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SWF Storm - November 25th!

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The Cold Front Classic meets Hardcore Storm!




The Main Event - Cold Front Classic First Round Match

#5 The Masked Crusader vs. #4 "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins


--> So the Crusader fell a little short against Magnifico. Big whoop. I mean, who hasn't?


Both of these men have suffered recent losses to Magnifico - tonight, they both fight for their chance at a second crack at the World Heavyweight Champion!






SWF Cruiserweight Championship Match

JJ Johnson © vs. Zyon


--> If you recall, JJ and Zyon had a bit of a thing a while back. JJ and Zyon also had a Cruiserweight Title match scheduled a while back, but plane delays ruined our chances of seeing that amazing contest...




As a Welcome Back gift to Zyon, he finally gets his shot at JJ's Cruiserweight Title (barring any more plane delays, that is). And JJ finally gets a shot to pin his unpinnable rival once and for all!


Rules: NOT HARDCORE, oddly enough. Standard match with Cruiserweight addenda.




'If JJ Doesn't Get A Break, Then Neither Does TORU' Match

TORU Takahara vs. "The Icon" Max King


--> Both JJ and TORU won their first-round Cold Front Classic matches. And I'm sure they were both looking for some time off between now and their second round matches.




JJ, weirdo that he is, actually wants to defend his title. And if JJ's wrasslin', then TORU's wrasslin'. Tonight, he goes one on one with the returning Max King!






Cold Front Classic First Round Match

#6 Wildchild vs. #3 Johnny Dangerous


--> Hooooly crap. What are the odds of this? One of the most heated rivalries in recent memory, one in which CC has been trying to keep the participants seperated as often as possible, now spills over into the Cold Front Classic Tournament! This opening round match pits two odds-on favorites to win the tournament against each other, but one wonders which these two will be more focused on - The World Title shot, or tearing each other apart!






SWF International Championship #1 Contenders Match

Wes Davenport vs. Candace


--> Jay Hawke, our FIERCE International Champion, is out of the Cold Front Classic, so it's time for him to go back to what he does best - killing every contender that vies for his title. To do that, though, we need a contender. Candace also went out in the first round of the Tournament, but she's been fairly impressive as of late, so here is her runner up prize. As for Wes - slippery little snake, that Wes. His huge win on Smarkdown has convinced us that he's ready for bigger, and possibly better, things.






SWF Ultraviolent Championship Match

Bruce Blank © vs. "The Rage" Jason von Dierch


--> Bruce Blank is one half of the Tag Title Contenders with a man he clearly doesn't get along with, and now he has been barred from competing on Lockdown. I'm guessing he's not real happy right now.


The question is, though, who's worse off? Blank, for aforementioned reasons, or Jason von Dierch, for getting his title shot against Blank when he's in this bad a mood?



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We return after learning that former football star OJ wants you to buy his gloves, that Kobe wants people to buy his shoes and that MC Hammer wants someone to please, please, please give him his pants back – or in other words your standard cable TV advertising block.


”Well every time that I come home nobody wants to let me be”




The opening line to “Don’t ask me no questions” draws a massive amount of boos and jeers from the crowd. Even without the aid of fancy pyrotechnics displays or flashing lights and other do-das Bruce Blank’s entrance is able to produce quite a hostile reaction from the crowd.


”It seems that all the friends I got just got to come interrogate me

Well, I appreciate your feelings and I don't want to pass you by

But I don't ask you about your business, don't ask me about mine”


The curtains are pulled to each side to reveal Bruce standing there, arms on his hips, head cocked to one side looking totally and royally pissed off as he points to his T-Shirt which reads


“Too Violent for Lockdown” where the Lockdown logo has a red X over it.


Bruce quickly straightens up his beat up cowboy hat and steps into the arena while ignoring the now familiar chant as he walks towards the ring.




”Well its true I love the money and I love my brand new car

I like drinkin' the best of whiskey and playing in a honky tonk bar

But when I come off the road, well I just got to have my time

'Cause I got to find a break in this action, else I'm gonna lose my mind”


Bruce stops half way down the steel ramp and raises the Barbwire wrapped, blood spattered Ultraviolent title high up in the air, proudly displaying the title he’s worn and defended for 84 days straight now.


”So, don't ask me no questions

And I won't tell you no lies

So, don't ask me…”


The music is cut off as ”The Rage” Jason Von Dierch comes darting out from behind the curtains and takes Bruce down with a tackle caught Bruce totally off guard..


”The Rage” isn’t waiting for the bell, he can’t wait to get the match started!” Pete says as they watch Jason Von Dierch punch away at Bruce’s neck and shoulders while the champion tries to cover up the best he can.


“No one has ever done that to Bruce before, it’s a good strategy to surprise Bruce like that” King says admiring the guts of the young Von Dierch


Jason’s brass knuckles sparkle in the sharp spotlight when his hand strikes Bruce over and over again as he tries to inflict as much damage as he can before Bruce can regroup. Each time Jason’s brass knuck clad right fist connects with Bruce’s body it drives home the lack of respect and intimidation on the part of ”The Rage”, he’s not afraid of Bruce and he’s demonstrating it each time the metal strikes Bruce’s arm or shoulder or neck or when it manages to connect with Bruce’s skull and draw blood from the impact.


“I’m quite impressed, this is the way to take the title from Bruce! You fight him head on, take him down and get in control” King explains to the viewers at home


“Oh so you’re saying that guys like Spike Jenkins or JJ Johnson or Landon Maddix didn’t do that?” Pete replies questioning King’s logic




Jason grabs Bruce by the hair and pulls it towards him to get a clear shot at Bruce’s skull, but just as he pulls his right hand back to fire off another shot Bruce brings his knee upwards straight into the most sensitive parts of Jason Von Dierch’s body


“ATTABOY Bruce!! That’s how you win a match, I got a good feeling about Bruce defending the title tonight” King says applauding the low blow.


“You just said that ”The Rage” would win the title!”


With his opponent incapacitated Bruce manages to get back on his feet, shaking his right arm to overcome the effects of the repeated blows with the brass knuckles. The camera zooms in on Bruce’s right shoulder to reveal a deep bruise / cut that has left the outline “egaR” on the Ultraviolent champion’s skin


“Well if nothing else ”The Rage” has already left his mark on Bruce Blank” Pete quips


”Oh har, har you’re about as funny as a root canal” King replies in an unamused tone of voice.


Bruce grabs Jason’s right hand as ”The Rage” is still mainly focused on the pain in his groin and pulls the brassknucks off Jason’s fingers. Bruce tries to slide them on his own hand but the finger holes are just too small for Bruce’s huge paw of a hand. Bruce throws the knucks down in anger and turns his attention back towards Von Dierch. ”The Rage” is back up on his feet although he’s still hurting as Bruce runs towards the much smaller challenger.


“Wow it’s not often we see Bruce actually run” Pete says amazed at the sight of 295 pounds of muscle actually moving faster than a walking pace.


Bruce ducks down, drives his right shoulder into Jason’s midsection as he wraps his arms around his opponents lower body and drives him backwards with such a vicious that the spear drives Jason’s back and Bruce’s head straight into a section of the guardrail.




The impact drives the guardrail backwards into the legs of the fans in the first row as the two wrestlers actually manage to BEND the guardrail with the impact of their bodies.




“Bruce’s power is off the chart!! He may be the most powerful man in the SWF right now” King says impressed with the viciousness of the move.


“Yeah but not that smart King. He rammed his own head against the guardrail with that move as well” Pete says as an instant replay flashes across the screen


the instant replay shows a slow motion repeat of how Jason’s back is driven into the steel, how the top bar in the guardrail buckles under the pressure and how the side of Bruce’s head slams into the smaller upright bars as he sacrifices his own health to hurt Jason.


“I’m not so sure Bruce should take that many blows to the head, I mean he’s already… different” Pete comments as they watch the replay once more, repeated to cover for the fact that neither Jason nor Bruce are moving at the moment.


“You talk about him like he’s a retard Pete. He’s not an idiot, he just has his own way of dealing with things” King points out.


“Yeah by hitting it with something hard”


“The secret to his success” King says to endorse Bruce’s methods.


“If either one of them had their shoulders on the ground instead of on the guardrail this match would have been over” Pete says pointing out that ALL Ultraviolent title defenses have a “Falls Count Anywhere” stipulation.


After a couple of moments more Bruce finally manages to drag himself back to his feet and then stagger towards the ring with glazed over eyes. When he sees the two trashcans full of all sorts of weapons he can’t help but grin, this is his type of match after all, his environment. He quickly grabs one of the cans and throws it into the ring spilling the chairs and chains and barbwire and pool cues and other stuff all over the canvas. Then he pulls a VCR out of the other trashcan and turns back towards the aisle to go after “The Rage”


But Jason has recovered as well and drop kicks the VCR into Bruce’s face




The force of the kick and the VCR shot knocks Bruce back against the apron where Jason quickly slides the Ultraviolent champion under the bottom rope and into the ring with all the “Hardcore plunder”. Jason quickly slides under the bottom rope as well to keep up the attack.


“Bruce is in serious trouble here, he’s down and his opponent has access to a lot of weapons, each of them able to maim a person when used correctly” King says sounding a bit concerned about Bruce’s title reign.


“Like the pool cue! To most that’s something you use for fun!” Pete says to point out the “Twilight Zone” nature of wrestling.


Jason gets down on the canvas, flips the pool cue around so that the thick handle is facing forward as he lines up like he was playing pool. He pumps the cue twice before jamming the thick handle straight into Bruce’s throat.


“He could crush Bruce’s Larynx with that move” King says, revealing his vast medical knowledge


“If that would keep Bruce from talking… maybe that’s not such a bad thing” Pete says while contemplating just how much nicer it would be if Bruce would shut up, even if just for one show.


With Bruce down Von Dierch takes the opportunity to grab the roll of barwire and quickly unrolls the 3-4 foot long strand as he makes sure to keep an eye on Bruce. But Bruce isn’t going anywhere as he’s rolling on the canvas clutching his throat trying to catch his breath away


“What does Jason have in mind with that barbwire?” Pete wonders as Jason grabs one end of the barbwire.


Jason smirks as he brings his arms down over his head, whipping the barbwire through the air, lashing out at Bruce with the strand of sharp metal barbs.






The strand of barbwire comes down on Bruce’s right leg, each individual metal tip digging into his thigh before ”The Rage” rips the wire back again, tearing off bits of Bruce’s jeans and flesh. Another swing of the barbwire brings it down over Bruce’s thigh once more with a sickening whipping sound




Just like before the sharp metal barbs tear at Bruce’s thigh and blood splattered jeans, slicing the jeans open from Bruce’s hip to his foot


“Someone stop this carnage” Pete pleads as the Ultraviolent title match has gone way beyond what anyone expected when it was booked


“If this keeps up we may never see Bruce Blank wrestle again” King adds in a somber, serious voice. “Or walk” he adds afterwards.


Deep in his blood rush Jason grabs both ends of the barbwire, gets behind the seated Bruce and then brings the barbwire in front of the Ultraviolent champion’s throat probably trying to hook it around his throat to hang Bruce with it. Fortunately for Bruce he’s able to get a hand under the barbwire and lift it away from his throat, unfortunately it means that Jason is in position to pull backwards on the barbwire and thus bring the barbwire strand in contact with Bruce’s face right across his open mouth.


Von Dierch presses the barbwire into Bruce’s mouth, like a demented dentist flossing Bruce’s teeth with it. The image is so strong and so repulsive that the camera man actually turns away for a moment while the barbs no doubt dig themselves into Bruce’s tongue, gums and the roof of his mouth.


“I…” is all King can say, the brutality of the match leaves both King and Pete totally speechless at this moment


Bruce tries to fight off the barbwire but every time he moves his body the barbs cut his face, his mouth or his ears as Jason has it wrapped tightly. The images of blood flowing freely from both corners of Bruce’s mouth really drives home why the title is called the “Ultraviolent” title, because they’ve gone beyond hardcore in this match.


Although he’s wracked with pain Bruce desperately feels around on the mat hoping to find some sort of weapon to help him break out of the torture device that Jason Von Dierch has him in. After feeling around for a few moments his hands lands on the handle of a fire extinguisher, spilled out in the ring when Bruce threw one of the trashcans of weapons over the top rope. His hand is slippery from blood but he manages to actually get a grip on it, aiming it blindly before pushing the buttom




The chemical mist engulfs Jason’s entire upper body and turns the top of Bruce’s head frosty white with powder, but Bruce gets the desired effect as Jason releases the barbwire and staggers backwards, pawing at his eyes to get his vision back.


“You know when I saw that Bruce had a title defense scheduled I got a little worried, but I hadn’t expected it to be this insane” Pete says with a hint of queasiness in his voice.


“You didn’t expect this?? You didn’t think Bruce would go all out when he’s actually allowed to hurt people?” King says, surprised at his partners stupidity.


Bruce spits the blood covered barbwire out into his hand, but unlike any sane man he doesn’t immediately throw the 4 foot strand of barbwire away, instead he gets to his feet and wraps it around the top rope. Still blinded Jason tries to get the white powder out of his eyes so he hasn’t seen what Bruce did with the barbwire. Bruce grabs Jason and whips him into the ropes on the opposite side of the barbwire strand, as Jason bounces off the ropes it becomes quite clear to the fans in the arena that Jason Von Dierch is about to hit the barbwire


“STOOOOOOOOOP!!” Pete screams hoping to catch Jason’s attention.


