SWF LOCKDOWN! JANUARY 18th, 2006!

[Justice 0]

SWF Lockdown begins, curiously enough, with two words:

 

Earlier today...

 

We see a group of sharply-dressed men milling around inside an office in the Qwest Center, not doing anything in particular...

 

"Gentlemen!"

 

The camera turns and we see Joseph Peters, looking like he hasn't slept in a couple of day but sporting a grin nonetheless.

 

"Glad you could make it," he says, in a slightly cracked tone. "Please, please, follow me - I'd like to show you some of the changes we'll be seeing in the coming weeks here on Lockdown!"

 

"Mr. Peters," one of the men steps forward, "are you OK sir? You don't look well."

 

"Fine! Great! Never better!"

 

"If this is a bad night, we can come ba-"

 

"No sir, tonight's just fine! After all, it's not just any night that our sponsors pay us a visit - please, this way!"

 

A nervous glance works its way around the room on everyone's face but Peters, who remains disturbingly cheerful. They shrug, then follow him out the door.

 

Immediately, we notice a thin haze hanging around the hallways, and as they move, it gets thicker. One of the exec's begins coughing, and now we see the Suicide King walking through the hallway, chewing on a cigar!

 

"King! Hey, how's it going!" Peters calls out to him. They shake hands and exchange pleasantries, then King turns to leave, blowing one last puff of smoke in the sponsors direction. Peters and the sponsors round the next corner, and now see a whole host of SWF Superstars gathered around a cooler full of Pepsi Max, all smoking cigars!

 

"Drinks, anyone?" Peters asks, as he tosses a Pepsi MAX to the representative from the Coca Cola company. "Or how about some cigars? Fine stuff, here. The boys all love 'em."

 

"Smoking? Are you crazy? You can't have people smoking on this show - it sets a bad example for the kids!"

 

"Ah, come on - the kids can get in on it too!" Peters proudly announces, pulling a small plastic tube from his jacket pocket. "See? Toy cigars!"

 

"Pepsi MAX? I thought-"

 

"Relax, relax! Come on, I've got some more stuff to show you!"

 

Peters disappears around a corner, and the sponsors have no choice but to follow (and get away from the ever-growing cloud of smoke). As they round the bend-

 

"Run for your life!"

 

"He'll kill us all!"

 

- Bruce Blank leans against the wall, surrounded by a number of different weapons - light tubes, ladders, chairs, tables, thumbtacks, rubber duckies, broken beer bottles, inner tubes, metal eXodus masks-

 

"Calm down, guys, it's OK! I asked him to be here."

 

"I thought you suspended him!"

 

Peters ignores that last comment as he saunters up to Blank.

 

"Hey Bruce - getting ready for your match tonight?"

 

"You bet," Blank responds with a knowing grin. "Whatever the hell it turns out to be, I'll be ready for it."

 

"Excellent! Have a cigar!" Stevens hands him one, then turns back to the sponsors.

 

"Don't worry, we've reached an understanding. Everything's just fine. Come on!"

 

They're dragged down another hallway, with barely enough time to absorb what they just saw when a rack of T-Shirts suddenly jumps out in front of them! The sponsors recoil in horror as they see the shirts - the front says YOU MESS WITH MANSONOSITY, and the back shows horribly mangled corpses with the tagline YOU GET BURNED~!

 

"Where are those going?" Peters barks at the man pushing the rack.

 

"To the souveneir stands!"

 

"Excellent! Remember, these shirts are five dollars off if an entire family buys them!"

 

"Yes sir, Mr. Peters!"

 

The sponsors, most of whom are now red in the face, struggle to keep up as Joseph jogs ahead-

 

"Damnit Peters, what the hell is going on here-"

 

"Relax, relax - you haven't seen the best part yet!"

 

Peters ducks inside a dark room, and returns with a box stuffed full of DVD's - "The SWF's Most Violent Matches".

 

"Normally we'd only be selling these online, but now we've got the green light to sell them at shows! They're going to be next to this giant display here, at the front of the arena - sort of a two for one deal!" - Peters points to a giant cardboard cutout of Mayor McCheese hanging from the cross, housing DVD's labeled "The Passion of the Cheese".

 

"It's our first direct-to-DVD movie!" exclaims Peters, gushing with pride.

 

There is an awkward silence.

 

"Joseph, have you lost your goddamn mind?!"

 

"... you don't like my changes?"

 

"Are you trying to sink this show?"

 

"Sink? Are you kidding? Viewership will increase tenfold - trust me, I've checked."

 

"Well I am not going to have my company's name attached to this filth!"

 

"Me neither! You'd better have a damn good explanation for this, Peters!"

 

The sponsors all cry out in unison, and Joseph calmly listens to their complaints, for about three seconds, before a dark figure appears behind him, and the hallway goes dead quiet.

 

"I believe my explanation is standing right behind me."

 

The sponsors' eyes move up... up... up... up some more... little more...

 

"Some of you may recongnize him - I don't know how many of you sponsored us during his run, but he's made quite name for himself in the business world since his retirement. He's damn near monopolized the Taco and Cigar markets... anyone?"

 

Stunned silence.

 

"I told you I was looking into new sponsors, and that we would not be renewing our contracts with you - I guess you just didn't expect it to happen so fast," Joseph says with a smirk. "Honestly, neither did I - but it's amazing how quickly you can accomplish something when you're as desperate as we were, and when you've got the backing of someone like Robert."

 

One of the sponsors dares to open his mouth.

 

"You're replacing us with him? What, you'll run five minutes of cigar and taco ads for EVERY commercial break?"

 

"No no no," Peters says, still grinning, "that would be silly. There are others."

 

As if on cue, a number of equally sharp-dressed suits walk by, and Peters gives them a wave.

 

"As of midnight last night, if my lawyers are to be believed, our contracts with you were terminated, and our contracts with them," he motions to the suits, "took effect."

 

"How-... how did you-?"

 

"In two days, even," Peters interrupts, grinning like an idiot. "I do feel a little bad, though, dropping this on you so suddenly... normally, I'd have given you more warning, but... to put it frankly... I just really hate you guys."

 

Stunned silence. Again.

 

"Come on, don't worry it - you just worry about finding newer, better shows to drag down with you into the toilet. Because from now on, SWF Lockdown is no longer your show. It's mine."

 

For a moment, a rare intensity flames in Joseph's eyes, enough for each of the now-not-sponsors to take a few steps back. Joseph's face quickly reverts back to it's creepily happy version.

 

"Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a show to run. Frost, could you show these men out?"

 

No need, apparently, as they all run for the door. Peters grins, and he turns to Frost.

 

"Thank you, Robert - I couldn't have done it without you."

 

"Actually, I'm beginning to think you could have."

 

Peters looks up at him, a bit surprised.

 

"Not many people would offer up what you did," Frost continues. "That took guts."

 

"It was the only way."

 

They turn around, and begin walking back to Joseph's office...

 

"You know your boys are going to be pissed when they find out how you got those sponsors, right?"

 

Joseph's smile droops, just a bit.

 

"I know they will... but honestly, if you were still wrestling - wouldn't you prefer this over 'no headlocks or chairshots'?"

 

Frost laughs, a deep booming laugh, then says "Goddamn right I would."

 

"They won't like it, but they'll get over it," Peters continues, as the two of them walk back to his office. "And at least, for the moment, things are back to normal."

 

The two disappear around a corner, and we slowly fade into the Lockdown Intro.

Edited January 19, 2006 by chirs3

[Justice 0]

The Smartmark's Wrestling Federation presents...

SWF FAMILY FRIENDLY(?) LOCKDOWN! LIVE, WEDNESDAY JANUARY 18th, FROM THE *SOLD OUT* QWEST CENTER IN OMAHA, NEBRASKA!

 

It's a Lockdown... IN LIMBO! After a disasterous last show, the future of Lockdown itself, nevermind "Family Friendly," is in peril! Sponsors are dropping the show like a bad habbit, and new ones are looking rarer than Nazi war documents. As Joe Peters feverishly attempts to secure new funding for one of his marquee television programs, the workers of the SWF soldier on... for the *children.* Are Family Friendly rules in effect? Well, sort of. Maybe. Who knows? Nobody's quite sure.

 

MAIN EVENT

CANADIAN DEATHMATCH

INTERNATIONAL TITLE BOUT

Jay Hawke© vs Zyon©

->The fascists at the top of the SWF still feel that Hawke has held onto his damn belt for too long - but, unfortunately, the last time he went out to defend it, he held onto the damn thing. Well, if at first you don't succeed... this time, all the stops have been pulled out, as Hawke faces Zyon in an SWF ORIGINAL~! stipulation. Why Zyon? 'Cause he's fucking good, that's why!

Rules:Regular DQ and count-out rules are not in effect. The winner is the first one to get a combined count of 10. For example, if one man pins the other for a 4 count, then a 3 count later in the match that’s a combined 7 count. Only 3 counts and higher can contribute to the combined count; you can’t just get 5 near falls in a row to win. Zyon's cruiserweight title is not on the line.

 

SINGLES MATCH

JJ Johnson vs TORU Takahara

->JJJ, that bastard, took out KOJI Kitano on the last show - even if you didn't see it, it happened, read the promo, I assure you. What does this mean for TKO!? Well, they can't defend the tag titles now. Big deal. This is different from the last 2 months how? Anyway, TORU seeks VENGEANCE here on Lockdown.

Rules: Singles match.

 

TRIPLE IMPACT MATCH

"The Icon" Max King vs Wildchild

->Why these two? Well, why not? Two of the best the SWF has to offer THROW DOWN in a unique matchup. Does everything need two weeks of build and a thousand word description? Nah.

Rules: At the beginning of the match, Funyon will read from a card one specific move. This move can be absolutely anything. (outside of something generic - dropkick, clothesline, forearm to the face, etc) The winner of the match is whomever performs it on their opponent three times.

 

TAG MATCH

Tim Dillon & Stryke vs Kevin Coyote & Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix

->Kevin Coyote hasn't been doing so hot since his debut. Although perhaps if he wasn't so... overzealous in his attempt to earn "respect," he may not have gotten in over his head in a handicap match against Zyon and Spike Jenkins. Well, THIS time, he gets the benefit of a partner. A long-ass time ago, Landon Maddix found himself in much the same position, striving for respect. Maddix found Todd. Kevin may not be so lucky. Can Landon pass on some of the wisdom he's accrued during his long tenure in the SWF? Probably not, but who cares?

Rules: Standard tag team match.

 

SINGLES MATCH

Christian Fury vs Wes Davenport

->Christian Fury, who you may remeber from Ramadomination, was last seen dressed up like a Jew, getting the shit stomped out of him by angry Muslims. I think we can expect that event to never be mentioned by Fury, ever. He faces off against Wes Davenport in, coincidentally, Wes' first match since Ramadomination. First-person perspective meets first-rate arrogance in what should be a Killer! (Though not The Killer - Wes only wishes he could be Chow Yun Fat)

Rules: Standard singles match.

 

SINGLES MATCH

Laberinto vs The Crimson Skull

->The man... the myth... the legend... THE CRIMSON SKULL at long last returns! After a long haitus, his evilness (and his evil assistant, Heff) comes back to the SWF to continue his pursuit of vile superheroes!

Rules: Singles match.

Edited January 19, 2006 by Justice

[Justice 0]

*POP*

*POP*

 

*BANG*

*BANG*

 

 

*ZOOM ZOOM ZOOM*

 

 

Pyro explodes all around the Qwest Center as SWF Lockdown finally arrives in 2006! The Nebraska fans rise to their feet, waving home made signs that include “The Future is Now,” “Bring Back The Mask,” and for some reason, “Nothing is Tighter Than Nebraska.” As the crowd begins to calm down, the words…

 

 

“I’M BORN!”

 

 

 

“I’M ALIVE!”

 

 

 

 

“I BREATHE”

 

 

…Smack the audience in the face, waking them back up. The SWF Cruiserweight Champion, Zyon jumps out from behind the back. “Vitamin” by Incubus begins to play as Zyon runs down towards the ring, diving underneath the bottom rope and sliding across the mat to the other side of the ring! He pops up to his feet and springs up to the middle rope, unstrapping the Cruiserweight Title from around his waist and holding it high in the air. Flashes go off around the arena as the crowd takes snapshots of the Unique Youth.

 

“Welcome fans to SWF Lockdown! We are LIVE LIVE LIVE from Nebraska!” shouts Longdogger Pete, as he welcomes the audience to another SWF broadcast.

 

“Why are we starting the show off with a spot monkey? Seriously now, we should be starting the show off with Jay Hawke again!” smirks the Suicide King.

 

“Well, now it is Zyons’ time to talk. But later on tonight, for the SWF International Title, Jay Hawke will defend against Zyon!”

 

Zyon is handed a microphone as he paces around the ring, obviously amped up on Red Bull.

 

“What up, Nebraska?!?” chimes the Cruiserweight Champ, much to the delight of the crowd. Cheap pops are awesome like that. “Well, if you’ve been watching the fine SWF programming lately, you must know that I started 2006 off with a BANG!” Zyon shouts as he holds the Cruiserweight Title high above his head. The crowd again pops as Zyons’ grin widens.

 

“But not only am I the SWF Cruiserweight Champion…after tonight…I will be the SWF International Champion, too!” Zyon looks around the arena, waiting for it to quiet down before he continues, “You see, I have so much on my mind and so much that I want to talk about. I want to start this interview off right! I want to start it off with a huge announcement!”

 

Zyon nods his head as the crowd buzzes with anticipation.

 

“What do you think the huge announcement will be, King?” questions Pete.

 

“That he forfeits to Jay Hawke!”

 

The crowd dies down, wanting to hear the HUGE announcement. Zyon looks around and lifts the microphone back up.

 

 

“The huge announcement is this…” but Zyon doesn’t get to finish before…

 

 

 

 

…Every light in the arena goes to full power as the Smarktron whites out. For a moment the only sound is that of a needle scratching over vinyl...

 

 

And then *BAM*

 

The crashing guitars of Lamb of God’s “Black Label” send a bolt through the crowd. The drumming sends a jolt throughout the arena, as the pace of the intro begins to pick up. Finally…

 

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

 

The high-pitched scream of Randy Blythe breaks through the speakers as the bright white lights begin flashing at the entranceway. “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins walks out from the back, a black “Folly” track jacket on and a wide grin as he makes his way to the ring. Zyon stares in confusion as his best friend slides into the ring and asks for the microphone. Zyon hands it over, attempting to ask Spike what he is doing out here, but Spike quickly turns towards the camera.

 

“THANK YOU, ZYON, FOR THAT WONDERFUL INTRODUCTION!”

 

The crowd cheers while a smaller percentage of them boo the disruption of the Unique Youth. Spike struts around, grinning from ear to ear as Zyon stands behind him, wondering why his interview time is being hijacked.

 

“You see, SWF fans, Zyon was simply introducing me because I have a HUGE announcement that will shock the wrestling world!” Spike turns to look at Zyon, who mouths to him, “What announcement?” Spike just nods his head at the Confused Youth and continues on.

 

“I’m sorry, Zyon. Was there more you wanted to say? Like, about how you were going to be the proudest SWF Cruiserweight Champion and defend it against all comers?” Zyons' eyes widen at this comment and moves in closer to Spike, the words “That was my announcement,” but Jenkins simply nods his head to calm him down.

 

“Yes, you will be…behind me, of course. I was champion for One Hundred and Twenty Days, may I remind you…BUT ANYWAY! This huge announcement of mine that will shock the SWF fans and the entire wrestling world…I, “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins…have entered myself into the SWF Clusterfuck and will be…THE NUMBER ONE ENTRANT!”

 

Spike holds his arms up in glory as the crowd buzzes around him. Zyon stares at his best friend, not sure what to say to him or if his announcement is the dumbest thing he has ever heard. Spike finishes posing and begins to speak again, “Thank you all and have a good night…oh…yeah…Zyon will be your new International Champion! THANK YOU, NEBRASKA!”

 

Spike drops the microphone and kicks it out of the ring…before Zyon could pick it up. Spike turns to Zyon, a huge smile across his face as the Unique Youth scratches his head.

 

“What an announcement! Spike Jenkins has entered the SWF Clusterfuck and will be the Number One Entrant!”

 

“He will also be the first one eliminated…”

 

“Probably.”

 

And with that, SWF Lockdown cuts to a commercial break.

[Justice 0]

As we come back to Lockdown, the mysterious Crimson Skull is already in the ring. Without an entrance, his six backing dancers are in the ring with him dancing to “Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now!)” by C & C Music Factory. They are soon shuffled off by Heff though, to boos from the crowd. For some reason, The Crimson Skull has a lightsaber in his hands.

 

Pete: This should be fun...

 

King: Argueable. Very argueable.

 

Funyon- "This match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, now residing in Kiev, Ukraine. Accompanied to the ring by his EVIL~! assistant Heff. He is THE CRIMSON SKULL!!"

 

The Skull wields his lightsaber as Heff applauds. Skull then breaks the plastic toy over his knee to show off his strength and gives a loud, evil super villian laugh. His laugh is cut off by "Olé" by the Bounding Souls though and the entrance of Laberinto. Jogging down the aisle, Laberinto tags the fans hands which Skull glares at.

 

Funyon: "And his opponent is making his SWF debut tonight! Hailing from Tocula Mexico and weighing two hundred, twenty pounds. This is, LABERINTO!!"

 

Laberinto rolls into the ring and stands up to Skull with hands on hips. His super hero pose angers Skull who motions for Heff. Heff rushes over and points to Skull's flexed biceps one at a time before laughing in Laberinto's face. Evily..

 

King: Ooh, that's just evil.

 

Pete: That's pathetic. What sort of a grown man plays superheroes? Imagine if we had someone pretending to be a superhero as a commentator, we'd be a laughing stock!

 

King: Someone's been doing their research eh?

 

Pete: What?

 

King: Nevermind.

 

Not scared by the evil muscles Laberinto moves forward, and both hero and villian meet in the centre of the ring as the bell rings to start the match. Both men stare at each other intently, Skull seeing fit to start jaw jacking with Laberinto. Skull continues the intimidation although it isn't working. And after a big finger in the face he gives Laberinto another evil super villian laugh before slapping him in the face. Evily.

 

"Boooooooooooooooooo!!"

 

Pete: That's uncalled for!

 

King: Well duh he's a super villian! What do you expect him to do, hug the guy?

 

Skull turns to Heff and gives him a demonstration of what he just did but is cut off when Laberinto stomps on his foot! Skull hops around on one foot while Laberinto flashes an heroic smile. He then goes after Skull with a flurry of right hands, the crowd going crazy in the background. As the fists rain in on Skull's masked head, he quickly drops to his knees to avoid them. And even more quickly hits a forearm which looks suspiciously low. Laberinto doubles over in pain, holding his groin as the referee looks confused, not seeing what had happened.

 

King: Nice forearm to the gut from Bri…

 

Pete: Oh please. Nobody’s gut is that low.

 

King: I don’t know, you've been putting on a little weight recently…

 

Pete: Can we please just call the match? Realistically? That was a lowblow.

 

Skull doesn't even pretend to be innocent because he's evil and stuff. Instead, he screams "SILENCE!" at the referee and starts to put the boots to Laberinto. 5 or 6 stomps connect with Laberinto’s back, before Skull stops to shout abuse at some fans at ringside. Eventually Skull pulls Laberinto back up to his feet, hitting a knee to the gut as he does so, before whipping Laberinto into the ropes. Thinking quickly, Laberinto manages to hook his arms over the top rope to stop himself. Skull is confused but charges in towards him. Laberinto is waiting as he ducks his head and The Crimson Skull goes up and over the top rope. The bigman hits his back on the apron on the way down. The collision with the apron sends Skull sprawling forward and crashing into the steel guardrail, as Laberinto is already climbing up to the top rope.

 

King: What is this crazy idiot going to do now?

 

Laberinto gains his balance on the top rope, as groggily Skull begins to turn around. As he does, Laberinto takes flight from the top looking for a Randy Savage style double axehandle. For a few moments, it looks like Skull is frozen on the spot. But it's an evil plan. At the last second he manages to dive out of the way, causing Laberinto to crash throat first into the steel guardrail.

 

Pete: AAAAOOOOHHHH!!!

 

King: Yeah, I agree.

 

Laberinto immediately clutches his neck, as Skull stands beside him still arguing with the fans.

 

King: See one high risk move, and he may have cost himself the whole match.

 

Finishing his argument, Skull grabs a handful of Laberinto’s hair and pulls him up to his feet. Laberinto is still favouring his neck as he’s forcibly thrown into the ring. Skull rolls back into the ring after him, driving an elbow to the back as he rolls past Laberinto. With a look of great confidence, Skull looks down on Laberinto and drops the point of the elbow into the back one more time. Pulling Laberinto to his feet, Skull seems in control as Laberinto slumps up against him. In one movement, Skull pushes Laberinto away and hits a stiff clothesline, again snapping the head of the newcomer back. Thinking quickly, Skull rolls Laberinto over and goes for a quick pinfall…

 

 

ONE…

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

T...Kickout by Laberinto

 

Not looking worried about the quick kickout, Skull drags Laberinto to his feet. He takes a firm grip of Laberinto’s right wrist. With a quick tug, Kingsmen brings Laberinto forward, sending him into a short arm clothesline. As Laberinto crashes to the mat Skull keeps a hold of the wrist. He then pulls Laberinto up again. Repeating the move, Laberinto is pulled into a second short arm clothesline and again the hold on the wrist is kept on.

 

Pete: This is good strategy. With every clothesline Skull's weakening the neck up, plus he’s not giving Laberinto time to recover after each one.

 

Skull stops with Laberinto doubled over from exhaustion and hits a weak slap across the head. Evily. Skull then pulls him into another clothesline. Only for Laberinto to duck the clothesline and lock on a waistlock.

 

Pete: I think Laberinto needs to rethink this move here…

 

King: Ah, but that would take brains, see.

