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SWF Storm 9-23-05

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Wildchild and Melissa Fasaki are making their way into the Verizon Wireless Arena, when he hears a fan shouting behind him:


“Hey Wildchild… you suck!”


The Bahama Bomber spins around and suddenly drops towards the ground, pulling Melissa down with him, and narrowly avoiding a large cup of soda being thrown by an apparently irate fan.


“Dude!” shouts Wildchild, quickly picking himself up off the ground. “What the hell?”


“Whasamatta?” continues the fan, as he is being forcibly escorted away by SWF Head of Security Jim Phelps. “Can’t take a hint? You and your partner can both go to hell!”


Wildchild can only stare in bewilderment at the belligerent fan, as he’s removed from the arena. “What was that all about?” asks Melissa.


“I’m not sure,” replies Wildchild. “People have been actin’ very weird around me lately, an’ I don’ know what the deal is. Like what happened at Genesis; an’ it’s been going on at house shows for weeks now!”


“Has the crowd ever reacted like that to you before?”


“Well… only once,” replies Wildchild, pausing thoughtfully. “Back when Johnny accused me of drug trafficking, a lot of de fans were harsh towards me, but not’ing like dis!”


Wildchild and Melissa continue on into the arena, heading towards their dressing room, when they are stopped by Ben Hardy. “Wildchild,” he shouts, running down the hall to catch up with them, “could I have a moment of your time, please?”


“Uh… okay, monsieur Benny,” replies a confused Wildchild, “but I thought dat I was supposed to be scheduled for time in de ring to say what I had t’say.”


“Uh, yeah,” says Hardy, running his hand through his hair, “about that… due to an… executive decision, it was decided that your ring time for this evening would be given to someone else, so if you wanted to say something, perhaps you might want to do it now.”


“Given to someone else?” blurts Wildchild. “To whom?”


“Well,” replies Ben. “I’m not at liberty to say. And, to be perfectly honest, your currently eating away into your promo time right now.”


“B-B-But I don’ understand what’s going on!” stammers Wildchild. “What IS going on? Why am I being treated like a second-class citizen?”


“Well, Wildchild, I have been informed by a representative of the SWF’s Executive Committee that there has been a very loud and severe amount of negative fan reaction directed towards you and Johnny. Some fans have even gone so far as to threaten to stop watching if Wild and Dangerous aren’t taken off of television, and the Executive Committee has decided that, until they can properly assess the extent of this backlash, you and Johnny’s TV time is to be kept at a minimum until further notice.”


“Huh?” asks an incredulous Bahama Bomber. “How can dey do dat? We’re de Tag Team Champions; how’re dey gon’ keep us off TV?”


“Well,” replies Johnny, “You two will, of course, be given the opportunity to defend your titles on SWF programming, but aside from that, you two will not be allowed promo or interview time, until further notice.”


“Dis is ridiculous!” exclaims Wildchild. “An’ jus’ what is it dat people are telling de Committee dat we’ve done?”


“Well,” Ben pauses to nervously run his hand through his hair, “actually, it’s more sort of what you two haven’t done.”


Wildchild’s face contorts in perplexity. “Perdon?”


“Well, to be honest, fans are starting to grow weary of the constant tension between you and Johnny,” explains Ben. “People have complained to the SWF that you two are dragging down the show… you, in particular.”


“Me? What for?”


“Your constant complaining about Johnny’s questionable actions, especially since winning the SWF World Heavyweight Title for a second time. I mean, at one time, polls on SWF.com indicated that fans saw you as sympathetic, but the longer you’ve continued to remain partners with Johnny, the less goodwill you retain amongst the fans… Many people have e-mailed the SWF to say that your constant criticism of Johnny’s behavior, while taking no steps to either rectify the situation or disassociate yourself from him has left you looking like someone whom the fans no longer want to rally behind.”


“Monsieur Hardy,” says Wildchild, “I’m an island boy. I don’ suppose you could break dat down into simpler terms?”


“Uh,” stammers Hardy, “you need to… uhm… I mean, ah, the fans…”




“They… ah… they think you crap, or get off the pot.”