It kinda works as Jason turns his head in the direction of the shout and then trips over his own legs falling to the canvas only half a step before he would have hit the barbwire.


“Damn it Pete you buzzkill”


If Bruce is disappointed then he hides it well as he grabs Jason Von Dierch by the hair and drags him up to his knees, pressing him against the second rope inching Jason’s face closer to the barbwire. When Jason finally regains his eyesight he’s mere inches away from the barbwire wrapped rope. In an act of panic and desperation Von Dierch manages to put the breaks on as he pushes backwards against the middle rope to avoid the barbwire.


“Oh thank god I thought he was about to be sliced open” Pete says while breathing a sigh of relief.


“Hey that could still happen, let’s all cross our fingers eh?” King replies with a sadistic grin.


Bruce’s left hand wraps around the top rope so that he can pull the barbwire closer as his right hand tries to force Jason’s head forward. Slowly, ever so slowly Bruce inches his opponent’s forehead closer to the barbwire with a demented determination scrawled on his face. The crowd reacts in horror as Bruce slowly drives one of the barbs into Jason’s forehead, drawing blood as it pierces the skin, sending streaks of crimson down the challenger’s face.


“Well what do you know, It happened after all Pete” King points out.


Bruce pulls Jason’s head back a little from the ropes to ram it against the barbwire once more, but before Bruce can turn his evil intentions into actions Jason throws his whole body forward, bending down as he drags a surprised Bruce forward chest first into the barbwire.


“OH NO!” Pete yells out horrified by the sight of sharp barbs digging into Bruce’s massive chest


“This kid’s got fighting spirit! He may actually take the title tonight” King admits.


The barbwire draws a long red streak across the front of Bruce’s white T-shirt as the big man bounces backwards to get away from the barbwire top rope. Jason quickly grabs the trashcan that used to contain all the weapons and then throws it at Bruce who catches it purely on instinct.


“Big mistake” Pete says knowing full well what’s coming


“The Rage” runs at Bruce and leaps into the air driving both his feet into the trashcan kicking it into Bruce’s face and flattening the metal trashcan on impact.




As Jason lands after the drop kick he spots a chain on the canvas, he quickly grabs it and wraps it around Bruce’s neck twice before the big man can even react. Jason tugs on the chain, pulling Bruce to his feet after which “The Rage” manages to throw the Ultraviolent champion over the top rope to hang him with the chain.


“That’s how he beat Manson!! Could we see a repeat?” Pete yells out as Jason Von Dierch has victory within his grasp


“If it can take out Manson it can take out anyone” King says to underline just how devastating the move is.


The chain tightens around Bruce’s neck, forcing a gagging noise over his blood soaked and cut lips as the links in the chain dig into the soft tissue of his throat. The Trailerpark Messiah tries to fight the strangulation, trying to pry his fingers under the chain as his body writhes and convulses, almost like a bass on a fishing line.


“STOP THIS!! SOMEONE STOP THIS” Pete screams out to anyone and everyone who’ll listen


“Jason is sick!” King says making sure that everyone understands that he doesn’t mean “in a good way” and that he in no way condones the hanging of wrestlers – well except maybe Landon Maddix


Janus puts his feet against the bottom rope as he pulls on the chain with all the power and leverage to keep the chain tight around Bruce’s neck. The grin on his face reveals that he’s loving every single moment of this and has absolutely no remorse about what he’s trying to do to his opponent. Bruce’s arms flail in the air, desperately trying to get hold of something that’ll help him break free.


“Bruce is in SERIOUS trouble, he’s risking not just the title but his very life if this doesn’t end soon” Pete says genuinely worried


Bruce finally manages to lift his body up a little so that his ass rests on the apron, at least he’s no longer hung by the neck but Jason keeps pulling on the chain tightening it around Bruce’s neck – even if he can’t hang him he can still choke him out. Bruce’s face is turning blue as the big man manages to get to his feet with the chain still around his neck. Then in a move of pure desperation Bruce throws his entire body forward, driving with his powerful legs to pull the chain out of Jason’s hands as Bruce leaps to the floor.


“Bruce is just too powerful!! Jason couldn’t hold on” King points out as Bruce quickly unwraps the chain to get his breath back.


“Oh thank god the blue color is going away” Pete says as Bruce catches his breath.


Bruce slides under the bottom rope only to be hit over the back of the head with a chair shot from Jason. Then the challenger climbs the ropes with the metal chair under one arm, grinning as he has something nasty in mind.


Jason leaps off the top rope, places the chair under his legs in mind air and




Hits the canvas as Bruce moved just enough to get out of harms way. The impact sends shocks of pain up Jason’s legs as he drives his legs into the steel, but the young man does his best to ignore the pain as the title is almost in his grasp.


“Man Jason is back on his feet, limping but on his feet” King marvels as the determined Jason Von Dierch waits for Bruce to get off his knees and back to his feet as well.


Jason grabs the chair that he tried to hit Bruce with and quickly throws it at his opponent. Instinctively the big man catches the chair as Jason calculated. But when ”The Rage” attempts a drop kick Bruce steps a half step to the side so that Jason Von Dierch hits nothing but air. Without the release of energy with the impact Jason takes the full force of the move as he crashes to the ground, but that turns out to be the least of his problems as Bruce quickly smacks him over the back with the steel chair




“Jason went for that move once too often, Bruce had him well scouted” Longdogger Pete comments as Bruce takes charge of the match.


“I often wondered how clever it is to arm your opponent” King says, speaking for a lot of fans who’ve probably wondered that same thing over the years.


Bruce doesn’t wonder about anything, instead he brings the steel chair down over the shoulder and neck of Jason Von Dierch with such force that the chair bends ever so slightly.




The impact staggers Jason, but he manages to stay up on his knees even after taking such a blow over the side of the neck and shoulder, but when Bruce strikes him a third time, straight across the face with the seat of the chair Von Dierch falls backwards in a bloody mess




“Somebody stop this” Pete pleads “Bruce is out of control!” he continues


“Oh calm down, he’s just trying to defend the title” King says to defend the brutal action in the ring.


“No he’s trying to maim Jason Von Dierch! Look at the demented look in his eyes, he’s gone off the deep end.” Pete fires back at his co-commentator.


Bruce grins as he grabs Jason’s blood soaked hair and drags his opponent’s head between his own knees. The crowd boo and jeer as Bruce quickly wraps his arms around Jason’s waist and flips him up in the air, straddling his shoulder as Bruce runs forward towards the far corner.


“SWEET HOME ALABAMA!!!” King screams out as Bruce goes for his Running Power Bomb.


Instead of driving Jason’s body into the canvas Bruce takes a few extra steps forward before driving his opponents shoulders and neck straight into the top turnbuckle with all the power and weight in Bruce’s 295 pound body.




The impact snaps the bolt under the turnbuckle pad that holds the top rope tight and it immediately starts to sag both from the lack of tension and from the weight of Jason Von Dierch who’s driven downwards, slipping down behind the 2nd rope due to the forward momentum and thus hitting the floor neck and shoulders first with only a thin mat to protect his body.




For a moment the entire arena is silent, in shock over the power display snapping the top rope is, then…




Bruce stands there for a second, trying to process what just happened in front of his very eyes, then he smirks and brushes his hands off to indicate that he’s got this title defense in the bag. He steps over the slack top rope onto the apron and then limps down the steps towards where Jason Von Dierch is laying, sprawled out on the mat, not moving an inch.


“This is insane… Bruce is insane!” is all Pete can think to say.


“Insane? It’s pure power!!” King replies sounding very impressed with what Bruce did to ”The Rage”.


With a cocky grin the Ultraviolent champion casually places his cowboy boot on the chest of his opponents as he raises his arms in the air in a premature symbol of victory.
















“Jason isn’t totally out of it!! Holy shit I thought he’d be dead by now” King blurts out as Jason actually manages to lift his shoulder off the mat before the three count.


“This young man can take quite a beating” Pete replies, just cause he felt like pointing out the obvious.


Bruce gets frustrated when his easy pinfall slips through his fingers and victory is denied him. He quickly drops to his knees, hooks one of Jason Von Dierch’s legs and leans back for a proper cover on the floor.















Once again the beaten but not defeated Von Dierch manages to lift his shoulder up in the air before the referee can count to three. Bruce has a stunned look on his face, he can’t believe that his opponent kicked out after the beating he’s just laid on him. He gets back on his feet and looks around the stuff scattered all over the floor to find something that’ll put his opponent away.


“Where is the weedwacker when you need it??” The Suicide King wonders as Bruce looks around the scattered weapons.


“Hopefully far, far away from this arena – that kind of stuff doesn’t belong in wrestling” Pete says as he inwardly prays that Bruce does not have a weekwacker stashed somewhere.


Bruce bends over and picks up a blue canvas bag as Jason Von Dierch gets up on his hands and knees in the background. The crowd starts to boo violently as Bruce raises the canvas bag in the air suspecting, nay fearing, what may be in the bag.


“This could be bad, this could be very, very bad” Pete says to warn any squeamish viewers at home.


“I hope so!!” King replies, not giving a damn if anyone is disgusted by it – if they are that squeamish they shouldn’t have tuned into Storm.


Jason barely manages to raise his hand to protect his face as Bruce swings the canvas bag in a long overhand arc bringing the bag down on top or Jason’s head and hand, popping the seams of the bag from the impact and sending thumbtacks flying everywhere. Bruce quickly shakes the bag to empty the bag from the probably thousands of thumbtacks, scattering them on the floor around Jason Von Dierch.


“This is why he’s “Mr. Storm”, this is why he personifies the spirit of this entire show” King yells out in excitement.


“I can’t believe what we’re seeing and it’s just the first match – it could get much worse” Pete says, sounding a big queasy.


“I doubt it could get much worse Pete” King replies.


Even though he’s got thumbtacks in his hand and even a few stuck in his head Jason tries to punch Bruce with a thumbtack laced fist but the Ultraviolent champion easily blocks the weak attempt at a comeback and then drives the tip of his boot into Jason’s unprotected midsection.


The second Jason is doubled over Bruce grabs him around his waist and flips him up in the air before using all his remaining power to drive Jason Von Dierch back first into the thumbtacks that are scattered all over the mat.


“OH… MY… GOD!!” Pete says in disbelief.


Bruce drops to his knees in the middle of the thumbtacks, probably thanking god that he always wears knee pads under his jeans so that he’s relatively unharmed as he lays on top of Jason for another pinfall.




The impact of the count makes some of the thumbtacks near referee Izzy Slappowitch’s hand jump a little.






Bruce leans back to put all his weight across Jason’s chest, ignoring the fact that back of his left arm is pressed into the thumbtacks.








“Bruce wins!! Bruce retains the title” King shouts as he tries to drown out the boos of the crowd over Bruce’s brutal methods.


“He keeps the title but he paid a heavy price, especially in the early stages of the match” Pete adds as they watch Bruce slowly rise to his feet.


Bruce snatches the Ultraviolent title from the referee, holds it by the faceplate as he raises it into the air, every muscle shaking, every vein in his neck popping out as he roars in an almost animalistic way that would make Chewbacca jealous to celebrate yet another successful title defense.


“Ladies and gentlemen the winner of the mach and STILL SWF Har… ULTRAVIOLENT CHAMPION! The Trailerpark Superstar BRUCE BLAAAAAAAAAAAANK!!!” Funyon informs the arena and the viewers at home to make Bruce’s 7th title match officially over.


“Once again Bruce shows why he’s been dubbed “Mr. Storm” as he sets a new standard for brutality here tonight” King points out.


Bruce clutches the title as he staggers up the ramp towards the back while slowly pulling thumbtacks from his left arm as he ignores the negative chants that rings through the entire arena




“These people need to show Bruce some respect!! He’s held on to that title for 84 days now, that’s the SECOND longest reign in the history of the title!!” King points out as he’s getting annoyed with the chants


“Well maybe if he shows anyone any shred of respect the fans might take to him” Pete fires back at color co-commentator.


Bruce steps through the curtain and then a whole army of back stage crew head to the ring, some to fix the broken top rope before the next match, some to mop up the worst of the blood and some to sweep up the thumbtacks and remove the rest of the weapons.


Oh and of course a couple of EMTs to help Jason Von Dierch to the back who head to ringside as Storm goes to a much needed commercial break

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Storm returns from commercial break, and almost immediately, the action begins to pick up as David Bowie’s “China Girl” begins to play, and oddly enough, a beautiful Japanese woman walks out onto stage, lead out by the not so beautiful Frisco. The petite young woman gets a rousing applause from the capacity crowd, and she waves in appreciation as Funyon gets on the mic in the centre of the ring.


“Ladies and Gentleman, the following match is a HARDCORE MATCH!” The fans will be hearing this all night, but to them, it never gets old as they cheer their loudest. “And it is for the number one contendership to the SWF INTERNATIONAL TITLE!”


The cheers only increase with this announcement as Okimura hits the ring, but not before Frisco takes her aside and gives her a some last minute encouragement, and reminds her of the strategy. “Introducing first, from Tokyo, Japan… she weighs in at 124 pounds… she is the “Joshi Dragon”… she is, CANDACE OKIMURA!”


