparent invasion of enemy forces, Funyon gets on the microphone.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr...err...Pete was merely announcing the name of the move, which is the German suplex. The German army is not invading, and therefore, you can return to your seats. We apologize for the misunderstanding.” the veteran ring announcer explains, as does his translator, and so the crowd returns to their chairs and the match continues. Zyon takes advantage of Johnson and Pretzler glancing at each other and shaking their heads to make the LUKEWARM TAG to Manson. The Raging Bull comes into the ring and hits another clothesline before mounting him and throwing several punches at the face of the ultimate fighter.

 

“Manson’s signature ground-and-pound style coming into play here in this matchup, which brings me to wonder: in a ground and pound battle, does Johnson or Manson has the advantage?” ponders Pete.

 

At the moment, Manson does, Johnson blocking to the best of his ability as hard shots rain down on his forearms and boos rain down on Manson. Manson sits back on his haunches to take a short breather, and Johnson capitalizes by snaking his legs up and under the arms of the Raging Bull and pulling, rolling Manson onto his back and shoulders as Johnson sits up and holds the legs.

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

 

But the impromptu sunset-flip like maneuver is only good for two, Manson’s right arm overpowering Johnson’s leg and shooting off the canvas. Simultaneous backward rolls bring both competitors to their feet, and yet another clothesline attempt from Manson sends JJ ducking under and running to his corner to make a tag of his own.

Pretzler comes in with caution, Manson chomping at the bit to get his hands on someone, and offers his hand out for a test of strength. Manson takes it, but only for a moment, as he pulls Pretzler towards him and hits a shoulder block. Manson’s grip keeps Pretzler up, and Manson hits another, then throws him to the ropes. Pretzler bounces off the tightened cords, to come back to a three-quarter bulldog and the Consequences!

 

BANG!

 

“CONSEQUENCES! This could be over, King!” shouts Pete.

 

“Mmm-hmmm. Sure. I predict a break-up.”

 

That doesn’t look to be the case, as the ref slides in for the count.

 

ONE

 

 

TWO

 

 

But Johnson hoists himself over the top rope and hits a baseball slide, his feet cracking off Manson’s head and breaking up the pin. The ref orders Johnson back to his corner as Manson drags The Critic to his feet and nails him with a few punches before bringing him over to Zyonosity’s corner and tagging in the Unique Youth. Before leaving, Manson and Zyon utilize the five count as Zyon springs to the top and leaps, bringing Pretzler down with a tornado DDT!

 

“Nice springboard tornado DDT, and it seems that Pretzler needs to make a tag before he suffers any more head trauma.”

 

PARTONS PRETZLER! CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP!???PARTONS PRETZLER! CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP!

 

“I never thought I’d see the day...” mutters Pete.

 

“Ha! A “Let’s Go Pretzler” chant. Who’da thunkit?” says King.

 

Pretzler, although his grasp of French is somewhat limited, understands his name and the clapping following it that generally signifies support. With that, he gets up, although shakily, his head still jumbled from both the Consequences and that DDT. However, just as soon as he’s up...

 

 

SNAPPP!!

 

...he’s taken back down again by Zyon’s signature running front dropkick, the Unique Youth kipping up much to the delight of nobody. Zyon, noticing Pretzler’s position near the ropes, tries some innovative offense by hoisting himself up and bouncing from a seated position on the top rope into a moonsault. Zyon doesn’t go for a pin, as that move was more flashy then it was match-ending, and instead decides to spring to the top rope, his back to the ring.

 

“He could be going for an even bigger moonsault here, and if he connects, this could put the OH, COME ON! NOW THAT’S JUST NOT FAIR!” Pete shouts.

 

“Take THAT, spot monkey!” is King’s offering in regards to the situation.

 

For as Zyon was poised on the top rope, Johnson ran down the apron and shoved Zyon to the outside, where he cracked his chin on the railing. As Zyon stares, unblinking, out on the floor, D’Urso begins the traditional ten count.

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

THREE

 

F-HOLY...

 

Johnson runs the apron once more, this time springing to the top rope, taking careful aim, and dropping a diving headbutt on Zyon! Johnson remains on the ground a moment, recovering from the skull-rattling ten-foot drop, as Zyon still stares at the ceiling, the cut on his forehead worsened by the headbutt to the point that the camera crew has to go to FAMILY FRIENDLY BLACK-AND-WHITE so that the parents can better convince their children it’s ketchup or some other ridiculous BS that’s going to get someone killed someday.

 

The count is at five as Johnson heaves his way up to his feet, grabbing his head with one arm and Zyon with the other, dragging him to a vertical base and rolling him into the ring, where Pretzler makes the cover.

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

FOOT ON THE ROPES!

 

Zyon has the wherewithal to put his foot on the bottom rope and stop the count, even after being semi-concussed by the diving headbutt. Pretzler gets up and whips Zyon to the ropes, catching him as he comes back, throwing him up...around...and...down with a tilt-a-whirl shoulderbreaker.

 

“You don’t see one of those every day” says Pete.

 

“Yeah, great innovation by Pretzler. Weakening him for Johnson's Frostbite?” asks King.

 

Zyon gets up, grabbing at his arm as The Critic moves in for the kill...but no! Zyon sprints past the Cruiserweight champion and executes a Half-Moon!

 

“Quebrada by Zyon, in a burst of speed! He calls it the Half-Moon, but whatever it’s called, will it be enough to stall for time to make the tag?” asks Pete.

 

“No.” is all King says.

 

And indeed, Scott gets up quickly and catches Zyon from behind with a waistlock. He goes for the German, but Zyon blocks it, and in a surprising move, turns around and hits a German of his own!

 

Pretzler is stunned as he lays there, his eyes darting around the Palais Omnisports. How could this kid out-wrestle him, even for just one move? His mild daydream continues, as a voice speaks.

 

Scott...

 

 

Scott...

 

 

SCOTT...

 

 

THUD

 

“SCOTT!”, a familiar voice rasps as a boot collides with Pretzler’s arm, jolting him back to reality.

 

And the reality is, Zyon’s about to make the tag.

 

Pretzler is to his feet in a flash, well, as flash as Pretzler goes, and makes a break for Zyon, hoping to bring him down before...

 

 

SMACK!

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOO

 

 

SMACK!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOO

 

The first smack of hand on hand is soon drowned out by the smack of boot on chin, as Manson throws a Yakuza kick upon entrance to the ring. Pretzler finds himself on his back once again, as Zyon crawls under the ropes and lies on the apron, holding his head whilst still trying to shake off that diving headbutt from earlier.

 

Manson throws Pretzler to the ropes, then hits a side kick to the gut that doubles him over before hooking the leg, locking on a front face lock, and hitting a 3 Handled Credenza.

 

“Manson with a spinning fisherman’s suplex, bridging up for the cover, kickout at two”

 

Before Pretzler can get up, Manson runs to the ropes...

 

 

...and Johnson grabs his head and hotshots Manson’s neck off the rope, slowing the Raging Bull just enough to let Pretzler get to his feet. Scott returns the favor by catching the Coloradan in the face with a high-angle dropkick (best in the business)!

 

It’s enough to stagger the largest man in the match, but not enough to bring him down, and so he throws a super kick. Pretzler ducks, and brings him up into Electric Chair position, obviously looking to hit an Ocea-WHAP!

 

BANG!

 

 

Out of NOWHERE comes JJ Johnson, springing off the top rope and stepping onto Manson’s left leg before hitting a Yakuza kick, Pretz dropping back on the Electric Chair as hard as possible and bridging up for the pin.

 

 

ONE

 

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

THREE!

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

Notably, Beethoven’s ninth kicks up, as opposed to “Battle Ready”, as D’Urso raises Johnson and Pretzler’s hands in victory, the French crowd going nuts as the bad guys get the win.?

 

“I can’t believe what I just saw. That was either sheer luck or incredible teamwork from Johnson and Pretzler, and it paid off. Let’s look at this again.” says Pete, and an Instant Replay comes up on the Smarktron.

 

“See, now here, Manson throws that kick, and as Pretzler ducks, Johnson ducks back on the ropes, as if for a springboard. Pretz gets Manson up, Johnson’s on the top rope, Pretzler turns him around just in time for Johnson to show shades of Jamie Drazon, hitting a Shining Black. Like I said, either luck or teamwork, and whichever it was, it was impressive.” King finishes.

 

Johnson and Pretzler leave the ring, the younger of the two allowing the Cruiserweight Champion to step through the ropes before he. As Pretzler ducks through, a flashbulb goes off and Johnson catches his reflection in the gold.

 

A smirk that just screams “maybe later” crosses the ultimate fighter’s face as he shakes his head, steps through the ropes and heads back to the back.

 

 

FADE OUT

[Ace309 0]

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall,” Funyon booms. “Introducing first, being accompanied to the ring by ‘The King of Bling’ JL Crunk; he hails from an undisclosed location that may or may not be Parts Unknown, and a poll conducted on www.theswf.net revealed that 67% of fans consider him ‘unlikely’ to be a robot… weighing in tonight at 312lbs, this is GHOOOOOOOOOST… MA-CHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE!!”

 

Weird robot music starts up over the arena PA and the tall, masked figure of Ghost Machine strides out, expertly spitting at the French fans despite his mouth’s limited mobility. Meanwhile JL Crunk struts around him, further incensing the crowd.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Hang on,” Suicide King says, “JL Crunk is ‘the King of Bling?’ I thought it was known as ‘bling-bling’ to the kids who talk ghetto these days?”