Wildchild looks at Hardy with a baffled expression. He blinks once, twice, three times. Finally, he slowly begins to reply. “Benny, you don’t know what’s going on between Wild and Dangerous, and frankly, neither do de fans. I can appreciate dat they don’t think dat we’re a good fit, but me an’ Johnny have been teaming for years now, an’ dat’s not somet’in dat can be undone in a week or two… Sure, we’ve had problems, but t’ings are not as simple as some of our fans might t’ink dey are.”


“So, are you saying then that you don’t intend to look into what the fans are saying?”


“I’m saying,” says the apparently oblivious Wildchild, “dat dere’s more going on between me an’ Johnny den de fans understand, and I’m asking dat dey show a little patience while we get t’ings ironed out between us… Besides, whether dey like it or not, as long as we’ve got de Tag Team Titles, we’re not going anywhere… Now, if you’ll excuse me, I reckon dat I don’t have much reason to be in de building any more tonight. Au revior, monsieur!”


With that, Wildchild turns away and stalks off in a huff, pulling Melissa behind him. Ben shakes his head in exasperation before turning to face the camera. “Well, Wildchild was understandably disturbed by what he just heard, but I can’t help but find it discouraging that he did not seem willing to take anything that was said to heart… I guess that some guys can’t see the forest for the trees sometimes. King, Pete, back to you!”

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The music to “Secret Agent Man” has just died down when Storm returns to the ring after a commercial break. In the ring at the moment are “Secret Agent Man” and “Mr. Bahamas 2005” – two masked wrestlers trying to break into the business and given a shot in SWF.


“You know those guys remind me of someone” Pete says as he can’t quite put his finger on what it is about the two guys in the ring. “Well all I know is that tonight is sure to be both Wild… and Dangerous. A debut of sorts – although you’ve already seen them in action once” Suicide King follows up eager to just get to the match already.


A heavy guitar riff slices through the silence of the crowd.


The lights are killed as the heavy euro-metal music continues and Funyon is in the ring microphone raised speaking rather quickly tonight. “And introducing their opponents, weighing in at a combined weight of 544 pounds – this is the NIGHTMAAAAAAAAAAAAAREEEEE EXPREEEEEEEEEEESSSS!!


A booming voice cuts there the tail end of the announcement as it asks the pertinent question...





Solid blue pyros EXPLODE from the ring posts, sending opponents and announcer scurrying for refuge...




Suddenly the aisle lights turn on but the rest of the arena remains pitch black.




A sparkling blue pyro fills the ring entrance as the voice gets up high with a screech





The Arena lights begin to flicker with the beat of the song...until being interrupted by a huge 10-pyro simultaneous multi-colored explosion that alights the arena in perfect time with a guttural screaming voice echoing throughout the venue!





Bruce and Marcus stand right inside the arena, side by side looking fired up and ready to go. Instead of their usual gear they’re both wearing similar looking trunks today – Ward’s in his trademark steel grey, Bruce in black. Both with spiderweb markings in white and blue on one leg and on Blank's knee pads, as well as Ward's hand wrappings. Ward has his Golden pyramid on his right leg and Bruce has a devil’s mask on his left leg but otherwise they’re identical in appearance.


“So… Ward and Blank ARE the Nightmare Express??” Pete says in confusion which just makes King roll his eyes in exasperation.





As they being to walk towards the ring the camera zooms in on the determined faces of Ward and Blank. The Mastermind with his trademark yellow triangle face paint newly adorned with three bright-blue light beams radiating from it. Bruce comes out with an uncharacteristically clean shaved face, hair slicked back into a pony tail and a blue star painted over his left eye.


The Nightmare Express stop on the floor, turn to the crowd and raise their fists in the air which draw a very hostile reaction. The hostility increases as

Ward and Blank slide under the bottom ropes and quickly jump their masked opponents.


“They didn’t even wait for the bell” Pete says disapproving. “Only losers obey the bell, hell that’s what cost TKO the match, they put too much faith in the bell” King says with admiration.