“Welcome back to SWF Storm!” Pete shouts as Okimura begins to stretch, eagerly awaiting the opportunity in front of her. “You’re just in time to see what will no doubt be a great match, with an interesting clash of styles, and a big prize on the line!”


“If you ask me, I’m not too thrilled either of these two are even getting a shot AT a shot,” King replies, not too thrilled as he mentioned, “but it’s not my decision. If anyone should get the shot though, it’s this lady. She may have went out early in the Cold Front Classic, but so far in her SWF tenure she’s shown awesome ability, and in my mind, deserves a shot in lieu of a washed up hack like Wes Davenport.”


As king continues to grumble, OK Go’s “Get over It” blares through the speakers. Slowly but surely, a few isolated fans begin to clap and stamp their feet in time with the intro (Which strangely enough, is hand clapping and feet stamping). Cheers ring out from all the fans, though, as Wes Davenport comes out onto centre stage, a spotlight shining down on him as he raises his arms to the crowd and begins to walk down the long ramp way, soaking in the atmosphere as he goes, then almost having a heart attack as he sees the weapons at ringside.


“And, her opponent…” Funyon says, continuing his introductions. ”He hails from Hollywood, California. He weighs in at 255 pounds… please welcome… WES DAVENPORT!”


“Despite what you may feel about Davenport, King,” Pete says, “the fans seem to like him, and there’s no denying he’s been on a roll as of late. Winning this match would really cement him as one to watch in the SWF.”


“Dogger, sooner or later, your luck runs out, and that time is tonight for Davenport. His opponent is too fast and too skillful, and he’ll be scared to DEATH of hardcore!”


Davenport climbs the steps and enters the ring, rolling up the sleeves on his dress shirt and looking at Okimura from across the ring. She’s just a tiny little thing, and not to mention cute. But he’s seen her in action, and he’s afraid of her…




Suddenly, the sound of the bell snaps Davenport from his musing, and he finds himself with one hot-headed, bare-footed Japanese woman making a beeline right for him! Candace moves with such grace and precision as she connects with a leg lariat, knocking the actor backward towards the ropes. Wes shakes his head, trying to get his head into the game, but Okimura plans on just knocking it straight off as she sprints forward not a moment later, planting both feet in Davenport’s face with a dropkick-




-and knocking him right over the top rope, onto the concrete floor!


“The Joshi Dragon starts with a flurry,” Pete notes, marveling at the woman’s speed, “and has Davenport in a precarious position on the outside of the ring! I doubt we’ll see Okimura using any traditional weapons to make her opponent bleed, but rather, she’ll let her own body deal the punishment!”


“…And WHAT a body it is!” King excitingly replies, nudging and winking at Pete. “Oh come on, I’m the heel, it’s my job! Blame Annie, she’s the one in my headset.”


As King breaks that fourth wall, Pete’s observations turn out to be correct as Candace looks at her surroundings, finding trashcans full of weapons at either side of the ring, and a down-and-out actor just getting to his weary feet. The Joshi Dragon quickly decides on the best course of action as she backs into the ropes, bouncing off to build momentum, darting across the squared circle. The fans begin to rise from their seats, sensing something big about to happen as Okimura stops, hops, and springs into the air, over the top rope, rotating in brilliant fashion-




-and landing on top of Davenport with a somersault plancha! Cheers soon ring out around the RCA dome as Okimura springs to her feet, waving to the crowd like an excited schoolgirl, her impeccable skill ensuring she lands in the safest way possible. This happens to be the most bruising and violent way for Wes who rolls around on the concrete floor, coughing and spluttering after having the petite Japanese woman crush his chest cavity. Candace doesn’t get ahead of herself, especially with Frisco watching her like a hawk, and she soon has Wes back on his feet. The Japanese baby face waves to the crowd once again as he backs away, plotting her next move, finding the ring canvas an ideal launching pad as she hops up onto it, balancing herself with great ease and propelling herself straight towards the actor, taking hold of his neck and spinning him right round with a Flying Headscissors!


“Oh my!” exclaims Pete, watching the replay and marveling. “Okimura has started with such fire as she burns Davenport once again, making full use of the LACK of count out rules outside the ring!”


“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again till I’m blue in the face,” King answers with a sigh, looking at Davenport with pity as he grabs his head and moans and groans., “Wes is a chump, simple as that; if you break his spirit, keep him on the back foot, he’ll surely crumble under the pressure. If there’s one thing Frisco can see in someone, its weakness, and he knows like me that Davenport is forever skating on thin ice!”


Sexton Hardcastle looks out from inside the ring, relaxing as he watches events unfold, almost feeling sorry for Davenport as he tries to crawl away from a five foot four and a hundred and twenty pound Japanese woman. Frisco nods approvingly at Candace, reaching into a nearby bin and handing her a kendo stick! Okimura takes the weapon in hand; in her mind, she would rather use her educated and deadly feet, but those alone might not guarantee her victory in the hardcore environment.


On the other side of the ring, Davenport pulls himself up off his feet, dusting himself off as fans pat him on the back and cheer. The actor feigns appreciation and smiles, but his mind is racing and his head is hurting. As Wes just begins to recover, thinking he’s at a safe distance from his Japanese counterpart, the crowd begin to roar, chanting-



“Oki… Oki…Oki…”



Wes suddenly perks up in confusion, wondering what has the crowd spellbound, and who this ‘Oki’ is-






-before Candace soon reminds him as she balances on the side railing, making her way around the ring and smacking Davenport upside the head with the kendo stick!






“OH MY!” Cries Pete, blurting out another of his catchphrases as Wes slinks to the floor, seeing stars! “Candace is really putting her stamp on this match, somehow dominating a much, much larger Davenport, and endearing herself to the crowd at the same time!”


“That’s what you have to do in this business Dogger. It’s not enough to just show up and beat your opponent; you have to connect with the fans also. THAT’S how you rise in this federation, and with a performance like this, Okimura is certainly on the rise.” Pete nods with much amazement at his cohort, surprised by his insightful take on the situation, and thinking he may have turned a corner finally.


“…And I’ll tell you what else is rising right now!”


Longdogger sighs once more as Davenport staggers around the perimeter of the ring, not quite certain of his surroundings as a nasty lump develops on his head, bleeding ever so slightly. Behind him, Frisco, calculated as ever, sets up a chair in the middle of the floor, and the actor unknowingly slumps into it, just glad to be resting. The situation once again turns dire though as Okimura leaps onto the ring steps and launches towards Davenport, knocking him clear off the chair with a Flykick to the face! Wes groans as he grabs onto the commentary desk, trying to pull himself up as King beats on him, verbally.


“You’re NOTHING, you hear me!?” King takes delight in saying. “I bet Hollywood was never like this!”


“Quiet King!” Dogger quickly interjects. “Wes is taking a beating right now, and unless he does something… ANYTHING, soon, Okimura’s superior, supreme speed will be his downfall!”


Davenport takes heed on Pete’s advice and retreats back to the relative safety of the ring, but Okimura is soon to follow, leaping up onto the ring apron as Frisco slides the steel chair into the ring, placing it in a precarious spot. As Davenport climbs back to a vertical base, his vision still blurry and his mind hazy, Candace connects through the middle rope with a sharp kick to his side, doubling him over. She leaps over the top rope, taking hold of Davenport’s neck and twisting around, planting him with a Tornado DDT ON the steel chair!


“Frisco may seem a little eccentric at times,” Pete notes, “but there’s no doubt that he knows what he’s doing, and he knows how to control!”


The Joshi Dragon’s confidant smirks as Okimura pounces on Davenport, hooking him by the far leg as Hardcastle slides over and counts-























-but Wes kicks out! The crowd both sigh and cheer at the same time, some still holding out hope for Wes. The actor is in a sorry state though; the cut on his head seems to have open wider, and a trail of blood trickles through his smooth and perfect movie star hair. He struggles to his feet, hand resting on the steel chair, his instincts ensuring he managed to kick out, but his insecurity causes him to feel the end at hand. Candace raises her arm in the air, her acrobatics and dazzling offense making the crowd swoon!


“Only Davenport could be dominated in such fashion by a tiny Japanese woman in a hardcore environment,” King notes with a delighted smirk.


“To say he was unprepared is an understatement,” Pete replies in the actor’s defense. “I doubt he’s wrestled in a hardcore environment, or even used a weapon for over a decade! And facing such a pretty little thing like Candace must be the most off-putting thing I could think of!”


“Face it, Pete; he’d never be ready for the hardcore environment. He’s just a faceless, self-absorbed Hollywood wash up, and he’s scared! You can say he wouldn’t want to hurt a woman, and he’s not ready, but that woman is in there to win, and to hurt him at the same time! And right now, she’s doing a damn good job of it!”


Okimura can taste victory as sure as Davenport taste’s defeat, and she springs into action again, literally, as she builds up a head of steam and springboards into the ropes, building up a tremendous amount of momentum as the crowd cheer!







The Joshi Dragon twists in mid-air, her forearm aim directly as Davenport’s head as he stands in the middle of the ring, defenseless, almost…














“OH MY LORD!” Pete suddenly cries as the fans all gasp.


Before the Joshi Dragon can connect with her flying forearm, Davenport wildly swings the steel chair he grasped him his hand with the utmost subtlety, smashing Okimura right in the face! The young Asian beauty is suddenly and viciously felled as the crowd gasp, unsure whether to cheer at this point or not. They soon perk up once again though as Davenport collapses on top of Okimura and Hardcastle counts!
























The crowd suddenly burst into cheers, simply glad that the match is continuing!


“Humph,” King grunts. “Wes thought he got out of jail there, but it’ll take a lot more than that to put Okimura down.”


“That’s for damn sure, King,” Pete says in agreement. “She may have had her face plastered with that chair, but she won’t let her earlier good work go to waste!”


“Oh, and speaking of going down…”


“We really have to take away Annie’s headset.”


Davenport can’t believe it. He slowly climbs to his feet, hearing the crowd cheer in the background, and he raises his fist into the air in a show of confidence. Inside, though, he knows he’s lucky. His instincts took over again by sheer luck, and he barely had control of his actions.


He has no time to dwell on it, though, as Okimura shoots an elbow into his rubs, doubling him over. The Asian princess wipes away the blood from underneath her nose, her usual excited, free-spirited attitude now giving way to a determined and angered side. She grabs the actor’s arm, directing a few stiff kicks towards his elbow to loosen him up, before bringing it over her head with an arm wrench. She hardly pays attention to the size difference anymore as he leaps into the air, trying to hook her leg around Davenport’s face with a devastating kick!


The actor grabs the Joshi Dragon in mid-air, however. Wes doesn’t play around anymore as he simply dumps her on her spine, slamming her down with a Clinching Slam! Wes keeps hold on Okimura’s leg as he presses her shoulders to the canvas for the pin-















No! Okimura manages to roll her shoulder off the mat, regaining her senses in the pressure of the moment!


“Wes was shell-shocked before, but now he can see the massive size difference he has over Okimura,” notes Pete. “Candace has to be extremely careful now; one false move and Davenport will no doubt crush her!”


“She’s not stupid, Dogger. She knows how to dominate Davenport, and although she may be slowing down, she still has the speed advantage, and the brains, as far as I’m concerned.”


As Okimura retreats to a nearby corner, Davenport wonders what it will take to put her down. He spies the chair from the corner of his eye, and decides hitting her in the face again might be a good idea. Normally he wouldn’t do this, but Okimura has pushed him to the limit, and he just wants to survive-




-but before he can swing at her, she connects with a thrust kick to the belly, causing the chair to hit the canvas harmlessly! Okimura kicks the chair out of the ring, just in case Davenport gets his hands on it again, deciding to use her own weapons. She comes out swinging from the corner, kicking Wes in the sides with the left leg, the right, the left, the right! Davenport is backed further and further away, a stiff kick to the kidney sending a sharp pain through his side. Okimura uses this distraction to her advantage, leaping from a standing start, taking Davenport’s neck in a vice light grip with her legs, and flipping him right over with a Hurricanrana! The crowd cheers as she reaches back, holding his legs close to her and pinning his shoulders to the mat-


“I’d give anything to be in this position!” shouts an excited Annie through King’s headset.
















But no! Davenport kicks out with force, and Okimura is sent flying across the ring! The suddenness of the move has Wes in a tizzy, allowing Okimura to pounce again, grabbing Davenport’s right leg and stomping at the back of his knee!


“This is a very wise strategy on Candace’s part,” Longdogger reports as Wes groans with every blow delivered. “Wes was just beginning to mount a comeback, and now she’ll target his legs, slowing him down further and increasing her speed advantage.”


But just as the Joshi Dragon puts her front leg forward, twisting Davenport’s knee against it, Wes plants his left foot in her chest and pushes her halfway across the ring! This is only a momentary setback for Okimura as she gets back to her feet and connects with a basement dropkick on Davenport’s knee as he tries to get back up! The Joshi Dragon moves like lightning, not allowing Wes’ “instincts” to kick in on her as she takes his right leg between both her own, leaping into the air and landing right on his ankle! A loud, piercing cry is heard from Davenport as Candace gets back up in a flash, and does the same thing again! The crowd again cheers, divided over their support for either wrestler, but applauding the petite woman’s strategy. Okimura doesn’t let herself get distracted at this point as she grabs both of Wes’ legs and flips over into a bridged pin in the middle of the ring!
