 

“Well, Crunk isn’t that successful a producer,” Longdogger Pete replies, “he can probably only afford one bling.”

 

Ghost Machine reaches the ring and steps in over the top rope, causing Crunk to take a longing look at his crotch. However, the ‘weird robot music’ fades out and is replaced by the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire as the Smarktron whites out. The screen quickly fades to black and jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan, one word at a time:

 

‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

“Uh… what?” King asks as the French crowd begin chanting while the Smarktron runs through its usual selection of images prior to the arrival of the Straight-Edge Sensation.

 

“They’re chanting ‘Roast Beef’,” Pete informs his confused commentary partner. “The French believe that the English eat roast beef for each and every meal, and waste no time in reminding any stray Anglais of their staple diet.”

 

“You mean, like the French are known as ‘Frogs’ for eating frogs’ legs?” King inquires.

 

“That’s the one.”

 

The Smarktron has reached its final image, that of Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome. The devastating landing is timed to coincide with a stagewide eruption of red pyro-

 

*BOOOM!!*

 

-that announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger! For a moment all that can be seen is smoke and pyro after-image, but then a spiky-haired figure emerges from the backstage area and stands looking around at the crowd who respond in a not entirely hostile way:

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

Toxxic seems to shrug, acknowledging that they do at least seem to be cheering for him even if it is in their own idiosyncratic French way. Then he springs into action and tears down the entrance ramp at top speed, sliding under the bottom rope into the ring and popping upright in front of Funyon.

 

“And his opponent,” the veteran ring announcer booms, “from Nottingham, England-”

 

“BOOOOOOOO!”

 

“-he weighs in tonight at 218lbs,” Funyon continues, “he is the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’; TOXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!”

 

Toxxic seems prepared to ignore the brief booing at the mention of his hometown and takes up his usual position in the middle of the ring, ready to throw his arms out and ignite the ringpost pyro… but Ghost Machine jumps him from behind, sending Funyon scuttling from the ring and causing referee Brian Warner to call for the bell!

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

The running double axehandle flattens the British straight-edger, but Ghost Machine instantly reaches down to pick him up again and whips his opponent off the ropes, then jumps into the air to his a SLOPPY dropkick that nevertheless catches Toxxic on the chin and sends both men crashing to the mat!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“What a cowardly attack by Ghost Machine!” Pete yells in anger as JL Crunk bounces around the ring, further incensing the fans. “Even with his size and strength advantage he didn’t wait from the bell but attacked Toxxic from behind!”

 

“As both Robert Riley and I have noted on different occasions, Toxxic has made his career by outwitting larger, lumbering opponents,” Suicide King replies. “Personally, I feel it was a sound tactical move by this… man… in order to counter the spotmonkey’s tendency to overcome his physical inadequacies.”

 

“Yeah, well you also thought it a ‘sound tactical move’ to inject anaesthetic into your jaw to prevent yourself from being able to speak in an ‘I Quit’ match,” Pete gripes.

 

“Don’t criticise genius just because it happened to pass you by, MacDougal.”

 

Ghost Machine has managed to get up to his feet again where he grabs Toxxic, who is back up to his knees but is still feeling the effects of the bigger wrestler’s attacks. With a sneer that not even his mask can fully hide, Ghost Machine grabs Toxxic’s wrist and Irish whips his smaller opponent into the corner. However, the masked wrestler is unprepared for Toxxic to vault athletically to the top rope, and even less prepared for the straight-edger to then twist backwards into the air and plant both feet into his face with the Corkscrew Dropkick!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

Both wrestlers end up on their backs, but this time Toxxic coils his legs up under his chin and then kips up explosively, drawing another roar from the crowd! For all his sluggishness it takes a bit of a beating to keep Ghost Machine down and the big man is already slowly pushing himself up. Toxxic measures his opponent and waits for him to turn, then leaps high into the air to fire another dropkick into the Masked Monster’s face which staggers him back into the ropes, then as Ghost Machine rebounds slowly off the cables Toxxic kips up again then instantly leaves the ground once more to fire an enzuigiri into the back of his opponent’s head!

 

*CRACK!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

The extra impact adds some more impetus to Ghost Machine’s lumber, and the big man stumbles forward another couple of steps before finally losing his balance and falling to the ground whereupon his momentum carries him out underneath the bottom rope to land in a crumpled heap at the feet of the startled JL Crunk. Toxxic pushes himself back to his feet once more, and with his opponent temporarily disposed off the Straight-Edge Sensation takes this chance to tear off his ‘World Champion Tour 2004-05’ T-shirt and launch it into the crowd… then sweeps his arms wide with the palms flat and facing down!

 

*BOOOM!!*

 

Now the ringpost pyros go off, causing JL Crunk to stagger backwards a step or so in surprise. As Ghost Machine pushes his bulk upright again Toxxic seems intent on maintaining his advantage; he runs to the far ropes and bounces off to increase his momentum, then sprints back across the ring and launches himself bodily over the top rope…

 

…Crunk heaves at Ghost Machine and just manages to haul the Masked Monster out of the way…

 

…and Toxxic completes a full somersault to land on his feet, instantly rolling forwards again to limit the shock to his legs. However, as the agile straight-edger straightens up and turns around it transpires that his manager’s intervention has given Ghost Machine enough time to recuperate, and he levels Toxxic with a clothesline!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

‘ONE!’ Brian Warner bellows from inside the ring, but Ghost Machine pays no attention to the referee’s count for the time being and instead hauls Toxxic back up to his feet. The Masked Monster then simply grabs his British opponent by the throat and, having learned his lesson about Irish whips, hurls him bodily into the guardrail!

 

*CRASH!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

‘TWO!’ Warner shouts, motioning angrily for Ghost Machine to desist his attack and get his possibly-robotic backside back into the ring. Amazingly enough the Masked Monster obeys, leaving Toxxic in a gasping heap and heading back for the squared circle where he steps up to the apron over the top rope before engaging Warner in conversation, presumably about his recent conduct. As he does so the big wrestler moves around so that the referee is facing away from the outside… and at that moment JL Crunk suddenly leaps in and begins putting the boot to Toxxic, then starts choking him!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The French crowd isn’t getting any rest, but Toxxic is in no mood to take this sort of abuse from a Dr Dre wannabe and he reaches up one black-nailed hand to rake over Crunk’s eyes -

 

“That’s cheating!” King yells.

 

“Yeah, on a guy not even meant to be in the match!” Pete fires back.

 

- the hip-hop ‘producer’ staggers back and Toxxic pushes himself breathlessly to his feet, then reaches out to grab Crunk by the head and pulls him in for a headbutt!

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

JL Crunk falls backwards with blood spurting from his nose and Toxxic turns towards the ring where Warner has refocused his attention to the outside. The referee continues his count but Toxxic ignores him, instead pointing at the monstrous Ghost Machine with a distinctly unhappy expression on his face.

 

“PLAYTIME’S OVER, SUNSHINE!”

 

The Masked Monster seems unperturbed by the apparent incapacitation of his manager and motions for Toxxic to ‘come on’, and Toxxic races for the ring. The Straight-Edge Sensation slides into the corner and Ghost Machine lumbers forward to pounce, but Toxxic’s momentum carries him clean through the corner on a diagonal and out the side of the ring where he rolls through as he hits the floor and races on for the far corner near the announce table. Ghost Machine turns to follow but the big man is too slow to prevent Toxxic from reaching the far ringpost where he wraps his arms around it and uses his own momentum to swing himself around and back into the ring under the bottom rope! Ghost Machine runs forward and stamps at his pesky opponent but Toxxic has rolled again, getting away from the bigger man and regaining his feet before hurtling on towards a different set of ropes. Ghost Machine turns once more, clearly unbalanced by trying to catch such a fast-moving target, and this time when Toxxic rebounds off the ropes he launches himself into the air to catch the Masked Monster with a spinning heelkick!

 

“Yeah, take that!” Pete shouts.

 

“Huh, it hasn’t even knocked him down,” King grunts dismissively.

 

Indeed it hasn’t, but Toxxic doesn’t seem to be inclined to dwell on this. The impact staggered Ghost Machine backwards and the Brit is back up to his feet in a second, then tears off at right angles. The big man turns to follow but as Toxxic rebounds he performs a baseball slide through his legs, then pops up behind the outmanoeuvred Masked Monster and nails him with a dropkick in the back. Ghost Machine stumbles forward this time before rebounding backwards off the cables, and now Toxxic races past him and jumps to the second rope, then springboards back to paste his opponent in the face with a roundhouse kick!

 

*CRACK!*

 

Ghost Machine staggers again and drops to one knee, but still doesn’t go down! With frustration showing on his face, Toxxic grabs his opponent by the head and hauls him up to a vertical base before attempting to Irish whip the bigger man into the ropes, but Ghost Machine digs his feet in and holds on, then returns the favour by whipping Toxxic the other way. As the Straight-Edge Sensation returns the Masked Monster ducks his head for a back bodydrop…

 

*CRUNCH-WHAM!*

 

…but Toxxic kills his own momentum and hits his opponent with the Sobering Thought, the facebuster/DDT combo finally laying the big man out!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Toxxic sits up with an expression that seems to say ‘well, that was harder than I expected’, then gets back to his feet and heads quickly for the nearest set of turnbuckles. Once there the straight-edger climbs to the top rope and straightens up for a second before somersaulting off to land a leg right across Ghost Machine’s throat with the Hangover, then hooks his opponent’s leg as Brian Warner drops to make the count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TW-

-but Ghost Machine kicks out just before two, much to Toxxic’s consternation! The Masked Monster shoves Toxxic away and starts to sit up, but the straight-edger bounces off the ropes one more time and returns to fire a basement dropkick into his opponent’s face, flattening Ghost Machine once more. With the bigger man prone on the mat once more Toxxic heads for the turnbuckles again, this time vaulting to the top rope before leaping back to drive a fist into his opponent’s forehead!