 

Laberinto hangs onto the waistlock. But he can't do anything else which allows Skull the charge back and squash Laberinto in the corner. He squashes him again before stepping away and allowing Laberinto to fall. Laberinto lays face down on the mat clutching his neck in pain, as Skull is already climbing up to top rope ready for the Crimson Splash. Slowly Laberinto begins to try and pull himself up as Skull stops on the top rope, taking a little time to taunt the crowd.

 

Pete: What is he doing?

 

King: Super villian curse I'm afriad. When you have the hero in peril you have to stop and revel in your glee.

 

With a little stumble in his step, Laberinto is up and catches Skull on the top. Skull tries to fight Laberinto off but he's unsteady and eventually loses his footing and falls across the top turnbuckle.

 

"Oooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

 

Skull ends up bouncing off the ropes by his thighs and flips onto his back on the mat. Seeing this Laberinto quickly climbs up the turnbuckles towards the top. Heff sees his winded master in trouble and jumps to the apron. But Laberinto kicks him off and then stands up top. Skull is too close for Está Terminado. So instead, Laberinto comes off with a short but effective Frog Splash!

 

 

ONE...

 

 

 

 

 

TWO...

 

 

 

 

TH...KICKOUT!

 

Jumping up, Laberinto waits for Skull to get up. As he does, he's angry. Evily angry. Skull charges at Laberinto with a big clothesline. But Laberinto ducks...and pulls down Skull's pants in the same move, revealing Skull's Batman boxer shorts!!!

 

"Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

 

King: OH NO!

 

Pete: The shame!

 

A shocked Crimson Skull stops and tries to save his modesty. Which allows Laberinto to run at him and hook around his body, spin Skull around and drop him face first with a spinning Novacain.

 

Pete: That's "Aterrizaje Forzado". My Spanish sucks so I don't know what it means but it looked good.

 

Skull flops onto his back with his boxers still on show as Laberinto dives on top...

 

 

ONE...

 

 

 

TWO...

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

DING DING DING!

 

"Here is your winner, by pinfall...LABERINTO!!!"

 

"Yeeeeeeeeeaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!"

 

Pete: Laberinto wins again! And he finishes off the SWF's favourite super villian in very quick time. Almost as if he's in a hurry.

 

King: Probably on the run from border patrol.

 

Pete: KING! Well, congratulations to Laberinto, who looks ready to move on to bigger and better things really soon!

[Justice 0]

After the various companies gets done with telling you why YOU need a fully automated toilet and a dishwasher with a built in TV we are taken backstage to Joseph Peters office where both Akira and Bruce are lined up with their backs to the camera.

 

“With Bruce reinstated and the family friendly rules removed the best of 5 Ultraviolent matches series is back on and we’re having another match tonight” Peter starts to explain to the camera

 

“Bruce should have stayed on suspension – saved him the humiliating loss tonight” Mr. Kobe interjects, an interjection that pisses Bruce off no end.

 

“What? Are you out of your sake-loving mind? The first match was nothing, a bump in the road, a lucky fluke that Akira benefited from – it won’t repeat itself this week, or next week or any other time that tempura shrimp wants a piece of me” Bruce spits out.

 

“Gentlemen, gentlemen” Joseph Peters admonishes Akira and Bruce “We’re here because the match needs a stipulation so I’m going to spin the wheel to find out just what match you will compete in.”

 

Peters pulls out the wheel with the 8 remaining match stipulations and gives it a spin, as the wheel slows down the camera zooms in on the choices as they click by

 

*clicka*

Barbwire Ropes

*clicka*

Agony of Defeat

*clicka*

Brunkhouse Match

*clicka*

Open Arena

*clicka*

Sendai Thumbtack match

*clicka*

Japanese Death Match

*clicka*

Clockwork Orange House of Fun

*clicka*

Stairway 2 Hell

*clicka*

Barbwire Ropes

*clicka*

Agony of Defeat

*clicka*

Brunkhouse Match

*clicka*

Open Arena

*clicka*

Sendai Thumbtack match

 

And that’s where it stops

 

“Thumbtacks? Works for me” Bruce says and then just leaves the office not even bothering to look at Akira or Mr. Kobe or getting the specific rules of a Sendai Thumbtack match explained to him.

 

“What exactly is a Sendai Thumbtack Match Mr. Kobe” Peters asks a little confused.

 

“Mr. Peters-San it’s a regular thumbtack match except for 2 things. First there is a thumbtack for each inhabitant in Sendai” Mr. Kobe explains

 

“Well how many people live in Sendai?” Peters asks, not very well versed in Japanese geography

 

“Over 2 million” Mr. Kobe says, a figure that makes obviously Peters very uncomfortable. “The other is how you win it. To win it you will have to stuff your opponent into a crate full of thumbtacks that will be at ringside”

 

“So I need to get 2 million thumbtacks and a wooden crate?” Peters asks, double checking before he sends someone out to raid the nearest Home Depot

 

“Correct, this is a very special match to Akira – he fights for the honor of his home”

 

“Yeah, yeah that’s nice” Peters says absentmindedly as he tries to calculate just how many bags of thumbtacks they’ll have to send someone out to buy and fast.

 

Fade Out.

[Justice 0]

“I feel like I wanna smack somebody…”

 

“Turn around and bitch-slap somebody…”

 

Lockdown returns from commercial breaks right into the next match as “Anxiety” by the Black Eyed Peas begins to play. For a moment, the fans are a little confused, having heard the music before, but not who’s using it.

 

The answer comes moments later as Christian Fury comes out from behind the velvet curtain, being well-received by the fans in the arena, who pop for a familiar face returning. Fury remains confident and focused, as always, but the crowd barely registers with him.

 

“Welcome back to famil… Lockdown!” cries Pete, almost forgetting the previous events as Fury walks down the ramp, a kendo stick in his hand as per normal. “Tonight has already been a crazy night for the SWF, but we’re only two matches in, and things are beginning to heat up further!”

 

“So, we’re finally rid of the family-friendly rules then?”

 

“Yip.”

 

“So I can say *whatever* I like?”

 

“Aye.”

 

“… Tarantino is overrated.”

 

“How was it?”

 

“Un-freakin-believable.”

 

Fury slides underneath the bottom rope, leaving his kendo stick as ringside as Funyon gets on the mic as he always does, booming his voice over the excited buzz of the capacity crowd.

 

“Ladies and Gentleman, the following match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, making his return to the SWF… he hails from Cleveland, Ohio, and weighs in at two hundred and twenty-two pounds… please welcome back to the SWF, THE Fury… CHRISTIAN FURY!”

 

The buzz over his return is high as a fairly loud cheer is heard for Fury, who even perks up and takes notice of it, not expecting a reaction such as this.

 

The cheers only intensify as the sound of clapping and feet stamping is heard over the P.A…

 

“Lot of knots, lot of snags, lot of holes, lot of cracks lot of crags. Lot of naggin' old hags, lot of fools, lot of fool scum bags…”

 

As OK Go’s “Get Over It” begins to play, a spotlight suddenly shines down on the main entranceway, revealing Wes Davenport, looking eye-to-eye with a skull ALA Hamlet.

 

“Oh it's such a drag, what a chore... oh your wounds are full of salt. Everything's a stress and what's more, well it's all somebody's fault!”

 

The former actor begins his slow walk down the ramp, the spotlight following his every move as he flashes that famous smile, receiving the crowd’s adulation warmly as the song continues to play.

 

“HEY! GET, GET, GET, GET, GET OVER IT!”

 

“I think Wes needs to get, get, get, get, get over himself,” King says, patting himself on the back for that one, while Longdogger groans. “He needs to face facts: he doesn’t belong here. The only reason he’s won so far is by sheer luck and good fortune. I know for sure that Fury won’t give him an inch, or the satisfaction of beating him, not so soon after returning.”

 

As Wes climbs the steps, rolling up the sleeves on his dress shirt and undoing the top button, Funyon gets on with his introductions. “… And, his opponent, from Hollywood, California… He weighs in at two hundred and fifty five pounds… please welcome… WES DAVENPORT!”

 

“As long as Christian Fury has left his, shall we say, nefarious past behind him, he should go far, but Wes Davenport will be a big road block to face so early on.”

 

Fury locks eyes with Davenport, as the actor hands his skull to the referee for this bout, Eddie Long, who looks bemused before pawning it off on Funyon before he leaves the ring. Finally, only Fury, Davenport and Long are left in the ring, and the crowd begins to stir once again as the bell ring to begin the match.

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

Wes continues to listen to the crowd’s applause, not believing he’d have this many people behind him ever again, forgetting the obvious fact that there’s two men in the ring and continues to soak in the applause like the incredibly good looking but insecure sponge that he is.

 

Fury isn’t as captivated by the spectacle as Wes, and puts the shameless showboating to and end in violent fashion, connecting with a dropkick to the side of the actors head! Wes tumbles unceremoniously out through the second rope and hits the concrete floor with a thud, expecting the fans to rally behind him, but the cheers only intensify!

 

“The crowd loves an inspiring return, and they show Fury that their glad to have him back,” Pete says while playing it straight, but you sense he has something he has to get off his chest. “…Even if he’s still a nasty son-of-a bitch.”

 

There it is.

 

“My, my Pete, you seem just a tad hostile this evening.” King replies, finding a golden opportunity to wind his cohort up. “Well, I for one am glad to have Fury return to us, and if he beats this insecure little bastard in the process, he’ll have me wholehearted support!”

 

Pete grins, knowing Wes is a touchy subject for King. “Don’t be so sure of that, King. Wes may have had a temporary setback at Ramadomination, but nevertheless, he has still been on a roll, and continued to prove the doubters such as you wrong.”

 

While the announcers thrill at the lack of family-friendly rules and their ever apparent lack of empathy for each other, Wes isn’t so thrilled by the boot marks imprinted in his cheek. His attitude only sours further when Fury steps back, inviting him into the ring to applause from the fans. After all, Fury wants a tough, but fair contest.

 

Davenport just wants somebody to love him.

 

As Davenport slides in and climbs to his feet, the returnee darts forward, catching Davenport off-guard once again as he slaps on a side headlock to the larger Davenport. Christian tries to wrench down on his opponents neck, keeping his battle strategy against larger opponents in mind, but Davenport pushes him into the ropes with relative ease. Wes ducks his head for a back-body drop that never comes to fruition as Fury returns and once again applies a side headlock. Wes hears a few chuckles from the front row and grumbles, but not from the pain. The former actor reaches up, trying to claw at Fury’s face to force him to relinquish his hold, but Christian is one smart cookie, and simply pivots and pirouette’s, locking on a Hammerlock on Davenport’s opposite side.

 

“Great textbook wrestling from Fury,” King notes, keeping an eye on Pete from the corner of his eye. “He’s obviously seen Wes’ glaring weakness, apart from his lack of talent, and is making the crowd a non-factor, which Wes feeds off and spurs him on.”

 

A low growl can be heard from Pete’s mic as Fury keeps Davenport’s right arm pinned against his lower back, causing great discomfort to the actor. Wes retaliates with a flurry of back elbows, but they miss their target each time as Fury ducks and weaves to avoid them. Davenport’s frustrations reach a boiling point as he lets fly with a massive backhand blow, but Fury ducks that as well! As Wes is put off balance by his desperate attempt, and as Fury ducks to dodge the hasty shot, the returnee grabs Davenport underneath the left leg, hoisting him up and over-

 

*BAM!*

 

-planting him on the back of his head with a Hammerlock assisted Back Suplex!

 

“Very clever work from the recent returnee,” Pete shouts, putting his bias to one side for the moment, remaining professional. “He’s got himself under Wes’ skin and it sure is showing, with Davenport making the mistake, and Fury quick to capitalize on it.”

 

As the crowd pops loudly for the cunning move, Fury makes another, quickly leaping on top of Wes and hooking him by the leg, wasting no time whatsoever as Long slides over and counts

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

But Davenport manages to kick out at two to a mixed reaction from the crowd.

 

“Davenport making a mistake is hardly anything new,” King answers, snickering. “But, he’s always had the ability to pull something out of the bag at the right moment. Tonight that may not be the case, as its clear Fury has done his homework, and if Davenport makes one too many mistakes, then Fury might have this in the bag!”

 

That’s it, man, just keep this up. I didn’t train 6 months, toiled long and hard and put my heart into this business again just to rest on my laurels. I have him against the ropes; I just need to keep up the pressure…

 

…And hey, the crowd actually seems to dig me.

 

Fury lifts his weary opponent to his feet, shooting him into the far ropes. Davenport comes back, but is immediately taken down by a spinning heel kick crashing into his cranium. The former actor manages to groggily climb to his feet, staggering to the nearest corner for a brief respite, but Christian is on him in a flash. Fury is no fool, and he knows when his opponent is on the back foot. On the other hand, Davenport is quite a fool, and can’t seem to muster up anything in the way of defense as Fury takes him by the hand and whips him into the opposite corner, where Wes hits with a loud thump. The whiplash effect dazes Davenport, and Fury only adds to this as he follows the actor in close behind, spearing him with in the ribcage! Davenport groans, but Fury doesn’t let up and he fires in another, and another, and another!

 

“Fury is wrestling this match almost perfectly,” comments King, liking what he sees. “Davenport’s offense, at this point of his SWF tenure, is extremely simplified. He’ll use the odd power move or impressive counter to hit back, but Fury isn’t giving him any chance to attempt anything by staying on top of him like a horny teenager on a mechanical bull.”

 

“Good point, King,” answers Pete, before doing a double-take. “…Davenport is going to have to show us something special in order to put Fury away, because Christian’s got a fire in him we have never seen before, and he won’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers like so many times before. So many times before.”

 

Much to Wes’ relief, Fury breaks off his attack, allowing Davenport to cough and splutter out from the corner, clutching his midsection.

 

…Perfect…

 

The camera zooms in on a weakened Wes as he stumbles forward, before his eyes suddenly widen, feeling his neck being clamped down on. Fury has him in another side headlock, but this time he won’t let Wes off as lightly as he charges forward towards the ropes, leaping into the air, hitting the top rope and pushing himself off…

 

“…Fury does a one-eighty in mid-air…” Pete calls, watching intently, before shaking his head repeatedly “…oh no, this doesn’t look good for Davenport!”

 

*WHAM!*

 

Fury drives Davenport’s face down and squishes his handsome features into the canvas with a Bulldog!

 

“…Oh YES!” King cries on impact as Davenport‘s hands cover his face, dreading what may have happened. “Wes just took a trip to the Dawg Pound!”

 

Much to Fury’s surprise, he hears the crowd break out in applause. He even smiles briefly as he rolls Davenport onto his back and hooking him by the leg-

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

-but once more, Wes manages to kick out, before retreating from Fury, holding his neck. This is just the sign Fury was looking for as he brings Davenport to his feet, gently pushing his head down, before reeling back and-

 

*BAM!*

 

-rocking Wes’ head back with a European uppercut! Davenport’s head snaps back in violent fashion as Fury advances, hitting uppercut after uppercut before Wes has his back figuratively and literally against the ropes. Wes tries to hit back with some uppercuts of his own, but Fury knees him in the belly to stop his advance. The Fury looks to live up to his name as he hurls Davenport across the ring into the opposite ropes with all his might, waiting eagerly for him to return in the centre of the ring. At this point, Davenport doesn’t even know where he is and turns out to be easy prey for Fury who wraps one arm around his neck, turns him around, and locks his opposite hand over his head, pulling him in close with a sleeper hold!

 

“Fury’s focused his attacks on the head and neck region,” King points out, “and he feels he’s worn Davenport down enough to put this one away, using the sleeper hold to put him out of his misery.”

 

“This will really test Wes’ resolve,” Pete replies, watching Davenport slowly fade as Fury tightens his grip. “A mark of a champion is fighting through adversity, and standing tall when the chips are down-“

 

“Enough of the melodramatic crap!” shouts King, cutting his partners grand speech short. “Wes’ is fading fast, and Long is about to count!”

 

Sure enough, Eddie Long has Davenport’s arm raised as Davenport’s eyes glaze over and his face becomes beet red from the chokehold. Long drops his arm once-

 

ONE!

 

-and Davenport’s arm drops to his side, limp. He raises it again-

 

TWO!

 

-but it’s lifeless still. Long lifts the dead weight high into the air, keeping it there, milking the crowd’s response, before letting it drop, he and Fury thinking this is surely the end.

 

TTTHHHRRREEEEEEE…

 

…

“… NO!” comes the cry from both commentators, as Davenport clenches his fist, trying desperately to hold on. “I thought that had to be it, but somehow, the B-Grade bastard hung on!” King shouts as Long confirms the count and backs away as Davenport suddenly shows some life.

 

Fury tries to hold on, but he feels his grip on the actor’s throat slipping as Davenport wriggles and writhes in an attempt to escape. Suddenly, he fires a back elbow into Fury’s kidney, but Fury clings on as if for dear life.

 

Come on, just a little more… God, I have this, I know it…

 

Christian’s mind races as Davenport fires another stiff shot into his midsection, and the returnee is forced to loosen his hold! The actor suddenly darts forward, trying to relinquish Fury’s hold with a sudden burst of speed-

 

*WHAM!*

 

-but Fury drags him down, yanking him back and dropping him on the back of his head with a Sleeper Drop!

 

“Unbelievable!” cries Pete as the crowd suddenly breaks into cheers. “Wes was building a head of steam, and a comeback surely seemed on the cards, but Fury cut it violently short in a cunning display of simplicity!”

 

“I told you, Wes has nothing,” gloats King, watching Fury grab Davenport’s legs and flip over into a bridged pin. “He’s just a dumb ox, with neither the mind nor talent for Hollywood OR the wrestling ring.”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TTTTHHHRREEEEE!

 

But somehow, Davenport shoots a shoulder off the mat, and Eddie Long comes up from the canvas holding only the two fingers! Fury just shakes his head, wondering what exactly it will take to keep this man down. Fury wastes zero time bringing Wes back to his jelly legs, jabbing him in the face with rights and lefts, keeping him stunned. Satisfied with his work, Fury grabs Wes by the hand and attempts an Irish Whip…

 

…but Davenport holds fast. A small, loyal portion of the crowd begin to utter a low “Wes” chant as Fury attempts it again, but he only gets the same results! This time, Christian aims a kick into Davenport’s sternum, allowing him to whip Davenport forward. Fury suddenly brings Wes back as if for a short-arm clothesline, but instead, he reaches down, lifting Davenport up and over with a Back Drop Suplex! The actor suddenly perks up, but almost too late as he comes crashing down…

 

… But he somehow flips in mid-air, landing gingerly on two feet!

 

“What great agility from Davenport!” Pete cries, nudging his partner. “Fury hit him with a Back Body Drop before, but this time, Wes’ instincts kicked in and he was able to counter!”

 

“Don’t blow your load yet, Pete,” King replies, reveling in the lack of censorship. “Davenport’s going to have to do everything right to win this one, because Fury could win this at any moment with the right move.”

 

Fury looks to his left, then his right, wondering why he hasn’t heard the sweet sound of body on canvas. He suddenly gets his answer when Davenport sweeps Fury off his feet, holding him in place, before-

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

-dropping him down across his knee with a vicious backbreaker! A loud groan is heard from Fury as he hits the canvas, and Davenport falls to his knees, feeling woozy from the constant blows to the head, but now, a few more fans start to cheer. Davenport shakes it off, his mind racing, but he still has the know-how to fall on top of Fury for the pin-

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

-but Fury kicks out with great intent, having come too far to give up so easily.

 

“Fury’s come too far to give up so easily,” Pete notes.

 

“I think we’ve covered that.”

 

Fury gets to his feet of his own volition, but Davenport is soon on him with stiff right hand blows that rock the former Clan member. Christian fires back with right hands of his own as the two begin to trade blows, but Davenport soon wins out, his superior strength starting to show through as he unloads on Fury, backing him into a corner. With every blow the crowd becomes noisier, beginning to rally behind Wes as he takes Fury by the hand, dragging him to the centre of the ropes and whipping him across the ring. As Fury returns, Wes grabs a hold of him, using his momentum to lift him up and swing him around…

 

“Davenport’s got him up,” says Pete as Davenport teeters a tad, still groggy, “could it be the tilt-a-whirl Powerbomb we’ve seen him use recently!?”

 

… but before Davenport can slam Fury down, the returnee pulls a rabbit out of the hat, tightening his grip around Wes’ neck and flipping him over at the right moment with a flying headscissors!

 

“No, it won’t be,” answers King, snickering.

 

Davenport skids across the mat as Fury crawls after him, hoping to get a quick pin as he hooks Wes by the leg-

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TTHHHRREEENO!

 

A shoulder shoots off the mat, and Davenport keeps himself alive! Davenport, surprised by the pin attempt, knows he’s in trouble, and climbs to his feet with all haste. Fury meets him with a kick to the gut, doubling the actor over. Fury quickly hooks Wes’ arm, grabbing him by the belt and trying to Suplex him over…

 

“Wes blocks it!” Pete cries. “He hooked his ankle around Fury’s leg in a veteran type maneuver. I can feel it King, he’s in the zone!”

 

“Humph” is all King grunts as Fury tries again, but Davenport once again resists the move, quickly reversing it into a Suplex of his own! But instead of slamming Fury behind him, Davenport keeps Fury in a vertical position, letting the blood rush to his head. The fans are on tenterhooks as Davenport wobbles, almost tripping himself, but remaining steadfast as he suddenly drops Fury forward-

 

*BAM!*

 

-dropping him on the back of his head with an Orange Crush!

 

“That could be all!” Pete shouts as the crowd begins to roar, and Davenport keeps Fury in his folded position, draping his legs over Fury’s arms, keeping him firmly in place as Eddie Long slides over! Fury struggles with all his might, trying to break out, but Davenport has him bundled up tightly!

 

 

“ONE!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“TWO!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“TTTTTTTTTHHHHRRRREEEEEEEEEEE!”