“OH, SO close!” Pete cries as Davenport scrambles away, afraid that Okimura might jump him again. “Okimura’s showing she can adapt to this environment and this situation. Wes may win a war of attrition, but if Okimura keeps hounding that leg, she may just upset him with a sudden pin, just like she did there!”


“I’d like to hound her… leg,” King replies in the weirdest way possible.


“She’s not even trying anymore.”


“At this point she’s simply salivating.”


Davenport gets to his feet with the aid of the turnbuckles, but Okimura won’t give him a moment to rest as she sprints across the ring and-




-and hits him with a sudden knife-edge chop!




-and another! Okimura doesn’t try her luck a third time, seeing Davenport spark up, ready to counter. Instead she leaps into the air, placing her hands on his shoulders and rolling onto her back, sending him across the ring with a Monkey Flip!


“Awesome use of speed and momentum from Candace,” says Pete as Davenport crawls to the sanctuary of the opposite corner. “She was able to propel an opponent almost twice her size!”


Wes props himself up in the corner, the sudden and vicious barrage preventing him from mounting any offense whatsoever. Okimura makes sure he doesn’t as she sprints across the ring and uses Davenport HIMSELF as a stepladder as he kicks him upside the head with a back flip kick! The stunning blow sends Davenport stumbling out from the corner as Candace takes him by the right leg and spins around, bringing him down to the mat with a Dragon Screw Leg Whip!


“Even I have to marvel at how easily she hits her moves,” King notes with surprise. “She knows how to use her speed, and how to use leverage to its fullest.”


Davenport feels whiplash, except in his leg as Okimura springs to her feet, thinking this the most opportune time to put the final nail in the coffin. With an International title shot in mind, Candace leaps onto the second rope then springs off in one fluid motion, flipping in mid-air!


“It’s time for Okimura’s patented Springboard Moonsault!” Pete announces. “If this hits, it’s all over for Wes Davenport!”


But Davenport, wily as ever, rolls off to the side to avoid contact! Luckily for Okimura, she spots this in time and corrects her landing, falling onto two feet! Davenport climbs to his feet but still can’t beat Okimura to the punch as she jumps up, attempting another Hurricanrana! But Wes blocks it, and Candace suddenly finds herself dangling in Wes’ arms, her head pointed straight towards the mat! She manages to pull herself back up onto his shoulders with ease, her small frame allowing great maneuverability and she peppers Davenport with rights and lefts, desperate punches that manage to loosen the large man’s grip on her.


Feeling free to move, Okimura suddenly falls down behind Davenport, trying to pull him down with a sunset flip! But Davenport’s great balance allows him to stay firmly in place as Okimura gulps, looking up at the handsome actor who raises his fist, ready to level her! The little woman manages to scurry out of harms way as Davenport hits nothing but canvas. Wes turns back around to meet her, finally pressuring her enough to make a mistake as she leaps into the air, trying for a Front Dropkick, but Wes grabs her legs in mid-air and drops her onto her spine! Okimura wriggles and squirms, trying desperately to break free, but Davenport keeps a firm hold of her legs, turning her around so the turnbuckle is behind him. Okimura knows what’s coming as Wes leans back and catapults her towards the turnbuckle pad, but Candace manages to stop herself, landing on the second rope! Davenport thinks it’s a job well done as he climbs to his feet and turns back around to see his handiwork, but all he sees is-




-the Joshi Dragon fly towards him as she bounces onto the top rope then flips in mid-air, landing on top of Davenport with a somersault senton!


“What an exchange!” Pete cries as Hardcastle slides over, Okimura sitting on Davenport’s chest as the crowd erupts in cheers. “Try as he might, Wes just couldn’t land a blow as Okimura thwarted him at every turn!

























But Wes pushes the Joshi Dragon away, saving himself just in time! The actor almost cracks and loses it, slamming his fist in the mat, but he thinks better of it, knowing it would hurt his image with the fans. Instead he attempts to keep focused, climbing to his feet and even smiling at Okimura, putting his fingers together just to show how close she was. Wes then charges forward in a brash and bold move, but Okimura ducks underneath his clothesline, pivoting around and leaping onto his back, clutching at his throat with a sleeper hold!


“And Okimura throws yet ANOTHER spanner in the works!” Pete cries as Davenport flays about. “Okimura will end up choking him out, or Davenport’s leg may give out, either way, this looks bad for the actor!”


Wes is quick to counter with gusto, simply backing back and slamming Okimura against the turnbuckles! The gutsy Okumura hangs on, but Davenport rams her into the turnbuckles yet again! This finally manages to pry Candace away as she slumps against the corner, and Wes finally gets a hold of her, whipping her as hard as he can across the ring.


“I’d like to whip-“


“Cut it out!”


The Joshi Dragon hits with a tremendous thud, sending her stumbling back towards Wes who simply lifts her into the air and drives her into the canvas with a Spinebuster! Frisco cringes as Okimura hits the mat, knowing this is exactly what would happen if Davenport finally utilized his strength. Wes places one hand against Candace’s throat and puts her legs on his shoulders, kneeling down and pinning her to the mat for the greatest leverage as Hardcastle counts-
































Okimura suddenly brings her legs together like a vice in one rapid movement, crushing Wes’ head!


“She kicked out, somehow!” King shouts. “Davenport threw her down like a rag doll, but she’s still fighting on.”


The blow only stuns the actor momentarily as he backs away, catching Okimura as she gets to her feet, one step behind Davenport for once. Wes uses this to his advantage as he doesn’t even throw her arm over his shoulder before lifting her up with a Suplex, but again, the Joshi Dragon manages to counter! She falls behind the actor and fells him with a Chop Block to the back of the knee before he has a chance to turn around! Davenport cries out in pain, but knows he can’t stay on the mat like easy prey and cringes as he climbs to his feet, fighting through the pain. Okimura’s nose bleeds profusely now after the vicious Spinebuster, but she pays no attention to it as he steadies herself, her movements indicating she’s preparing for the dreaded Buzzsaw kick! As Davenport hobbles towards her, she kicks him on the point of the knee cap, causing him to kneel down. Now at her mercy, Okimura makes some strange movements with her arms, suddenly swinging her leg around-






-but Wes plucks her leg out of the air! The crowd, all ready to cheer Okimura on her victory, is suddenly tense as Davenport holds her leg in his clutches, with Okimura now at his mercy. He pulls her forward via her leg, his arm cutting through the air and aiming for her head with a clothesline!


But Candace ducks again! The actor can’t believe it as he turns back around, but is suddenly dragged to the mat, his injured right leg taken out from underneath him as he’s rolled up into a small package!


“Neither competitor is giving an inch to each other at this point, but Okimura may just have it here!” Pete shouts as the crowd chants along with Hardcastle’s slamming of the mat with the count-






























Davenport kicks out! The crowd begins to cheer even further, this match delivering excitement on every level. Wes crawls away, creating distance between he and Okimura. Suddenly, Frisco leaps up onto the apron, steel chair in hand, ready to take a swing at the actor! But Davenport’s instincts kick in, and he turns around, grabbing the chair from his hands! Davenport turns back around with chair in hand-




-before an Okimura Superkick sends it right back into his face! The chair goes flying into the air, falling in the centre of the ring as Davenport hits the ropes, bouncing back unknowingly towards the Joshi Dragon, who backs into the ropes behind her, building up speed before taking him around the neck and twirling around into a flying headscissors! This time, Wes expects it and grabs hold of her in mid-air, and Okimura suddenly finds herself helpless in the tilt-a-whirl. Davenport finally takes a gold hold of her and in one fluid movement before his leg gives out, he-









-drives her straight down with a Powerbomb, her spine crashing against the steel chair below!


“HOLY SHIT!” Pete cries, finally breaking away from his family friendly image. “Wes counters with a tilt-a-whirl Powerbomb! Right onto the steel chair! That has to be all!”


“Wow,” King replies, dumbstruck. “I didn’t expect that from Davenport at all, I thought Okimura had his number… she SHOULD have had his number! I can’t believe it!”


The crowd roars as Wes woozily stumbles arond before slumping on top of Okimura, putting all his weight against her chest as Hardcastle makes the count-








































“He did it! Wes somehow pulls through in the end!” Pete cries as the fans cheers reach a fever pitch, almost drowning out Funyon as he gets on the mic to make it official.


“Ladies and Gentleman, your winner… and NEW! Number one contender to the SWF International Championship… WES DAVENPORT!”



“Okimura had that! She had Wes’ number almost the entire match!” King cries, suddenly finding himself in the woman’s corner. “But once again, Davenport hits his streak of dumb luck and pulls something out of his ass!”


“That’s not dumb luck, that’s instinct,” Pete replies with a grin. “Whatever the case may be, Wes is the new number one contender to Hawk’s title, and folks that will be one hell of a match! But stay tuned, because we have one of the biggest matches of the year ahead of us as Johnny Dangerous and Wildchild duke it out, hardcore style!”


As Pete continues to shill, Davenport has his hand raised. Blood is smeared against one side of his face, and his hair is dirty and mattered, his skin worn and bruised.


But his hand is raised once again, and the fans cheer and chant his name, and the spotlight is his once again, as we…




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”Fans on Monday Bruce’s Cruiserweight Challenge turned into a bit of a sham” Pete says as Storm returns from yet another commercial break


“Yeah that Akira should have left well enough alone” the Suicide King says


“What? It was Bruce who tried to pull a fast one on everyone with Ced Ordonez dressed up as Jushin Liger” Pete says, outraged over King’s spin on the whole thing


“Oh yeah? How do you know he’s not really Liger? Have you ever seen Jushin Liger and Ced Ordonez in the same place? I think not” King says, thus proving his point now and for ever so neener-neener-neener to Pete.


Before the two can argue any further the Southern Rock stylings of Lynyrd Skynyrd and their “Don’t ask me no questions” classic kicks in to herald the return of “Mr. Storm” the man that earlier tonight had yet another brutal battle for the Ultraviolent title.




Bruce hasn’t even stepped through the curtains as the fans begin to boo the unpopular resident of the Dirty Tornado Trailer Park. Of course the moment the big man does steps through the curtains the boos are turned up yet another notch for the smelly, dirty redneck


“There is no love lost from this crowd King”


“Bruce doesn’t need love, he’s not asking for love Pete – he’s doing whatever he wants to whomever he wants and there ain’t nothing anyone can do about it” King fires at his colleague as Bruce steps into the ring and removes his cowboy hat to reveal the bandages and stitches he received backstage after his match with Jason Von Dierch..


“Alright, alright simmer down” Bruce says with a smirk knowing full well that a comment like that will just set off the fans again




“These fans have no respect” King complains as the arena reverberates with boos.


“Just like Bruce has no respect for anyone else, especially the Cruiserweights of this federation. I mean this whole challenge is designed to mock the great cruiserweights in the SWF like JJ Johnson, Jay Hawke or even the world champion Magnifico” Pete explains to those fans at home that have yet to figure that out.


Bruce stands in the middle of the ring, cowboy hat slid back, smile on his face as the hostility finally dies down. Then he puts the microphone up to his mouth to address the crowd.


“On Smarkdown I destroyed a cruiserweight legend” Bruce brags.


“That’s not even close to being true” Pete blurts out


“SHHHHHHHHHH” King admonishes him, he wants to hear what Bruce has to say.


“Now a lot of people thought that I had paid him off just because I knew ahead of time who the challenger was. So this week I’m going to just ask anyone in the back who’s within the Cruiserweight limit to come on down!!” Bruce says with a confident grin on his face


For a few moments nothing happens, much to the disappointment of the crowd who were really hoping for one of the prominent SWF Cruiserweights to come out and shut the Redneck up.


“Don’t be afraid, come on!!” Bruce says, daring anyone from the back to come on down.


After waiting for just another moment the number “13” flashes over the Mega-Tron as some generic Mexican music kicks in. The crowd is disappointed to see that the man coming down the aisle is not Zyon or Wildchild but some lean guy in a Villaños mask and outfit.


The mysterious Villaño winks to the camera as he passes by it, flashing his right forearm adorned with Japanese letters. The caption on the TV screen and on the mega-tron in the background reads “Villaño XIII” to indicate that he’s the 13th luchador to carry on the great Villaño heritage


“Who??” is all the Suicide King can ask as the young man flips over the top rope into the ring.


“His name is Villaño 13 and I think we’re in for a Majistral lesson here tonight, it’s the Villaño trademark after all” Pete says trying to hype the awesomeness of some total unknown coming to the ring for the Cruiserweight challenge.


Bruce can’t help but chuckle as he looks down at the much smaller masked man, then he points to the scale, like last week the wrestler must prove he is under the weight limit. Villaño quickly steps up on the scale, but the second Bruce tries to attack him from behind with a double axe handle blow he ducks under it and quickly kicks Bruce in the gut to double the Ultraviolent champion over


“Villaño takes the early advantage, he didn’t fall for the sneak attack” Pete says quite impressed


Villaño swiftly rolls over Bruce’s back and then arm drags the big man down, sending him flying under the bottom rope onto the floor before he can even register what’s going on.




“I’ve seen that move before” Pete says as he tries to place it in his mind.