 

*BANG!*

 

Toxxic shakes his hand out on impact but is quickly back up on his feet and going to the corner again, whereupon he hits another diving fistdrop onto the Masked Monster.

 

*BANG!*

 

As JL Crunk staggers down the entrance ramp towards the ring, Toxxic hastily climbs back up the top again, kisses his fist for luck and comes off for the third time…

 

*BANG!*

 

…then hooks Ghost Machine’s leg again!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but the masked wrestler kicks out moments after the two count! Somewhat aggrieved, Toxxic grabs his larger opponent and starts to try and haul him upright. Ghost Machine’s bodyweight is rather more than Toxxic can lift as deadweight, and it is only the slightly blurred instincts (programming?) in the Masked Monster’s head to get back to his feet that means he actually assists his opponent by pushing himself up. Toxxic then grabs the bigger man’s wrist and heaves, this time managing to lever his opponent into an Irish whip that ends with him crashing back-first into the turnbuckles… and moments later Toxxic follows him in with a leg lariat to the chest, ricocheting off with a backflip over the top rope that sees him land neatly on the apron!

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

Ghost Machine staggers forward even as Toxxic scrambles up the outside of the ringpost to a seated position on the top rope, from where he reaches forward to clamp an arm around his opponent’s head in a reverse facelock. The Straight-Edge Sensation grins at the crowd as he twirls his finger, signalling for the Final Shine… but JL Crunk clambers up onto the apron and literally charges at Toxxic!

 

“Get him down!” Longdogger Pete bellows, but Brian Warner already has it covered. The referee darts to the ropes and intercepts the frenzied producer, but the moment’s distraction allows Ghost Machine to reach back with both hands and grab Toxxic around the neck, then heave and launch the Brit halfway across the ring to break his hold!

 

*WHAM!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

His interference successfully run, JL Crunk climbs down from the apron as Brian Warner continues to admonish him. Meanwhile, Ghost Machine lumbers across the ring in pursuit of his opponent and proceeds to kneel down with one massive leg pinning Toxxic’s chest to the floor, the begins firing off a flurry of punches on the grounded cruiserweight! Warner isn’t happy about this either, and begins to administer his count…

 

‘ONE!’

 

‘TWO!’

 

‘THREE!’

 

‘FOUR!’

 

‘FI-’

 

Artificial Intelligence or otherwise, Ghost Machine is smart enough to know when to stop and the big man ceases his barrage mere milliseconds before the official calls for the bell. Toxxic is understandably rather battered by this onslaught and doesn’t seem able to do much more than lie on the canvas and look hurt; accordingly, Ghost Machine drops down and makes the pin with a lateral press!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but Toxxic kicks out before Brian Warner’s hand reaches the mat for the third time. Growling, Ghost Machine tries again, this time hooking the leg…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-and Toxxic kicks out again! Apparently undeterred, Ghost Machine pushes himself back to his feet before simply stretching one leg out and dropping again, landing the massive limb square across Toxxic’s throat and face before barking at Warner to make another count. Shrugging, the referee hits the deck again…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but the lazy cover isn’t enough to keep Toxxic down!

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

With the crowd’s rallying chant behind him Toxxic tries to get up, but Ghost Machine is intent on maintaining his advantage and quickly clamps two beefy arms around the straight-edger’s head with a sleeperhold! Toxxic is fighting it for all he’s worth, but with 312lbs pressing down on him and the ropes nowhere in reach it looks like it could be curtains for the man from Nottingham.

 

“Well, wouldn’t this be highly amusing,” Suicide King speculates as Warner grabs Toxxic’s arm and lets it fall to check on the Brit’s consciousness. Toxxic keeps his arm in the air, but he’s wavering and Ghost Machine can sense it. “I mean,” the Heartbreaker continues, “just imagine if Ghost Machine was to beat Toxxic, the most dominant World Champion of the last 18 months!”

 

“Yes,” Pete says tensely, “hilarious.”

 

JL Crunk is going positively nuts at ringside as he sees his man gradually wearing the Straight-Edge Sensation down. A variety of grunts and grimaces pass over and emerge from Ghost Machine’s face as he tries to tighten the hold still further, but then an idea seems to come to him. Bracing his legs, he suddenly wrenches upwards with all his might, hauling Toxxic clean off the ground! Perhaps the move is designed to damage the neck of his opponent or perhaps force the blood to have a longer journey to the brain; whatever the intention, Toxxic lets out a strangled gurgle…

 

*CRACK!*

 

…and slams the soles of both boots backwards into Ghost Machine’s knees!

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

The sudden crunching pain causes the Masked Monster to release his hold and Toxxic drops to his rather unsteady feet, then lurches forwards to escape his opponent. However, Ghost Machine reaches out one massive hand and grabs him, then hauls him back around and plants a boot into Toxxic’s gut to double him over. With his opponent wheezing again, Ghost Machine hooks him for a vertical suplex and hoists the Brit high into the air where he waits, now perhaps seeking to send all the blood to Toxxic’s head…

 

…but Toxxic kicks his legs and unbalances the move, twisting around in midair and landing on his feet behind the giant! With Ghost Machine momentarily caught off-guard, Toxxic leaps up to wrap both hands around his opponent’s forehead before dropping backwards to slam the back of the Masked Monster’s head into the canvas with the Underkill!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Toxxic reaches forwards, but it takes a second to haul one of Ghost Machine’s massive legs backwards for the pin…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR-

-and the big man kicks out! Toxxic pushes himself upright and backs away, looking to absent himself from his opponent’s long reach and crushing power so he can dart back in and make an attack at the opportune moment. Sure enough, Ghost Machine rolls over onto his front and begins to push himself up… and at exactly the right moment Toxxic runs in, grabs his head and takes him back to the canvas with a snap swinging neckbreaker!

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

Now Toxxic reaches down, grabs his opponent and begins to haul him upright… and as he does so Ghost Machine reaches out a massive hand and clamps it around his opponent’s windpipe! Toxxic gasps and clutches at the Masked Monster’s wrist, but even as Brian Warner begins his count Ghost Machine buries a knee into Toxxic’s midsection to double him over, then grabs a front facelock and raises his arm in the universal signal for the DDT…

 

“If he hits this, the Piledriver is coming next!” Pete shouts.

 

…but Toxxic grabs at the unwary Masked Monster’s wrist and manages to twist out of his grip, coming up behind the big man with a hammerlock. For a moment Toxxic seems to be thinking about attempting the Repeat To Fade, but then he comes to his senses and just shoves Ghost Machine away from him. The big man stops himself before he reaches the corner, turns around and charges at Toxxic-

 

*CRACK!*

 

-who slices his shins out from under him with a soccer tackle!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Ghost Machine crumples to the ground, clutching at his injured legs. As the crowd noise rises Toxxic places his index fingers over his head and spins them… backwards.

 

“It’s time for the Inglorious!” Pete shouts as the Straight-Edge Sensation steps out to the apron. He takes a deep breath and grabs the top rope as Brian Warner leans down to check on Ghost Machine, making sure that the big man’s legs are OK to continue…

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

…and JL Crunk seizes Toxxic’s ankle, preventing him from taking off! The Brit desperately shakes his leg in an attempt to dislodge this unwelcome attachment, but Crunk holds grimly on until he suddenly becomes aware of a disbelieving grin spreading over Toxxic’s face…

 

*CHING!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

…and a black army boot flashes up between Crunk’s legs to catch him square in the happy-happy-joy-joy area!

 

“What the… it’s JET!” Pete squawks as the distinctive red-and-black dreadlocks of the Philly Madgirl appear above the steadily lowering head of JL Crunk. “She’s back in the SWF, and back in Toxxic’s corner!”

 

Toxxic flips his longtime companion a grateful salute, then turns around to see Ghost Machine back on his feet and charging at him. However, the straight-edger ducks his head and rams his shoulder between the top and middle ropes to catch the onrushing Masked Monster in the midsection, then as his opponent staggers back Toxxic reaches over the top rope to grab his head and nails him with a headbutt that causes him to retreat still further! Shaking his own head slightly to dispel the ringing caused by the impact, Toxxic vaults up to the top rope and springboards into the ring, snaring Ghost Machine on the way over and taking the big man down with a blockbuster!

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

Meanwhile on the outside, JL Crunk is fighting the pain in his testicles and turns around to see his attacker. Whereupon Jet raises one open palm, lowers it to rub it several times up and down her crotch, and then pastes Crunk in the face!

 

*WHAP!*

 

“STICKY FIN-GAHS!!” Longdogger Pete bellows as Jet’s trademark Shotei strike finds its mark on Crunk’s jaw and causes the luckless producer to topple backwards. Meanwhile next to him, Suicide King simulates dry heaving.