 

 

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

 

 

The bell is finally rung as the fans cheer and “Get Over It” begins to play, much to Davenport’s surprise. The triumphant actor climbs to his feet, stumbling a little in a daze, but as Long holds his arm in the air, he begins to smile.

 

“Here is your winner,” Funyon bellows into his mic, “at a time of four minutes, fifty two seconds… WES DAVENPORT!”

 

“I just cannot believe it’s happened again,” King says, truly flabbergasted. “Fury dominated Wes, just like all his opponent’s have done. He controlled much of the match, focused his attacks, but still, Davenport steals the win. I don’t know how, but he did.”

 

Pete has the last laugh, “He didn’t steal it at all King. He managed to counter at the right time, and had the technical know-how to pin Fury down for the three count. It’s a shame there can be only one winner, because Fury really did impress me tonight, it was just Davenport’s night.”

 

Lockdown fades to a commercial break, showing Christian Fury on all fours, staring up at Davenport as he salutes the crowd. He may have been beaten tonight, but he’s not about to give up.

 

As for Wes, well, his ego is satiated for another night.

[Justice 0]

The SWF cameras cut to a clip of a sunrise off an island, the sun peaking up over the water as its rays illuminate the lens and turn the water’s glimmering blue ripples to a reddish fire which spans over the water. The camera cycles through a short sequence of speed film which shows the sun rise and set. The sequence fades into darkness with patchy picture and scratchy audio, as if the film had been aged.

 

”The land of the rising sun,” we hear an English voice translate from a stern Japanese voice who speaks crisply and perfectly just before, “Home to discipline and courage – home to a warrior.” The camera fades to a grayscale clip of a young man no taller than 5’11’’ sitting in a dingy, dimly lit locker room, fists curled and pressed to his face. “The land of the rising sun, home to an eternal struggle for survival and redemption,” the clip begins spitting out the tune “Bad Company” by Bad Company as it once again shows the young man, this time pulling his own hair and manipulating his face with his fist in his own wallowing self-destruction. The music stops just before the chorus, and the camera fades away from the frozen image of the young man in pain.

 

”BAD COMPANY, I CAN’T DENY” the darkness turns to a sudden clip of the young man in a small darkened arena in the depths of the Underground region of Japan hitting his signature finishing move, Silent Rage Syndrome, on a small and out of shape Asian fighter onto a bed of barbed wire which shreds both of their skin in its unforgiving barbs.

 

”BAD COMPANY, ‘TILL THE DAY I DIE,” the clip fades to yet another clip, this time the man stands atop the top rope with another small and out of shape Asian fighter in front of a mountain of stacked chairs, barbed wire, and light tubes which are decimated by the young man who drops his opponent down hitting another one of his finishers called Desperation ’28.

 

The audio for “Bad Company” halts and the camera fades again to darkness.

 

”Japan, home to a path of rage, home to a path of violence, home to a path leading to SWF Clusterf*ck – it’s only traveler, Michael Cross,” the darkness fades back to a grayscale clip of the young man, otherwise known as Michael Cross, picking the barbed wire and bits of glass from his own bloody and tattered skin in self satisfaction and gratification. “The land of the rising sun is now known as the land of the rising prodigy.”

 

The clip fades for the last time to darkness, and a short sentence approaches, reading in grunge-like text, “Michael Cross and the Asia Underground, coming January 29th.”

[Justice 0]

"Welcome back to SWF Lockdown!" hollers SWF play by play announcer Longdogger Pete, "coming to you LIVE from the Qwest Center in Omaha, Nebraska! We've had a great show so far, and with the SWF International Title on the line in tonight's main event, the show is only gong to get better!"

 

"So you say," mutters color man Suicide King. "And yet, on my run sheet, I've got Landon Maddix up next."

 

"Well, at least tonight, with Family Friendly Rules out of the window, you don't have to hold back on your thoughts about him."

 

"Fuck yeah!" exclaims King. "Damn, it feels good to say that without being slapped by a fine from the FCC!" King pokes the grumpy Pete in the ribs. "Oh, lighten up. I thought you of all people would benefit from a little more color."

 

A series of white flashing lights decorate the stage, and "I'm Alive" by Disturbed hits the speakers as the first competitor of the next match steps onto the stage. Kevin Coyote walks down the ramp, dressed in his new SWF T-shirt that reads "InJustice For All." Over the T-shirt, Coyote wears a blue jean jacket. Coyote ignores the audience entirely, chatting away on his small mobile phone as he makes his way toward the ring.

 

The ring announcer, Funyon, begins his introductions by presenting the rookie. "The following tag team contest is scheduled for ONE fall! Making his way to the ring, from Brunswick, Georgia, weighing in at 225 pounds... KEVIN... COYOTE!"

 

"The upstart has not fared well recently," says Pete, "losing a handicap match back on Smarkdown against Zyon and Spike Jenkins."

 

Coyote's arrival is met with jeering from the Omaha audience, but he pays them no mind. As he reaches the base of the ring, he hangs up his phone, slipping it into the pocket of his jean jacket. He then takes the jacket off and sets it aside. Coyote slides into the ring to await his teammate as "I'm Alive" fades out.

 

"PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!"

 

...WAAAAAHHHHH...

 

*DUM DUM*

 

The next entrance theme is "Megalomaniac" by Incubus. Landon Maddix steps out from behind the curtain, thrusting his hands to his sides as he walks across the stage to the top of the ramp. The audience continues booing as he walks down the ramp.

 

Funyon is ready again with the introduction. "And his tag team partner... from Huron, South Dakota... weighing in at 224 pounds... LANDON... 'LA CUCARACHA'... MADDIX!"

 

"Not exactly my first choice of tag team partners," mutters King, "if you ask me."

 

"Are you really that bored out here, King?" wonders Pete aloud.

 

Landon leaps onto the ring apron, and shoves his own leather jacket off, this one a black jacket with a Spanish design on the back. Landon climbs through the ring ropes to encounter a waiting Kevin Coyote. The two share a few words, likely discussing who will start the match. The pair back into the opposite corner, still speaking to each other as Landon's music fades out.

 

The next music to hit is Cypress Hill's "How I Could Just Kill A Man." The audience bursts into applause as blue and white pyrotechnics explode from the stage and SWF mainstay Stryke emerges to the delight of the crowd.

 

"Introducing their opponents!" shouts Funyon in the ring. "First, from Sydney, Australia, weighing in at 230 pounds... STRYKE!"

 

The Australian exuberantly hustles down the ramp, slapping hands with a few grateful fans as he passes by them. Stryke gets to the bottom and climbs into the ring, hopping up to his feet and steeling himself for the match at hand, eyeing Coyote and Maddix from his corner.

 

The music changes again, this time to "Barroom Hero" by the Dropkick Murphys. Cheap green shamrock confetti begins to fall from the rafters. Green and orange pyrotechnics explode from either side of the stage. The final entrant of the match emerges onto the stage. Tim Dillon throws a few shadow punches, excited by the audience's positive reaction as he heads down the ramp.

 

"And his tag team partner... from Limerick, Ireland, weighing in at 219 pounds... TIM... DILLON!"

 

"What is it with all these little guys?" asks King. "It seems the whole league is cruiserweights these days."

 

"Seems like ages since larger guys like you and me ruled the fed," agrees Pete.

 

"Who said anything about you?" asks King.

 

Back inside the ring, Stryke steps through the ropes to the corner, content to let the Irishman Tim Dillon begin the match. In the opposite corner, Maddix starts to approach Dillon, but he is stopped by Coyote, who grabs his wrist, signalling to Maddix that he wants to start the match himself.

 

"Looks like Kevin Coyote wants to take on Tim Dillon personally," explains Pete, "after being defeated by him two weeks ago on Lockdown."

 

"I'd be angry too," says King, "if I let someone like Tim Dillon, of all people, get the better of me."

 

Maddix finally consents and steps through the ropes, and Coyote takes a step toward Dillon. Funyon quickly exits the ring, leaving only the referee and the first two competitors inside the ropes. Dillon and Coyote close the distance, and the referee signals to the timekeeper to ring the bell, officially beginning the match.

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

"And this match is underway!" exclaims Pete.

 

Reacting to the bell quickly, Coyote runs at Dillon before the Irishman has a chance to plan a strategy. Coyote leaps in the air, wrapping his legs around Dillon's neck and pulling him down to the mat in a headscissor takedown. Dillon lands on his back, and Coyote scrambles over Dillon, punching him several times hard in the gut.

 

"Now here's a guy with drive!" says King in admiration. "A guy with heart!"

 

"A guy with no respect at all," adds Pete.

 

"Yes, a guy with no respect!" agrees King. "No respect from anyone. How can such talent go unheralded for so long?"

 

"What are you smoking, King?" asks Pete.

 

Dillon rolls out of the way to avoid another punch from Coyote, and he quickly leaps back to his feet before the rookie can inflict more damage. Dillon is prepared when the stooping rookie comes at him again, grabbing Coyote and dropping him backward into a DDT. Dillon retains the hold on the surprised Coyote and gets back to his feet, then drops Coyote to the mat again! Coyote rolls away after the second DDT, startled, disorientated and obviously upset at getting caught in one of Dillon's signature moves. An ecstatic Dillon performs a quick Irish jig for the fans.

 

"Coyote gets caught in the Finn's Fall," says Pete. "And Dillon performs for the crowd!"

 

"Catering to the fans instead of focusing on the match is going to mean trouble for Tim Dillon," warns King.

 

Sure enough, Landon Maddix climbs through the ropes into the ring, sneaking up behind Dillon as he dances his jig. Maddix knocks Dillon over with a Maddix-Kick, a well aimed super kick to the back of Dillon's head. The referee admonishes Maddix for interfering as the illegal man, and Maddix returns to his corner with a smug grin. Meanwhile, Coyote rolls in and gets in a few good stomps on Dillon while the referee tends to Maddix, and as the referee refocuses his attention on the middle of the ring, Coyote hooks Dillon's leg for a pinfall attempt.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Dillon gets his shoulder up off the mat to break the count. Coyote, undaunted, gets up, lifting Dillon off the mat. Coyote smashes an elbow across Dillon's jaw, knocking the Irishman back. Coyote presses his assault with a second elbow smash, backing Dillon against the ropes. Then, Coyote rocks Dillon with a high kick to the face, and Dillon falls over, leaning haphazardly across the top rope. Coyote grabs Dillon by the arm, yanking him forcibly away from the ropes and toward Coyote's own corner. The fighting Irishman falls into the corner as Coyote reaches out with his free hand and slaps hands with Maddix.

 

"Coyote tags Landon Maddix into the match," says Pete. "Looks like the two of them are about to put a world of hurt on Tim Dillon."

 

Instead of climbing into the ring, Maddix climbs over the ropes and stands on the second rope. Coyote knocks Dillon to the mat with a snap clothesline, and Maddix adds injury to injury by leaping off the rope, performing a second rope elbow drop into Dillon's midsection. Coyote gets in a few more good stomps on Dillon, as Maddix gets his bearings inside the ring and charges into Stryke, knocking him off the apron! The referee quickly pushes Coyote off Dillon, shoving him back toward the ropes as he is no longer the legal man. As that's happening, Maddix takes advantage by wrapping his legs around Dillon's and twisting into a figure four leg lock. Dillon struggles against the hold, but the pressure is merely compounded as Maddix reaches back and grabs the ropes himself for leverage on Dillon, all conveniently out of sight of the referee, who is still struggling to get Coyote back into his corner. Coyote is finally out but Stryke is now the referee's problem, now having to force him back towards his corner as he storms furiously into the ring.

 

"And Landon is fighting dirty," says Pete, "bending the rules on that submission move!"

 

"Well he HAS to...look at how badly the move is applied!" King snaps back at Maddix's indeed sloppy figure four.

 

The referee finally notices Maddix's illegal hold on Dillon, and shouts at Maddix, forcing him to break the hold.

 

"LAN - DON SUCKS!"

"LAN - DON SUCKS!"

"LAN - DON SUCKS!"

 

Climbing back up Maddix continues to work on the weakened Dillon, locking on a cravaté, really just a sheepish looking headlock, but the move serves to hold Dillon in place for a moment or two while Maddix contemplates his next move.

 

"Again with the submissions," says King. "Maddix continues to impress the world with his blandness. I mean, who follows up a figure four leglock with a crappy headlock, really!?!"

 

Maddix finally tires of the cravaté and breaks the hold. The weakened Dillon slumps forward, but Maddix grabs him in a half nelson. That's coupled with a chickenwing by Landon, who then throws Dillon into a "Half and Half" Suplex, sending him over into an awkward landing on his neck! This time Maddix goes for the cover on Dillon.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

The referee's count is broken up by the arrival of Stryke, who runs into the ring and shoves Maddix off Dillon to break the count. The referee pushes Stryke away from the center of the ring, as Maddix lifts Dillon off his feet again to do some more damage. But Landon is still distracted by Stryke, which allows Dillon to suddenly begin delivering some offense, pounding Maddix suddenly with a few well placed boxing moves. A jab here, a thrust there... Maddix stumbles back a step, and Dillon kicks him in the gut. Maddix bends forward in pain, and Dillon greets him with a knee to the face. Dillon dances a quick jig, and then finishes off his move combination with a hard clothesline to send Maddix down to the mat.

 

"Tim Dillon takes the advantage with a little Irish Fury," calls Pete.

 

"Short lived if he can't get to Stryke soon," replies King.

 

Holding his head, Dillon considers tagging in his partner for a split second, but reconsiders, and takes a risk instead, going for a cover on Maddix.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

TH-- NO! Maddix kicks out of the cover. Despite the flurry, Landon gets quickly to his feet to meet Dillon's next move. Still not deciding to tag, Dillon snakes an arm out and rushes Maddix to try for another clothesline, but Maddix snags Dillon's head and arm, and drops back to plant Dillon's face into the mat.

 

"The Complete Shot," notes Pete.

 

"Dillon should've tagged in Stryke when he had the chance," says King.

 

"Stryke has yet to enter this match!" notes Pete.

 

"And now he may not get that chance," continues King.

 

Maddix attempts another cover on Dillon, forcing the referee to work a bit. The referee gets down on his knees and makes the count.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR-- NO! Dillon just manages to kick out, but it's close. Maddix raises three fingers in the air with a questioning glance at the ref, but the official is adamant... two count only.

 

Both men are back to their feet, although only one of his own accord. Maddix has control and lands a couple of quick forearms before pointing a finger towards Stryke, assuming his in-ring opponent is dealt with. But Dillon once again tries to turn things around, pulling Maddix's arm into an Irish whip, only for Maddix to reverse the whip, sending the hapless Dillon hurtling into the ropes. Dillon bounces off the ropes, and Maddix prepares for Dillon's charge, but Dillon leaps into the air, performing a flying clothesline, barreling into Maddix and knocking him down. The move also knocks the wind out of Dillon, and both men lie on the mat, motionless.

 

"Maddix took his eye off the ball for a split second there," says Pete, "and now both men are down!"

 

"Somebody needs to make a tag, and quick!" shouts King.

 

Both Stryke and Kevin Coyote reach their hands into the ring, shouting at their respective partners, trying to rouse their attention, but both Maddix and Dillon remain down. The referee waits a moment before starting to count the competitors out.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

SIX!

 

 

At "SEVEN!", both Maddix and Dillon slowly start to move, and crawl slowly toward their respective partners, inching agonizingly slowly toward their destinations.

 

"Who's going to reach their corner first?" asks King.

 

 

EIGHT!

 

 

NINE!

 

 

Before the referee can call "ten," both Maddix and Dillon make a last ditch dive toward their partners, and both men just manage to slap hands in their respective corners! Coyote and Stryke are quickly in the ring as Dillon rolls out, out of breath. The fresh Stryke bowls Coyote over with a running European uppercut. Maddix tries to get up to mount an offense, but Stryke knocks him down as well with a forearm smash. Coyote gets back to his feet, but Stryke swings into action with a quick hip toss to send Coyote to the mat once more. Back up comes Maddix again, but back down he goes with a standing dropkick that sends him flying through the ropes and to the floor!

 

"Stryke's tearing shit up!" cheers King, if only to take advantage of Lockdown's language liberation.

 

Stryke leans over the top rope and puts the badmouth on Maddix, then FIRES~ up the crowd...little knowing what wait behind him. Recovered from the hiptoss, Kevin Coyote is crouched in the corner, just begging Stryke to turn around. Stryke is done babyfacing it up and turns back around...

 

 

...SPEA...

 

 

 

...NO! Stryke leapfrogs Coyote's attempted Spear, tumbling over the bemused Coyote and dragging him by the waist into a flash-pin Sunset Flip...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

NO! Coyote slams his legs together and sandwiches Stryke's head, breaking the fall!

 

"Coyote almost got shocked right there!" gasps Pete.

 

Both men scramble back to their feet and it's Coyote who beats his veteran opponent to the punch, landing a knee to the gut. Grabbing an arm, Coyote then whips Stryke into the ropes, setting as he rebounds. But he doesn't reckon on Stryke, the freshest man in the match, using his thigh as a leg-up and snapping him over with a lightning sudden 'rana!!

 

"Running, Step Up Hurricanrana!!" Pete again gasps, now struggling for air with all his gaspness. "Incredible move from Stryke!!"

 

"Yeah, now watch him blow it." snickers King, to a groan from Pete.

 

Stryke pulls Coyote back up and stays on the offence with a couple more quick forearms. Then, grabbing an arm, Stryke looks to send his opponent towards the turnbuckles with an irish whip. But Coyote says "This dog's not OK with that." and foils Stryke's plan by spinning out of the whip and landing a quick kick to the gut. Coyote then steps aside Stryke, setting for a Side Russian Legsweep. But Stryke says...uh, well, Stryke doesn't have a catchphrase. But if he did, he'd say it, then elbow Coyote repeatedly in the gut before hoisting Coyote up into a fireman's carry. Having just returned back to the corner, Dillon cheers Stryke on, as he then begins to spin around...

 

 

...and around...

 

 

...and around...

 

 

 

...and around...

 

 

 

 

...and around...

 

 

 

"Uuguguguggghhhh." groans King dizzily, before falling off his chair.

 

Getting to a seventh rotation, Stryke stops and sets his opponent down...before proceeding to stagger aimlessly around the ring. Luckily, Dillon manages to slap Stryke on the shoulder as he passes and tags himself in. Dillon rushes into the ring while Coyote is still dizzy and quickly takes advantage, pulling Coyote back into an inverted front facelock and giving the crowd a loud "OI!"

 

"Blood and Whiskey...this is what finished Dillon off earlier in the year!" Pete astutely points out...

 

 

 

 

...just as Coyote, prepped for the move, manages to get extra lift on Dillon's lift and floats over Dillon's head, planting him with a Diving Reverse DDT!!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

NOOO!!

 

"Wow...credit to Kevin Coyote, he knew the move was coming and had a counter ready prepared!" marvels Pete.

 

"Me dizzy." groans King.

 

And King isn't the only one who's dizzy, as Coyote stumbles to his feet, feeling the effects of the airplane spin still. Turning to his corner, Coyote realises Maddix isn't available to tag. So he goes back after Dillon and pulls him to his feet. Coyote lands a couple of his trademark gut punches, pausing to gain his bearings, before taking Dillon by the arm and whipping him into the ropes.

 

*slap!*

 

"Blind tag!"

 

Dillon comes back, right into into the waiting arms of Coyote, who tosses the fighting Irishman up into the air with a release flapjack. Dillon crashes back down to earth with a thud, bringing a smile to Coyote's face. A smile which Stryke wipes off, with a Jumping Enziguri!

 

"And Coyote didn't see the blind tag." grins Pete, smug in the knowledge he did spot the tag.

 

Stryke is quickly up and wastes no time in hopping to the middle rope, trying to reel Coyote in with a mime-artist rope thing with his hands. Obviously, there's no rope attached to Coyote. That's what makes it a mime. But Coyote does end up stumbling over to Stryke and gets caught in a front facelock, as Stryke twirls the finger and looks for a Tornado DDT...

 

 

 

...but gets sledged in the back by Landon Maddix in mid-spin!! Dropping off of Coyote, Stryke falls to his hands and knees. And Landon, ignoring the protests of the referee, gleefully steps over Stryke's back and snatches Stryke's head back into the Land Of Nod!!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

"Shades of last year's Clusterfuck...Landon Maddix, with the Land Of Nod locked in on Stryke!!"

 

"Damnit, he's not the legal man!!" King yells in a rare pang of conscience. "Where do we keep getting these incompetent referees from!?!"

 

Pulling back with everything he's got, Landon assumes he has Stryke beat. Nevermind that the referee is calling the submission off prematurely, just incase Stryke does give up, Landon doesn't care. All he's focused on is making Stryke pass out...

 

 

 

 

 

...meaning, he doesn't see Tim Dillon sliding into the ring behind him and TEARING OFF HIS SHIRT~!

 

"THE SNAP~!" erupts Pete, as Dillon suddenly charges across the ring, bypassing the fear-filled Kevin Coyote and tackling Landon Maddix off of Stryke and right the hell out of the ring! Maddix tumbles to the floor and Dillon is right behind him, mounting Maddix and going absolutely nuts with a flurry of wild, mounted right hands! The crowd are going wild for this sudden eruption of action and cheer on Dillon, not least The Suicide King who is throwing every punch in spirit with Dillon, worrying Pete somewhat.

 

Back in the ring meanwhiles, Coyote is watching all this in disbelief. Creeping up behind him though, Stryke has 100% focus on the match...or at least, whatever percentage of his braincells haven't fallen asleep. Stryke spins Coyote around and lands a quick forearm! And another! Forearm! Right hand! Knifedge chop! Right hand! Knifedge chop! The flurry has Coyote reeling, allowing Stryke to whip him into the ropes and finish Coyote off with a standing dropkick, followed swiftly with a cover...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR...

 

NOOOOO! Coyote throws a shoulder at the last second!

 

"This is chaos!" cries Pete.