“Yeah all those little flippy-floppy guys do those moves” King fires back


Villaño does a mocking bow to Bruce as the big man gets back to his feet, which draws a massive pop from the crowd – the SWF fans are smart after all they’ve most likely figured out that the man in the ring is not a totally unknown SWF commodity.


“Here comes Villaño!!” Pete yells out as Villaño 13 bounces off the ropes on the opposite side of the ring and then leaps straight at Bruce between the 2nd and 3rd rope and Topés Bruce backwards against the announce table. The impact knocks Bruce over the table and right down on top of Longdogger Pete


“PEEEEEEEETE!!” King yells out, sounding quite concerned.


Villaño leaps on top of Bruce and the two start to exchange lefts and rights as they both lay on top of Longdogger Pete who’s trapped between Bruce and the floor.


“Someone stop this!! Pete might be hurt!! We need some help out here” King pleads over his headset as the two combatants totally ignore Longdogger Pete.


After a moment or two a slew of referees and backstage crew rush to ringside to pull both Villaño 13 and Bruce Blank off the Smarkdown commentator. Villaño slides into the ring as the officials try their best to restrain Bruce on the floor. The masked Villaño turns his back to the camera guy and then quickly raises his mask to reveal who’s underneath it to the crowd who begin to cheer at the top of their lungs. The Suicide King kneels down checks on his fallen co-commentator as the fans begin to chant the name “Akira”


“What the hell? We’ve got a guy down here and they’re chanting for someone who’s in the lo… *SNAP* that’s not a Villaño!! THAT’S AKIRA KAIBATSU!” King says in outrage as it finally dawns on him.


Bruce yells a number of obscenities as 10-12 officials try their best to drag him to the back. In the ring “Villaño 13” reaches up and pulls off the traditional Villaño mask to reveal the familiar visage of “The Divine Wind” Akira Kaibatsu to everyone.




“This is unreal, Akira pulled a fast one on Bruce” King says before turning to Longdogger Pete “You okay buddy?”


“I… yeah I think so” Pete says a little groggily. “What happened?”


“That bastard Akira was under the Villaño mask!!” King says angrily.


“This may be a cliché King, but it’s far from over” Pete says as he holds his neck in pain.


“I hope Bruce puts a leash on that animal!” King says, totally ignoring that it was Bruce Blank who set the events in motion last week.


Fade to Commercials.

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“Welcome back to Storm,” says Longdogger Pete, “and we’re about to continue the Cold Front Classic here tonight, as Wildchild will square off against his former partner, Johnny Dangerous! King, I’m expecting this to be one hell of a matchup!”


“Well, Wildchild and Dangerous could legitimately be a main event anywhere in the country,” adds the Suicide King. “Quite frankly, I’m a little surprised that the people in charge are giving this match away on free television!”


“King, it wasn’t exactly the Executive Committee’s choice to put this match on free TV,” replies Pete, “but this was the result of the Seeding Battle Royal; if they’d have ended up in opposing brackets, then who knows? They might have each been able to make it to the Finals, and faced each other on Pay Per View. As it is, they’re going to meet in the first round… King, it’s hard to believe that these two, after making a triumphant return to the SWF just about a year ago, are going to be at each other’s throats tonight!”


“It’s only hard for you to believe, Drain-Clogger,” snipes King, “because you’re an idiot! Anybody with a working pair of eyes could have seen the signs of their partnership ending; as far as I’m concerned, it was all over after the Cluster-(bleep). From then on, you could tell that the honeymoon was over between these two. Hell, even if it wasn’t blatantly obvious that their team was doomed when Johnny Dangerous walked out on Wildchild before a major title defense at From the Fire, it should have been crystal clear to everyone by the time that they eventually lost the titles!”


“And certainly by the time that Johnny Dangerous regained the World Heavyweight Championship from Ejiro Fasaki over the summer,” adds Pete. “He’d pretty much made it clear by that point that he’d gone into business for himself, and that his partner’s concerns and well-being had dropped, at best, to a distant third.”


“Seems like he made the right decision, if you ask me,” says King. “I mean, like you said, Johnny Dangerous went on to regain the World Heavyweight Title, and even carried Wildchild to a fourth Tag Team Title reign. Meanwhile, all Clown Boy managed to do was stumble through an unremarkable World Cruiserweight Title reign, and lose every big match that he was booked in!”


“That’s kind of an oversimplification, King,” replies LDP. “Wildchild was involved in two of the most dramatic feuds of the year, against Scott Pretzler and El Luchador Magnifico!”


“Remind me again, MacDougal,” quips King, “who came out ahead in those feuds?”




“Thought so!” continues King. “As I was saying, he’s lost every big match that he’s been booked in since these two started to grow apart, and tonight, there’s just going to be more of the same. Johnny Dangerous is fast enough to keep up with Wildchild, and is stronger and smarter to boot; I can’t see any way that Wildchild will be able to compete with him!”


“King, you can never count out the Wildchild,” replies Pete. “There’s a laundry list of people that have taken him lightly, and come out with the loser’s share of the purse because of it! Wildchild has proven that he can overcome a strength disadvantage, time and time again, and it’s not like we’re dealing with Janus-level strength here; Johnny Dangerous is going to have a bear of a time trying to keep his former partner under control!”


“You can’t be serious!” counters King. “Nobody knows this guy better than Johnny Dangerous; you really think that there’s anything Wildchild can do that he hasn’t seen at least a half-dozen times? Johnny is going to be three steps ahead of this guy for the entire match, and when it’s all said and done, he’s going to be the one advancing in the Cold Front Classic!”


“That remains to be seen,” says Pete, “but we’ll find out the answer here very shortly, as we send it up to Funyon in the ring!”




“The following contest,” says Funyon, “is a Cold Front Classic Quarterfinal match, scheduled for one fall!”




Suddenly, the lights in the RCA Dome dim, and a sultry female voice breathes the name of the SWF’s resident super-spy. “After The Flesh” by My Life With The Thrill Kill Cult begins to thump through the crowds. Smoke fills the stage as tons of strobes cut through it and Johnny Dangerous walks out onto center stage.


“Making his way to the ring at this time,” says Funyon, “from Las Vegas, Nevada, and weighing in at two hundred seventeen pounds… JOHNNY DAAAAANGEROUS!”






The Barracuda is met with boos as he steps from behind the curtain, but he disregards the fans, flipping them a double bird as he makes his way down the ramp.


“You’ve got to appreciate the focus on the part of Johnny Dangerous,” says King. “That’s another reason why I’m going to say that he’ll beat Wildchild here tonight; Wildchild has proven to be susceptible to the fans. He lets them dictate his performance in the ring, and if the crowd isn’t behind him, he’s not able to perform at his best. Johnny’s going to be able to exploit that weakness all day!”


“Well, when it comes to Johnny Dangerous, I don’t really think that Wildchild is going to be worried about the fans,” replies Pete. “He wants to get his hands on the Barracuda in the worst way possible!” Johnny slides into the ring and walks directly over to Funyon, demanding the microphone from him.


“What do you suppose that Johnny has to say?” wonders LDP, as the Barracuda’s music fades out.


As if to answer, Johnny lifts the microphone to his lips and begins to speak. “So, here we are,” he says. “Dominic, you’ve been begging for this match for weeks, and now you’re finally going to get what you want. But believe me, kid: you’re not gonna want what you’re about to get!


“I tried to do you a favor,” continues Johnny. “I tried to spare you this pain and embarrassment, but you just wouldn’t listen. So now, I’m going to have to teach you the hard way! Bring your Caribbean ass out here, so that I can teach the lesson that you’ve had coming for three years now!”


With that, Johnny slams down the microphone as Mystikal’s “Bouncin’ Back” begins to play. After a few seconds, the Bahama Bomber steps out onto the stage, sans his girlfriend, Melissa Fasaki. Wildchild points menacingly towards Johnny as he makes his way down the ramp.


“Take a look at the look in those eyes, King,” says LDP. “I’d rather not have those eyes looking at me!” Wildchild is midway down the ramp…






… When suddenly, Bruce Blank comes lumbering down the ramp and levels the Caribbean Cruiser with a Sickle-like clothesline!


“Oh my god!” shouts Pete. “It’s Bruce Blank! What’s he doing out here?”


“Well, it should be obvious by now,” replies King, as Blank begins smashing heavy boots into Wildchild’s back. “Johnny must have been the guy that was talking to Bruce Blank from the shadows back on Smarkdown! He’s the guy who offered Blank the bounty to take out his opponent!” Blank pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him down the ramp, slamming him back-first into the steel edge of the ring apron. As Wildchild winces in pain, Johnny runs across the ring and dives feet-first towards the edge of the ring, blasting WC in the back with a baseball slide that sends him stumbling towards the ramp…






… And into a running Big Boot by Blank!


“This is a mugging!” cries Pete, as Johnny exits the ring on the announcer’s side. “Somebody needs to do something about this!”


“The ref can’t do anything,” replies King, as Johnny snatches away the timekeeper’s chair. “This is a hardcore match!” Johnny slides back into the ring and tosses the chair out towards Blank, motioning for him to do something.


“What do you suppose he’s about to do here?” asks LDP, as Blank traps Wildchild in a front facelock. He lifts him off the ground, holding him overhead in a stalling suplex position.


“Oh no!” cries Pete. “He’s not going to do this, is he?”


“I think he is!” replies King, as Blank sits down hard on the ramp…









“Oh my god!” shrieks Pete. “Blank Bomb! He hit Wildchild with the Blank Bomb onto a chair!”


“Wildchild’s gonna have an uphill climb to try and win this one!” mocks King, as Blank drags Wildchild over to the edge of the ring and rolls him underneath the bottom rope. As soon as WC is brought back into the ring, Johnny orders referee Red Herrington to ring the bell to start the match:






“Well,” mutters Pete, “this match is finally OFFICIALLY underway… although, it’s only after Johnny had Bruce Blank take Wildchild out from outside the ring that he was willing to have the match start!” Johnny continues to order Blank from inside the ring, and lifts Wildchild onto the top turnbuckle of the nearby corner as Bruce digs underneath the ring.


“Now what’s going on?” asks Pete. “Haven’t they dished out enough punishment?”


“Obviously not,” replies King, as Blank slides a table into the ring.


“You’ve got to be kidding me!” bellows LDP, as Bruce sets up the table, under Johnny’s instruction. “They’ve done enough!” Johnny steps onto the middle ropes and dumps WC onto his shoulders. He falls off the ropes…









“For goodness sake!” shouts Pete, as Johnny shakes hands with Blank. “Wildchild’s getting abused out there!” Johnny casually rolls WC onto his back and plants a foot atop his chest.


“Look at this!” crows King, as Herrington has little choice but to drop to his knees and make the count:



















“What a miscarriage of justice!” spits LDP, as Johnny’s theme begins to play. “This was a mugging from start to finish; Wildchild never had a chance!”


“I told you that much five minutes ago!” mocks King.


“The winner of this match,” says Funyon, “and advancing in the Cold Front Classic... JOHNNY DAAAAANGEROUS!”


“What a big win for Johnny Dangerous,” says King. “He finally settles the score over his old nemesis, and he’ll get to move on in the tournament, as Wildchild has to go back to the drawing board and try to figure out what happened!”

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“…and apparently we’re not done here yet,” notes Pete as Johnny Dangerous, still inside the ring, motions for a microphone. The Barracuda walks back towards the center of the squared circle, microphone in hand, but this crowd isn’t about to give him the floor so easily. Not after what they’ve just seen.






“You see,” Johnny begins, paying no heed to the chants of the crowd, “I never *ever* wanted it to come to this. Unfortunately, my hand has been forced.”


“Likely story!” roars Pete, “Johnny knew he couldn’t come out on top in a match against Wildchild so he cheated!”


“How the hell do you cheat in a match with no rules?” King questions while shaking his head in disbelief at his announcing cohorts ignorance. “If you ask me the Barracuda is the smartest man in this tournament.”


“Long ago I tried to make things work between us,” Johnny continues. “I wanted to take Wild and Dangerous to the top of the World and I’ll be damned if I didn’t try my hardest! I had…no *have* an intense love for the team! I dedicated my life to it! I did everything to further our legacy…for us to become the *greatest* Tag Team there ever was in the SWF – I made it *my* life! Apparently, though, all of us failed to get on the same page,” Johnny says, pacing the length of the ring. “Someone decided that they would rather sleep with the enemy. Someone decided that what the fans thought actually mattered. That someone…was Wildchild!”




“Are you hearing this, King?” Pete appallingly asks. “He’s trying to re-spin history in his favor – we saw what actually happened, though! He can’t pull the wool over *this* announcers eyes!”


“Please, Pete. When have you ever removed the wool from your eyes to begin with?”


“That’s right! Wildchild couldn’t grasp the basic understanding of what it took to be successful. He didn’t want to go out here and do whatever it took to win - he wanted to come out here and get cheered by all of the crowds we visit! When I started leading the team in a new, harder-edged direction you people turned your back on us. Wildchild couldn’t stand to not here people chant ‘Dub-Cee’ night in and out-”







“Oh, for the love of God! Shut the hell up!”