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

“ROS’ BEEF!”

 

Ghost Machine is down on the mat, clutching at his neck. Toxxic doesn’t go for a springboard attempt this time; instead he climbs to the top rope as quick as he can, pauses for a moment to wind himself up, and then leaps high into the air, backflipping as he goes while a couple of hundred camera flashes go off around him…

 

*BANG!!*

 

“INGLORIOUS!” Pete yells as the Shooting Star Legdrop hits home, “that’s it!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

 

And that is, indeed, it.

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner,” Funyon booms, “the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!”

 

‘Rookie’ blasts out over the PA system as Jet enters the ring and helps Toxxic up. The two share an embrace, then as JL Crunk levers himself painfully into the ring to check on his man, Toxxic and Jet roll out underneath the bottom rope and begin to head back up the entrace ramp towards the backstage area.

 

“Well, what a surprise!” Pete exclaims.

 

“Yeah, who’d have thought that the skinny spotmonkey would walk away the winner again?” King replies, but his heart isn’t in it.

 

“No, I meant about Jet returning,” Longdogger Pete snaps. “She’s been absent from the SWF for several months now, apparently finishing her wrestling training with Chris Card; I can only take it that her training is now completed, and she’s returned to be at her boyfriend’s side!”

 

“Either that or Card gave her up as a bad job,” King suggests. “Besides, Toxxic needs all the help he can get, because he’s facing Scott Pretzler in a Submissions match on Smarkdown!”

 

The lopsided grin on Toxxic’s face as he walks up the ramp shows that for the moment at least, he doesn’t give a damn.

 

 

 

FADE OUT

Edited July 21, 2005 by Justice

[Ace309 0]

As we return from commercial break, we’re in a darkened room somewhere backstage. In the chair to the left is Ben Hardy, wearing his usual ugly outfit with a clipboard in his left hand. In the right is Jay Hawke, wearing a blue pinstripe suit and holding the SWF International Championship belt on his lap.

 

Hardy: “Ladies and gentlemen, joining me here right now is the SWF’s International Champion, Jay Hawke.”

 

We hear a smattering of boos from the live crowd watching this on the Smarktron.

 

Hardy: “And Jay, you’ve spent all but a couple of weeks out of the last three months as the International Champion, defending against all comers. My question is: Are you settling for the International Championship, or do you have dreams of one day becoming the World Heavyweight Champion?”

 

Hawke: “Of course I have dreams of being the World Heavyweight Champion. Every wrestler that has ever laced up a pair of boots dreams of being the World Champion. Toxxic had that dream. Danny Williams had that dream. Tom Flesher had that dream. Scott Pretzler and JJ Johnson have that dream. Despite his claims to the contrary, Wildchild has that dream. Even Ghost Machine is programmed to dream about being the World Heavyweight Champion. The difference between me and the rest of them is I’m more patient than others.”

 

Hardy: “But why be so patient, particularly when Ejiro Fasaki has seemed like a vulnerable champion?”

 

Hawke: “Hey, my shot will come. But don’t you think this belt in my lap is important to me, too? And I’ve been charged with a very important task. I’m the one who has to make this championship belt become meaningful. I’m the guy who has to make this something the fans see as credible and the wrestlers see as something they want. That in itself is an opportunity that many wrestlers can only dream of having. Hey, I know that in the eyes of a lot of people, holding this title instead of the World Title makes me second best. And trust me, I didn’t bust my rear end for nine years to settle for second best. I didn’t come back after three years on the injured reserve list to settle for second best. And I know in my heart that I’m the best wrestler … and I’m emphasizing the word ‘wrestler’ … in the SWF today. But until the time is right and I am ready to become the World Champion, I‘m going to make this title just as prestigious…if not more so…than the World Heavyweight Championship.”

 

Hardy: “How about a quick game of word association?”

 

Hawke: “How about we don’t and say we did?”

 

Hardy: “This won’t take long.”

 

Hawke: “God, I think these things are stupid. Alright, since we won’t get into any real questions if we don’t, then fire away.”

 

Hardy: “Scott Pretzler.”

 

Hawke: “Excellent wrestler. One of the few men who are actually in my league.”

 

Hardy: “Toxxic.”

 

Hawke: “Great wrestler, but the cheers of the crowd are making him soft.”

 

Hardy: “JJ Johnson.”

 

Hawke: “Surprisingly good partner.”

 

Hardy: “Janus.”

 

Hawke: “Who?”

 

Hardy: “Ejiro Fasaki.”

 

Hawke: “No matter what you think of him, he’s the man right now. And he’s going to remain that way until somebody beats him.”

 

Hardy: “Johnny Dangerous.”

 

Hawke: “Your next World Champion.”

 

Hardy: “Arch Griffon.”

 

Hawke: “For the love of God, book me against anybody else for awhile.”

 

Hardy: “Todd Cortez.”

 

Hawke: “Excellent talent, but too busy with his little squabbles with Landon Maddix for it to matter.”

 

Hardy: “Landon Maddix.”

 

Hawke: “Excellent talent, but he too easily lets personal affairs override his professional goals.”

 

Hardy: “One last question. You’re scheduled to defend that International Championship at Ground Zero in a couple of weeks. What are your thoughts about that match?”

 

Hawke: “For once it’s nice to see that my petitions paid off. After being forced into a match nobody thought I could win when I regained this championship against Arch Griffon, I’ve been granted the right to not only choose my own opponent, but also name the stipulations for the match at Ground Zero. So what I’m proposing is as such. My opponent is going to be Manson. As much as I hate to admit it, he did score the victory in a non-title match at Storm, and never let it be said that I’m not 100% willing to offer a man who bested me a shot at my title.”

 

Hardy: “So what’s the stipulation going to be?”

 

Hawke: “I’m glad you asked. See, when I was in the tournament final for this title, I had a different idea in mind than Johnny Dangerous did. I wanted to bill this as the Old School Championship and give it its own rules, much like we have a certain set of cruiserweight rules. And I don’t want this to drag out like my series of matches with Arch Griffon did, so I want to settle this in one night. So here’s how it’s going to go. The match is going to be under the rules I wanted to set up for the Old School Championship. Two out of Three Falls with a one hour time limit. Three rope break rule in effect, much like you see in pure wrestling matches. And much like in a cruiserweight match, throwing your opponent over the top rope is an automatic disqualification. The fans want to see a clear winner and loser, the promoters want to see a clear winner and loser, and I don’t want to have to wrestle this guy four hundred times.”

 

Hardy: “Why set up these stipulations? Why not just ask for a straight-up one on one wrestling match?”

 

Hawke: “It’s real simple, Hardy. A lot of men have been able to beat me once. Manson’s done it, much like Arch Griffon did before him. But it takes a great man to beat me twice. And it takes a superstar to beat me twice in one night. And if Manson wants to become the new International Champion at Ground Zero, he’s going to have to beat me twice. This is his chance for Manson to prove to the world whether he’s a superstar, or whether he’s just another flash-in-the-pan wannabe champion.”

 

Hardy: “What is he in your opinion?”

 

Hawke: “Just another man in need of a wrestling lesson. And at Ground Zero, I’ll be the one to teach him that wrestling lesson, and there’s not a thing he can do about it.”

 

Hardy: “There you have it, fans. He’s the International Champion, and at Ground Zero, he will defend that championship against Manson in an Old School Rules Match. He is Jay Hawke. We’ll be back with more tremendous SWF wrestling action after these commercial messages.”

 

FADE OUT

[Ace309 0]

“You know, you could at least have given me some warning,” Toxxic says as he and Jet stroll along the corridor towards the Straight-Edge Sensation’s dressing room, “let me know you were coming or something.”

 

“Why, would you have dressed up for the occasion?” Jet grins at him. “I’ve never seen you wrestle in a dress suit, it might be quite a sight.”

 

“Please,” Toxxic mutters, “I’ll leave that to Johnny Dangerous, thanks.”

 

“Now, if you don’t think that I came along at the right time or something,” Jet says teasingly, “I mean, perhaps I should have let that Crunky guy just hang onto your foot until the guy in the mask got up and took your head off-”

 

“Alright, alright, thanks for the pleasant surprise,” Toxxic mock-grumbles, “and thanks for butting in when you did. Damn hip-hopper should have stayed down when I nutted him, but…”

 

“Oh, don’t tell me you need help taking care of an opponent and their manager now?” a familiar voice with a Nottingham accent tinged with a Canadian twang drawls from a cross corridor. With his grin quirking slightly wider, Toxxic rounds the corner and comes face to face with a taller man with long, dark hair tied back in a ponytail.

 

“I remember watching you go through Carnage when Frisco was at ringside,” Chris Card continues, raising a hand in greeting, “and he was about the same size as that sucker you beat just now. And then there was Landon Maddix” here Card stops to spit “with that bitch Megan hanging around-”

 

“-and I beat La Sensational Mayonnaise, or whatever that French bugger was called, when you were at ringside,” Toxxic reminds Technical Perfection as the two Englishmen clasp hands, “so don’t go talking your shit here, Chris!”

 

“Still just as sociable as ever,” Card grins. “So tell me, how did you go from villain to hero in the, what, two months since I last saw you?”

 

“Simple,” Toxxic replies slightly ruefully. “I started wrestling someone they hate even more than me.”

 

“Seriously? They hate Pretzler that bad?” Card whistles. “Well, wonders may never cease. In the meantime, how about a party to welcome two old friends back?”