 

"YEAH! HIT HIM! HIT HIM! BASH HIS BRAINS IN TIM! OI OI OI!"

 

"...uhm, can we cut his mic off? Anyone?"

 

Dillon and Landon continue to brawl on the floor as Stryke pulls himself up and encourages Coyote to do the same. Slowly the rookie does get up and Stryke catches him on the way up, hooking him by the waist from behind and...NO! Coyote lands repeated elbows across the back of the head to block the Backdrop Driver! So Stryke release his opponent and trips Coyote by the legs, causing him to fall flat on his face, then leaps over in front. Coyote begins to come back up and gets trapped in a front facelock, Stryke pulling Coyote the rest of the way up and dragging him over to the ropes...

 

 

 

*CRAAAAAAASH!*

 

"Woah momma!" yelps King, as steel steps fly through the air.

 

 

...Stryke then lifts Coyote up, bouncing his legs off the top rope. But, suddenly, Stryke's legs are swiped from under him by Landon Maddix and Coyote's 225 pounds land across his chest!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

 

"Landon from the outside! He sent Dillon crashing into the steel steps and then tripped Stryke from the outside!" cries Pete, for those of you too dumb to join up the dots. "And now he's got the legs!!"

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEE!!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

"DAMNIT!" howls King, right on cue.

 

Maddix scrambles away from the apron and tries to look inconspicuous...which he's not a whole lot of good at, but whatever. The Next Generation sneaks away from the ring with a mischevious grin, avoiding the various trash thrown his way.

 

"Your winners of the match...the team of LANDON "LA CUCARACHA" MADDIX and KEVIN COYOTE!!!"

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

In the ring, Coyote celebrates his half earned, half stumbled upon victory and rubs it right in the faces of the fans as he leans over the ropes and yells his 'dawg' filled ranting victory speech. Maddix watches on from the ramp and applauds his partner, still smug in the knowledge he owes it all to a certain La Cucaracha.

 

"DAMNIT!" King howls, for posterity.

 

"Well, unfortunately injustice has been served tonight. Which ironically must have Judge William Hearford fuming..."

 

"Yeah, him and about a gajillion other people! Damnit, Maddix was never even legal in the match and he still manages to weasel his way to a victory!?! DAMNIT!"

 

"So...does this mean the losing streak is over?" asks Pete, confused. "Or, did Landon not technically win the match?"

 

"DAMNIT!"

 

"Indeed. Commercials go play now..."

[Justice 0]

“…what do you want me to do again, honey?”

 

El Luchadore Magnifico sighs. It’s hard work being World Champion. You have to deal with morons, straight-edgers of varying shapes and sizes, over-roided monstrosities, psychotic Ultimate Fighters, prickly British managers and their dour Japanese clients, and last but by no means least, SWF officials. However, never up until now has ELM, happily married with children, had call to call on a call-girl.

 

“I want you to go into the office and ask to see Joe Peters,” he explains carefully to the gum-chewing, dyed-blonde girl who tops him by a couple of inches in her stilettos. “You’re to flirt with him, but don’t overdo it - a dorm of teenage boys have got nothing on this guy’s hormones - and basically stop him from thinking.”

 

“Doesn’t sound hard,” Shirley (if that is her real name) says, popping her bubblegum for emphasis.

 

“It isn’t,” Magnifico responds, leaning backwards away from the gooey mess that somehow still ends up back in her mouth. “Uhh… is that really necessary? The gum?”

 

“Oh, this? Hell, no!” Possibly-Shirley laughs, “I can’t stand the stuff. But punters like a girl with gum, it stops them from thinking I might have brains. If they think that they feel threatened, then I don’t get custom, and then I can’t pay my way through Law School.” Magnifico stares at her for a second, and a listener with particularly sharp ears might hear him mutter “Y deje a Mejico por esto?” However, moments later the World Champion is all business again.

 

“Whatever,” he says, “just go in there and tease him. I’ll follow after about five minutes. After that you can do what you want with him, but I want him distracted while I’m there. But, Mary Mother of God, still clothed!” he adds with feeling as Shirley turns away and starts to sway down the corridor towards the door of Joseph Peters, Head of the SWF’s Creative Control.

 

A couple of minutes pass. Magnifico passes the time by idly wondering to himself how good the multi-lingual Chris Card’s grasp of Spanish is, and therefore how many insults he can fling without angering him, but just as he decides that it’s time to make his move…

 

“Um, excuse me? El Luchadore Magnifico?”

 

Only one SWF employee has a voice that carries that tone of inquisitiveness combined with a nervous determination to get answers. Magnifico sighs and turns around.

 

“Si, Ben?”

 

“Why are you hanging around in the corridor outside Joe Peters’ office?” Ben Hardy asks, faithful cameraman Gus in tow.

 

“I’m not ‘hanging around’,” Magnifico snorts, “I’m about to go in and see Senor Peters and demand to know why the World Champion has not been allocated any television time on this show!”

 

“I see,” Ben says sagely, although the truth of that remark is debatable. “How about JJ Johnson? What is your prediction for his match tonight against TORU Takahara?”

 

But Magnifico has turned his back on Hardy and Gus and is walking away towards the office of Joseph Peters. He doesn’t bother to knock, just opens the door and steps in. Ben Hardy waits until he’s quite sure the door has shut again, then:

 

“Just you wait, Magnifico! You’re gonna lose that belt sooner or later, and then you won’t be so high-and-mighty! You’ll come crawling on your knees to me, asking - no! begging to be interviewed! And you know what I’ll do!? I won’t let you speak! Ahahahahahaaaaa!! No, I’ll talk over you, cut you off, and Gus will zoom in on every spot, zit, cavernous pore and imperfection in that smug Hispanic face of yours, my friend!!!”

 

Hardy pauses for breath and leans against the wall, panting. Gus’s hand appears and he pats the interviewer consolingly on the shoulder, then jabs a middle-fingered salute at the distant door behind which El Luchadore Magnifico is presumably talking to Joe Peters.

 

 

 

-------------------------------

 

 

 

 

“I need to see Joe Peters,” Magnifico says, readjusting the title belt on his shoulder. Peters’ secretary looks up at him and gives a nod to acknowledge his status in the company, but still shrugs.

 

“Mr Peters is otherwise occupied at the moment I’m afraid, Mags,” she says in a bored voice. “If you’d like to take a seat I’m sure he won’t be long.”

 

“Is he ‘in a meeting’?” Magnifico asks with audible sarcasm, but the secretary just smiles.

 

“No, he’s with a hooker,” she explains, “which is why I doubt he’ll be very long…”

 

Magnifico shudders slightly, then steps past her desk to the door of Peters’ inner sanctum. The secretary opens her mouth to protest, but closes it again and concentrates on her paperwork. No-one took any notice of her when she did this job for Tom Flesher, why did she think it’d be any different now?

 

*click*

 

“Just a minute!”

 

The urgent call comes from inside Peters’ office as ELM opens the door, but by that time the World Champion has already stepped through and shut it neatly behind him. Magnifico quickly takes in the scene; the head of SWF Creative Control is sitting in his swivelling leather armchair (scavenged from Tom Flesher’s old office when the former Head Booker of Smarkdown disappeared from the company, allegedly after having a nervous breakdown from being forced to watch too many Ghost Machine matches and Bruce Blank Ultraviolent Title defences), and straddling his lap is Shirley. Peters’ shirt is unbuttoned and his hair is about as dishevelled as the blonde fuzz can get.

 

“Hi, I didn’t mean to intrude…” Magnifico begins in a voice oilier than the Greek olive crop, but Peters cuts him off.

 

“Hi! Magnifico!” he says with desperate urgency, “I’m a bit busy at the moment, but if you could just wait outside I-”

 

“Sorry Joe, I’m on a tight schedule,” Magnifico smiles, “but I won’t keep you. I just couldn’t help but notice that I’ve not been given any airtime on the show tonight…”

 

“No!? Really!?” Peters says, his mouth smiling but his eyes ready to commit murder at Magnifico’s continued presence, “well, I’m sorry about that but-”

 

“I wondered if maybe you’d care to rectify that?” Magnifico asks smoothly. “A quick call through to the crew, just to let them know what I’ll be doing.”

 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Peters says, realising that he’s not going to get rid of Magnifico until the World Champion gets what he wants. He stabs for the button of his intercom, then hesitates and looks up again. “Uh… what are you gonna be doing?”

 

“I know what you’re gonna be doing,” Shirley murmurs in his ear, prompting Magnifico to grin even wider; he couldn’t have fed her a better line. However, the World Champion composes himself and addresses Peters again.

 

“I’m not sure yet, Joe, although I had a few ideas. I wondered if I could run them by you-”

 

“Sorry, no time!” Peters gabbles, and jabs the intercom again. “Danny? Yeah, it’s Joe! Magnifico’s coming to the ring, tell production to cue up the music and pyro and just give him free rein to do whatever he wants, alright!?”

 

“Whatever he wan-”

 

“YES, dammit!!” Peters nearly screams, “he’s the World Champion, I’m sure he can be trusted! Just DO IT!!” He whips his finger away before Danny can raise any more objections, and turns a pleading face to the World Champion. However, Magnifico is already moving.

 

“Thank you Joe,” he says as he slips out of the door, “you’re very accommodating. Enjoy the show...”

[Justice 0]

FADE IN

 

“Welcome back to Lockdown,” says Longdogger Pete, “where we’re just about ready for our Triple Impact match between the Wildchild and ‘the Icon’ Max King. And King, I’ve got to tell you, this is one of the most unpredictable styles of matches that you’re ever likely to see!”

 

“That’s right!” agrees the Suicide King. “And the reason for that is because there’s no way for the two men in the ring to have a strategy planned out ahead of time; the unique thing about a Triple Impact match is that you have to hit your opponent with a move three times in order to win, but you don’t find out what move you have to hit until just before the match starts!”

 

“And when you have two opponents that are of two different sizes and who wrestle two completely different styles, such as we have here tonight, it adds an additional dimension!” adds Pete. “Suppose the move which gets drawn is an aerial maneuver, King; how is Max King going to be able to move fast enough to hit Wildchild with a top rope move three times?”

 

“And, on the flipside of that,” counters King, “what if it’s a power move? Suppose something like a gorilla press slam comes up; there’s no way that Wildchild will be able to get Max King over his head even once, let alone three times!”

 

“Especially not when he’s recovering from a partially strained left shoulder,” says Pete, pausing long enough to allow the production team to roll the footage of Jay Hawke attacking WC with the International Championship Belt. “Wildchild, of course, still recovering from injuries sustained at the hands of Jay Hawke in the Triple Threat match last week on Smarkdown. And I’ll be interested in seeing how Wildchild responds to Jay Hawke’s comments last week.”

 

“Well, Wildchild had better not be thinking about anybody other than Max King right now,” replies King, as the camera shifts back to the announce table, “or else he’s going to be on the short end of the purse tonight!”

 

“With that said, let’s send you up to Funyon in the ring, for our official introductions!”

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

With the sound of the bell, all eyes are drawn to the center of the ring, where Funyon, who is holding a sealed manila envelope, stands beside referee Red Herrington. “The following contest is the Triple Impact match!” booms Funyon.

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Once both men are in the ring,” continues Funyon, raising the envelope into the camera’s view, “the referee will open this envelope, which contains the name of a wrestling move. The winner of the match will be the man who is able to successfully deliver this maneuver to his opponent three times!”

 

With that, the lights dim in the Qwest Center, and the fans are silent for a brief moment, until they can hear the sounds of Max King's voice, as he cries out:

 

 

 

THE KING...HAS...RETURNED!

 

 

 

BOOM!

 

 

Saliva’s “Superstar” begins to blast through the speakers as Max King and Kelly Connelly step out onto the stage, looking out to the crowd with smiles, before looking to the ring.

 

“Introducing first,” says Funyon, “the manager: the self-proclaimed ‘Queen’ of the SWF, Kelly Connelly!”

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“And she represents, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and weighing in tonight at two hundred fifty pounds… the Icon, MAAAAAX KIIIIING!” Kelly espouses Max’s virtues in a loud voice as King makes his way to the ring with a focused look on his face. Max and Kelly then get onto the ring apron, and enter through the second rope at the same time, pausing only a moment to give each other a deep, passionate kiss, before going to the center of the ring.

 

“The Icon definitely looks ready for this matchup,” notes Pete, as Max demands the microphone from Funyon.

 

“Hold up!” shouts King, as the lights come back on. “The Icon is about to speak; keep it down, MacDougal!”

 

“Cut the music!”

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“Listen to the boos, King!”

 

“Hey,” snaps King, “I said keep it down!”

 

“I feel sorry for all you women out here in Omaha,” begins King. “All you have around here to look at are some overweight, pasty white, corn-fed farm boys, with beer bellies and tobacco-stained Cornhusker jerseys!”

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

“I know that when you have to roll on top of your old man tonight for your monthly relations, you’re going to be thinking of me! You’re going to be wishing that I was the one that you that you got to straddle, instead of rocking back and forth on top of Gomer for three minutes!”

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

“As Kelly will tell you, the Icon can go all night long, unlike that two-pump chump of a husband that you have to go home with tonight!”

 

 

YOU SUCK!

YOU SUCK!

YOU SUCK!

YOU SUCK!

 

“So I’m going to do the ladies of Omaha a public service: I’m going to bless you with the sight of my magnificent body! I’m going to give you something to feast your eyes on, and get your motors running for when you have to go back to the trailer park tonight with Billy Bob… But, don’t get too excited, ladies; remember, you can look, but only Kelly here gets to touch… Hit the music!”

 

With that, “Superstar” comes back on and Kelly removes King's vest and shades, standing behind him and rubbing his chest sensually with her hands before spinning him around and once again kissing him passionately in the center of the ring.

 

“This is ridiculous!” spits Pete, as King poses for the women in the audience. “There’s no place for that kind of behavior in a wrestling ring! It’s completely inappropriate!”

 

“Unacceptable?” queries King. “I don’t think that there’s anything at all inappropriate about wrestlers getting a chance to show their affection; in fact, I think that Max King has the perfect disposition to be a champion! Can you imagine Max King as the World Heavyweight Champion? Just think of what he and Kelly might do together in the ring!”

 

“I’d rather not,” replies Pete. “Let’s leave that sort of behavior for some of our less tasteful competitors.” Max’s music fades out, to be quickly replaced by the sounds of Mystikal’s “Bouncin’ Back.”

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“YOU KEEP BUMPIN’ ME AGAINST THE WALL!

YEAH, I KNOW I LET YOU SLIDE BEFORE!

BUT, UNTIL YOU SEEN ME… TRUST ME…

 

YOU AIN’T SEEN BOUNCIN’ BACK!”

 

“And his opponent,” booms Funyon, “being accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki and hailing from the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds: the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild’s left shoulder is heavily taped, but otherwise, he seems none the worse for wear, even rotating his shoulder to demonstrate his mobility.

 

“Well, I don’t think that you have to worry about Wildchild looking past Max King anymore,” notes LDP. “He definitely looks ready!”

 

“That’s all well and good,” replies King, “but it remains to be seen whether or not it’ll make a difference; remember, we still don’t know what the move is going to be!” Wildchild removes his shin guards and hands them to Melissa, giving her a brief hug before somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes to enter the ring. He acknowledges the fans and then turns to face his opponent as his music fades out.

 

“This match is just about to get underway, King, and I can’t wait!” Red Herrington opens up the envelope and looks at the words inscribed on the card within, as Funyon exits to the arena floor. He calls both wrestlers over to him, and says a few words, which cause the Icon to break into laughter.

 

“And Max King looks pleased with what he just heard,” notes Pete, as Herrington walks towards the edge of the ring. “I can’t imagine that means good things for the Wildchild!” Herrington leans through the ropes and says something to Funyon, who raises the microphone back to his lips:

 

“Ladies and gentleman,” booms Funyon, “I have just been informed by the referee that the winning move for the Triple Impact match will be: a Powerbomb!”

 

“Whoa!” exclaims Pete. “A powerbomb! That means that the winner has to powerbomb his opponent three times to win; no wonder Max King was smiling!”

 

“Well, you’ve got to project Max King as the prohibitive favorite now,” adds King. “I just can’t see any way that Wildchild will be able to get him up for a powerbomb even once, let alone three times!” Herrington orders the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match:

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

“Bell’s gone,” says Pete, “and we’re underway!” Within seconds, Wildchild dashes across the screen and begins hammering Max in the face with rapid-fire right hands! King attempts to knock him away with a sweeping right hook, but the Human Hurricane quickly ducks underneath and continues punching:

 

 

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

 

WHOOSH!

 

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

 

“Well, Wildchild may be at a disadvantage,” says Pete, “but that’s not going to stop him from taking the fight directly to Max King, as he assaults him with a series of right hands!” Max finally succeeds in slowing down his aggressor, stunning him with a tremendous kneelift to the midsection! King grabs Wildchild by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but WC ducks a clothesline attempt as he bounces off the ropes, and then explodes into the air as he rebounds a second time, whipping his leg fiercely through the air to knock the Icon to the canvas with a flying leg lariat! Wildchild easily beats King to his feet and hooks his arm underneath that of the Icon, before taking him over with a gorgeous armdrag! King scrambles back to his feet, only to be armdragged again, and then taken over with a textbook hiptoss! Wildchild springs off his feet as King stands back up, and blasts the Icon in the chest with a standing dropkick that sends him stumbling back to the edge of the ring and bounces off the ropes! WC stuns him with a kick to the midsection and then pulls him into a standing headscissors.

 

“Look at this!” shouts LDP. “He’s going for a powerbomb right now!” WC locked his hands around Max’s waist and pulled, lifting King’s feet several inches off the mat… but he got no further, as the Icon began to fight him.

 

“Hah-hah!” snorts Suicide King derisively, as Max struggles until his feet made contact with the canvas once again, and abruptly straightens his back out, sending WC overhead with a modified back-body drop. “I told you, MacDougal, he’s not strong enough!”

 

Not to be daunted, however, Wildchild rolls over King’s shoulders and down his back, pulling Max backwards as he falls into a Sunset Flip, and then rolls through, keeping his hands locked around King’s waist and planting the balls of his feet against the canvas as he tries to lift him again!

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Whoa!” exclaims Pete, as Wildchild continues to strain. “Wildchild may have pulled a fast one, King!” Veins begin to bulge in WC’s neck as he struggles to lift King’s body off the canvas, but his weakened left shoulder cannot continue to balance its share of the load, and he finally has to lower King back down, giving the Icon a chance to push Wildchild away with his legs.

 

“Like I said before, MacDougal, he’s not strong enough, especially not with that injured shoulder,” taunts Suicide King, observing WC clutching his left shoulder in pain. “Look at him; he could barely even HOLD Max King, but for the pain in that shoulder. There’s no WAY that he’s going to be able to powerbomb him!”

 

“Never say never, King!” replies Pete. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way!” WC begins to shake some feeling back into his arm and turns back towards Max King, only for the Icon to knock him silly with a running big boot that sends Wildchild flipping backwards, landing painfully on his stomach!

 

“Hah!” laughs Suicide King. “Never say never, huh? Tell that to Wildchild’s teeth, if you can even find them!” Max King pulls Wildchild to his feet and leads him to a nearby corner, grabbing him by the back of the head and smashing his face into the top turnbuckle! Max then pulls WC out of the corner and doubles him over at the waist with a kick before trapping him in a standing headscissors.

 

“Here we go!” shouts Suicide King. “Here comes the first powerbomb!” Max pulls Wildchild off the canvas with ease, but before he can drive WC down, the Tropical Tumbler arches back suddenly, snapping the Icon over with a Hurricanrana! Wildchild maintains a mounted position over Max and begins to batter his face with more piston-like rights!

 

“Nice awareness on the part of Wildchild to counter that powerbomb!” praises LDP, as WC gets to his feet. “And now it looks like he’s going up top!”

 

“That’s not going to help him to be able to lift Max King,” replies Suicide King. “See, it would make some sense for Max King to hit big moves one Wildchild, and maybe even some top rope moves, to take the starch out of him. There’s nothing that Wildchild can do to Max King to change the fact that he’s two hundred and fifty pounds!” WC climbs up to the top turnbuckle and waits for the Icon, but Kelly runs over towards the corner, and leaps up to the apron to distract him.

 

“Kelly Connelly’s trying to prevent Wildchild from letting loose with some of his high-risk offense,” notes Pete, as Kelly begins grabbing onto his leg. “And look at this! It looks like Melissa Fasaki’s got something to say about it!”

 

“We’ve got a catfight down on the arena floor!” shouts King, as Melissa pulls Kelly off the apron and tackles her to the ground! “And me here on the other side of the ring!” Wildchild is distracted from his objective, which allows Max King just enough recovery time to scramble to his feet and lunge towards the corner, crotching WC on the top turnbuckle!

 

“Well, Kelly Connelly seems to be getting the worst of it against Melissa Fasaki!” exclaims Pete.

 

“Maybe so,” replies King, “but she did her job; she slowed Wildchild down enough to give her man a chance to turn the tables, and now it looks like he’s going for the Superb Plex!” Max traps Wildchild in a front-facelock and attempts to lift him off the turnbuckles, but WC grabs onto the top turnbuckle to block the attempt. When King braces for a second attempt, the Caribbean Cruiser springs into action, hammering Max repeatedly in the ribs.

 

“We’ve got a battle of wills going on up on the top rope!” shouts Pete. “Wildchild and Max King are really going at it!” WC surprises Max with a headbutt to the midsection, doubling him over, and then leaps from the turnbuckle, locking both hands around the Icon’s waist as he rolls over the top of him…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And plants him into the canvas with a Sunset Flip powerbomb!

 

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

-----

WC: 1

MK: 0

-----

 

 

“Bahama Bomb!” shrieks LDP. “Wildchild got Max King with the Bahama Bomb! That was brilliant strategy by the kid!”