“I told him it didn’t matter and it didn’t! Who gives a damn if the people in the audience boo or cheer for you - what will go down in the record books is what you’ve accomplished, not how you did it. I tried to tell you that, Dominic, but you just couldn’t or wouldn’t listen! Nobody cares what these people think because they don’t matter! They are not successful – if they were they’d be down here in the ring with us and not in the stands watching, so who the hell are they to judge!?”


“He’s got a point there,” notes King. Pete just silently shakes his head.


“Listening to these people is what caused you to abandon the team. You turned your back to me just like they turned their backs to me when I kicked the ever loving snot out of Ejiro Fasaki to win the World Heavyweight Championship! You thought you could be successful without me, but you shouldn’t listen to what that two-bit whore Melissa Fasaki says cause she is *dead* wrong. You couldn’t even beat me at Ashes to Ashes and then you had the audacity to try and challenge me tonight and for a shot at the World Title no less. Since when did you ever give a damn about the World Title? You couldn’t beat Ejiro when you had your chance!”


Johnny looks out at the crowd. They are all silent, carefully listening to the appalling story. Maybe they will finally realize that it wasn’t Johnny who was the bad guy after all. Maybe they’ve finally come to realize that Wildchild is the one who can’t be trusted.


“Now, because I share a mutual respect for what we had as Wild and Dangerous I am ending this here, tonight. When you go home, Dominic, carefully think about the mistakes you’ve made. Think about how you turned a cold shoulder to me and the team when that’s what needed *you* the most. I’m just so sorry I had to teach you a lesson like this and embarrass you in front of these so called fans, but it had to happen. You *had* to be shown what was right. Consider this my last favor to you, Wildchild, and a final warning: stay out of my way!”


Johnny’s music hits, but it’s not very audible over the massive jeers from the crowd. He flips his microphone behind him and heads towards the edge of the ring…



As we:


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The pyros onstage go off once again as we return to SWF Storm! The hardcore flagship of the company returns back to a screaming RCA Dome crowd. Even though the stadium is huge, they’ve managed to fill the ringside area quite nicely. In the sea of Colts and Pacers jerseys, there are a few signs like “Fill in the Blank: Family Fun _______!!”, “JAPANESE HAMMER = BIGGEST TOOL IN ASIA!”, “HOW MUCH CAN WE REALLY FIT ON THESE SIGNS?!“ and a few other more… colorful ones. But after the camera pans around, we cut to the announcers table, where a suited Peter MacDougal and a gloriously overdressed Suicide King sit awaiting the next match.


“Well, it looks like we have an interesting match-up next here. First off, we have TORU Takahara, current SWF Tag Team Champion and upset victor in the CFC, beating Jay Hawke in an all-around… questionable match,” says Pete, a bit disgusted, “And then we have Max King.”


“Yeah, Max King…” King starts, taking his feet off the announcer’s table, “Talk about an ungrateful little piece of crap. Last week, Bruce Blank goes out there and carries (Carries!) him to a Tag Team Title Match, and what happens? He friggin’ plasters his teammate! Talk about ungrateful…”


“Ungrateful? Blank cheated the entire match! Max wanted to win fair and square!”


“The only reason Blank had to cheat was because the Queen is dead weight! Seriously, I can’t believe he was able to salvage that match.”


“Whatever, King, whatever,” says Pete, dismissing the old heel’s predictable remarks, “But in this match, King is definitely going to have to be ready for anything, because it’s Hardcore Storm, and TORU is not going to play honest for long…”


As Pete finishes, the lights dim down in the stadium, and the Indianapolis crowd quiets to a murmer as-




And a surprising POP resounds in the arena as pyros light up the stage and Saliva’s “Superstar” starts up in the background. On the ramp, Max King walks out, his ever faithful manager Kelly hooked around his arm. He gives a wave of acknowledgement to the crowd as he strides down towards the ring, a few fans reaching over the rails trying to give him a high five.


“Now entering the ring, weighing in at a perfect 250 pounds and hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania… he is the #1 Contender to the SWF TAG TEAM TITLES… THE ICON! MAAAAAAAAAAAX…. KIIIIIIIIIIIIING!”


As they walk down, the camera mics pick up Kelly asking the crowd what they want King to hit TORU with first.


“Chair? Chair? How about a chain? You want a chain?” she says with a smile before she goes over to a little 5-year old kid holding a sign saying “USE MY SIGN TONIGHT!” She takes it, and the crowd near the ramp goes wild as King gets to the apron.


“Well, it looks like the crowd has really lightened up to this new Max King,” notes Pete as Max and Kelly do their traditional pre-match kiss, “And I have to say I for one am glad for him. As a man who has made many a comeback, it’s always good to see a guy get a second chance.”


“We can only hope that Queenie’s return is just as short and fails as big as any one of yours,” says King with a smirk.


In the ring, King begins stretching out, while Kelly holds onto the sign for ‘Safe-Keeping’, just incase her client might need to even the odds against his opponent.


“And entering second…” Funyon starts off as the crowd begins booing…




… and keep booing…





… and booing…




… and uh… where the heck is TORU?


“Huh? What’s going on?”


“I don’t know, King, but TORU doesn’t seem to be coming…”


Suddenly, the Smarktron starts up, showing us the corridors of the RCA Dome and a shot of TORU being taken away by the police! No, wait, not police… INS! Yes, the crowd begins to mumble in confusion as 6 immigration officers walk alongside the large man, his hands cuffed behind his back. Of course, Christopher Card is right there, arguing with the head officer.


“HIS VISA IS FINE! I HAVE IT RIGHT HERE!” he screams at the sergeant, but the INS officer refuses to listen.


“Look, I don’t care what you have, my office has found irregularities with his paper work, and until they are fixed, we can’t have him doing this.”




Card continues ranting as the group passes a corner, where Bruce Blank is leaned up against. Bandaged up a bit from his title defense earlier tonight, he laughs a bit as the camera stops with him rather than following the group.


“Well, Max, consider this a peace offerin’,” he starts off in his Southern drawl, “I can understand you not wantin’ me as a partner, ‘cause I sure as hell don’t want you as one. But… I want to be a double champion. And we’re gonna have to work together if we’re gonna beat these two. So…”


Pulls out a pack of cigarettes and pulls out a single one, which he puts in his mouth.


“Let’s pretend to be friends for a little while, okay?”


He lights the thing up with a match and takes a few puffs.


“Oh, and since I won’t be seeing you guys on Lockdown next week because of our chickens*** commissioner,” he says, the censors blocking his remark, “Here’s one for the road.”


He holds his middle finger up (Blurred, of course), to a small pop from the crowd, and turns down the hallway, his hand over his head still giving the camera the finger as the shot cuts to the Storm logo.


In the ring, CED Ordonez looks at an frowning Max King and shrugs his shoulders: He has no other choice.




“Superstar” hits the speakers as an angry Max King exits the ring, Kelly following right behind. He still gives a few fans some high fives on the way up the ramp, but he’s obviously not happy.


“The winner, via no contest…. THE ICON! MAAAAAAAAAX… KIIIIIIIIIIING!!”


“Again, completely ungrateful! He’s still mad at Blank, and he got him a free win!”


“Can’t you understand, King? He wants a legitimate win, and Blank keeps stopping him from getting one!”


“What’s not legitimate about this win? TORU definitely ain’t doing anything tonight. I’d call that a victory for his side.”


Pete sighs and shakes his head, and shuffles a few of his notes. “I guess you’ll never figure it out, King. But don’t go away, folks. We still have a lot of Storm left, and you definitely won’t want to miss a moment of it!”



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We come back to Storm from commercial to find the camera locked on the Smarktron. A Smarktron that contains a graphic, and it is that graphic that sends a rumbling throughout the massive RCA Dome.


On one side of the graphic is a man with stringy brown hair, bright green eyes, and a smile that could light up Madison Square Garden. Behind that face is a man that’s dealt with back injuries, with possible shoulder injuries, but never wounded pride. And knowing that he has the number of the man he’s facing makes his smile all the brighter.






And then the man on the other side pops up, and the near-orgasmic response fades into a medley of jeers. As tattooed as always, as sneering as always, and as always, he has gold over his shoulder. He doesn’t look pleased. And knowing that the man he’s facing has his number makes his sneer all the angrier.









“101 days.”



The camera pans to Longdogger Pete, as it is he who uttered that sentence.


“101 days ago, JJ Johnson won the SWF Cruiserweight Championship from ‘The Critic’ Scott Pretzler. 101 days later,” says Pete. “Johnson still has it. He’s taken on all comers, even going so far as to ask for defenses, and he’s beaten them all. Do I like JJ Johnson? No. Not one bit. Do I respect JJ Johnson? Yes. Immensely. But his opponent tonight is somebody I both like and respect, and who is making his in-ring return tonight.”


“Well, I’m the complete opposite,” says King. “The only person that dislikes Zyon more than I is Johnson. Zyon has never submitted to a hold, nor had his shoulders pinned to the mat, by JJ Johnson. And Johnson hates him for it. This match may be brutal, Pete.”


I’m born.






It matters not what line is next in the song. It could be “I’m alive. I love the cock”. You wouldn’t be able to tell from the sound, because the song is immediately drowned out by the rabid Indianapolis crowd. There’s no doubt that the Zyon love is running wild as the Unique Youth steps out from behind the curtain, his arms raised in the air as he shows a bit of intensity. Oh, how the fans have missed that intensity. And they let him know it, their cheers getting ever louder as he gets closer and closer to the ring. Finally, he gives up his facade of seriousness and grins before breaking into a dead sprint and sliding into the ring. The crowd somehow gets louder, and he leaps to the second rope before raising his arms back up and performing his signature headbang!


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


The lights fade back up, the crowd still extremely excited as Zyon performs some stretches in the ropes, knowing from experience just how tough an opponent he has. And as he continues to stretch, and the fans continue to cheer...



...the lights drop out.




Every light by the Smarktron kicks into life twice, one red, one white, as the Smarktron itself comes alive with various highlights from Johnson’s matches; dropping Scott Pretzler on his head with a dragon suplex, blasting Manson in the face with the electric chair Shining Black in France, and, eerily enough, Johnson wrapping Zyon around the ring-post with an Exploder. The arena is pitch black again momentarily, but when the lights flash a second time, you can see Zyon wince as his spine contorts itself on screen. The drums drop in, and the lights fade up, slightly, to a dark, dark red, and smoke begins to cloud the entranceway. The crowd begins to prepare itself for the amount of hatred that they’re about to spew, and they get their chance soon enough...




...as the growl of Burton C. Bell comes roaring out of the speakers, “Scapegoat” kicking into full gear as Johnson strides out of the smoke, and seemingly into a lion’s den.








Johnson’s only reaction to the jeers is confusion at that last one, as one would obviously have to put real time and thought into making the connection that World Six is the Ice World, and that Canada is cold. Brilliant, this crowd is. Johnson, as always, keeps his eyes locked on the ring as he strides down the aisle, but he’s not wearing his usual blank stare. At first glance he is, but to look closer would be to discover a fire in his eyes not seen since 1912 Chicago. He walks up the steps, steps into the ring, and simply stands in the corner. He doesn’t get up on the second rope and do his crucifix taunt, or glare at the crowd. Against any other opponent, he would. But this is Zyon. And that means that this is serious. Funyon realizes that this is his cue to make the introductions, and so he grabs his microphone and steps into the ring with a grin on his face.


“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation Cruiserweight Championship!”




“Introducing first, on my right, the challenger. In the white sleeveless shirt, and the black shorts. He stands six feet, two inches tall, and he weighs in tonight at 201 pounds. From Elkhart, INDIANA...”




“...he is the Unique Youth...ZYYYYYYY-ONNNNNNN!!!”


The crowd does not stop their cheer for Indiana to start a new one for Zyon, who raises his arms and headbangs in response, instead deciding to simply sustain their cheer. The cheer goes on for quite a while, and it is only via Funyon asking them that they quiet down.


“And his opponent, in the red shorts with the white trim. He stands six feet, one inch tall and weighs in, as always, at 219 pounds. From Windsor, Ontario, Canada, he is the 101-day, reigning and defending Smartmarks Wrestling Federation CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION...J! J! JOHNSON!”





Johnson throws off his jacket before raising his fist in front of him as a deference to his MMA roots. Referee Anthony D’Urso takes the belt from him, and beckons both Zyon and Johnson into the middle of the ring.


“Alright,” begins D’Urso, “you guys both know the rules. You’ve got a twenty-count on the outside, no throwing the opponent over the top rope. Watch the closed fists, no hair pulling, and break holds when I tell you to. Now shake hands, and here’s to a clean fight.”


And with that, Tony D steps back, allowing the two men to get closer to each other. There is an uneasy silence as they stare into each other’s eyes, but finally Zyon sticks out his hand. Johnson doesn’t take it, and Zyon looks down at the hand before looking back into the cold hazel eyes of the champion. Finally, the Canadian takes it, and Zyon gives his hand a firm pump.


“Good luck,” says Zyon.



“Fuck you,” spits Johnson, before the two men go back to their corners.


“No, Johnson! He didn’t say ‘East Coast’!” laughs King, having a chuckle at Johnson’s apparent -at least to King- foolishness.


D’Urso raises Johnson’s belt above his head, then shows it to all sides of the ring before handing it to the timekeeper.