 

“Later,” Jet says, cutting him off. “Right now, me and Toxx want to have a talk about something.”

 

“We do?” Toxxic asks in surprise as he and Jet enter his dressing room.

 

“Yes. We do.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“OK, so, what’s this in aid of?” Toxxic asks as he and Jet sit in his dressing room.

 

“Simple,” the dreadlocked beauty replies. “This is where I help you go through all the neuroses that have developed in the two months since you last saw me, and this is where I try and talk you out of breaking Scott Pretzler’s neck.”

 

There are a couple of seconds’ silence while Toxxic searches her face, then the Straight-Edge Sensation starts laughing.

 

“You seriously believe that, don’t you?” he asks, leaning back. Jet doesn’t seem to see the funny side, however.

 

“Mike, I know you,” she states earnestly. “I know where you come from, and I know how you tend to react to things. And I also know what it’s going to do to you if you manage to severely hurt Scott.”

 

“I’m not going to!” Toxxic insists, “not intentionally, anyway. I mean, you can’t allow for freak accidents-”

 

“That’s what I told myself when Landon beat you,” Jet nods.

 

“-but no, seriously,” the Brit continues; “it’s not like that - not any more.” He leans forward and two steel-grey eyes stare into Jet’s.

 

“See, Scott betrayed my trust by nicking that pin on the outside in our Hardcore match,” he tells the Philly Madgirl, “and that annoyed me, yes. I thought I could trust him, could still count him as a friend, and I was wrong. But I don’t hate him. He’s just a jerk who decided to put career advancement ahead of a friendship. I saw it coming with Spike and nailed him first; Scott just hid it better, I guess. Plus, he’s had Flesher whispering in his ear and feeding him God knows what garbage, and it is Flesher’s doing that this has turned into a Best of Five, not mine.”

 

“Well…” Jet muses, looking at the spiky-haired man in front of her, “I guess you don’t seem as psycho as you normally do in these situations…”

 

“…thanks,” Toxxic says, not entirely sure if he means it.

 

“OK, so if you aren’t going all necky-snappy, what sort of a gameplan have you got for the next match? And the one after that, if you need it?” Jet asks. Toxxic grins ruefully.

 

“C’mon, when did you last see a ‘Best Of’ series that didn’t go to the last match?” he asks. “Reason being, the guy about to lose the series always goes balls out and levels it up. Well-known fact. And given that Submissions favours Scott anyway, well,” the Straight-Edge Sensation places one hand flat in front of him and rocks it from side to side, “it’s an iffy call…”

 

“Surely you’re not going into a match under the impression that you might lose?” Jet asks, truly astonished. Toxxic almost starts laughing again at the expression of total shock on her face.

 

“Let’s just say I’m not ruling the possibility out,” he grins, slapping her on the shoulder as he gets up and walks past. “Come on, let’s go and have that party with Card.”

 

“Sounds good,” Jet responds immediately, bouncing to her feet and out of the door after him. “I wonder what sort of fun we can have in Paris, City of Romance!”

 

“City of Romance?” Toxxic asks, casting her a wary glance. “Please…”

 

“OK then,” Jet replies, forging ahead, “City of Quality Lager and Fast Women. That work better for you?”

 

“…not really,” Toxxic replies after a moment’s pause, but he’s shoved aside by Chris Card who is already rubbing his hands gleefully.

 

“Don’t forget to call Natasha!” Technical Perfection reminds Jet as they set off, “she’d kill me if she missed a party!” Toxxic just looks at the two of them for a moment, then shakes his head and follows.

 

“I know I’m gonna regret this…”

[Ace309 0]

SWF Lockdown returns from its final commercial break of the evening, welcoming the viewer back with an impressive shot of the inside of the Palais Omnisports de Paris-Bercy, packed to the brim with seventeen thousand overexcited Frenchies. They’ve been treated to an excellent show thus far, and it’s only going to get better.

 

ATTENTION!

 

ALL YOU NIGGAZ!

 

ALL YOU BITCHES!

 

TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE…

 

TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKA…

 

“RAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

 

The gigantic crowd rises to its feet as once, each of its members cheering their little heart out for the entrance of The Bahama Bomber, Wildchild! Their cries only grow louder when the man himself bursts out from behind the curtain, his Tag Title wrapped around his waist and a lopsided grin painted on his face as he pauses at the top of the entrance ramp and soaks up the fans’ adoration.

 

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is tonight’s MAIN EVENT!” Funyon shouts. “Introducing first, from the Bahamas, weighing in at two hundred and fourteen pounds...he is one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions...WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILDCHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILD!!”

 

WC’s already on his way down the ramp as Funyon announces him, slapping as many fans’ hands as possible as he does so. Wildchild reaches the ring, rolls beneath its bottom rope, and immediately pops to his feet, right before hopping onto the nearby corner’s second turnbuckle. He thrusts his fist in the air and is instantly bathed in flashbulb light as a fresh wave of cheers pours in from the delighted crowd.

 

“And welcome back to the new, Family...erk...Friendly Lockdown.” LDP announces, nearly choking on the word family. “We’ve kicked off our new format with a hell of a show, which is just about to come to a head!”

 

“Damn straight, Pete. In a rematch we’ve been waiting, oh say, a couple weeks for, El Luchadore Magnifico takes on Wildchild in what is sure to be another session of pain and embarassment for the Mexican.” King gleefully adds.

 

“You seem to forget that Magnifico won the first contest between these two.” LDP sharply contends.

 

“Sure he did. After getting the hell beat out of him for about fifteen minutes prior.” King counters, smiling. “ELM can win all he wants so long as he’s crushed physically and mentally beforehand.”

 

Wildchild hops backwards off of the turnbuckle and unwraps the Tag Title from around his waist before handing it to the ref. WC then begins to stretch, wanting to be at his best for this contest, the match that’s been on his mind for the past four weeks.

 

UNO!

 

“BOOM!

 

DOS!

 

“BOOM!”

 

TRES!

 

“BOOM!”

 

CUATRO!

 

“BOOM!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

 

The giddy audience easily overpowers Bunch of Believers’ “Mission Trip to Mexico”, and come close to doing the same to the pyro that shoots upwards from each turnbuckle in conjuction with each shouted word. A second later, they grow a few decibels louder, doing so in response to El Luchadore Magnifico bursting out from behind the curtain! Eschewing tradition, Magnifico doesn’t pose on the stage; instead, he just strides down the entrance ramp, his face like stone and his Mexican flag billowing gracefully behind him as he walks.

 

“And now, from Mexico City, Mexico, weighing in at two hundred and ten pounds...” Funyon bellows. “EL LUCHADOOOOOOOOOORE MAGNIFICOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

“Just look at Magnifico’s expression.” LDP notes. “All the frustration he’s suffered through since his return might have finally gotten to him.”

 

“Yes! I win!” King jubilantly exclaims. “I guessed closer than anyone else in the pool when the Mexican would snap! Those five hundred smackers are going right towards some cheap wine and a hooker.”

 

As LDP smacks King upside the head, Magnifico suddenly drops his flag on the outside and dives beneath the ring’s bottom rope. As Wildchild watches him, curious, Magnifico pops to his feet, walks right up to WC, and...

 

*CRACK!*

 

...pops him in the face with a quick right! The crowd immediately goes deathly silent, and a few boos can actually be heard as Wildchild’s head is snapped back by the force of the unexpcted blow. Shocked, WC locks his eyes on Magnifico, only to be struck in the face once more! This time, the scattered boos ring out loud and clear, and can be heard even when the ref hastily signals for the bell.

 

DING DING DING

 

“Whoa! What the hell?!” LDP cries, surprised despite himself. “ELM just came right out and cracked Wildchild in the face without any warning! This isn’t anything like how their first contest started.”

 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Pete!” King happily replies. “An underhanded, unexpected strike is much more exciting than all that stomach-turning mutual respect nonsense.”

 

Magnifico continues to wail away at Wildchild’s face, striking him with countless fierce rights as WC searches for a way to escape. It turns out he doesn’t need one, though, as ELM suddenly stops his assault, grabs Wildchild by the arm, and whips him across the ring. WC bounces off of the ropes on the other side of the ring and rushes back towards Magnifico, who greets Wildchild by lashing his arm out for a Knife-Edge Chop! However, WC deftly rolls beneath Magnifico’s extended arm and pops to his feet, spinning to face the luchadore as he spins to face Wildchild. ELM spins a little faster, though, and has time to deliver a quick kick to Wildchild’s gut. WC doubles over slightly, allowing Magnifico to quickly pull him into a Suplex position and hoist the Bahama Bomber into the air! But Wildchild begins struggling the second he’s in the air and manages to slip out of Magnifico’s grip, landing on his feet behind the luchadore and facing the same direction as him! The second WC hits his feet, he traps Magnifico in a Rear Waistlock and pulls him to the ground, flipping over the luchadore and pinning him to the mat with a Reverse Rollup! Wildchild puts all his weight on the legs of the struggling luchadore, doing so as the ref slides into position and the fans cheer for the unexpected Rollup.

 

ONE!

 

TW-No! Magnifico suddenly pulls his legs up and hooks them beneath WC’s arms, right before sitting up and using said legs to jerk Wildchild down to the mat! ELM grabs Wildchild’s legs and pulls down on them with all his might, completing the pin reversal as the ref restarts his count.