 

“Well, I’ll give him this much credit,” concedes Suicide King, “that was a smart move, but it was also just about the only way that he could hope to powerbomb Max King… so, what’s he going to do now? Max King’s not going to be stupid enough to let him get caught up on the turnbuckles a second time, and there’s no way that Wildchild is strong enough to do it by himself!” Wildchild keeps the pressure on Max King, leaping into the air and delivering a legdrop across the Icon’s throat. He pulls Max to his feet and whips him across the ring, but King still has enough presence of mind to reverse easily. WC, however, is still too fast for him, and slides between the Icon’s legs as he rebounds, hooking Max around the ankles as he slides through, and tripping him to the canvas. WC immediately springs back to his feet and bounces off the ropes, leaping over Max’s head and slamming his face into the canvas with a flipping neck snap!

 

“Whiplash by the Wildchild!” cheers Pete. “And he’s going to try again for a powerbomb!”

 

“Is he crazy?” asks King. “Didn’t he learn his lesson the last two times he tried?” Despite the King’s sarcasm, Wildchild tries anyway… and fails predictably, as King tosses him aside with ease. As WC gets to his feet, Max stuns him with a boot to the midsection, and then goes for a powerbomb of his own…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Only for the Bahama Bomber to counter on the way down with a DDT!

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Good grief!” exclaims Pete. “Counter after counter in this match, as both men try for the powerbomb! Wildchild can’t pick Max King up, and Max can’t keep Wildchild up; we could be here forever!” WC pulls King over to the corner and climbs up to the middle turnbuckles, where he begins to deliver a ten-count punch:

 

 

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!

 

 

“Wildchild appears to have the momentum,” says Pete, “but will he be able to capitalize?” WC grabs Max by the wrist and whips him across the ring, before following after him, bursting off the canvas and twisting in midair to crash into King with his patented Blue Crush splash, but the Icon lunges out of the corner, causing Wildchild to crash face-first into the top turnbuckle! King traps WC in an inverted front facelock as he staggers out of the corner and then hooks his leg as he lifts him up off the canvas, only to drive him down head-first with the King Buster!

 

“King Buster!” crows Suicide King, as the Icon immediately pulls WC back to his feet. “And Wildchild’s defenseless!” King traps Wildchild in a standing headscissors and rips him off the mat…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Before driving him back down brutally with a wicked snap powerbomb!

 

 

-----

WC: 1

MK: 1

-----

 

 

“It’s all even up now,” laughs Suicide King. “And I predict that Max King will take total control of this match from here on in; there’s no way that Wildchild is going to be able to recover from that King Buster!” Max rolls out to check on Kelly, who assures him that she is alright, as she continues to straighten out her hair. “And you see that Melissa Fasaki isn’t smiling now, like she was when she knocked Kelly off the apron; she might have gotten a few cheap shots in, but when Max King wins this match, Kelly will have the last laugh!”

 

“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, King,” counters LDP, as Max rolls back into the ring. “This match is far from over!” Max King gets back into the ring and poses for the fans, who respond with boos. He wipes the sole of his boot disrespectfully across Wildchild’s face, before pulling him to his feet and trapping him in another standing headscissors. King bends down to wrap his arms around WC’s waists and lifts him up into a powerbomb, but before he can drop him down, Wildchild slides down his back and runs to the ropes, springing off the canvas as he bounces off the ropes…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Only for the Icon to snatch him out of the air and drive him into the canvas with a belly-to-belly suplex!

 

“Phenomenal suplex!” praises Suicide King, rising to his feet to applaud as Max King taunts the fans with a double biceps pose. “Yes! I’m going to say that he’s earned the right to showboat after that one! Max King would have suplexed Wildchild right out of his shoes, if he were wearing any!” Kelly cheers loudly for her man from the arena floor, while Melissa can only look on with a concerned expression on the other side of the ring. Max pulls Wildchild to his feet and drills him in the small of the back with a hard kick, before quickly following up with a kick to the back of the head to complete the Complex!

 

“It’s all over now!” cheers Suicide King. “Max King is going to go up two-to-one here in a second, and will put it away not long after that!”

 

“I’m a little surprised that Max King hasn’t made more of an effort to do damage to that injured shoulder,” notes Pete.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” replies Suicide King nonchalantly. “Wildchild doesn’t have the strength to lift Max King into a powerbomb, with or without a bad shoulder!” King traps WC in a standing headscissors and lifts him up, but this time Wildchild flips backwards off of Max’s shoulders to land on his feet. King charges after him, arm raised to deliver a clothesline, which WC avoids easily by ducking, and kicks him in the midsection to double him over as he rebounds. The Bahama Bomber rushes towards Max and leaps over him as though attempting a leapfrog, but abruptly stops himself in mid-flight, landing on King’s back and hooking his legs underneath the Icon’s arms. Before Max can figure out what’s going on…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Wildchild jerks his body towards the canvas, wrapping his arms around King’s waist as he rips him through the air, planting him into the mat with a Code Red Powerbomb!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

-----

WC: 2

MK: 1

-----

 

“Amazing!” cheers Pete. “Wildchild came from out of nowhere and hit that Code Red powerbomb, and now he’s taken a two-to-one lead! I can’t believe it!”

 

“I won’t believe it!” snarls King. “I can’t believe that idiot Herrington counted that! That wasn’t even a real powerbomb!”

 

“Well, he obviously ruled that it was enough of one to count,” replies LDP. “And now, you have to believe that the momentum has shifted to the Wildchild!”

 

“I don’t think so!” counters King. “He still hasn’t proven to me that he has the strength to lift King up for a powerbomb!”

 

“He might not need to!” shouts Pete, seeing WC attempting another Code Red. “He’s going for another Code Red; if he hits this, the match is over!” WC leaps onto Max’s shoulders…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

… But, before he can execute the maneuver, the Icon grabs his legs and snaps him forward with a ferocious Alabama Slam, before falling to the canvas in fatigue!

 

 

“That was clutch!” praises Suicide King. “Great heads-up thinking on the part of Max King!” Max crawls to the ropes, where Kelly wipes his forehead with a towel, before pulling himself to his feet. He runs to the ropes as WC gets to his feet and leaps into the air to deliver a flying forearm, but the Tropical Tumbler drops back to the canvas at the last split-second, and King flies harmlessly overhead!

 

“He missed!” shouts Pete. “Max King missed on that flying forearm!” Wildchild runs to the ropes as King scrambles to his feet and suddenly takes to the air, whipping his leg around and blasting the Icon with a leg lariat that sends him flying over the top rope and out to the arena floor!

 

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

 

“Beautiful leg lariat!” cheers LDP. “Wildchild took Max King over with a leg lariat, and now he’s looking for some high risk offense!” Wildchild races towards the edge of the ring and picks up speed as he bounces off the ropes. He leaps into the air as he runs back across the ring, flipping over the top rope as he sails down to the arena floor…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But the Icon counters the tope con hilo attempt, grabbing WC around the waist and dropping to his knees as he falls, driving the Bahaman into the padded arena floor with a falling powerbomb!

 

 

“Tremendous powerbomb!” praises King. “Tremendous counter! Wildchild never saw that coming, and now it’s all even up again!”

 

-----

WC: 2

MK: 2

-----

 

 

King rolls WC back into the ring and accepts a quick kiss from Kelly before climbing back onto the apron. He steps between the ropes to enter the ring and walks over to Wildchild, who still hasn’t moved yet. Max pulls him to his feet and whips him into the corner, following him with a stiff clothesline!

 

“Beautiful clothesline!” says Suicide King. “And look at the smirk on Max King’s face; he knows that he’s got this under control!” Max whips Wildchild back across the ring, following him in with yet another clothesline.

 

“Wildchild doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going,” taunts Suicide King. “And this is it; here comes the third powerbomb of the match!” Max clasps his hands underneath WC’s waist and lifts him up…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

… But the Bahama Bomber slips out of King’s grasp and drapes his leg over the back of Max’s neck as he falls, driving the Icon face-first into the canvas!

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Cutter!” shrieks Pete. “He countered into the Caribbean Cutter!”

 

“He’s only delaying the inevitable,” says King dismissively. “He’s still not strong enough to lift King, no matter how many times he can counter!”

 

After several seconds, both men begin trading punches as they get to their feet, and King takes control, thanks to his strength advantage. He whips WC into a neutral corner, but the Tropical Tumbler leaps to the middle ropes before he crashes into the turnbuckles! Max bites on a WC head fake and drops to the canvas, giving the Human Hurricane enough time to set his feet on the top turnbuckle, waiting for King to stand up before leaping off to knock him back down with a flying back elbow!

 

“Explosive top rope move by Wildchild!” cheers Pete.

 

“Top rope moves won’t win him this match!” counters Suicide King. WC runs to the ropes, leaping into the air to deliver a flying forearm, but the Icon snatches him out of the air and spins sharply on his heel as he pounds the Bahaman into the canvas with a terrifying powerslam!

 

“Max King with good ring awareness to counter that flying forearm,” says Pete, as Max King rolls out of the ring. “And now he appears to be back in control… but, what’s he doing?”

 

“I’ll tell you what he’s doing,” replies Suicide King, as the Icon pulls a table out from underneath the ring, “he’s going to put an exclamation point on this match!” Max sets the table up in front of the ramp and rolls back into the ring.

 

“This is completely unnecessary!” shouts Pete, as Max King drags WC over to the edge of the ring. “He doesn’t need to do this!”

 

“Maybe not,” taunts Suicide King, “but it sure looks like he wants to do it! And there’s no disqualification in this match, so it’s his prerogative!” Max steps out onto the ring apron and then pulls WC through the ropes.

 

“This is going to be gruesome!” groans Pete, covering his eyes. “I can’t watch!” Max wraps his hands around WC’s waist and whips him into the air, but as he turns to face the table, he hesitates to assert his footing, giving the Bahama Bomber just enough of a reprieve to slip off of the Icon’s shoulders and land back in the ring! King turns around to find his opponent, and WC kicks him in the nether regions to stun him, causing him to lean heavily against the top rope. Without even thinking about it, Wildchild rushes across the ring, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes and leaping high into the air as he re-approaches the edge of the ring, wrapping his arms around the Icon’s waist as he flies over the top rope…

 

 

CRUNCH!

 

 

… AND DRIVING KING INTO THE TABLE WITH A SUNSET FLIP POWERBOMB!

 

-----

WC: 3

MK: 2

-----

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

The fans erupt as “Bouncin’ Back” begins to play again! Kelly Connelly screams in disgust as Melissa runs around the ring to help WC back to his feet.

 

“Here is your winner,” announces Funyon, “the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

 

“What a big win by the Wildchild,” praises LDP, “as he overcame a physical disadvantage, and used his innovation to pull off a stunning victory in an exciting Triple Impact match! We’ll be right back with more of Lockdown!”

 

Melissa congratulates Wildchild as the pair return to the dressing room…

 

 

As we:

FADE OUT

[Justice 0]

We return to Lockdown to the bouncing beats that open Therapy?’s “Teethgrinder”, the Nebraska fans immediately snapping to attention upon hearing the Northern Irish metal grinding its way out of the speakers. A mild grumbling begins in the crowd as the song’s extraordinarily catchy groove riff kicks in, the semi-surf rock tones appealing to some if not for whom they knew they meant. The riff repeats, the drums drop in…

 

 

…and the mild grumbling turns into audible jeering, drowning out the heavyfuckingmetal as a massive figure throws the curtain aside, making room for both his bulky frame and those of his two accomplices, striding out onto the ramp and bobbing his head to the song as he makes his way down the ramp with not one, but two identical belts around his waist.

 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL! Introducing first, from Saitama Prefecture, Japan, weighing in at 264 pounds. He is one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions, and represents the TORU-KOJI Organization…TO-RUUUU…TAAAAKAAAAHAAAARAAAA!!!”

 

 

“BOOOOOO!!”

 

 

With a nimble leap that belies his size, Takahara leaps to the apron, and waits only a moment before hoisting himself up and over the top rope into the ring, where he takes his twin tag team belts and hands them to Chris Card whilst Natasha removes his trenchcoat. Knowing what happened last time he kept his sunglasses on, he hands the eyewear to Natasha as well.

 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is NOT a friendly match next,” says Pete, skipping formalities and cutting straight to the chase. “To put it simply, TKO and Cucaracha Internacional hate each other. To put it even more simply, TORU and Johnson hate each other. And even more simply than that, JJ Johnson and El Luchadore Magnifico hate each other.”

 

 

“See, now I don’t see why TORU and Johnson can’t just be friends,” muses King, drawing a glare from Pete.

 

 

“Well, next time somebody breaks my arm and puts me out of action for months, possibly forever, we’ll see how well you get along with him,” snarls the Longdogger.

 

“Are you kidding?” asks King. “He’d be my idol.”

 

“Okay, that’s a bad example, bu-“

 

Pete attempts to get his statement out before what he knows is coming comes, but he’s just not fast enough, and number 1 contenders wait not for philosophical musings. Especially not this one…

 

 

…as the lights drop out.

 

 

“HE HAS NOT CONFESSED, HE HAS MADE NO STATEMENT, CHARGES OF MURDER HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED AGAINST HIM.”

 

The two thundering opening notes of “Scapegoat” come rolling out of the sound system, hitting all unfortunate enough to be close to them with a shockwave that could leave a ringing in their ears for several days. Those same fans receive a heaping helping of seizure-tastic flashing lights, chugging into life and then shutting off just as quickly. History repeats itself as the song lights up once more, and the lights once again blaze to life. The lights are not the only thing that kick into life as the Smarktron snaps into animation, showing various highlights from Johnson’s matches - murdering Zyon with a top-rope Dragon Suplex, spiraling down on El Luchadore Magnifico with Air Canada, and crushing TORU’s cheekbone with a rolling elbow (prompting a wince from the massive Saitaman). The lights fade up to a deep red, the song’s tempo begins to kick up, smoke begins to billow from the entranceway...

 

RRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!

 

...and with it comes the number one contender, the Ultimate Fighter’s frame visible through the smoke thanks in large part to the brightly flashing lights. The figure draws closer and closer to the end of the cloud until finally, he emerges.

 

 

“YYEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

 

 

And is immediately met with a reaction he wasn’t exactly expecting as the Omaha crowd leaps to their feet with glee! If Johnson is shocked, he doesn’t show it - does he ever show emotion? - as he strides down the ramp, his eyes locked on TORU (making sure to keep at least his peripheral vision on Card and Natasha, of course. He’s not an idiot.).

 

 

“And his opponent, from Windsor, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at 219 pounds...J! J! JOHNSON!”

 

“YEEAAAAAHHH!!!”

 

Walking right past Card and Natasha without so much as a glance, Johnson stomps up the steps, steps between the top and middle ropes, and begins making his way to the second rope, counting on the ref to hold TORU back as he spreads his arms wide,

 

 

“HEY HEY!”

 

 

*BOOOM!!*

 

 

And so goes the intro to “Tu Final”, the signature reggaeton anthem of the World Heavyweight Champion not well received as per tradition as the Omaha crowd rises to it’s feet again. This time, to rain hatred and the occasional beverage on the hated champ.

 

“This is odd...I know Magnifico requested some time on the show today, but we’re about to have a match,” ponders the Dogger.

 

“Quiet, Pete!” squeals King before hopping up and down in his seat and waving his arms, attempting to attract the attention of the luchador that’s currently making his way down the ramp. Mexican flag in hand, head bobbing to the music, his traditional striped referee shirt on...

 

 

...and Johnson does a double take. Looks at Magnifico. Ref shirt.

 

 

Looks at ring. No ref.

 

 

“Oh, shit,” mouths Johnson, obviously more than happy that the family-friendly rules have been repealed as Funyon raises the microphone to his mouth for an announcement the Canadian already knows is coming, but really doesn’t want to hear.

 

“And introducing your special guest referee...”

 

“WHAT?!” protests Pete.

 

“...ELLLL LUCHADOOOOORE...MAAAAGNIIIIFIICOOOOOOO!!!”

 

The Heavyweight Champion sets his flag aside, taking careful care to put it far away from the ring - and Johnson - as possible before sliding into the ring and, with a cocky smirk aimed Johnson’s way, signals for David Blazenwing to ring the bell.

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

Johnson immediately turns his gaze over to the World Champion; Magnifico returns the glare with a look that says “Go ahead, try it”. Johnson suppresses what is obviously a massive string of swears and ethnic slurs...

 

*SMACK!*

 

 

...and in his suppression, fails to notice the right arm of TORU that shoots in and catches him with a lariat!

 

“And we’re off to the races,” says King, “and with a very good start!”

 

?“Good start my ass!” cries Pete, still angry at Magnifico’s sudden guest refereeing duties. “There’s no way Johnson could pull this out with all of the odds stacked so much against him!”

 

“Pish tosh, Drain-Clogger. Magnifico will no doubt be as just and fair as anyone else,” confirms King.

 

Pete is completely lost for words as Takahara immediately mounts Johnson and starts raining close-fisted punches to the face of the number 1 contender, his hands bouncing off of the cranium of the Canadian as Magnifico looks on - completely ignoring the illegal punches of the tag team champion. Knowing this, the Japanese Hammer forges on...but doesn’t remember until it’s too late that Johnson is craftier than imagined, the Canadian hooking TORU’s arms back with his legs and rolling him backwards and onto his shoulders for a flash pin! Magnifico drops down to count, draws his arm back and brings it down for the count...

 

 

...at about the speed of a snail, TORU rocketing his shoulder up as the hand nears the halfway point of the first fall...at about the same time a normal ref would have hit 2. Takahara immediately rolls away from Johnson before athletically kipping up to his feet and delivering a running kick to the face...that the Canadian dodges before doing a kip-up of his own and catching a turning TORU with an elbow smash!

 

*CRACK!*

 

The massive Saitaman stumbles backwards after being caught off-guard with the blow, finds purchase in the ropes that he reaches, then charges forward and throws another lariat!

 

 

Johnson ducks again, and spins again, looking for his rolling elbow!

 

 

That Takahara ducks before tucking his head under the left arm of the Ultimate Fighter and hoisting him up for Ore Ga TORU!

 

 

That Johnson backflips out of, rolling down the Japanese Hammer’s spine before leaping up and delivering a picture-perfect dropkick right between the shoulder blades of Takahara! TORU stumbles forward into the ropes, his momentum sending him back towards Johnson...who grabs him in a rear waistlock before bridging back for a Dangerous German!

 

 

That TORU blocks, sticking his legs in between those of the Canadian before reaching down and breaking the waistlock that Johnson has, then spinning and securing a waistlock of his own out of the standing switch! Johnson is certainly caught off-guard, and Takahara capitalizes by, in a show of his massive strength, hoisting Johnson up and over his head as the Canadian falls face-first on the mat, victim of a standing German suplex!

 

 

*BANG!*

 

 

Johnson hits his ribs hard, but he wastes no time in bouncing back up to his knees...

 

*CRACK!*

 

 

...just in time to catch a vicious running knee to the face that both knocks Johnson for a loop and ends that particular string of reversals as Takahara drops down to cover, Mags following him down with his arm brought up.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

T-Kickout by Johnson, ELM signaling that it is indeed only a two count to the indomitable David Blazenwing.

 

“What? No fast count from Magnifico?” asks the Longdogger, justifiably confused.

 

“No, of course not,” scoffs the Heartbreaker. “Like I said, Magnifico is just and fair.”

 

“That explains why, when Johnson pinned TORU, Magnifico didn’t count at all,” says Pete, arching an eyebrow as if to challenge the Gambling Man to explain that one.

 

King is silent as TORU drags Johnson to his feet with a grunt, blatantly pulling the hair - and Magnifico blatantly ignoring it - as he brings the Canadian to a vertical base before burying a knee in his stomach and scooping him up for the Oklahoma Slam backbreaker that served him so well at Ramadomination!

 

Unfortunately for TORU, Ramadomination was a month ago, and Johnson knows by now to reverse the backbreaker before...well, his back gets broken, sliding over the tag champion’s shoulder and securing a rear facelock, then reaching up and securing a fisherman’s hold, bending deep and beginning to lift...

 

 

...but just as Johnson saw the Oklahoma backbreaker coming, Takahara sees the modified Codebreaker coming, delivering a hard punch to the jaw that, while not particularly damaging, is certainly enough to loosen the Canadian’s facelock, and release the leg hook as well. TORU capitalizes by spinning himself into a front facelock before driving forward...

 

 

...but Johnson recovers from being knocked for a loop just in time to ram a hard knee right into the crown of Takahara’s skull, still maintaining the facelock!

 

 

*CRACK!*

 

 

TORU immediately stops driving, and Johnson wastes no time shoving his left arm under his chin before securing a hold and attempting to roll, looking for his Anaconda Choke...

 

 

...but TORU is too strong, which he shows by planting his hands on Johnson’s hips before doubling down with his knees and bringing Johnson vertical, then dropping back into a suplex!

 

 

*BANG!*

 

 

Unfortunately, what Takahara did not account for is the location of his head. So instead of delivering a powerful suplex, he instead gave himself the mother of all neckbreakers, something Johnson capitalizes on by rolling over and on top of the Japanese Hammer with his second cover of the match!

 

 

And once again, Magnifico completely ignores him, this time not even humoring him by dropping down. Instead, he simply crosses his arms in front of his chest and gives Johnson a look like “What, you expect me to count?”. Johnson snarls before turning back to face his fallen opponent...whom has rolled out of the ring, being tended to by Card and Natasha.

 

“Damn it, Magnifico!” bellows Pete. “You’re the referee, do your goddamn job!”

 

“He’s doing his job!” insists the Heartbreaker. “Look, he’s counting TORU out.”

 

As Magnifico rests in the corner, buffing his fingernails and decidedly NOT counting TORU out, Johnson figures out that it’s up to him to get Takahara’s ass back in the ring, and so he lifts himself to his feet before sprinting to the ropes in front of him. On the outside, Natasha sees him coming and makes herself scarce, jogging - as best she can in high-heels - away from the potential point of impact. Just like at Ramadomination, Card notices the escaping Goth Bitch and knows exactly what’s coming, also fleeing the scene. TORU looks around with his eyebrow arched, then looks back at the ring...