“And after that unpleasant exchange, here we go!” says Pete excitedly, but no. Here we don’t go. Here we simply stare at each other across the ring. Zyon exudes caution, and the slightest hint of arrogance, as he looks across towards the man he’s bested twice in singles competition, but that sent him careening into the ring post with little regard for his safety not two months ago. Johnson exudes hatred. No more explanation is necessary. Just hatred. Zyon raises his arms again in an attempt to break the awkward silence, and the crowd responds immediately to the home-state hero, bursting into more cheers at the simplest of gestures from the Unique Youth. Finally, Zyon steps forward, offering his hand out for a test of strength. Johnson stares at the hand, and Zyon rolls his eyes, tired of Johnson’s constant hesitation to be sportsmanlike.









And that split-second that Zyon is distracted with eye rolling is all that Johnson needs to sprint forwards and shove his boot up the Elkhartian’s nose with a Yakuza Kick! Zyon realizes that the situation will become dire fast if he does not make some effort to remove himself from Johnson’s path, and so he rolls out of the ring. Now safely on the floor, Zyon grabs at his recently-punted left eye, walking around to the side of the ring facing the ramp as he checks for a break. Finding none, he thankfully turns back to the ring and GETS HIS HEAD TAKEN OFF BY AN ELBOW SUICIDA!!!








“Johnson is refusing to give Zyon a rest here!” shouts Pete as Johnson tucks and rolls through his landing, preventing any damage from his dive. Zyon, on the other hand, goes down hard, having taken a rather unpleasant elbow to the skull. He grabs at his head, but Johnson has him upright almost before he even falls down, and...












...lays into him with three wicked elbow smashes before taking him by the scruff of his neck and sending him head-first into the steel steps!





The fans may be booing in order to distract Johnson, but if anything, it’s encouraging him. The more they boo, the more pain Zyon is obviously in. And the more pain Zyon is in, the happier Johnson is. So Johnson is mighty pleased as he grabs Zyon by his scraggly brown hair and drags him to his feet. Sadly, his mood quickly changes, as the Unique Youth fires off a few punches that catch Johnson right in the jaw! The Canadian shakes it off, but not for long, as Zyon blasts him with another hard shot! And another! And another! Johnson is staggered now, and the Unique Youth takes a few steps back before rushing forward and NAILING Johnson smack in his chest with the Snap dropkick!!







Johnson stumbles and falls, but rolls right back up...






...into a diving forearm from Zyon! Again, Johnson pops right back up, and draws his arm back to waylay the Indianan with an elbow...






And immediately, both competitors’ heads snap to look at the ring. Then look back at each other. And then run and slide back into the ring just before twenty!



“Heh. See, Zyon’s smarter than I give him credit for. He can’t count to twenty, but he knows Johnson can, and so he simply imitated him,” says King, smiling like a man who knows what he’s talking about. I’m not sure why, either.


Zyon shoves himself to his feet and, still doubled over from getting up, rushes Johnson, but the Canadian is faster and sticks his arm DEEP under the Indiana native’s armpit before slinging his arm around and taking the Unique Youth over with an armdrag!





Zyon doesn’t stay down long, and rolls up before rushing Johnson...and falling victim to another armdrag!






Zyon scrambles back to his feet and rushes the champion again, and Johnson is ready with another armdrag!









But he’s not ready for a Snap to the side of his head, and unfortunately, that’s what he gets! Something white goes flying out of Johnson’s mouth, and he falls to his hands and knees, grabbing at his jaw. Zyon takes advantage by bouncing off the ropes behind him, sprinting and leaping off of Johnson’s back onto the top turnbuckle! He performs another headbang, and the noise level in the arena rises, but it’s only high for long, as Johnson leaps from his knees to his feet and leaps up onto the top turnbuckle himself, trapping Zyon’s head and arm in his grip before squeezing!



“Olympic Hell!” shouts King. “That arm triangle choke, applied perfectly by Johnson on the top rope! Although I’m not sure what he’s going to do with a hold like that up there.”


And it is at that moment that Johnson looks behind him, to the floor below, and grins. And everyone in the arena blanches at once.


“Oh...oh God,” mutters Pete. “He can’t. He can’t suplex Zyon from there to the outside! Not only will it kill BOTH of them, but Johnson will be disqualified!”


“Nope, Pete,” smirks King. “Rule only says no throwing OVER the top to the outside. Says nothing about OFF the top. And besides,” King adds, “ I highly doubt, if said suplex would indeed kill both of them, that Johnson would be concerned with disqualifications.”



But neither of them are correct, as Zyon wisely steps off the top, hotshotting Johnson on the top rope, and causing him to fall off the apron to the floor! Naturally, this frees him from the hold.





“BOOOOOO! FOUL! CHEATER! NO THROWING YOUR OPPONENT OFF THE TOP ROPE! DISQUALIFICATION!” screams a livid King, wearing his emotions -and his hypocrisy- on his sleeve.


Johnson shoves himself to his feet, rubbing at his throat and swearing as he walks to the ring barrier. Meanwhile, behind him, Zyon slingshots himself over the top rope to the apron, and points at Johnson as he glances around the RCA Dome.





Johnson turns around to see what all the hubbub is about...just in time to see Zyon dash down the apron and CATCH JOHNSON WITH A DROPKICK THAT SENDS HIM SMASHING INTO THE GUARDRAIL!!


“What a move! And Zyon has Johnson on the defensive here!” shouts Pete as Zyon, although he landed hard, pops right back up to his feet and charges Johnson with a clothesline...




...but the champion is waiting with a Japanese-style armdrag that sends Zyon over the railing to the hard concrete outside! Zyon sits bolt upright, grabbing at his back and moaning as he rolls down the area not occupied by chairs and adoring fans, who all reach out for, I dunno, their celebrity sweat collection or something. Johnson, meanwhile, rolls JUUUUUSST under the bottom rope, but it’s enough to satisfy D’Urso and break the count as he heads back outside. The Unique Youth stands up as security tries to keep him from getting mobbed, but fans are the least of Zyon’s worries right now.





That 219-pound missile flying at him elbow-first is far, far worse.








“HOLY SHIT!” chants the fans.


“HOLY SHIT!” screams King.


“HOLY SHIT!” shouts Pete.


And in the midst of all the swearing of the fans and announcers, the moaning and forehead-grabbing of Zyon, and the...well, nothing audible from Johnson, the Smarktron splits the image into two, to show everyone at home what happened via the magic OF...




Johnson takes a few steps back, breathes heavily, and then sprints to the guardrail before planting one foot on it and using it to launch himself at Zyon! He sails the seven feet between him and the Unique Youth with the greatest of ease, and puts his elbow through Zyon’s skull in the process!




D’Urso reaches five with his count as Johnson sits up, grabbing at his elbow as he grits his teeth. Zyon, on the other hand, appears to be out cold. Johnson makes his way to his feet slowly but surely, and grabs Zyon, tugging the Unique Youth up to his feet before, deciding that it’ll be more efficient, lifting Zyon up onto his shoulders and continuing to make his way towards the guardrail. Upon reaching it, Johnson dumps the Elkhartian over the steel barrier before putting one foot up on the guardrail and starting to make his way over...




...when Zyon rolls to his feet and hits the railing with a dropkick that sends Johnson tumbling down to a cruel crotching fate!






As Johnson holds his traumatized testicles, Zyon takes a few steps back before, after pausing to slap hands with a few fans, running forward and driving the back of Johnson’s head into the guardrail with an inverted bulldog! The champion slumps off, and the challenger rolls into the ring to break D’Urso’s twenty count so as to avoid a disqualification. He can’t be disqualified now, not when he has the champion on the ropes like this.


“And FINALLY, FINALLY the match slows down!” shouts Pete. “These two have just been go-go-go the whole time today, clubbing each other and trying to suplex each other off of high places and dropping each other on the guardrail...it’s just been a war! A damn entertaining war!”


“Eh, it’s not so entertaining,” says the Heartbreaker.


“You weren’t saying that back when Johnson was winning, King.” sighs Pete.


“Your mom wasn’t saying that 9 months before you were born! OH! OH! ZING!” shouts King, standing up and throwing his finger in Pete’s face with every “oh” or “zing”.


“Brian,” begins Pete, “I’m older than you are.”


King pauses. He wasn’t expecting Pete to pull out such an obscure fact. “Well...you’re also uglier than I am! OH! ZING TWO, ELECTRIC BOOGALOO!”


As the Gambling Man performs his bizarre celebratory dance, Johnson shakes off his groin injury (not like that. You’re disgusting.) and rolls into the ring, where Zyon is waiting with the third Snap dropkick of the match! That Johnson dodges, diving away from the flying feet just before they embed themselves in his his rib cage! Zyon luckily ends up hitting the top rope, thus preventing sailing to the outside. And then he wishes he HAD sailed to the outside, because now Johnson is in mid-air, and falling fast...




...with a leaping knee drop to the forehead! The Unique Youth’s cranium is battered further, and Johnson drags him away from the ropes before dropping down and hooking a leg as D’Urso, thankful he can do some counting besides a ring-out count, goes down to count!














“And the first cover of the match is almost the last!” shouts Pete. “That shows you just how much punishment those guys dealt to each other on the outside.”


“Yeah, shows just how slow D’Urso counts. Why is it always him or Soapdish for Johnson matches? Can’t they at least get a second-grade graduate?” grumbles King, once again mocking the refs. Oh, just wait until the rebellion, Applewhite. Just wait until the rebellion.


In the ring, because, you know, we’re broadcasting a wrestling match, Johnson pulls Zyon to his feet and begins to whip him to the ropes. Zyon reverses, however, but instead of whipping Johnson, he pulls him in for the HARDEST KNIFE-EDGE CHOP YOU’LL EVER SEE!!






Johnson grabs at his stinging chest momentarily, then draws his arm back and tears the Unique Youth a new nipple with a chop of his own!






The “Whooo” is slightly less for the Canadian than it is for the hometown hero, but it’s still noticeable. However, the old “Whooo” is drowned out by the smack of palm on chest as Zyon fires back with another chop!






Johnson winces a little, but sucks it up and gives Zyon another chop!






If Zyon’s affected, he doesn’t show it, unless showing it means letting loose with another chop!






And another!






And another!






And another!






Or not! Johnson grows tired of all of this solar-plexal abuse, so he spins and waylays Zyon with a vicious rolling elbow! And then drops down to cover!





















NO! King goes off on another tirade about referees that can’t count, but nobody is really listening as Zyon shoots his shoulder off of the mat to keep his title hopes alive. Johnson cracks him with another elbow, and tries another cover.












THR-Not a chance. Zyon wasn’t hurt so much as he was caught off-guard on the rolling elbow, and a grounded elbow isn’t going to make a near-three any nearer. So Johnson drags him to his feet, and knees him in the gut before turning him slightly and grabbing him in a 3/4 bulldog headlock. The crowd is intrigued, but nothing becomes of it, as Zyon is quick to double Johnson over with an elbow to the gut before scooping him up and spinning...





...and dropping him with his Aero Driver!




“AERO DRIVER!” screams the Miami Menace. “That Michinoku Driver Zyon uses, and it could be enough to get the win here!”


Zyon cradles the champion’s legs as the RCA Dome goes wild around him, the sound of D’Urso’s hand hitting the mat drowned out by the 50,000-plus Zyon supporters.
































NO!! NO!! Johnson kicks out JUST before the third count!








As if to shut the fans up, D’Urso not only shows two to the timekeeper, but he pans his fingers around the Dome. This only serves to make the fans angrier, though, as Zyon pulls Johnson to his feet.




Before applying a standing headscissors.






Zyon hasn’t even hit the Final Hour yet. Hell, he hasn’t even set it up fully. All he’s done is even tease it, and the crowd completely blows their load. Or so he thinks, but the fans get even louder as he doubles over and wraps his arms around Johnson’s waist, preparing to lift him for his devastating cradle piledriver.





And, knowing full well what’s coming, Johnson reacts appropriately, swinging his right leg up and attempting to knock Zyon loose. The Unique Youth staggers, but shakes it off, and simply dips with his knees before attempting the lift again.






And again, Johnson tries to break free. The desperation in his eyes would be apparent if you could see his eyes, but since you can’t, you’re forced to imagine how much trouble he knows he’s in.


“Look at Johnson! He’s desperate! He knows he can’t take the Final Hour and keep his title!” cries the Longdogger. “It’s one or the other, and he’ll be damned if it’s the first one!”


“Pfft. Back in MY day, we didn’t have newfangled ‘cradle piledrivers’. We had half-nelson reverse russian leg sweeps, and they were dominant!” says King, going off on one of his tirades about his own moves.






Finally, Zyon’s grip loosens, and Johnson is quick to take a firm hold of Zyon’s right arm before spinning out of the headscissors and ending up behind Zyon with a hammerlock. Johnson quickly abandons the hammerlock, though, and immediately applies a half nelson before wrapping his arm across the Unique Youth’s chest!


“Tiger Suplex ‘85! Ha! This one’s over if he hits it.” smirks the Gambling Man. Unfortunately, Johnson doesn’t hit it. Zyon manages to slip out, and he’s quick to run and spring off the second ropes with his Half Moon quebrada! He catches Johnson chest-to-chest, but the Canadian uses the Youth’s momentum against him by continuing it and causing the challenger to slide over his shoulder. This matters not to Zyon, who merely catches him with a kick to the lower back before turning and climbing up to the top rope, saluting to the fans as he prepares for his No Regard cross body! However, instead of seeing glee and noise, like he has every other time he’s acknowledged the fans, the arena is hushed, and there are looks of horror on the people’s faces.