Bruce lays in a series of clubbing right hand blows to Secret Agent Man while Ward drives Mr. Bahamas 2005’s head into the turnbuckle repeatedly. Then Marcus gives a sign, they each whip their opponent towards the center of the ring, crashing into each other.


Bruce picks up Secret Agent Man by the throat and lifts the 125 pounder up in the air using only his right arm, his left heavily taped up from the Hardcore title match at Genesis. Bruce just holds the helpless opponent by the throat for a few seconds before driving him hard into the canvas. Then he tags Ward who had stepped out on the apron a quarter of a second before.


“Man these guys have been working on their tag-team moves” King says, enjoying the dismantlement of “Widdle and Wangerous” that’s going on right before his eyes.


Bruce and Ward grab Secret Agent Man, presses him over their heads in a gorilla press and then both just walk away in opposite directions casually dropping the masked Agent to the ground. Ward throws Secret Agent Man into the ropes and then drives him into the canvas with a tilt-a-whirl slam.


“Another quick tag” Pete points out as Ward slaps Bruce’s hand. “You talk like TKO are the only team in the company that knows how to team up Pete, come on now” King says a little annoyed.


Bruce gets down on one knee as Ward grabs Secret Agent Man and drives him back and shoulder first into Bruce’s knee with a spine buster. Then he casually steps out on the apron as Bruce man handles the pint sized opponent. Ward hold a leg up in the air and Bruce is quick to throw his opponent face first into it.


“I gotta admit they’re looking pretty good together, I bet they’ve been working out since they beat TKO” Pete says.


Bruce knocks the Agent down, pulls the knee pad off his opponent’s right leg and then locks that leg into a single leg Boston Crab before tagging in Ward.


“Why did he pull the knee pad down” Pete asks. Ward quickly shows Pete and everyone watching in the arena and at home why as he runs across the ring and kicks the exposed knee with visible enjoyment.


Bruce lifts his knee up and seconds later Ward slams his opponent into the knee before tagging in Bruce. Bruce climbs up on the second rope as Ward lifts Secret Agent Man up in the air. Bruce grabs him and comes off the second rope in a power slam that drives his opponent half way through the canvas. Bruce doesn’t even bother to cover, he just picks up his opponent and throws him into the corner where Mr. Bahamas 2005 reluctantly tags in


“Man he looks like he doesn’t really want to enter the ring” Pete says as Mr. Bahamas reluctantly enters the ring. “Well who can blame him? Bruce is like a foot taller and about 130 pounds heavier than him” King points out.


Mr. Bahamas tries a flying attack but is caught mid air by Bruce who just drives him into the canvas. Then he lifts him up in a suplex position, stalling with him upside down.


“The Blank Bomb” Pete says expecting Bruce’s finisher. “No Ward tagged him on the shoulder – man I can’t wait to see what they have in mind” King follows up.


Bruce drops Mr. Bahamas back forward over the shoulder of Marcus Ward who takes the momentum and turns it into a HUGE spine buster and the cover.




Bruce runs across the ring and kicks Secret Agent Man off the apron.




Ward doesn’t even have the leg hooked as he covers the tiny Bahamian







Before their music can even kick in Ward is on his feet motioning for a microphone. Funyon quickly obliges him fearing for his life.



Marcus Ward picks the microphone up and taps it to the side of his temple...but remains stone-faced stoic, no trademark smirk tonight...only a trademark voice cutting through the boos like a rust through a robot...


"Manchester, New Hampshire."


The crowd cheers at their name in predictable fashion...only to boo as Ward cuts them off with his deep, level litany...


"You're not important."


The Mastermind executes perfect heel timing as he maintains a straight face speaking over their torrent of jeers...


"T K O."



The fans attempts to cheer for their anti-heros...only to be spoken down to...


"You're not important."


Bruce Blank spits on the ground at the last comment, clearly ready to prove that point as Marcus continues his speech...



" Wild and Dangerous. "


Even Ward's near-monotone utterance can't contain the exuberance this audience has for the Tag Team Champions...until he puts them down too...



"You're not important."



Blank chuckles to himself and cracks his neck, while Ward maintains his very intense stoic mannerism as he continues through the crowd disapproval...