 

 

...and catches a JJ Johnson elbow suicida!

 

 

 

This is where the sound effect usually goes. However, by ‘catches’, I do not mean ‘Johnson hit him really hard in the face’; by ‘catches’, I actually mean TORU moves out of the way before reaching out and catching him around the waist over his shoulder before driving him down into the mats on the outside with a bionic spinebuster!

 

 

*SPLAAAT!*

 

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

 

 

The crowd finally reacts to the in-ring action - that isn’t even in-ring action - as the back of Johnson’s head ricochets off of the thin mats, Magnifico having a hearty chuckle inside the ring as TORU bellows “I AM TORU!” before making his way around the ring, towards the announce table.

 

“Why is TORU coming over here?” asks King, who despite supporting the bad guy is a tad nervous around the Japanese Hammer. “Last time he was near us, he stole something.”

 

As King quickly removes his watch and shoves it in his pocket with an innocent look on his face, TORU avoids the announce table, instead shoving David Blazenwing out of his seat before taking said seat, lifting it high above his head, and snapping it shut.

 

“See?! See?! He just steals stuff!” cries the Heartbreaker, pointing a knowing finger at the Japanese Hammer, who for his part completely ignores the Gambling Man as he makes his way back towards the rising form of his opponent.

 

“Who cares that he stole something from Blazenwing?” asks Pete. King nods. “What’s important is that TORU has a steel chair right now, and Magnifico is ignoring said fact.”

 

“He’s not ignoring it, he’s waiting to see what TORU does,” defends King. “He might just be getting it to sit down and take a break.”

 

“OR,” begins Pete, “SINCE HE’S A PRO WRESTLER, HE MIGHT BE LOOKING TO HIT JOHNSON WITH IT.”

 

“Jesus, Pete, touchy,” deadpans the Gambling Man, drawing a frustrated scream from the Miami Menace.

 

As TORU approaches with the chair, Magnifico locks eyes with TORU and nods. The Japanese Hammer responds in kind...

 

 

...and, knowing he can’t call it if he can’t see it, Magnifico looks away.

 

 

“BOOOOO!”

 

 

Takahara smirks, then holds the chair in front of him, sizing up his target before swinging...

 

 

...which is why he’s so confused when said target lunges upwards with a hard elbow smash that sends the chair smashing into his skull!

 

 

*CA-RUNCH!!*

 

 

“YEEAAAAHH!!!”

 

 

Magnifico’s head snaps around as if on a swivel as Johnson favors his arm, rubbing the elbow slightly before moving in and hoisting a dazed - and bleeding - TORU to his feet, and proceeding to roll him into the ring before hopping on up to the apron himself and hoisting himself over with a slingshot elbow drop!

 

*BANG!*

 

 

TORU sits up after the elbow slams into his left shoulder, grabbing at the limb and wincing. Johnson, however, shows no mercy as he shoots in and wraps a somewhat meaty arm around the definitely meaty neck of the tag team champion, before bringing the wounded left arm back into a Buffalo Sleeper hold!

 

“YEEEAAAAHH!!”

 

 

“Buffalo Sleeper!” cries Pete. “TORU showed weakness for only a second, and Johnson, knowing full well that he can’t pin Takahara thanks to Magnifico, latches on a submission hold!”

 

However, we don’t get the chance to see if Magnifico will acknowledge a submission, as much like at Ramadomination, TORU reaches back with his free arm and whips Johnson over with a snapmare! Johnson rolls through to his feet, TORU mimicking him, and the Canadian immediately throws his right foot out for a high kick! TORU throws his hands in front of his face to protect against the blow...so Johnson plants that foot before using it as a pivot to drive a vicious spinning back kick into the left shoulder of the Japanese Hammer! The force of the blow spins Takahara around, and Johnson immediately pounces, looking for a Fujiwara armbar takedown...that TORU still has the strength to reverse by lifting the Ultimate Fighter and driving him down onto his knee with a pendulum backbreaker! Johnson tumbles off of his knee, and TORU grins now that the match is back in his favor, leaping up and dropping a standing TORU Hammer!

 

 

*BANG!*

 

 

For those to be effective, however, one generally has to connect with them, and Johnson got pretty tired of knee drops back at Ramadomination. So he rolls out of the way before hopping to his feet, bouncing off of the ropes, and STEPPING UP ONTO TORU’S KNEE FOR A SHINING WIZARD! TORU thorws his hands up in front of his face...

 

 

...and Johnson capitalizes, seizing one arm before yanking it back as he drops into a triangle choke!

 

 

“YEEAAAAHH!!!”

 

“Astounding!” cries Pete as TORU begins grasping for breath, not quite sure how he got into this predicament but positive he wants out. “A shining triangle choke!”

 

“Eh, it’s not so great,” mutters King. Fortunately, TORU has a counter to lift King out of his doldrums as he buckles down and lifts Johnson up before driving him into the mat with a powerbomb!

 

 

*BOOM!*

 

 

Johnson is dazed, but for his part, he holds onto the choke, refusing to let go even in the face of...well, getting his ass kicked. TORU grimaces, but knows he has to get out of the hold somehow, and so he doubles over before lifting once more...and driving Johnson into the canvas with a second powerbomb, this one stacking him on his shoulders as Magnifico drops to count!

 

*BOOOM!*

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

TH-But Johnson gets a shoulder up, STILL maintaining the hold. TORU is pissed now, and so he puts as much effort as he can into lifting him, gathering as much momentum as possible...

 

 

 

...and Johnson puts his plan into action, spinning himself off of Takahara’s shoulders and rolling forward with his legs wrapped around his arms, the momentum of his roll bringing TORU onto his back...and right into a juji-gatame!

 

 

“YEEEEAAAAAHHH!!!”

 

 

“JUJI-GATAME!” shouts Pete, jumping out of his seat as TORU immediately begins grabbing at his left arm, attempting to free it from the hold before he suffers the same fate as his tag team partner. His scrabblings pointless, he attempts to shove his way to the ropes...but Johnson is laying near the ropes, and to move the opposite way is to stretch his arm even more. With all of his options exercised, and with Card and Natasha screaming at him, and with Magnifico looking on with a rather nervous look...

 

 

TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP

 

 

“YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

 

 

Funyon lifts the mic to his mouth, more than ready to make the announcement of Johnson’s victory. But something stops him.

 

 

The bell hasn’t rung.

 

 

“What?!” asks Pete as TORU continues slapping the mat with increased fervor. “He tapped, ring the fucking bell!”

 

“Pete!” scolds King, “don’t use such language!”

 

TORU, on the other hand, is free to use all the expletives he wants, and he does so. Johnson, for his part, is not letting go of the hold, tugging at the arm like a pitbull, Takahara’s elbow slowly but surely tearing himself a part. And a few factors run through Magnifico’s mind. He doesn’t want Johnson to win, he’s sure of that. But if the hold is on much longer, he loses his remaining bodyguard, PLUS he’s got Card yelling at him some more.

 

 

And so with a heavy sigh...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...Magnifico signals for the bell.

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

“YEEEEAAAAHHH!!!”

 

“Scapegoat” blasts over the speakers as Johnson immediately breaks the hold, rolling out of the ring and making his way to the back, as always. Magnifico, with a blank stare, simply watches him go.

 

 

“Here is your winner, by submission...J! J! JOHNSON!”

 

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

[Justice 0]

El Luchadore Magnifico is seething. The World Champion stares after the departing back of his challenger, itching to do something, anything… but no, Magnifico tells himself, Johnson would be expecting it. Better to wait. And, incidentally, to check on the health of his bodyguard…

 

“Well, he may not have been concerned about TORU’s welfare in the match,” Pete says pointedly, “but Magnifico certainly wants to make sure that Takahara is OK now! After all, with KOJI out TORU is our World Champion’s last line of ‘defence’ against JJ Johnson,” the Longdogger finishes, his tone making it perfectly clear both what he thinks of TORU’s abilities to deter Johnson, and Magnifico hiding behind him.

 

“Magnifico doesn’t need any ‘defence’ against Johnson,” King scoffs, “especially not someone who’s failed to beat him twice now! Just you wait, Dogger; at the Clusterfuck, Magnifico will school Johnson!”

 

Magnifico taps TORU smartly on the shoulder; unfortunately it is the shoulder of the arm that Johnson has nearly ripped apart, and the Japanese Hammer does not respond well. TORU reaches up with his right arm and shoves Magnifico in the gut, pushing the World Champion away with a barrage of Japanese. Magnifico looks astounded for a moment, but then his features darken and he steps back in, opening his mouth to tell TORU where to shove his Prefecture…

 

*CHING!*

 

…and TORU uses his good right arm to low-blow the World Champion!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Sacrilege!” King screams in outrage as Magnifico doubles over, clutching his groin as his eyes pop, but Longdogger Pete is laughing his head off.

 

“That’s the price Magnifico pays for trying to bend the rules!” the Miami Menace chortles, until he realises that ‘chortling’ is something reserved for Cyclone Comet and so he guffaws instead, “it looks like TORU wanted Magnifico to call for the bell the moment he started tapping, so he didn’t join KOJI on the shelf! In trying to prevent Johnson from winning the match Magnifico caused greater pain for TORU, losing himself his second-and-last bodyguard!”

 

Magnifico looks to Chris Card for some sort of assurance, but Technical Perfection’s face is twisted in disgust as he looks at the man who might well have got his one remaining client -read, meal ticket- injured, and as TORU leaves the ring (still cradling his left arm) Card doesn’t throw a further backward glance at Magnifico.

 

“TRAITOR!” King roars as TORU, Card and Natasha walk up the entrance ramp towards the back… but no-one’s really listening to him. Everyone is focusing on Magnifico, trying to catch his breath in the middle of the ring.

 

“JOHNSON’S GONNA KIIIIIIIILL YA…”

 

“JOHNSON’S GONNA KIIIIIIIILL YA…”

 

“JOHNSON’S GONNA KIIIIIIIILL YA…”

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

[Justice 0]

”And remember you too can own this compilation of Ghost Machine V1.0’s best matches – this 4 minute DVD is not available in any stores but comes free with 3 gallons of gas at your nearest Speedway gas station”

 

And after that note we return to the QWest Center smack dab in the middle of Omaha where referee Nick Soapdish is making his way to the ring in a rather “alternative” outfit

 

“What in the world is Soapdish wearing” the Suicide King asks as he sees the catcher’s shin guards, heavy work boots, elbow pads and thick insulated gloves that Nick has on tonight.

 

“Well what would you do if you were in a match where the mat could be covered in millions of thumbtacks King?” Pete asks.

 

“Win the damn thing that’s what” King fires back with a grin.

 

Soapdish enters the ring and nervously eyes the trays of thumbtacks on each side of the ring and the bags that are also filled with thumbtacks placed at various points around the ring. Funyon steps over the top rope and gives Nick a “you’re so screwed” smile as they both watch the backstage crew carry a large wooden crate down the aisle towards the ring.

 

“That crate has the majority of the 2 million thumbtacks needed for this match and the only way to win this is to put your opponent in the box and slam the lid shut” Suicide King explains

 

“Alright let’s get down to bid’ness!!”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, children of ALL ages!!” Funyon begins changing up his usual introduction a little just to keep it fresh “The following match is the 3rd match in the “Best of Five Ultraviolent matches” Series currently tied at 1 match each and it is a Sendai Thumbtack match!!”

 

“YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!”

 

“Oh calm down King” Pete says as his co-commentator roars with anticipation.

 

“Hey we weren’t even sure this match would happen tonight, I mean Bruce was suspended and all. But now it’s here and I’m going to enjoy every single moment of it” King fires back hinting at the trouble Bruce Blank has had with Joseph Peters and SWF sponsors.

 

“Introducing first from Sendai Japan” Funyon starts but has to stop as the crowd begins to chant at the top of their lungs

 

“AKIRA!! AKIRA!! AKIRA!! AKIRA!!”

 

“The fans seem to have taken to Akira big time” King says marveling at just how stupid the crowd is

 

“He stood up to Bruce and said “you WILL respect me” which a lot of people seem to like” Pete explains.

 

“Respect is overrated – I mean I don’t respect you, that doesn’t make ME a bad commentator” Suicide King says getting in a verbal jab at his co-commentator.

 

Mr. Kobe leads Akira down towards the ring as the fans chant the name of the Divine Wind. The first two matches in this very brutal series has definitely left a mark on Akira’s body as he’s taped up in several places and sporting a collection of bruises especially on his back and shoulder.

 

“Bruce had made a huge name for himself in the Hardcore / Ultraviolent division, he’s ruled it basically – but this young kid has shown us that he can take a lot of what Bruce can dish out, you’ve got to respect that King”

 

“No I don’t! Someone stupid enough to sign on for a best of 5 series with Bruce Blank should be ridiculed and then put in a pine box once Bruce is done punishing him” King replies

 

“It’s good to hear you at your most unbiased tonight King” the Miami Menace says as they watch Akira slide under the bottom rope into the ring.

 

“AKIRA!! AKIRA!! AKIRA!! AKIRA!!”

 

Funyon raises the microphone once more to introduce Akira’s opponent. “AAAAAAAAND his opponent” then he pauses to let the people boo.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

Once the booing dies down Funyon continues with his introduction “Hailing from the deepest, darkest Alabama, this is the SWF Ultraviolent champion BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!!”

 

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

 

The entire arena chants in unison as Bruce steps through the curtains to the sounds of that classic “Don’t ask me no questions”. Bruce looks confident and arrogant as he walks towards the ring, tabbing his Ultraviolent title and jawing at some fans at ringside who insist that Akira will kick his ass.

 

“It’s nice to see Bruce supporting his Alma Mata here tonight” The Suicide King says as he notices that Bruce’s sweat shirt says “Property of the Alabama State Pen”

 

“Oh that’s funny King, tell me did he play football for them?”

 

“No mostly just fencing” King says laughing at his own joke.

 

When Bruce reaches the pine crate he stops, lifts the lid a little and peaks at the thumbtacks in the crate with a sadistic smile. Bruce stalls on the floor, looking at the trays of thumbtacks around the ring as Akira paces back and forth, then the young Japanese superstar turns to talk to Mr. Kobe while Bruce is still on the floor. As it turns out Bruce was just waiting for an opening as he quickly unsnaps the Ultraviolent title around his waist and rolls under the bottom rope into the ring.

 

“PEARL HARBOUR!!” King yells out as Bruce jumps Akira from behind and knocks him into the corner “That’s kinda ironic don’t you think?”

 

“Akira should have been on guard, he more than anyone knows just how devious Bruce can be” Longdogger adds.

 

The sneak attack has allowed Bruce to get the upper hand right off the bat as he lets the clubbing forearm blows rain down over Akira’s neck and shoulder, driving the young man down to the ground. Then Bruce quickly switches tactics and places his boot across Akira’s throat and pushes on the ropes for added leverage.

 

“Come on Nick step in!! He’s trying to choke him out” Pete says with more indignation than usual

 

“He’s not TRYING to, he’s succeeding – and what can Soapdish do anyway? There are no rules, no DQ in this match, hell he doesn’t even have to count to 3 just call the winner once the lid is closed.” King admonishes Pete.

 

After a moment Bruce steps off Akira’s windpipe and just causally walks away like he was on a leisurely Sunday stroll in the park. Of course the stroll in the park is replaced with a mugging as Bruce rushes Akira once more and kicks the Divine Wind upside the head with his cowboy boot.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

“Come on USA!! USA!! USA!!” Bruce yells hoping to get a chant going.

 

…

 

…

 

But apparently the crowd tonight aren’t buying Bruce’s lame attempts of patriotism and instead chant something totally different.

 

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

 

For the first time tonight the chants seem to bother Bruce as he yells at fans at ringside to shut up, cursing them and flipping them off as they chant.

 

“He needs to focus on the match Pete, Akira is back on his feet” Suicide King points out as Akira quite rightly is back on his feet.

 

Bruce sees it out of the corners of his eyes and then rushes Akira, trying to knock him down again with a double axe handle.

 

A double axe handle that Akira ducks under no less.

 

After the missed double axe handle from Bruce Akira quickly turns the tables and lands a picture perfect superkick square on Bruce’s jaw.

 

“What impact! It knocked him over the top rope” King yells as the impact does indeed flip the big man over the top rope right in front of a tray of thumbtacks.

 

“YEAAAAAAAAAAaaa….”

 

The crowd begins to cheer when it looks like Bruce is about to hit the tacks with full force but quickly lose their enthusiasm as Bruce manages to land on the apron instead. Not one to give up that easily Akira runs at Bruce, leaps feet first through the air to drop kick Bruce between the 2nd and 3rd rope.

 

“NOOOOOOOOOOoo….”

 

Bruce moves at the very last moment sending Akira through the ropes in the direction of the thumbtacks but the nimble and agile Divine Wind manages to grab hold of the top rope before it’s too late and pulls himself up on the apron.

 

“Oh so close!” Pete says as they both watch with anticipating, wondering when the thumbtacks will come into play.

 

“They’re right above them, one wrong move and Akira is in the tacks!” King points out

 

“Why do you assume it’s going to be Akira?”

 

“Just playing the odds Longdogger, just playing the odds”

 

With both of them on the apron there isn’t much room to move, which isn’t a problem for the smaller Akira but Bruce is not able to defend himself as much as he’d like. Especially when Akira leaps up and kicks Bruce in the back of the head with a picture perfect enzugiri that knocks Bruce forward into the ropes.

 

Simple physics then dictates that Bruce moves backwards with the snap of the ring ropes, sending him off the apron and back first into the tray of thumbtacks to a huge pop from the crowd

 

F*CK HIM UP!! F*CK HIM UP!! F*CK HIM UP!!

 

“That’s not nice” The Suicide King complains as the Nebraskians chant.

 

Akira quickly leaps off the apron ready for another attack on Bruce, but much to his surprise Bruce just gets back to his feet like nothing has happened, pokes Akira in the eyes and then kicks the momentarily stunned and blinded Akira in the gut.

 

“HOW THE HELL??” Longdogger Pete says surprised at Bruce’s total “No sell” of the thumbtacks, in fact he’s moving as if they didn’t hurt him at all.

 

“Hey I told you Bruce was tough!” King replies.

 

Bruce quickly brushes some of the thumbtacks stuck in his shoulder off like it was dirt and then half hip tosses, half throws Akira into the thumbtacks in such a manner that his left shoulder hits the tray before he rolls over and lands on his back away from the tray.

 

“Oh my sweet mercy! Look at Akira’s exposed skin, he’s like a human pin cushion” Pete says as the camera zooms in on the thumbtacks embedded in Akira’s shoulder.

 

“Should have worn appropriate clothes, not very smart is it??” King says in that arrogant condescending voice he does SO well.

 

With the thumbtacks stuck in his skin Akira has only one thought in his head right now – get them out!! Which he tries to do by brushing over his shoulder repeatedly, each time removing some tacks but leaving tiny puncture wounds some of which begin to bleed ever so slightly. While Akira is trying to get the tacks out Bruce has found a canvas bag filled with thumbtacks and looks like he’s in heaven.

 

But the distance from heaven to hell is only a few split seconds apart as Akira scoops up a handful of thumbtacks with his taped fists and fling them straight into Bruce’s face.

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!

 

The tacks are more surprising than painful but it gives Akira the opening to rush Bruce and knock the big man into the guardrail with a desperation tackle.

 

“What the hell are you doing? You could put an eye out you bastard!” yells King, indignant over the Divine Wind’s actions.

 

“You’re talking about safety in a thumbtack match? That’s like complaining about smoke in an inferno match” Pete fires back tired of his co-commentators double standards.

 

With Bruce pinned against the guardrail Akira quickly drives his knee into the side of Bruce’s face twice before he reaches down and starts to pull at Bruce’s sweatshirt.

 

“What is he doing? This isn’t a bra and panties match Pete!”

 

Akira tears and pulls at Bruce’s sweat shirt until he tears it all the way down the back to reveal that Bruce had wadding taped to his back to keep him from being hurt by the thumbtacks

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

“What a dirty cheater! No wonder he could take the fall into the thumbtacks without any pain” Pete yells out in anger

 

Now that the hoax has been revealed Akira quickly tears the wadding off Bruce’s back and throws it into the crowd to even the playing field as the fans cheer him on. Since he has Bruce down and dazed Akira leaps over the guardrail and into the crowd where he quickly grabs a chair from a fan that’s happy to hand it over. Bruce slowly staggers back to his feet as Akira readies his chair, then once Bruce is up Akira smacks the Trailerpark Messiah across the chest with the folding chair

 

*WHACK!*

 

…knocking Bruce backwards a few steps away from the guardrail. Akira quickly drops the chair, leaps up on the guardrail and then flies at Bruce driving both feet into Bruce’s chest with a high risk drop kick. The risk definitely pays off though as Bruce stumbles backwards and lands with his exposed skin square on the tacks with full force.

 

“YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!”

 

This time the tacks piece Bruce’s skin, this time he feels the pain of thousands of little metal points drawing tiny drops of blood. Akira grabs the hurt and dazed Bruce by the hair and then places Bruce’s head between his knees in position to either power bomb or pedigree or a move with a similar starting position right into the thumbtacks.

 

“Can you imagine the damage it would do if Akira hit a Pedigree piledriver into the thumbtacks?” Pete asks

 

“Yeah I bet he’d get a few thumbtacks in his knees” King replies revealing that he’s not really paying much attention to what Pete is saying right now.

 

Akira locks his arms around Bruce’s waist and tries to lift him up, but Bruce blocks the attempt, he also blocks a second attempt and a third. Then Bruce stands up straight and shows everyone that he’s not out of the match yet by back dropping Akira sending him legs first into the tray of thumbtacks

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

“See – he’d get thumbtacks in his leg, didn’t I tell you??” King gloats as Akira’s right leg is driven into the thumbtacks.