And then he feels another weight join him on the ropes.









And he finds his arms in a full nelson, and learns a valuable lesson on turning his back on a standing opponent.















“Oh, shit,” says King, in a hushed voice. Pete is speechless.








And as 56,000 people look on, JJ Johnson ducks low before bridging back and taking his archrival, Zyon, off of the top rope with a dragon suplex. About halfway through the suplex, Johnson thankfully releases, and he falls hard to the mat. The Unique Youth’s body defines a graceful arc as it sails through the air, and Zyon still has a shellshocked look on his face as he turns 270 degrees, almost in slow motion, the canvas his last view before being shoved headlong into unconsciousness.



And then it’s back to fast motion.







The arena is still silent as Johnson makes his way to his hands and knees, and manages to get close enough to drape an arm over Zyon. D’Urso doesn’t need to count. It’s academic. But it’s his job, and so he gets down and does his job.
















NOW the crowd erupts into jeers, but Johnson is excited. He takes his belt and rolls out of the ring, rolls away from the broken and bruised form of Zyon. The DEFEATED form of Zyon. His smile has never been wider, and he breaks into maniacal laughter as he backs up the ramp, his eyes wide as he holds his belt high in the air.



“Here is your winner, and still Cruiserweight Champion, JJ Johnson,” says Funyon, a look of shock wide on his eyes as D’Urso rolls Zyon onto his back, checking up on him.



“Ladies and gentlemen, I suppose we should be happy. JJ Johnson achieved his dream. But at what cost? What kind of shape could Zyon be in after...after that?” asks Pete. “We’ve got Cold Front Classic action, Spike Jenkins vs. Masked Crusader, headed your way now. Stick around.”



Johnson has collapsed from exhaustion on the ramp, but he’s still grinning like a loon, and it is that camera shot that is the last as we...






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As SWF Storm returns from its final commercial break of the evening, the viewer is immediately treated to the jarring entrance of the Masked Crusader, who strides out from the back as towers of maroon pyro explode on either side of the entrance ramp. The reaction is loud but somewhat mixed, the crowd unable to determine whether or not they like the guy as they watch him swifly make his way towards the ring.


“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is our Main Event!” Funyon excitedly announces. “Introducing first, from Cairo, Egypt, weighing in at two hundred and seventy-three pounds...THE MAAAAAAAAAASSSKED CRRRUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSAAAAAAAAADER!!”


While Funyon finishes up his introduction, the Crusader reaches the ring and slides beneath its bottom rope. He pops to his feet and quickly makes his way towards the far corner, where he leans against the turnbuckles and begins to stretch.


“And welcome back to SWF Storm, ladies and gentlemen!” Pete cries. “We’ve reached this evening’s main event and the final match in the first round of the Cold Front Classic! Spike Jenkins will take on the Masked Crusader in what’s sure to be - ”


Easily the least entertaining match in the entire tournament.” King finishes. “Jenkins proved his lack of worth at Ashes 2 Ashes, when Magnifico proved to the world that Spike’s title shot was completely undeserved. And the Crusader...well, I just don’t like people in masks.”


Facing towards the crowd, the Crusader continues to stretch out every bit of his body, unphased when the lights are suddenly cut out throughout the arena. The crowd’s anticipatory cheering slowly grows in volume and intensity...




...coming to a head when Lamb of God’s “Black Label” hits the speaker, whipping the crowd into a frenzy.




But even they’re overpowered by the piercing scream of Randy Blythe as it breaks through the speakers while the bright white lights begin flashing at the entranceway. As the scream hits the crowd, Spike walks out wearing a black hoodie on, the hood covering most of his face. Spike drops down to one knee, leaving one arm to hang to the ground, while the other is firmly placed on his knee. After a few moments, Spike raises both arms into an “X”, symbolizing his Straight Edge life style. Spike rises to his feet and begins to make his way down the isle towards the ring.


“And now, from Hollywood, California, weighing in at two hundred and twenty-pounds...” Funyon begins. “SSSSPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE JEEEEEEEEENKIIIIIIINSSSSSS!!”


Spike makes his way completely around the ring and rolls underneath the bottom rope. He continues rolling until he hits dead center in the middle of the ring. Spike rises to one knee and resumes the position he was in at the top of the entranceway. One arm hanging to the ground, the other placed on his knee. Finally, Spike rises to his feet. He quickly peels off the hood, releasing his blonde, dyed hair free. He puts his arms together, forming an “X” across his chest, again promoting his Straight Edge life style. After a moment, Spike rises, hands his hoodie to the referee, and glares coldly at the Masked Crusader. The Crusader doesn’t even acknowledge Spike’s existence, his head bowed as he faces the corner.


“This is a big opportunity for both men.” Pete states. “Spike has a chance to get a second shot at Magnifico, and the Masked Crusader could receive a title shot mere months after joining the federation.”


The referee looks between the two men and seems ready to begin the match. Keeping his eyes locked on the Crusader, Spike steps into the middle of the ring, doing so as the ref raises his hand to signal for the bell. But as he does so, a sudden rumbling comes from a section of the crowd, more specifically the part that Jenkins has his back to. The sound’s a combination of surprise and anger...and it’s not shocking for the fans to react that way, as El Luchadore Magnifico suddenly pops out from that portion of the audience! His Mexican Flag in hand and the World Title wrapped around his waist, Magnifico quickly runs towards the ring, slides beneath its bottom rope, and pops to his feet behind Spike! alerted by the sound behind him, Jenkins spins around...doing so just in time to see ELM bringing down the flagpole with frightening force!






Magnifico snaps the flagpole right over Spike’s forehead, immediately knocking Jenkins to the ground! The Crusader finally becomes aware of ELM’s presence, spinning around and locking eyes with the luchadore. Magnifico snarls as he charges towards the Crusader, swinging his flag and aiming it right at the side of the Masked Crusader’s head! The Crusader manages to duck beneath the pole, spinning to face ELM the second he’s behind him...and immediately receives a stiff shot to the gut, as Magnifico thrusts the pole backwards, jamming the bottom of it right into the Masked Man’s gut!


“What the hell is going on here?!” An annoyed LDP shouts. “Before this match can even get started, Magnifico’s come out and attacked both Spike and the Masked Crusader!”


“Hey, I’m not complaining.” King responds, grinning from ear-to-ear. “This is infinitely better than what was planned.”


The Masked Man falls to his knees, one hand on his gut. Gritting through the pain, the Crusader looks up and sees Magnifico staring down at him, an insufferable smirk on his face. As the Crusader helplessly looks on, ELM draws the flag high above his head...before bringing it down, cracking it right over the Masked Man’s skull!






The Crusader’s eyes roll back in his head as he falls to the mat, completely taken out by the unbelievably stiff shot. As a wave of furious boos pours in from the crowd, Magnifico walks towards the ropes and signals for a microphone, which is tossed to him a moment later. ELM walks towards the center of the ring and looks over his victims for a moment before speaking.


“Absolutely pathetic.” Magnifico spits. “You guys honestly think you’re deserving of another shot at me? You disgusting weaklings can’t even take me on two-on-one.”


ELM pauses a moment, allowing the fans to curse and taunt the luchadore to their hearts’ delight.


“To think that I’ve beaten...hell, humiliated the both of you within the past couple weeks, and you still both were given the chance at a World Title shot. Hmph.” ELM snorts. “There was no way in hell I was going to let this match go on, let there even be a possibility of either of you winning this laughable execuse for a tournament.”


“Well, anyway, think about what I’ve said, fellas.” Magnifico smirks. “Maybe you can set your sights a little lower next time, so that you can actually achieve your goals for once.”


With that, ELM drops the mike and exits the ring, followed by the thundering boos of the live audience. Grinning contentedly to himself, Magnifico makes his way up the ramp, not looking back once at the havoc he caused.


“What a beautiful, moving speech!” King cries. “That just brightened up my entire night!”


“Well, I’m glad you liked it.” Pete scoffs. “Looks as though we’re not getting our Main Event, folks. Sorry about that. In any case, tune into Lockdown. I doubt it’ll be as...disappointing.”


The final image broadcasted is that of Spike Jenkins and the Masked Crusader, laid out on opposite sides of the ring...


























"You're a hard man to get ahold of, Bruce."


Bruce Blank, bags packed and on his way out of the arena, turns to see Joseph Peters jogging to catch up.


“We can’t all sit on our asses in an office, Joe. Some of us have to work for a living,” Bruce says gruffly as he turns and looks at the CEO of the SWF.


"Heh... um... I, uh... I needed to talk to you about Lockdown."


"God, for the last time," Bruce mutters, "I distinctly remember hearing that bartender say drinks were on the house, so if you've come to collect-"


"No, it's... you see, it..."


"Some time today, ple-"


"You can't wrestle on Lockdown anymore."


After saying this, Peters gets ready to duck. Blank doesn't take a swing (yet), but it's clear that this was not the news he was expecting.


"... say what?"


"Temporarily, I mean. For the... forseeable future..."




"I can't really think of a delicate way to say this, but... you're not... Family Friendly."


"... and tha-"


"No," Peters cuts him off, attempting to maintain control over this conversation, "not only are you not Family Friendly, you are Family Unfriendly. I can't... we... Family Friendly Lockdown can't afford to have its name, and our sponsors' names, associated with your actions."


"My actions. Not Landon's?"


"Landon is not the reigning Hardcore Champion, and he hasn't displayed this kind of crude behavior week in and week out. You have, and as much as I..."


Joseph chokes on his words for a moment.


"... as much as I... respect... what you do, I can't let you do it on Lockdown anymore."


Joseph pauses, waiting for a response, but Blank only stares.


"I'll make sure you still get booked regularly on Storm and Smarkdown, and I'll try to find some way to make up the money you'll be losing, but..."


Again, Joseph pauses, but Blank remains silent.












"Look, if it were up to me-"


Bruce shoots a hand up, and Joseph steps backwards, realizing only too late that this gesture was merely meant to shut him up.


“Spare me the whole “If it was up to me” shtick, Peters,” Bruce says with disgust, "because it IS up to you. But you just bend over and take it from anyone with a buck.”


“That’s not true” Peters growls, as Bruce towers over him.


“Isn’t it? Did you not just tell me that I couldn’t work on Lockdown because it upset your precious sponsors?"


"It's not that simple, Bruce."


Bruce just shakes his head as he stares at the little man in front of him. “What kind of operation are you running here? Do you jump whenever the sponsors ask you to? Can I ask you something? What’s next?”


“What do you mean?”


“I mean if Kotex wanted you to name a title after them or they’d pull their advertising dollars would we see Jay Hawke the “Stay Free Minipads” Champion? Just how much are they able to dictate?”


“Don’t be ridiculous-”


“You’re already throwing people off your shows because you’re afraid you’ll lose a buck or two from some uptight advertiser. Maybe it would help if I wrestled as Duffman?”


"Losing a buck?" Joseph shouts, now abandoning civility. "Are you- do you have any idea what's going on here?!"


A quick check of Blank's face says no, but also says that he doesn't really care.


"Here's how it works - you bleed, swear, drink, and attempt to kill people on a show that is both labeled "Family Friendly" and that airs before the watershed. Parents are outraged. They get together, and they organize a boycott of all products advertised by our sponsors. Our sponsors lose money. They say "Unless you guys clean up your content, we're taking our advertising money elsewhere." And if, for the sake of argument, we did not clean up the show, no one would pay to advertise during our show, which means there would be no show. If the sponsors walk away, there is no show!"


Peters pauses, to catch his breath, and to see if Blank is comprehending any of this.


"My choices are either to keep you off Lockdown, a mere two shows a month, or risk losing Lockdown entirely. And as much of an asset as you are, Blank, you are not worth that much to this company."


Blank drops his bag and gets right in Peters' face, and amazingly, Peters doesn't back down.


"When I said this wasn't my decision, Bruce, I meant it. I don't like the Family Friendly rules any more than you do-"


"And yet here you are, defending them instead of fighting them."


Joseph starts to speak, but Blank leaves him no room.


"That's the problem with people like you, Joe. You say if it were up to you, things would be different, when the fact of the matter is it is up to you. You're the boss. You call the shots. And when the time comes for you to take a stand for your company, and to fight for us, you just step aside and let these suits have their way. And why? Because you don't want to rock the boat. You don't want to make a fuss. You don't want to cause any trouble. You just let them have their way, not because they're right... but because it's just easier that way."


Blank pauses, giving Joseph a chance to refute some of this, any of this. Joseph is fuming, but still attempts to end this conversation on a cordial note.


"... I'm sorry, Bruce, but the decision is final."


Blank shakes his head, disgusted.


“Does it hurt when the sponsors pull that little draw-string on your back, or have you gotten used to it by now?”


And with that, Bruce Blank turns and walks away, leaving a dejected and humiliated CEO behind him.

































SWF Storm ©

November 25th, 2005

A Raynmaker Production ©


Edited by chirs3

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What a fascinating main event. Not a bad show, I suppose; there are a couple of interesting plot developments that are going to affect the CFC. However, the more things change the more they stay the same. Lots of no shows all across the board.


Lockdown card will be up eventually.



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