 

ONE!

 

TW-No! WC breaks free of the pin, and both men pop to their feet. Wildchild spins to face ELM, and is immediately stiffed as Magnifico slams his arm into WC’s chest with a Lariat! Wildchild’s body is snapped back to the mat by the force of the Lariat as the unsure fans murmur amongst themselves.

 

“Ouch! ELM knocks Wildchild back to the mat as soon as he stands in another glaring change from their last contest!” LDP reports. “In their first match, Magnifico gave WC time to get back to his feet, but now-“

 

“The Mexican isn’t pulling any punches!” King interjects. “He’s going to take advantage of every chance he gets this time; he doesn’t seem to care at all that Wildchild’s his friend! I love it!”

 

WC tries to scramble back to his feet, but Magnifico grabs him and throws him back into the nearby corner before he has a chance to do so. Before Wildchild has a chance to get out of there, ELM drives his arm forward and slices it into WC’s chest with remarkable ferocity!

 

CHOP!

 

*SMACK*

 

“WHOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

The fans release the requisite cheer for the Knife-Edge Chop as Wildchild grips his chest and leans forward, feeling the effects of the powerful strike. Magnifico immediately pushes him back in the corner, rears back once more, and...

 

CHOP!

 

*SMACK*

 

“WHOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

This time, Magnifico allows WC to come a bit out of the corner, as ELM’s just going to whip him across the ring anyway. ELM does just that and then runs after Wildchild as the Carribean Cruiser rushes towards the far corner. But as WC approaches the corner, he suddenly hits the mat with a baseball slide, hitting the pole with his outstretched feet! WC immediately pops back to his feet and lashes out with his leg, looking to land a Leg Lariat on the skidding-to-a-halt Magnifico! ELM manages to barely duck beneath the attack, though, Wildchild’s leg just skimming the top of his head!

 

“Wildchild catches Magnifico off guard, but the luchadore still manages to avoid his attack!” Pete comments. “He’s been much more alert of WC’s speed in this contest.”

 

“Which is starting to annoy me.” King declares. “The only reason I’m still here is because I wanted to see the Mexican get roughed up by the Wildchild.”

 

“Well, we get paid pretty well..” LDP helpfully adds.

 

“You get paid?!” King cries, distraught.

 

WC’s momentum causes him to spin around, allowing Magnifico to easily pull him into a Rear Waistlock. Not wasting a second, ELM immediately hoists Wildchild into the air, falls backwards, and throws WC backwards for a Release German Suplex! But as Wildchild is released, he displays his legendary acrobatic abilities by curling up into a ball and flipping backwards, landing on his feet and drawing an impressed cheer from the capacity crowd! Magnifico pops back to his feet and spins around, confused by the cheering...but any questions he might have about it are answered when he sees Wildchild sidestep towards him and throw his foot into the air! WC drives said foot directly into Magnifico’s chin, knocking him slightly airborne with the Shuffling Sidekick! A rousing cheer rises from the stand as ELM flops to the mat, floored by the fury of Wildchild’s Superkick. WC immediately falls to the mat and covers the luchadore, hooking his leg as the ref slides into position and begins counting.

 

ONE!

 

TWO-No! Magnifico kicks out after two. Undettered, Wildchild rolls off of Magnifico and grabs him by the arm, pulling ELM to his feet with him as he stands.

 

“Man, Wildchild never fails to impress.” LDP comments, smiling. “Even Magnifico was surprised to see WC flip out of that German Release Suplex and land on his feet.”

 

“The Mexican might have a better idea of Wildchild’s speed than when they first met,” King begins, “But that doesn’t mean he’ll see every counter Wildchild has to offer. Mag’s got to be at the top of his game to even keep up with him.”

 

Wildchild tries to whip Magnifico, but the luchadore manages to reverse it, instead sending WC rushing across the ring and towards the far ropes. Wildchild bounces off of said ropes, plants his hands on the mat, and handsprings into the air! Not sure what Wildchild’s got planned but deciding to play it safe, Magnifico ducks down. Unfortunately for him, that’s exactly what WC counted on, as he vaults his body right over the luchadore’s and twists it in mid-air, landing on his feet right behind ELM and facing the same direction as him! Magnifico stands up, wondering where the hell Wildchild went...and gets his answer when WC hooks both of his arms from behind! Moving quickly, Wildchild twists his own and Magnifico’s body around so that ELM is bent down behind him and in the starting position for the Wild Ride! The fans immediately release an anticipatory pop, but are quickly silenced when Magnifico breaks his arms free of Wildchild’s grip! Magnifico then sticks his head beneath Wildchild’s legs, grabs him behind the knees, and then stands up, hoisting WC with his shoulders into the air and into position for an Electric Chair Drop! However, the moment Wildchild’s in the air, he begins wildly driving his fist into Magnifico’s forehead, desperate to prevent ELM from landing the move! His strikes daze ELM enough to give Wildchild to reach down, grab him by the knees, and then roll forward, rolling Magnifico up at the same time with a Victory Roll! Wildchild does his best to hold the luchadore down as Magnifico furiously attempts to escape, doing so as the ref slides into position and begins counting.

 

ONE!

 

TWO! No! Magnifico breaks free of the Roll, and both men scramble back to their feet.

 

“Magnifico was a half-second away from landing that Electric Chair Drop after escaping the Wild Ride, but Wildchild reversed it into a Victory Roll just in time!” Pete reports. “Wildchild’s escaped all of ELM’s big moves so far, but I’m not sure he can do that forever.”

 

“The same thing goes for the Mexican, pal.” King adds. “Wildchild just missed the Wild Ride that time, but Magnifico won’t be so lucky on the next try.”

 

Wildchild reaches his feet a second earlier than Magnifico, which gives him time to drive a quick knee into ELM’s gut! With ELM doubled over, WC runs towards the ropes behind the luchadore and bounces off of them. As he rushes back towards the luchadore, Wildchild leaps towards him and grabs Magnifico around the head, looking to land the Whiplash! However, the second that WC grabs ELM’s neck, the luchadore reaches up, grabs Wildchild by the waist, and then stands up! A startled Wildchild is stranded on Magnifico’s shoulders and in position for La Dia De Los Muertos, drawing a wave of cheers from the surprised crowd. ELM does his best to hold onto WC, but the Bahama Bomber manages to wriggle out of his grip!

 

“Well, it was Wildchild who said he wanted time to prepare for this match,” Pete begins, “But it looks like Magnifico’s been preparing as well. He countered the Whiplash like he knew it was coming!”

 

Wildchild slips down Magnifico’s back, and as he does so, he wraps his arms around ELM’s neck as if for a Bulldog! Turns out that’s exactly what he has planned, as he begins running forward with Magnifico in tow! However, ELM plants his hands on Wildchild’s back as he runs and pushes him forward strongly, breaking WC’s grip and sending him running alone across the ring! Wildchild bounces off of the ropes, but before he can do anything else, Magnifico charges at him and lashes out with his arm, slamming it into WC’s neck with a Lariat! The fans OHHHH! as one as Wildchild is knocked over the top rope and to the outside with the force of the commanding Clothesline! WC hits the ground hard, but begins struggling to his feet only a few seconds later. Seeing this, Magnifico suddenly bolts for the ropes furthest from Wildchild, bouncing off of them as WC reaches one knee. When Wildchild reaches his feet, he looks around slowly, wondering what happened to Magnifico. ELM’s more than happy to answer that question, as he dives through the top and middle ropes at Wildchild, doing so just as the Bahama Bomber turns towards the ring! Magnifico crashes head-first into Wildchild’s chest with a Suicide Dive, much to the delight of the live audience! WC is knocked backwards to the ground and into the guardrail, which he hits fairly hard with the back of his head.

 

“Suicide Dive from Magnifico!” LDP excitedly announces. “I don’t think a single person in the building expected ELM to try something that risky.”

 

“Maybe not, but who cares?” King counters. “The Mexican’s not going to win this match by trying to out-flop Wildchild. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stick to a solid ground-based offense and just beat the hell out of Wildchild with it.”

 

Magnifico shakes off the impact of the Dive and climbs back to his feet, doing so as the ref begins to count both he and Wildchild out.

 

“ONE!”

 

Once ELM’s standing, he heads over to Wildchild. The Bahama Bomber is lying on his side and cradling his head, which is throbbing in pain from smacking against the guardrail. Magnifico grabs Wildchild by the arm and pulls him to his feet, surrounded on all sides by fans jockeying to be seen by the camera following the action.

 

“TWO!”

 

With Wildchild standing, ELM grabs him by the back of the head and leads him over to the nearby ringpost. Magnifico tries to drive Wildchild’s head forward and into the pole, but WC manages to throw his hands onto the post and prevent the strike, right before throwing an elbow back and driving it into ELM’s forehead!

 

“THREE!”

 

Magnifico releases his grip and stumbles away from Wildchild, but the Carribean Cruiser isn’t about to let him get away that easily. WC leaps onto the apron and runs the same direction as ELM’s heading, before suddenly and unexpectedly leaping into the air at him! Wildchild twists his body one hundred and eighty degrees as he flies, so that he’s facing away from Magnifico as he wraps an arm around the luchadore’s head in mid-air! WC’s momentum causes both men to fall; however, Wildchild has Magnifico’s head under his arm as he falls, and manages to spike it into the floor with a DDT as he hits the ground back-first!

 

“RAHHHHHHHH!!”