 

With each step Bruce takes bloody thumbtacks fall off his back leaving a ghastly trail behind him as he staggers towards the far left corner of the ring and then begins to look under the apron.

 

“What the heck? Bruce has over 2 million thumbtacks handy, what more could he need??” Pete asks as Bruce searches for something.

 

“You can never have too many thumbtacks Pete, NEVER!” King replies.

 

After a moment Bruce finds what he was looking for, it’s a small aerosol can that he shakes well before spraying some of it on his heavily taped left fist.

 

“Ah what a gentleman, he noticed his fist smelled and wanted to deodorize it” King figures

 

“Yeah right!”

 

Bruce drops the can and then turns to one of the trays of thumbtacks where he thrusts his left fist into the pile and keeps it there for a moment. While Bruce has his fist buried in the thumbtacks one of the other cameras zoom in on the discarded spray can on the floor, the label reads “U-Stick, spray on adhesive”

 

“Spray on Adhes… oh no!!” Longdogger Pete quickly realizes what Bruce is up to.

 

A moment later Bruce raises his left fist into the air to show everyone the thumbtacks that are now glued to his fist.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

“You know I don’t think these people appreciate the psychology of a thumbtack match” The Suicide King muses as the crowd boos Bruce’s cheating ways.

 

“Psychology? In a Thumbtack match? You must be kidding me” Pete says forgetting that the words “Kay” and “fabe” exist for a moment.

 

Bruce smiles deviously as he flexes his lethal fist, then he turns his attention back towards Akira who’s managed to drag himself out of the tray of thumbtacks and get back to his feet. Unfortunately for the Divine Wind he’s been so pre-occupied with the tacks in his leg that he missed Bruce’s cheating antics

 

Which explains why he is taken by surprise when Bruce’s tack covered fist connects straight on with his jaw.

 

HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!!

 

The fans may not like Bruce but the shock effect of the blow coupled with the instant tearing of Akira’s face and skin that sends blood flying everywhere brings the entire arena to their feet. Bruce grabs Akira by the shredded mask and pulls him into position for another blow which lands in exactly the same place as the first one, further tearing the mask and the skin on Akira’s jaw.

 

“This is inhuman, this is insane!” Longdogger says

 

“This is ultraviolent!! Of course it’s inhuman and insane – that’s the whole point” Suicide King points out.

 

After the two hard blows there aren’t that many thumbtacks left on Bruce’s fist, he left some of them embedded in Akira’s jaw and the rest just scattered in on impact. Bruce casually walks back over to where the spray adhesive can is laying and picks it up, figuring to repeat his success and inflict even more damage.

 

“I cannot believe that Akira is able to get back on his feet! I mean he’s staggering and bleeding but he’s up and determined to keep fighting” Pete says in amazement

 

“That just means he’ll get his ass kicked even more, that’s the only thing heart and determination will get you – an asswhooping” Suicide King replies.

 

With the spray can in hand Bruce once again sprays the adhesive all over his taped up fist and then thrusts it into the thumbtacks again all the while keeping an eye on Akira. The Divine Wind doesn’t look like he’s able to cause much trouble as he leans against the ring post and tries to shake the cobwebs.

 

“Watch this one Pete, I’ll bet you that Akira won’t get up from this one” King says confidently as Bruce walks back towards Akira with his fist clenched.

 

*CLANG!!*

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

 

Akira ducks under the fist and Bruce punches the ringpost with full force driving several of the thumbtacks into his fist.

 

“I guess you owe me money King” Pete says with a chuckle as Bruce unintentionally hurts himself even more when he grabs his hurting left fist with his right hand and drive thumbtacks into his palm.

 

Even with his vision blurred from the stiff shots he took moments ago Akira is able to grab on to Bruce’s left arm, flip over his back and twist Bruce down to the ground chest first in the thumbtacks while Akira wrenches back on Bruce’s potentially broken hand.

 

HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!!

 

“I can’t believe what we’re seeing here! He’s grinding Bruce chest first into the thumbtacks while applying a Fujiwara Armbar” Pete says as he almost leaps out of his chair in surprise over the turn of events.

 

Akira pushes down with his full weight driving Bruce’s exposed hairy chest into the tray full of thumbtacks that draws quite a lot of blood in some places. Referee Nick Soapdish can’t do anything but stand and watch as Akira inflicts a lot of damage on Bruce, twisting his arm back in a position nature did not intend for it to go – but even if Bruce was to tap out the match wouldn’t end since submissions are not legal.

 

FUCK HIM UP!! FUCK HIM UP!! FUCK HIM UP!!

 

The pain from the arm bar shoots down Bruce’s shoulder, down his back building up so much pressure that Akira is close to snapping Bruce’s arm in the process. After grinding Bruce into the thumbtacks for a while and incapacitating Bruce’s left arm Akira finally lets go of the arm and stands up. But he’s not ready to give Bruce a breather, instead he drags the redneck superstar to his knees, then he picks up another canvas sack full of thumbtacks, opens it and pulls it over Bruce’s head

 

“Look at the thumbtacks falling out of the bag – and Bruce’s head is exposed to the entire contents of the bag” Pete says in horror.

 

But if he thought that was horrific he was definitely mistaken as Akira follows up by superkicking the bag and any thumbtacks in it straight into Bruce’s face

 

*POW!!*

 

“SWEET ACE OF SPADES! Bruce took it straight to the face, he went down like it was a shotgun blast straight into his face – and with the thumbtacks in the bag the effects could be very similar.” The Suicide King yells out as the white canvas bag starts to display patches of dark red where Akira kicked it.

 

Akira quickly pulls the canvas bag off Bruce’s head and the cameras gets a close up of the horrific effects on Bruce’s face. A number of thumbtacks are driven fully into Bruce’s face above and below the eye, some of the tacks on his forehead must be in so deep they’re actually scraping against the bone of Bruce’s skull and the ones imbedded in his cheek are all bleeding profusely from every single puncture.

 

“Akira is one sick puppy, he pretends to be all innocent and goody, goody but look at what he did!!” King says with outrage.

 

“Desperate measures call for desperate actions King. He needs to win this match to break Bruce’s momentum, he’s between a rock and a hard place” Pete replies pointing out the method to Akira’s madness.

 

While Akira heads over to the crate full of thumbtacks to remove the lid we get a close-up of Bruce slowly trying to dislodge some of the thumbtacks from his face, we get to see the sickening sight of Bruce’s skin sticking to the tack for a bit, pulling outwards around the tack until it finally lets go and returns to normal.

 

Well normal except for a puncture where blood immediately starts to run down over his skin.

 

“Bruce looks like he’s got freckles King, big metal freckles” Pete quips trying to distract himself from the horrible images with a bit of levity.

 

“Oh har-har – he wasn’t exactly good looking before, I doubt it’ll make much of a difference” King replies as Bruce slowly pulls another tack from his face with the same sickening effect.

 

With Bruce on his knees, pulling thumbtacks from his face Akira drops his idea of opening the crate and comes back around the corner towards Bruce. Akira interlaces his fingers, raises his hands over his head and then brings then forward for a double axe handle blow

 

*HOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUFFF!!*

 

But a low blow trumps a double axe handle blow as Bruce brings his elbow up and into contact with Akira’s soft parts. A second elbow to the crown jewels brings Akira to his knees with his hands placed on a certain throbbing body part for protection. As Akira drops to the ground Bruce manages to stand back up again, he’s quite a sight with thumbtacks still embedded in his face and all over his back and blood turning half of his face into a crimson mask.

 

“This is why he’s held the title for so long Pete, this is exactly why he’s on the verge of becoming the longest reigning Ultraviolent/Hardcore champion ever – because he can take a beating and he’s got the heart and determination of a lion.” King gushes as Bruce crawls into the driving seat of this match.

 

“Weren’t you the man that says that the only thing heart and determination will get you is an asswhooping?? Or am I mistaken here King” Pete replies catching his co-commentator in another bald face lie.

 

“You must have been thinking of someone else, maybe when you worked with Cyclone Comet or someone” King says dismissing the laughable notion that he would lie

 

Bruce grabs Akira by the back of the trunks with his right hand and uses his still hurting left hand more as a guide than to throw Akira into the side of the wooden crate. Akira’s knees slam into the side of the crate and his momentum carries him over the top of the crate flopping down on the ground with the lid half way off.

 

“Someone get a close up, get a close up of the tacks in the box”

 

“The Jack in the box?? You pervert” King replies with a straight face.

 

As requested one of the more intrepid camera men sneak a peak inside the box and sees that the bottom of the large box is covered with a layer o thumbtacks that appears to be 2-3 inches thick. Then the camera guy is unceremoniously pushed out of the way as Bruce makes his way past him with the lid to the box in his hands.

 

*WHACK!!*

 

Bruce drives the heavy lid down across Akira’s back knocking the Divine Wind to the ground. Then he raises the wood lid once more over his head and

 

*WHACK!!*

 

Drives the lumber down into Akira’s spine a second time before dropping the 7 foot by 3 foot lid on top of Akira. With a smirk the 295 pound heavy Bruce Blank puts a foot on the lid, then the other one and moments later he finds himself standing on top of Akira Kaibatsu and the lid as he flips off the crowd on both sides of the aisle.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

 

“That’s gratitude for ya – Bruce says they’re “number 1” and then they boo him” King says as the crowd doesn’t take too kindly to Bruce’s double bird salute.

 

“Why should they appreciate Bruce? He’s a no good, back stabbing bastard who hasn’t showered in close to a year” Pete says telling everyone exactly what he thinks of Bruce Blank.

 

“So they should LOVE him here in Nebr-ass-ka, he’s one of them!” the Suicide King says with a chuckle.

 

Bruce steps off the wood lid again but as he demonstrates when he lands a hard stomp on the lid, he’s far from done punishing Akira. Bruce hops down one side of the lid on his left foot keeping his right foot raised in the air, ready to bring it down on the lid once more stomping both it and Akira into the concrete floor.

 

“Nebraska is under a tornado warning!!” King yells out as Bruce breaks out the “Trailerpark Tornado” from his repertoire.

 

“You gonna make an F5 joke too?” Pete aks

 

“Nah I don’t like Brock Lesnar” King replies.

 

After stomping up one side and then down the other Bruce picks up the lid and then leans it against the guardrail right next to the box. If the crowd was negative before they turn downright bitchy as Bruce drags his thumb across his throat and then points to Akira

 

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

 

This time Bruce ignores the chants as he grabs Akira by the throat and the tights and raises him up in the air for a gorilla press. Bruce just smirks and then begins to pump his arms with the much lighter opponent while counting out loud himself.

 

ONE!!

 

TWO!!

 

But before he gets to three his left hand gives in under the strain and he accidentally drops Akira onto his shoulder instead, kinda in the position for a running power slam. After getting his focus back Bruce a moment later Bruce runs forward with Akira Kaibatsu over his shoulder, no doubt intending to power slam him into the concrete.

 

But!! ohmy.gif

 

Wait! ohmy.gif

 

Hold! ohmy.gif

 

The! ohmy.gif

 

Phone!! ohmy.gif ohmy.gif

 

At the last moment Akira reveals that he’s spend the breather Bruce unintentionally gave him to regain at least some of his senses as he manages to flip himself forward over Bruce’s body holding on to Bruce’s greasy hair for a perfectly executed stunner

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

 

Bruce’s forward momentum added to the stunner results in Bruce slamming into the crate hitting his lower ribs on the edge of the crate. One grab of a cowboy boot later and Bruce finds himself in the box full of thumbtacks.

 

“If he can just close the lid he’d have won it!! If he can close the lid Akira will have pulled victory from the jaws of defeat” Pete yells out, getting excited as it looks like Akira is ready to end this.

 

Akira grabs the lid but due to the punishment he’s taken so far in the match he’s not having an easy time putting the lid on so he ends up having to slowly drag it across the box to close it.

 

AKIRA!! AKIRA!! AKIRA!! AKIRA!!

 

The crowd is on their feet chanting Akira’s name as he’s less than a foot away from winning the match, he just has to close the lid all the way

 

Just 6 more inches

 

3

 

But that’s as far as he gets before a taped up hand reaches out of the crate and grabs hold of the edge of the lid. Akira shakes his head in disbelief when he sees that Bruce is not out of it yet but that he’s fighting back despite the thumbtacks lodged in his arm. Bruce’s right arm bulges as he puts all his strength into pushing the lid off, unfortunately for Akira the blood on his hands causes him to loose grip of the wood and the edge of the lid strikes him in the mid section with so much force that it knocks the wind out of him.

 

“I can’t believe! He was thro…” Pete starts but he’s cut off by the horrific sight of Bruce Blank as he stands up, his entire back is covered with thumbtacks, looking like a cross between a pincushion and an armadillo as he steps out of the crate

 

“It’s obvious Bruce is in a lot of pain, I mean look at him he’s got more metal in him than cruise ship” King says as Bruce leans on the edge of the crate.

 

And to add to the horror Bruce bends over and spits out something that’s a mixture of blood and thumbtacks on the floor to the disgust of everyone.

 

“Okay that’s too far even for me, what if he swallowed some??” King asks.

 

“Then he’ll be a loser tomorrow morning in the bathroom no matter what happens tonight” Pete quips, using humor to mask his disgust.

 

Bruce is in a world of hurt and doesn’t really make a move one way or the other as he leans against the edge of the crate trying to pick as many thumbtacks out of his skin as he possibly can to reduce some of the agony he’s in. Meanwhile Akira has been able to get his breath back and looks like he’s got a plan. He circles around Bruce to get the big man between himself and the wooden crate. Then he calls out to get Bruce’s attention

 

“Don’t call attention to yourse… “ is all Pete can say before Akira leaps into the air for a drop kick.

 

But the moment Akira leaps into the air Bruce takes 2 steps forward and end up catching Akira’s legs under his arms locking them around the Divine Wind’s lower legs. Then he lets himself fall backwards using his momentum and weight to catapult Akira up into the air over himself

 

And flipping into the wooden crate full of thumbtacks.

 

“OH SWEET JOHANNA!!” is all Longdogger Pete can say as they can only imagine the world of pain that Akira is in right now.

 

Bruce crawls over on his hands and knees to where the lid is still rested against the crate and starts to slide it into position. Once he’s got it laying on top of the crate Bruce pulls himself up and slowly uses his body weight to slide the lid across the crate

 

1 foot away from being closed

 

Only 6 more inches

 

Then 3

 

Until

 

*DING*DING*DING*DING*

 

Nick Soapdish finally has something to do in the match as he calls for the bell the second the lid is closed completely.

 

“The winner of the match – ahead two wins to one, BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!!!”

 

Even though his music begins to play and he’s announced as the winner Bruce doesn’t even move as he lays draped over the crate, breathing heavily and bleeding from an uncountable number of thumbtacks stuck in his back, face, arms and hands.

 

“Bruce won but at what price? He is up in the series but he’s not even able to walk out of here under his own power right now” Pete says as Lockdown fades to a much needed, hopefully not that bloody and violent, commercial break.

[Justice 0]

Pete: “Welcome back to the Qwest Center in Omaha and what may be the best episode of Lockdown we’ve seen in months…”

 

King: “At last the wicked family-friendly rules are dead!”

 

Pete: “…And we’re getting ready for what should be an amazing main event. In a rematch of their classic match at Genesis VI, Jay Hawke will defend the International Championship against Zyon, the cruiserweight champion, in a Canadian Death Match.”

 

King: “And why is only Hawke’s title on the line?”

 

Pete: “Because Jay Hawke has held the title for seven months while Zyon just won his three weeks ago.”

 

King: “Right. And Hawke’s defended his championship more recently, so in reality, Zyon should put his belt up here, not Hawke.”

 

Pete: “At any rate, the rules are quite interesting here. To win, you have to score a combined ten count, with only three counts or greater counting. How does that factor into this match tonight?”

 

King: “It means we’re going to be here all night. First off, as a wrestler, you’re conditioned to think that a three-count wins the match, so the instinct is to kick out at two. Second, these two guys went nearly forty minutes back at Genesis VI before gaining one three count. Getting a series of three counts? Jesus, if this goes at the Genesis pace, it could be Genesis VII before this match ends.”

 

Pete: “This definitely has the potential to be a classic confrontation. With that, we go to Funyon for the opening introductions.”

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a Canadian Death Match for the SWF International Championship!”

 

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

 

 

Funyon: “Here are the rules. There are no disqualifications or countouts, nor are there submissions. The only way to win this match is to score a combined pinfall count of ten, with only pinfall counts of three or more contributing to the score.”

 

 

The arena goes black as the words “I’m Born”, “I’m Alive”, and “I Breathe” alternate on the Smarktron. “Vitamin” by Incubus kicks in as the crowd immediately goes into a frenzy.

 

Funyon: “Introducing first, the challenger. From Elkhart, Indiana, and weighing in at an even 200 pounds. He is the reigning SWF Cruiserweight Champion … ‘the Unique Youth’ … ZYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYON!”

 

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

 

 

After a moment of build the young Zyon emerges through the curtain, and pauses at the top of the ramp. Zyon scans the excited audience before busting out an innocent grin as he sprints down the ramp. Zyon leaps on to the ring apron before flipping into the ring with a simple leap and twist of the wrist. Once in the ring, Zyon energetically performs a simple head bang before lifting one arm into the air, ending the entrance.

 

Pete: “Listen to this capacity crowd. These fans want to see a title change tonight, King!”

 

King: “But you know as well as I do that Jay Hawke isn’t going to lie down for Zyon or anybody else. He might have the crowd on his side, but Zyon has to pin Hawke for at least ten seconds to win the International Title, and since he’s yet to do it for three seconds in a title match, I doubt he can do it.”

 

Pete: “But Zyon has, in fact, scored more pinfall victories over Hawke in sanctioned matches than anybody else in the SWF.”

 

King: “In tags and non-title matches. They mean nothing.”

 

The music changes to “Learning to Fly” by Pink Floyd, thankfully ending the argument between Longdogger Pete and Suicide King. As the lights dim, Funyon introduces the opponent…

 

“And his opponent. Hailing from the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio, and weighing in at 215 pounds. He is the reigning and defending SWF International Champion … ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWKE!”

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

The International Champion takes the booing in stride as always, heading to the ring as the spotlight illuminates his sequined robe. As Jay Hawke begins ascending the steel ring steps to enter the ring, the fans begin their trademarked chant:

 

 

“JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!”

 

 

Hawke chuckles at the chants -- after all, if seven months as champion doesn’t teach them, nothing will -- and removes his robe, revealing his beautiful championship belt. After folding his robe and handing it to a ring attendant, Hawke takes off the title belt, kisses it, and hands it to senior referee Matthew Kivell. Matthew Kivell holds the belt into the air for the entire crowd to see it is, in fact, on the line, and you can sense a tension in the air. Zyon came so close last time he got a shot, and you can almost feel the title change coming. Zyon seems destined to win, much like the Pittsburgh Steelers upsetting the Indianapolis Colts.

 

Pete: “What a match this is going to be, King. Their match at Genesis was a match of the year candidate.”

 

King: “And it’s going to be almost impossible to top that match, but I can’t wait to see them try.”

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

Suicide King doesn’t have to wait long. Both wrestlers move to the center of the ring, staring each other down, neither man wanting to blink just in case it shows weakness. They move in, and Hawke goes for a lockup, but Zyon quickly sneaks behind the International Champion and takes him down with a schoolboy rollup…

 

 

ONE

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

Shoulder up.

 

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

 

 

King: “What?”

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the score is Zyon 3, Jay Hawke 0!”

 

Jay Hawke quickly gets to his feet and tries to take Zyon down with a lariat, but Zyon ducks underneath and hooks both of the Dean’s arms before falling backwards into a crucifix…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- kickout. Jay Hawke quickly rolls to the arena floor to try to gather his bearings, and Zyon plays to the crowd’s overwhelming positive response.

 

Pete: “Unbelievable! Zyon picked up three quick points in the first ten seconds of the match, and the International Champion seems flustered!”

 

King: “Well, the advantage of these rules is that one fluke pin isn’t enough to win the championship, but I have to admit I’m in absolute shock right now!”

 

Jay Hawke takes advantage of the no countouts rule, standing on the concrete floor trying to figure out what in the hell went wrong. After a moment, he reenters the ring, trying to figure out his strategy. They move in again, and this time they do lock up collar-and-elbow. Jay Hawke takes Zyon down to the mat with a snap arm drag and smiles, as even that one move is enough to bring his confidence back.

 

Pete: “Do you believe this? One move and Hawke thinks he’s got things well in hand.”

 

King: “Hey, one big move might be enough to get a ten count.”

 

Pete: “But an arm drag?”

 

King: “This is wrestling. You’ve seen stranger things happen.”

 

They lock up again, and this time it’s Zyon taking Hawke down with a snap arm drag. The Dean of Wrestling quickly gets to his feet, but the challenger is right there to take him back down with a dropkick. Hawke is back up again, and another dropkick catches the International Champion in the chin. Jay Hawke rolls to the outside to catch a breather, but Zyon sets himself, and the crowd begins to buzz…

 

King: “Look out, Jay! Look out!”

 

…as Zyon runs forward and dives through the ropes, twisting in midair as he collides with Jay Hawke just as Hawke turns toward the ring.

 

Pete: “Impressive tope con hilo by the challenger, and he’s taking the fight right to Jay Hawke tonight!”

 

King: “Well, Zyon has been wrestling every match since he returned from his injury like it’s his last! And if he misses one of those moves, it just might be his last match, especially against a technician like Jay Hawke!”

 

Knowing he can’t win the title on the floor, Zyon grabs Jay Hawke and rolls him into the ring. As Jay gets to his feet, the Unique Youth sets himself on the ring apron. Hawke turns around, only to see Zyon use the top rope as a springboard and catch the Dean with two flat right in the face. The crowd erupts as Zyon goes for the pin:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

Pete: “Only a count of two, and this match has been all Zyon at this point!”