"The Nightmare Express."



BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! erupts from the crowd suddenly not at all liking where this promo is going...



Blank and Ward speak into the microphone at the same time...



"We are."



Suddenly Marcus Ward cracks that trademark smirk, and Bruce Blank can't help but laugh at the barrage of negativity cascading from the Manchester fans.



Ward points straight to the entranceway as he continues...



"We are... THE NEW REIGN OF FUCKING TERROR! in the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation..."



"Know us."



"HATE US..."



"BUT..." Ward holds his finger up to his head and taps it once on his temple...



"You'll never beat us."



Marcus Ward tosses the microphone to the canvas after the final line that Bruce Blank joined in on...smirk gone from Ward's face...Bruce showing only business on his...The Nightmare Express walking right back up the walkway, Reign of Terror by Stratovarius screaming throughout the arena...











The Nightmare Express stop at the entrance and look over the entire audience booing them...and smile as they listen.





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Backstage at SWF Storm, aimlessly roaming around the halls of the Verizon Wireless Arena is Manson. Most prominent is the black leather jacket adorning his upper body, glistening in the track lighting from above as Ben Hardy runs up to him.




"God, what is it." he says, rolling his eyes as he turns.


"Manson, just before Genesis, you made a bold declaration of war against the SWF, but if you don't mind me saying... things didn't quite pan out at Genesis."


"Listen, I'm not in the mood. I don't need to hear it from anyone, least of all from you!" he screams, getting in Hardy's face.


"I meant nothing by it..." mutters Hardy.


"Save it. You know, I was undefeated at Genesis, including two cage matches, and then that... fucking rookie Akira," he bristles as he mentions the name. "What can I do, Hardy? Tell me what I can do! Give me an answer! Give me a fucking answer!" he screams again, grabbing Hardy by his collar.


"Easy, Manson. It was just a fluke, I'm sure," he utters as Manson releases him. "But what's next for you?"


"You know what, I don't know, alright? I just don't know anymore," he says, as he simply turns and walks away.

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Johnson charges…well as fast a he can charge at this point of the match, but Zyon simply leap frogs a bloody JJ Johnson and turns looks to hit Johnson with the “SNAP” running dropkick!!!


King: He’s attempting that “Snap” dropkick.


Pete: One of the more popular mo-BRITISHISCHIS




-n tries to make it back to his feet, but Johnson stomps that dream away by giving Zyon a swift kick to the face. The submission specialist then decides to show some CANADIAN RAGE ~ by placing Zyon into a picture perfect sharpshooter.


Pete: Even though I may dislike JJ Johnson I love the Sharpsho-BRITISHISCHIS



-er the youth on. JJ Johnson makes his way toward his opponent and looks for a right hand, but Zyon just takes it and finds a way to throw Johnson into the temple face first. JJ Johnson bounces off the Erechtheion and into Zyon who delivers a kick to Johnson and goes for his patented “Final Hour” cradle piledriver!!!!


Pete: This could give Zyon ample enough time to find and plant the olive tree.


King: I can’t believe we are basically marking out for an olive tree.


Zyon attempts to lift the former UFC fighter, but JJ Johnson counters by sweeping Zyon’s legs from out of under him and then goes for a sharpshooter, but Mak Francis walks up to JJ Johnson and hooks him into the “FRANCHISE TAG!!” This time Johnson isn’t able to escape and is stricken down with the finisher landing in a nasty fashion on the ground covered in rock and dry clay!!


Pete: Oh that was just IN-BRITISHISCHIS



"...sane." says Hawke, Johnson looking up only briefly from his tape studying to acknowledge his stablemate's comment. "Pete's so predictable."


JJ smirks at this, and nods in agreement as he continues to fast forward through the rest of Acropolis Now on his "Unique Youth: The Best of Zyon" DVD. The Dean of Professional Wrestling chuckles a little.


"If I may impart some veteran advice, tape studying is a lot more effective if you don't fast forward through the crappy parts." says Jay. "Especially with Zyon. You'll have gone through the whole DVD without learning a thing."