 

“FOUR!”

 

“Holy damn, what a move from Wildchild!” LDP cries. “I’m not even sure what to call that; he leapt off of the apron and twisted his body in mid-air so that he could apply a Front Facelock to a moving Magnifico, then used his momentum to drive the luchadore’s head into the ground with a DDT!”

 

“Christ, calm down Pete.” King replies, embarassed. “Wildchild does something like that at least once a match.”

 

“...fair enough.” Pete concedes. “Still, it was pretty cool, huh?”

 

“Yeah, it was.” King replies, grinning despite himself.

 

The impressed crowd is still cheering as ELM rolls around on the ground, his arms cradling his head as Wildchild quickly climbs back to his feet. Moving swiftly, WC grabs ELM by the arm, pulls him to his feet, and then rolls the luchadore into the ring. Wildchild dives right in after him and makes the cover, hooking the leg as the ref slides into position and the fans pop in anticipation.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH-No! ELM gets a shoulder up at two and a half, effectively ending much of the crowd’s cheering.

 

“Wildchild doesn’t get the pinfall, but it was important for him to regain control of the match.” LDP comments. “Magnifico’s been much more aggressive than usual tonight, and it’d be WC’s best interest to not let ELM dictate the direction of this contest.”

 

Undeterred by the lack of a pinfall, Wildchild pops back to his feet and ducks out to the apron, doing so as Magnifico begins pushing himself back to his feet. WC waits on the outside for ELM to stand, his hands gripping the top rope impatiently. The second Magnifico is on his feet, Wildchild pulls himself onto the top rope and springs into the ring, his body flying at ELM’s hunched over form! As Wildchild reaches him, he snares his arm around Magnifico’s head and captures him in a Front Facelock...which is the very second ELM reaches up and wraps his arms around WC’s waist! In one fluid motion, Magnifico then falls backwards, hoisting Wildchild over him and slamming his back into the canvas with a Northern Lights Suplex! ELM holds the bridge, drawing the ref into position to count as the surprised fans release a mighty cheer.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH-No! Wildchild breaks free of the bridge, allowing both men to fall unceremoniously to the mat.

 

“Amazing counter from Magnifico! Wildchild went for the Presumed Guilty, but ELM managed to reverse it into a Northern Lights Suplex!” LDP reports.

 

“That’s what you get for trying two DDT variations in a row.” King adds. “It’s all well and good that Wildchild wants to end the match before the Mexican can retake control, but he’s going to have to try harder than that.”

 

Both men climb back to his feet, Magnifico moving a little faster than Wildchild. As such, he gets to his feet when WC is on one knee, and is able to easily pull the Bahama Bomber into a Front Facelock. Wasting no time, Magnifico hooks one of Wildchild’s legs, setting him up for the Barrio Buster! ELM immediately attempts to lift WC, but finds it unusually hard to do so. Magnifico looks down to see Wildchild’s free leg wrapped around his, preventing the luchadore from lifiting WC into the air! Scowling, Magnifico takes his other leg and throws its knee into Wildchild’s gut! That strike is enough for WC’s leg hook to break, but Magnifico doesn’t stop there! Still holding Wildchild’s head and leg, Magnifico continues to slam his knee into WC’s gut, doing so until he collapses to one knee, his gut throbbing with inhuman pain. Magnifico suddenly stops his attack and lifts Wildchild off the mat, right before falling backwards and driving his skull into the canvas with a Barrio Buster! The fans seem to wince as one before releasing a rousing cheer, doing so as Wildchild flops motionless to the mat, his brains scrambled by the force of the Buster. Magnifico takes a half-second to catch his breath before rolling onto Wildchild, making the pin to the delight of the live audience. ELM hooks the leg, doing so as the ref falls to his knees and begins the count.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR-No! Wildchild gets a shoulder up right before the three count, ending some of the cheers but giving life to brand new ones at the same time.

 

“Goddamn, Magnifico just kept slamming that knee into Wildchild’s gut until he was unable to put up any resistance!” LDP notes, startled.

 

“Very impressive!” King adds, pleasantly surprised. “That’s the way to do it; just beat the hell out of your opponent until he’s a quivering, submissive mass.”

 

ELM scowls slightly as he rolls off of Wildchild, grabs him by the arm, and stands up, pulling WC to his feet with him. Magnifico then uses his grip to whip Wildchild across the ring and towards the far ropes, which WC bounces off of before rushing back towards the luchadore. As Wildchild approaches, Magnifico jumps into the air and extends his legs, looking to wrap them around WC’s head for a Hurricanrana! However, ELM leaps a half-second too early, as Wildchild has time to leap into the air and slam his head into Magnifico’s gut with a mid-air Spear! The impressed fans OHHH! as one as Magnifico falls to the mat and then to one knee, his hand on his gut as he tries desperately to get some air into his body. Wildchild’s popping to his feet as ELM pushes himself to his feet, still doubled over. The second WC’s standing, he places a leg on ELM’s neck and then hops into the air, using his falling weight to pulling Magnifico’s head downwards and slam his face into the canvas with the Caribbean Cutter! A mighty roar rises from the stadium as Magnifico flops onto his back, motionless save for the occasional spasmic jerk of a limb. Immediately after landing the Cutter, Wildchild throws himself onto Magnifico and hooks his leg, drawing the ref down to the mat to count and increasing the cheers pouring in from the audience as he does so.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR-No! Magnifico gets a shoulder up at two and a half, clearly still struggling to replace the oxygen blown out of his body by the Spear.

 

“No! Wildchild came out of nowhere with that Spear and then with the Carribean Cutter, but it wasn’t enough to keep Magnifico down!” LDP excitedly reports.

 

“Another move ganked from my legendary set!” King angrily cries.

 

“Do you really wanna defend a move you stole from Billy Gunn?” Pete counters.

 

“...grr.” King growls, annoyed.

 

Wildchild immediately pops back to his feet, right before stepping behind Magnifico and grabbing him by both arms, using that grip to pull ELM to his feet. As such, when ELM’s stands, he has both his arms hooked and is facing away from Wildchild. He’s only like that for a second, though, as WC quickly twists his own and Magnifico’s body around, leaving ELM bent down behind him and in position for the Wild Driver!

 

“Wild Driver!” Pete cries. “Wildchild grabbed control of the match and is immediately taking advantage, as he’s a second away from landing the Wild Driver!”

 

The fans pop in anticipation, but their enthusiasm is slightly premature as Magnifico breaks his arms free and shoves Wildchild forward, sending him rushing across the ring. As WC bounces off of the ropes, Magnifico steps forward and immediately grabs him, lifting the Bahama Bomber into the air as if for a Scoop Slam! However, ELM puts Wildchild on his shoulder first, the setup changing quickly and unexpectedly into that of La Dia de los Muertos!

 

“Well, Wildchild blew that pretty quickly.” King counters, rolling his eyes. “Hope he enjoys eating that Fire Thunder Driver, ‘cause he deserves it.”

 

Before Magnifico can execute said Driver, however, Wildchild wriggles free of ELM’s grip and lands behind the luchadore, facing the same direction as him! Wildchild moves before Magnifico can react, hooking his arms and twisting both bodies once more and relocking ELM into the position for the Wild Driver!

 

“No! Wildchild escapes La Dia de los Muertos and has ELM set up for the Wild Driver once more!” Pete reports.

 

But the decisive blow is not destined to be struck just yet, as Magnifico suddenly stands up, holding the grip on his arms and lifting Wildchild onto his back as he does so! In a split-second, WC is dangling upside down and helpless on ELM’s back, in position for the Wild Ride! The fans are somewhat confused by the chain of reversals, but cheer regardless as Wildchild struggles wildly to escape!

 

“Goddamnit. This is too confusing.” King grumbles. “Would one of you jerks just win the freaking match already, please?”

 

Magnifico has Wildchild locked in and seems to be ready to drive him into the canvas with the Wild Ride. However, he’s foiled when WC wraps his legs around ELM’s head and breaks his arms free, right before using his legs to pull himself up onto Magnifico’s shoulders! Surprised, ELM has virtually no time to counter when Wildchild hops backwards off of the shoulders and kicks his legs out, at the same time wrapping his arm around Magnifico’s head in a Reverse Headlock! WC’s falling pulls Magnifico down with him, and eventually allows Wildchild to slam the back of ELM’s head into the canvas with a Falling Reverse DDT! Happy to see the end of the reversals, the fans release a mighty pop as WC floats onto Magnifico and hooks his leg for the pin. The fans voice their full-throated approval, doing so as the ref slides into position and begins counting.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRRRRRNOOOO!! Magnifico gets a shoulder up right before the three count, drawing a disappointed OHHHH! from the live audience. Somewhat annoyed, Wildchild rollls off of Magnifico and slaps the mat. He takes a second to catch his breath, doing so while ELM lies next to him, motionless save for the rhythmic heaving of his chest.

 

“For Christ’s sake!” King shouts, irritated. “Well, at least they’re done with the reversals. Now all Wildchild needs to do is spike the Mexican’s head into the mat again and we’ll be in business.”

 

LDP glares at him.

 

“Oh, sorry. Bid’ness.”

 

Pete sighs. “After a series of reversals, Wildchild comes out on top with a Falling Revese DDT that stops just short of garnering the pinfall. In any case, Magnifico is in deep trouble. As King so eloquently put it, one more strong move might be enough to keep ELM down.”