The smirk on Johnson's face becomes a grin, and he presses play. The DVD slows down to normal speed, and the entrances of the Red Light Rumble in Amsterdam come into view, just in time for Zyon to bust through the curtain, his belt around his waist. The grin immediately fades, and Johnson stares, momentarily, at his first SWF accomplishment before remembering that he has his own gold now. Better gold, contrary to the belief of one particular country bumpkin.


"But in all seriousness, don't underestimate him. I think that's why you've never beaten him." says the International Champion, his joking smile dropping off of his face as he imparts some more advice on the ultimate fighter. At "never beaten him", Johnson's head snaps to attention, and he mouths one word.




Jay thinks for a moment, then grabs the remote and skips to that match, fast-forwarding to the finish.


-e 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!





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.









And it's at that point that Hawke pauses. It's right there on the screen, for anyone to see.



Pretzler got the fall. On Manson. Johnson didn't beat Zyon. Not technically. Johnson stares a hole through the TV, realizing that way Jay said is true. He's never beaten Zyon. Not in three opportunities. And if he doesn't take him seriously, he's not going to be able to do it a fourth time.


"Oh, and by the way, I got something for you." adds Hawke as an afterthought before walking to his particular section of the Cucaracha Internacional locker room and pulling something out of his bag. With a flick of his wrist, it's headed the Canadian's way, and he effortlessly snatches it out of the air before looking at the cover.






"I think you know what that's for." says the Dean before turning and starting to leave the locker room, only to run into the leader of the faction.


"Oh, hey Jay." says La Cucaracha, a bit out of breath, before looking to see Johnson slipping the DVD into the player. "What's JJ doing?"


"You didn't see the Lockdown card? He's facing Zyon, for the title." answers the International champ.


"Ah, I see. He...he looks pissed off." notes Landon, glancing at Johnson's face before turning back to Jay. Jay looks behind him, for his own gander at Johnson's face.


"Nah, he's not pissed. He's just motivated. And him being motivated isn't going to hurt anyone." chuckles the 8-year veteran, his tone doing wonders in its attempt to calm the doubts of the Future.


"Well, except maybe Zyon." adds the Dean, laughing to himself as he walks out of the room, Johnson pointing the remote at the DVD player and pushing a button.


As Genesis VI continues from the World’s Most Famous Arena, we cut to our broadcast team, looking as exhausted as many of the wrestlers who have already competed tonight.


Pete: “Can you believe this amazing action, King? And we’ve still got a long way to g-BRITISHISCHIS




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Yet another inane, annoying commercial break draws to an end, and SWF Storm mercifully returns to the airwaves of the SWF Network. The live audience isn’t exactly thrilled at being there, though, as they’re sullen and irritated over having spent their hard-earned money on a goddamn promo show.








Their demeanor doesn’t improve any when Atake FDD’s “Tu Final” hits the speakers, accompanied by a burst of red, white, and green pyro that explodes upwards from the stage. A moment later, El Luchadore Magnifico bursts through the pyro-induced smoke, a cheerful grin on his face and the World Heavyweight Title wrapped around his waist. His Mexican Flag flaps gracefully behind him as he saunters down the entrance ramp, savoring this extremely satisfying moment.


“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the World Heavyweight Champion...” Funyon begins, drawing a secondary wave of boos as he does so, “EL LUCHADOOOOOOOOORE MAGNIFICOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”


Magnifico reaches the ring and rolls beneath its bottom rope, before popping to his feet and thrusting his Mexican flag into the air. The crowd somehow manages to grow even louder as ELM smiles a big, toothy smile, loving their reaction to his presence.


“And welcome back to SWF Storm, everyone.” Pete halfheartedly greets, not happy in the slightest to see the luchadore. “Looks like ELM’s ready to run his mouth some more after winning at Genesis.”


“Pete, how can you be so blasè about this?” King questions, insulted. “This is the triumphant speech of a legendary champion! Magnifico has realized his destiny, and we all get to share in his joy here tonight!”


“...God, you’re irritating.” Pete mumbles. King shoots him a nasty glare, but doesn’t say anything.