 

After a moment’s rest, Wildchild grabs Magnifico by the arm and slowly stands up, struggling to pull ELM to his feet as he does so. But as Wildchild pulls, Magnifico suddenly and unexpectedly ducks under his arm while putting a hand under WC’s other one, setting him up for a Rio Grande Slam! WC’s caught off guard, but not enough to not throw some elbows into the side of ELM’s head! Wildchild does just that, hammering away at Magnifico's skull until his grip is weak enough for WC to escape! Once ELM’s dazed enough, Wildchild ducks behind Magnifico and hooks both of his arms! Not wasting a moment, WC twists both his own and ELM’s body...right before kicking his legs out and falling to the mat, slamming Magnifico’s skull into the canvas with the Wild Driver! The crowd pops huge for the unexpected finisher as Wildchild sits above and in front of the luchadore, struggling to work up the energy to turn around and pin Magnifico.

 

“Wild Driver! Wild Driver!” Pete shouts, surprised and excited at the same time. “After struggling mightily with Magnifico to his his finisher, he reverses the Rio Grande Slam and lands it out of nowhere!”

 

“FINALLY.” King groans. “Now we can all leave. Get your things, I’ll buy ya a glass of Shiraz at the run-down wine bar we passed on the way here.”

 

After a few seconds, Wildchild turns towards Magnifico, grabs him by the shoulder, and turns him onto his stomach. WC then falls on ELM, making the cover to the obvious delight of the live audience. Wildchild lays motionless on the luchadore, doing so as the ref slides into position and begins his count, which the crowd gleefully follows along with.

 

ONNNNNNEE!!

 

TWOOOOOOOOOOO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEENNNNOOOOOOOO!!!

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

 

Magnifico gets a shoulder up at the very last millisecond, spurring Wildchild to roll off of him and stare incredously at the referee. He holds up three fingers and gets the expected two in return, which cues Wildchild to curse loudly and clearly before beginning the trek to his feet.

 

“Kick out!! He kicked out!” Pete cries, his voice becoming hoarse. “Magnifico just avoids the pinfall by the skin of his teeth! He refuses to lose this match!”

 

WC stands after a second, and without pausing, immediately makes a break for the nearby corner. The crowd, getting over the shock of the kickout, begins to cheer as Wildchild ascends the corner’s turnbuckles, reaching the top within a few seconds. He slowly stands up on said turnbuckle, and uncharacteristically pauses as he looks down on Magnifico’s unmoving form. Suddenly, his attention turns to ELM’s Mexican Flag at the timekeeper’s station, which he proudly salutes to the great satisfaction of the crowd! Wildchild then leaps off of the top turnbuckle, flipping backwards as he does so! A wave of flashbulbs illuminate WC as he gracefully falls...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...and slams directly into Magnifico’s gut, perfetly executing the Mexican Pride Press as he does so! The pop the fans release is mythical in its magnitude, as each fan in the building cheers as loud as they know how while Wildchild bounces off of Magnifico, cradling his gut as ELM lays next to him, completely lifeless.

 

“If that’s not a kick in the ass.” King comments, trying to hide his astonishment.

 

“Mexican Pride Press from Wildchild!!” LDP, in desperate need of lozenges, shouts. “WC pulls out Magnifico’s aerial finisher from his bag of tricks to put the luchadore down!”

 

Pushing the throbbing pain in his gut out of his mind, Wildchild slowly crawls over to Magnifico, spurred on by the rousing cheers of the live audience. Finally, painfully, Wildchild throws himself onto ELM, making the cover and somehow causing the fans to up the decibel level a few notches. The ref immediately falls to his knees and begins his count, once again helped along by the gigantic crowd.

 

ONNNNNNNNNNNEE!!

 

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEE!!

 

DING DING DING

 

Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” hits the speakers once more, as if it matters. The only thing anyone inside the building can hear is the jubilant cries of seventeen thousand Frenchies as they celebrate Wildchild’s hard-fought victory.

 

“Your winner, by pinfall...” Funyon proudly declares, “WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILDCHIIIIIIIIIIIIILD!!”

 

“He did it! Wildchild gets the victory!” Pete announces, trying unscucessfully to hide his excitement. “It took some doing, but WC finally manages to score a pinfall on his friend and former idol!”

 

“Yeah, and all he had to do was completely disrespect the Mexican to do it.” King counters. “Using Magnifico’s own finisher on him is nothing short of a slap in the face.”

 

“Nonsense.” Pete snaps. “I’m confident that Wildchild meant it respectfully. He used the Mexican Pride Press as a tribute to Magnifico, not to embarass him.”

 

In the ring, Wildchild is slowly climbing back to his feet. As he stands, the ref raises his arm in victory, drawing one more pop from the drained audience. Wildchild weakly raises his other arm, right before putting said arm on his strained gut and doubling over in pain.

 

“Well, regardless of how he meant to use the Press, it got Wildchild the victory.” Pete begins. “And Magnifico’s rocky return continues.”

 

The camera focuses in on the body of El Luchadore Magnifico, who lies motionless in the middle of the ring, having yet another win slip out of his grasp...

[Ace309 0]

“This has gotta be devastating for Magnifico.” LDP grimly speculates, as he watches ELM lying motionless in the middle of the ring. “Wildchild was the only person he’d managed to get a decisive win over since his return.”

 

“And now that Wildchild’s gotten that win back, the circle of worthlessness is complete.” King adds, trying unsucessfully to hide his joy. “Magnifico’s proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that’s he’s washed-up has-been who can’t cut it anymore. He should just cut his losses and head back to wherever he came from.”

 

LDP just rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the ring, which, for some reason, Wildchild has not left. In fact, since shortly after landing the pinfall, he’s been watching the luchadore, expressionless. When he sees Magnifico stir and begin pushing himself to his feet, the Bahama Bomber slowly walks up to him, standing above the luchadore and staring down at him but so far doing nothing more than that. Slowly but surely, ELM clears out the cobwebs and realizes what’s happened. His anger comes quickly and fiercely, as he pounds both fists on the mat and tears at his hair, absolutely and unmistakably disheartened at letting yet another victory slip through his fingers. Wildchild watches the luchadore’s reaction for a second, and then slowly drops to one knee, doing so as Magnifico reaches his hands and knees. Ashamed, Magnifico looks up and locks eyes with Wildchild, who gives ELM a warm smile. Not breaking his gaze, ELM pushes himself onto his knees, his chest heaving and his entire body aching from the strenous contest he just went through. Wildchild sympathetically holds a hand out, drawing a wave of applause from the crowd, who appreciate the show of sportsmanship.

 

“Christ. Not this again.” King comments. “Can we just cut the cameras now and go home, please? I can’t stand much more of this.”

 

“Ah, shut up King.” Pete gruffly counters. “This is a heartwarming moment. Wildchild’s reaching out to his friend, his inspiration, trying to tell him to not be ashamed of his performance here tonight.”

 

Magnifico looks at the hand, and then back at Wildchild’s face. The Bahama Bomber wears an expression that says, “C’mon, Mag, let’s go. You did great, buddy.” Tears brim in ELM’s eyes, seemingly touched by Wildchild’s compassion and sympathy. Slowly, unsurely, Magnifico reaches out with both hands...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...and wraps them around Wildchild’s neck.

 

“...oh no.” Pete whispers.

 

Magnifico seems to suddenly come to life as he tightens his grip around Wildchild’s neck, pushing his thumbs into WC’s windpipe and choking every bit of breath out of his body! Surprised, Wildchild can offer little resistance as Magnifico thrusts him down to the mat, keeping his vice-like grip on WC’s throat! When it first happened, the crowd wasn't sure how to react, but now they’re absolutely convinced on what their response should be.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

The taunts and jeers pour in from every part of the arena as Magnifico stares coldly into Wildchild’s eyes, which are rolling into the back of his head. ELM’s face is a mask of unspeakable rage and frustration, every bit of his anger being expressed through his hands as he strangles Wildchild, whose darkening face speaks of the oxygen that his body so desperately needs. The referee shouts at Magnifico, practically begging him to release the hold, but ELM doesn’t seem to hear a word. He tries physically pulling Magnifico off of Wildchild, but the luchadore is like stone. He won’t move an inch.

 

“For God’s sake, get someone down here!” Pete shouts in anger and concern. “He’s killing him!!”

 

As if on cue, a calvacade of referees rush down the entrance ramp and dive into the ring. It takes the combined strength of the group of referees to pull Magnifico off of Wildchild, but finally, ELM’s grip is broken. Wildchild immediately begins coughing, his shocked body doing its best to get oxygen into the lungs. Slowly, with his arms and head hanging, Magnifico stands up. He looks down at Wildchild. He sees the man who reached out to him in friendship choking for breath, doing his best to fight off asphyxiation.

 

And he smiles.

 

“Jesus Christ.” LDP mutters, not believing what he just saw. King just sits next to him, unable to say anything.

 

Half of the refs tend to Wildchild, while the other half watch Magnifico slowly exit the ring and stride up the entrance ramp, his arms and head still hanging, as if he was a puppet whose legs were moving and nothing else. He’s surrounded on all sides by livid fans, but Magnifico doesn’t hear a word of it. It’s all being blocked out by the same words that keep running through his head, drowning out all outside noise. Words that Wildchild spoke to him not too long ago.

 

“Y’were an inspiration t’me, Mags.”

 

Fade out.