After a moment, he sets the flag up in a corner and signals for the microphone. Some guy in a black shirt hands him one, and with the microphone in hand, ELM slowly walks towards the center of the ring, looking as though he’s carefully thinking over his words. After a moment, he looks up, smiles, and finally speaks.


“I told you so.”




ELM chuckles to himself and allows the crowd to quiet down a bit before continuing.


“At SWF Genesis VI, I had one of the greatest matches of my career.” Magnifico declares, pacing slowly around the ring. “Not great just because of the intensity of the contest, or because I pinned Danny Williams in the center of this ring.”


ELM gets another wave of boos for that, but he talks over them. “Hell, not even because I won my fourth World Heavyweight Title, becoming only the second man and the only cruiserweight in SWF history to do so.”


Magnifico shakes his head and looks out over the crowd. “It was one of the greatest matches in my life because I was vindicated. Proven right. I showed each and every one of you that I was right and that Danny was dead wrong. And that feels better than anything else.”


The same infuriating smile returns to ELM’s face as the fans vigorously boo him, more annoyed that he’s right than anything else.


“I told Danny.” ELM continues. “I told him time and time again that his dependence on your approval was a fatal weakness. That if he continued to fight simply for your approval, he would not be able to realize his true potential. That he was weak and that I was strong, because I fought for myself and my family and for no one else.”


Magnifico suddenly grows serious. “But he just wouldn’t listen. He stubbornly, foolishly refused to follow my advice. All it would have taken is one chair shot, Danny. All you had to do was go against their will ONCE, and you’d still be World Champion. But you just couldn’t do it. It just wasn’t in it.”


“You’re a coward, Danny Williams.” ELM declares as everyone in attendance boos and curses him out. “You were so terrified of these people turning on you that you couldn’t give me one lousy chair shot, even if it meant keeping the World Heavyweight Title. You’re weak. You’re NOTHING.”


There is nothing that the live audience would like more than to see Danny Williams barrel down that ramp right now and beat the hell out of Magnifico. ELM sees that a good portion of the crowd is looking expectantly at the entrance stage and laughs to himself, honestly amused by their naivety.


“He’s not coming, you know.” Magnifico suddenly says, happy to dash their hopes. “Danny Williams is gone for good. He can make whatever ridiculous excuses he wants, but the truth is that he’s scared. Scared to admit that his cowardice and stupidity lost him the World Heavyweight Title. Scared to show his face and risk seeing the disappointment etched on each and every one of your faces. Scared of ME.”


The crowd’s furious, and let Magnifico know by releasing a massive wave of angry boos. ELM observes their reaction and smiles, letting them get it out of their system before continuing.


“Since I don’t need to concern myself with Danny Williams anymore, it’s time to look towards the future.” Magnifico boldly states. “I feel it to be my solemn duty as SWF Champion to educate the rest of the roster. To show those that foolishly depend on your approval a better way. My work will not be done until everyone in the SWF has seen the light, as I have.”


“My work begins on Lockdown.” Magnifico continues. “My first defense of the World Heavyweight Title, against one Akira Kaibatsu. This young man shows a world of promise, and I’ll be glad to personally show him how good one can become upon realizing their ultimate potential. And when he’s laying face-up in the middle of this ring, dazed, blinded by the arena’s lights, it’ll come to him. He’ll see what I’ve seen.”


“And it will be glorious.”


With that, Magnifico drops the microphone, grabs his Mexican flag, and exits the ring, followed by the defiant shouts and boos of the capacity crowd. He turns around on the ramp and slowly walks backwards up of it, grinning happily as he looks out over the live audience.


“Magnifico thinks himself to be some kind of savior.” Pete incredulously speculates. “He’s delirious. What wisdom does he think he has to impart upon the rest of the roster?”


“Only how to be one of the best in SWF history.” King scoffs, as though the answer were obvious. “And I, for one, salute Magnifico for being generous enough to share his valuable knowledge with the less enlightened members of our roster. He sets an example for all of us.”




SWF Storm

© 2005 – Riot Act productions

The SWF – “Raising Workrate by Typing Faster.”

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