 

King: “Hawke will find a way to get on track. He’s got everything under control!”

 

Pete: “Well, he can’t get himself to disqualified to keep the title like he did before he injured Wildchild a couple of weeks ago!”

 

Jay Hawke rolls over to the corner, thinking the ropes will provide the safety he needs to catch a breather. Unfortunately for him, he actually sets his challenger up beautifully, and Zyon once again drives his feet into Hawke’s skull with an elevated basement dropkick. Hawke slumps to the mat and rolls to the floor again as the crowd erupts.

 

 

ZY-ON!

ZY-ON!

ZY-ON!

 

 

The crowd’s cheers fire up the cruiserweight champion even more, and he grabs the top rope as the International Champion struggles to his feet. Zyon then takes to the air, slingshotting himself over the top rope and landing on his opponent with a cross body block.

 

Pete: “Tremendous pescadoe by Zyon there!”

 

King: “I don’t believe this! No matter what Jay Hawke does, he just can’t get away from Zyon’s flashy offense!”

 

Pete: “Hawke was able to keep Zyon grounded at Genesis, and that largely led to the victory, but tonight he’s been unable to do so.”

 

Zyon once again rolls Hawke into the ring. He again sets himself up on the ring apron, and this time Hawke isn’t moving. Zyon again slingshots himself over the top rope, driving a leg across the champion’s chest before once again going for the cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- kickout.

 

Pete: “Another near fall! Zyon might pitch a shutout at this rate!”

 

King: “No way! He can’t! He just can’t!”

 

Pete: “You don’t sound convinced!”

 

King: “Shut up!”

 

With Hawke still down on the mat, Zyon mounts himself on top of him and begins to rain down on the International Champion with forearm and elbow strikes to the head. He then stands up, pulling Hawke up to his feet while doing so. Zyon picks up Hawke and swings him around, dropping him onto his head with an Aero driver. Zyon points to the corner, and the crowd erupts knowing what’s coming next.

 

Pete: “Aero Driver by Zyon, and I think he’s going for the Final Flash right here!”

 

King: “He might be, but he’d better be careful that he doesn’t take too much time getting up there!”

 

Zyon climbs to the top turnbuckle, and, after briefly acknowledging the crowd, leaps off the buckle, doing a full front flip before coming down back-first…

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

 

…right onto the knees of the International Champion.

 

King: “What did I tell you, Pete? Zyon went for the end of the match way too soon, wasted just a split-second on that top rope to pander to these fans, and now Jay Hawke’s got the advantage!”

 

Pete: “And he did it by getting a solid shot into Zyon’s back, which is what kept him out of action for over two months!”

 

King: “And watch that back become a bulls-eye for the champion here.”

 

Indeed, Hawke rolls to his feet, and he sees Zyon on his knees, putting his hand over his back like he’s in pain. He immediately goes after it, driving a knee into the back to bring Zyon down to the mat. Hawke takes advantage of Zyon’s prone state and drives a series of knees into the back, finishing it off by pulling back on Zyon’s chin while he grinds the knee into the spine.

 

King: “And here is where Jay Hawke is at his finest. He is targeting one particular part of the body -- one that has a weakness at that -- and is wearing him down with it.”

 

Pete: “But remember, Hawke can’t win this one by submission. It’s pinfalls totaling ten full counts.”

 

King: “True, but if Zyon can’t move because he has a broken back, how is he supposed to kick out of a cover?”

 

Pete: “Well, that’s probably a good point.”

 

Jay Hawke releases the chinlock, then drives the knee into the back for good measure. Hawke then pulls Zyon to his feet and levels him a couple of European uppercuts, the last one sending the Unique Youth back into the corner. Hawke moves in and, summoning every bit of leverage he possibly can, whips Zyon so hard into the opposite turnbuckle that Zyon arches his back before collapsing to the canvas. The Dean pounces, hoping to at the very least tie the contest:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- kickout. Undaunted, Jay Hawke lifts Zyon up, dropping him over his knee with a backbreaker. Hawke goes for the pin again:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- Kickout!

 

Pete: “A couple of near falls for Jay Hawke, but he’s been relentless on that back since countering the Final Flash a few moments ago!”

 

Zyon tries to pull himself to his feet, but Hawke puts Zyon in a standing head scissors while hooking in a waistlock. Jay Hawke then lifts Zyon into the air, bringing him over the shoulder and pulling down with all the pressure on the Unique Youth’s back.

 

Pete: “How about this? Jay Hawke busts out the Sammartino backbreaker!”

 

King: “Bruno himself would be proud! All the pressure on the back of the challenger, and he might be moments away from quitting!”

 

Pete: “But again, submissions don’t count!”

 

King: “Now, but he might be willing to stay down for ten seconds if his back’s in enough pain!”

 

The pain is etched on Zyon’s face as he tries to ignore it but can’t. And since even tapping out wouldn’t necessarily let him off the hook, he needs to find a way to escape. Zyon begins flailing his legs, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure. It works momentarily, as he frees himself and lands on his feet behind Jay Hawke. However, Zyon clutches at the back instinctively, and Jay Hawke turns and drives his knee into the small of his opponent’s back. The force of the knee sends Zyon crashing head first into the turnbuckle, and Jay Hawke immediately rolls Zyon into a cradle:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

Jay Hawke hooks the tights.

 

THREE!

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

FOUR!

 

Zyon finally kicks out, but the damage has been done.

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the score is now Jay Hawke 4, Zyon 3.”

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Pete: “Jay Hawke takes the lead, but he needed a handful of tights to do it!”

 

King: “Hey. Matthew Kivell didn’t see it, which means the pin counts. And all Hawke needs to do is keep working the back, and it’ll be over sooner rather than later.”

 

Which is exactly what the International Champion is thinking. He begins to drive his forearm into Zyon’s already-weakened back, forcing his challenger to his knees. A double-axhandle to the back knocks Zyon onto his stomach, and Hawke stomps the back once for good measure. Hawke then hooks his feet around the back of Zyon’s legs, grabs him by the waist, and leans back, pulling Zyon until both men are parallel to each other with their backs toward the mat.

 

Pete: “Excellent surfboard here by the champion.”

 

King: “Pressure on the knees, the arms, and the back. Simply a hold that hurts every major appendage on your body.”

 

Pete: “But Hawke needs to make sure his own shoulders don’t fall to the mat here, or Zyon could end up retaking the lead.”

 

Struggling to maintain the position of the hold, Hawke leans backwards, bringing Zyon backwards himself until Zyon’s shoulder blades fall onto the mat:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- Zyon rolls to the right to kick out, alleviating Hawke’s grip on the hold at the same time.

 

King: “He got him! Three more points for Jay Hawke!”

 

Pete: “No! Matthew Kivell is saying it was only a two count!”

 

King: “Then somebody send Kivell back to elementary school! That was three!”

 

Zyon struggles to pull himself to his feet again. Hawke drives another forearm into Zyon’s back, then picks him up into a side slam position, only to drop him back-first across the knee. Jay Hawke immediately goes for the pin:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout. Undaunted, Jay Hawke makes his move, going over to Zyon’s feet and hooking them underneath his arms. Hawke then spins around, turning Zyon over onto his stomach and sitting back, putting all the pressure onto his challenger’s back.

 

Pete: “And Jay Hawke has the Boston crab applied here!”

 

King: “This is why you can never allow Jay Hawke to see your weaknesses! The second that Zyon began to favor his back, Jay Hawke began to do his damage on his opponent. Now, the International Champion is sitting on his back in the center of the ring…”

 

 

LET’S GO ZY-ON!

 

King: “And the chants from these fans are doing nothing to cut down on the pain!”

 

 

LET’S GO ZY-ON!

LET’S GO ZY-ON!

 

But Zyon does hear the chants from the fans, and he begins to show some signs of life. Zyon begins to crawl to the ropes, desperate to get to them to break the hold. He crawls slowly…

 

 

….

 

 

Slowly…

 

 

…

 

 

Think turtle slow here.

 

 

…

 

 

As the crowd continues their chants, Zyon reaches out for the ropes, six inches away from what he sees as his salvation…

 

 

…

 

 

…only for Jay Hawke to drag Zyon back into the center of the ring and tighten the hold by kneeling down with a knee to the back of his neck.

 

Pete: “No! Zyon was so close!”

 

King: “So close and yet so far! And the beautiful thing is that even if he taps out here, that won’t force the break either! Submissions don’t count!”

 

With that, the air has left the sails of the fans. Zyon struggles to fight the pain, and he tries to crawl forward again. The process is even slower, as you try crawling with a knee digging into the back of your neck and see how well you move. But he does crawl.

 

…

 

Slowly.

 

 

…

 

 

Slowly.

 

 

…

 

 

We’re taking getting passed up by a snail here.

 

 

…

 

 

…

 

 

And Zyon does reach the ropes this time, and Matthew Kivell asks for a break.

 

…

 

“Like hell!”

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

Pete: “Damn it! Jay Hawke is refusing to release the Boston crab here, King!”

 

King: “Brilliant! He doesn’t have to! There are no disqualifications in a Canadian Death Match!”

 

Pete: “But this is a clear attempt to injure a man, not to win a match!”

 

King: “Hey, family-friendly rules no longer apply! Hawke can try to injure the man if he wants to!”

 

Jay Hawke finally gives in to Kivell’s request to release the hold, although it’s definitely not because he’s a nice guy. Hawke then proceeds to stomp on Zyon’s back repeatedly, doing so essentially nonstop until Zyon rolls harmlessly to the arena floor.

 

Pete: “Zyon rolling out to the concrete floor, and he may be trying to buy himself some time like Hawke was earlier.”

 

King: “But I don’t think he’s going to get the chance, Pete. Jay Hawke has already made his move to the arena floor!”

 

Pete: “Come on!”

 

King: “Hey. You have to win it in the ring. You can’t win this match on the concrete floor.”

 

But you can hurt your opponent on the floor, which is exactly what the Dean of Professional Wrestling has set out to do. As the Unique Youth stands up, Jay Hawke leans into his midsection with his shoulder and pushes forward, driving the small of Zyon’s back into the corner of the ring apron. And again. And a third time. Zyon begins to slump forward, but Jay Hawke holds him up. Forearm smash, and Hawke spins Zyon into the position he wants him in, then fires him across the concrete floor. Zyon hits the steel guardrail right where the aisle meets ringside, flipping over the corner of the guardrail and landing harmlessly…sort of…in the entranceway.

 

Pete: “Dear God. What a tumble over the guardrail.”

 

King: “Have you ever seen Jay Hawke with the vicious streak we’ve seen out of him these last two weeks or so?”

 

Pete: “No, never.”

 

King: “I’ve got to say I like it, too.”

 

Pete: “You would.”

 

Jay Hawke walks over to Zyon and picks him up, ready to slam him onto the floor. Then he gets another idea. He walks over to the very corner of the guardrail that Zyon just tumbled over and slams him onto that, driving the back over two pieces of steel simultaneously.

 

Pete: “Enough is enough!”

 

King: “Hey, if Zyon wants it to stop, all he has to do is reenter the ring and allow Jay Hawke to pin him for six seconds. That’s it.”

 

Jay Hawke drags Zyon to the ring and rolls him back inside, then slides back in and covers Zyon for the sure pin:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- NO!

 

King: “Just like th-- WHAT?”

 

Pete: “Zyon refuses to fall further behind in this contest! He kicks out unbelievably, and the score remains 4-3!”

 

King: “Does this kid have a death wish or something?”

 

Beginning to get frustrated, Jay Hawke mounts himself on top of Zyon and begins leveling him with forearm and elbow strikes, showing even he can learn something from stablemate JJ Johnson. Zyon covers up, trying to block some of the blows, so Hawke gets up and kicks him in the ribs instead. The International Champion then pulls the Cruiserweight Champion to his feet, then once again whips him hard into the turnbuckle. Zyon staggers forward, trying to remain on his feet, only for Jay to charge him and take him down with a leg lariat underneath the chin. Jay Hawke goes for the pin:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- and Zyon gets the left shoulder up.

 

King: “Stay down, kid! You’re going to end up in a wheelchair if you keep trying to kick out!”

 

Jay Hawke again brings Zyon to his feet, this time driving a series of elbows into the kidney before locking Zyon into a tight waistlock. Hawke lifts him backwards, taking him over into a picture-perfect German suplex:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- kickout!

 

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

 

King: “Dammit!”

 

Pete: “Zyon refuses to allow himself to fall further behind in this contest!”

 

King: “And it’s going to cost him his career! Two back injuries in three months or so? He’ll never come back from that!”

 

Jay Hawke once again pulls Zyon to his feet, sensing that high impact moves are the way to go. He locks Zyon into a front facelock, then takes the Unique Youth over with a picture-perfect vertical suplex that jars the back and spine. Hawke goes right into another cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout. Wasting no time, Jay Hawke brings Zyon back to his feet again, this time going for yet another vertical suplex but snapping him down to the canvas with it. Another cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

TH -- kickout. Hawke slams the mat in frustration as he once again pulls Zyon to his feet. Hawke goes for another suplex, but this time Zyon gets his foot behind Hawke’s to prevent the takeover. Zyon then drives his knee repeatedly into Jay Hawke’s midsection, and the crowd begins to erupt, sensing the big comeback. Zyon goes to lift Hawke for the suplex, but he barely gets the champion off his feet before favoring the back and deflating the crowd. Hawke, maintaining the suplex setup position, backs up a few steps, then lifts Zyon into the air, holding him upside-down for a few seconds before falling backwards and driving Zyon back-first onto the top turnbuckle.

 

 

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

Pete: “Oh my God…”

 

Zyon falls off the turnbuckle and collapses to the mat. Jay Hawke drags Zyon into the center of the ring, hooks the far leg, and covers:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

SI -- kickout.

 

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

 

King: “Keep cheering, morons, but it’s only a matter of time right now!”

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, that was a five count, increasing Jay Hawke’s lead to 9-3!”

 

Pete: “The International Champion came less than a second away from winning the match and retaining his championship right there, and now it only takes one standard pinfall to win the match.”

 

King: “While Zyon in all probability still needs two falls, possibly three. And I’m not sure his back is going to hold up long enough for him to get them.”

 

Jay Hawke once again pulls Zyon to his feet. Hawke sets up for the suplex into the corner again, but Zyon kicks his legs as Hawke tries to lift him and quickly turns it into a small package:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

Kickout.

 

 

YAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

 

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, that was a three count for Zyon, cutting Jay Hawke’s lead to 9-6!”

 

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

 

 

Pete: “And that’s how quickly Zyon can get a pin and win the championship, King!”

 

Jay Hawke immediately hops to his feet and takes Zyon down with a killer lariat.

 

King: “And that’s how quickly he can get his momentum killed. He still needs a four-count to win it, and he hasn’t gotten one of those yet!”

 

Hawke pulls the Unique Youth to his feet and locks him into a reverse headlock, then drops down, driving the back of Zyon’s neck over the knee. Hawke immediately goes for a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- kickout! Wasting no time, Jay Hawke gets to his feet and drops a leg across his chest, immediately going into another cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- kickout.

 

“DAMMIT!”

 

Pete: “And the frustration is beginning to set in on Jay Hawke here! Much like at Genesis, he has done nearly everything he can think of to put Zyon away, but Zyon has absolutely no quit left in him!”

 

King: “He might not have any quit in him, but he’s hurting, Pete! And being hurt is not the position to be in when you’re in the ring with Jay Hawke!”

 

Jay Hawke pulls Zyon to his feet, driving a couple of knees into the midsection as he does so. With Zyon doubled over, Jay Hawke hooks both of Zyon’s arms and lifts him into the air, flipping him over so Zyon’s back lands on Hawke’s knee.

 

Pete: “A double underhook backbreaker, and Hawke goes for yet another cover.”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- kickout!

 

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

 

 

Pete: “And Zyon kicks out yet again!”

 

Clearly running off of frustration, the International Champion rolls out to the concrete floor and grabs the title belt off of the timekeeper’s table.

 

Pete: “Oh come on! This is what he used to injure Wildchild two weeks ago!”

 

King: “And this time, there are no disqualifications! He can use it to pin Zyon and retain the championship right now!”

 

Jay Hawke rolls into the ring and stands up, waiting for Zyon to return to his feet. Zyon pulls himself to his knees, then lunges forward to catch Hawke with a shoulder to the gut to double him over. Then, like a flash, he gets to his feet and does a full backflip, kicking Jay Hawke in the face on the way over and sending the title belt flying out of his hands. The belt lands in the corner of the ring nearest Zyon, and Hawke lands flat on his back on the canvas.

 

Pete: “Flash Kick! Cover that man and take the championship right now!”

 

King: “He can’t, Pete! That move took every bit of strength his back had left to execute! There is absolutely no way he can cover Hawke here!”

 

Zyon grimaces in pain, the effects of nearly fifteen minutes of punishment to the back taking their toll. However, he does one have an equalizer and begins crawling toward it…

 

 

…

 

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

 

Pete: “Zyon has grabbed the International Title belt!”

 

King: “Get your damn hands off that! That isn’t yours!”

 

Zyon pulls himself to his feet and turns, swinging at the International Champion as he makes his way to his feet.

 

 

SMACK!

 

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

 

Pete: “HE HIT HIM WITH THE BELT!”

 

King: “NO!”

 

Pete: “The cover!”

 

 

ONE!

 

King: “NO!”

 

TWO!

 

Pete: “He needs a four count!”

 

THREE!

 

Pete: “One more!”

 

FOU -- NO! Jay Hawke just barely rolls the right shoulder up.

 

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAA -- BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, Zyon pins Jay Hawke for a three count, evening this contest at 9-9!”

 

King: “I can’t believe this!”

 

Pete: “Zyon has come from six points down to even the match at nine counts apiece, and he’s one pinfall away from winning the International Championship!”

 

Zyon pulls himself to his feet, obviously hurting from all the punishment to his back but able to ignore it with the adrenaline flowing, Jay Hawke also pulls himself to his feet, and Zyon is there to lock in a bear hug and turn the champion over into a belly-to-belly suplex, making sure to land on top of the champion for the cover so as not to do any unnecessary damage to the back:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- NO!

 

King: “That was too close! Come on, Jay!”

 

Zyon struggles to pull Jay Hawke back off the canvas and onto his feet. Zyon sets him up for a suplex, but he favors his back trying to take him over. He goes for it again, but again he favors his back before he can lift him. He tries a third time and lifts him a few inches off the mat before simply falling down and driving the International Champion onto his head. Zyon grimaces in pain as he turns for the cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- NO!

 

Pete: “I think Zyon went for the snap brain buster there, but he couldn’t get the full effect with his back hurt as badly as it is!”

 

King: “And if he does that with a healthy back, he quite possibly wins the match right there.”

 

Both combatants struggle to pull themselves to their feet. Zyon catches Hawke with a couple of forearm strikes to the face, then hooks Hawke’s leg and head and drives him down face-first to the mat with a reverse Russian legsweep. Hawke rolls onto his back as Zyon gets to his knees, pointing to the top rope.

 

King: “What is he thinking about here?”

 

Pete: “I think he’s going to the top rope! He wants to win the title with the Final Flash!”

 

King: “That’s stupid! As bad as his back’s hurting, it will take him forever to get to the top rope!”

 

It does take Zyon longer than normal to climb to the top turnbuckle, but with the adrenaline flowing the way it is, not as much time as you’d think. Zyon tries to steady his shaky legs, then leaps, doing the forward leap that is the Final Flash…

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

…and landing back-first onto the title belt that Jay Hawke has conveniently held in front of him.

 

Pete: “Oh no!”

 

King: “Oh yes!”

 

Jay Hawke rolls into the cover before Zyon even has a chance to catch his breath:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

King: “He did it! Son of a bitch, the champion pulled it off!”

 

Funyon: “In 19 minutes 38 seconds … the winner of this contest, by a score of 12-9 … and still the SWF International Champion … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!”

 

Pete: “In the end, it was all that work to the back that did Zyon in, as he took too much time going for the finishing move and hit the title belt instead of--”

 

Pete gets cut off in mid-sentence by Jay Hawke leveling Zyon in the back with the championship belt.

 

Pete: “--what the hell is he doing?”

 

King: “Finishing what he started!”

 

Pete: “Dammit! The match is already over!”

 

Jay Hawke wastes no time locking in a camel clutch, sitting back on Zyon with all the weight he can muster.

 

Pete: “And into the camel clutch! I thought he said he respected Zyon!”

 

King: “He does. Why do you think he’s trying to eliminate the competition?”

 

Jay Hawke pulls back even further on the hold when suddenly the crowd erupts. In the corner of the screen, we see Wildchild spring boarding off of the top rope, catching Jay Hawke in the back of the head with a dropkick that sends him out of the ring.

 

Pete: “WILDCHILD IS HERE! Wildchild has just saved Zyon from permanent injury!”

 

King: “Yeah, but he’d better be careful, because I don’t think there’s anybody in the SWF that will be there to save him if Hawke gets his hands on him again!”

 

Jay Hawke reaches into the ring just long enough to grab his championship belt as Wildchild kneels down to check on Zyon, keeping one eye on Hawke the whole time. Hawke holds the title belt into the air to the loud boos from the crowd as he walks back to the locker room.

 

Pete: “What a disgusting display.”

 

King: “You really think so? I quite enjoyed that.”

 

Pete: “Somewhere down the line, Hawke is going to have to face Wildchild for that championship. And when he does, he’ll be in for a rude awakening.”

 

King: “If you say so.”

 

Pete: “Let’s get out of here. See you next week on Smarkdown, everybody!”

[Justice 0]

"What the hell, Joseph?"

 

Peters looks up, very pleased with himself, to see an equally pleased Tom Flesher standing in his doorway.

 

"When I told you to call Robert, I was thinking you might get a solution a couple of weeks from now... not, you know, two days."

 

Joseph's response is to hold up a bottle of champagne.

 

"Have a cigar, and a drink."

 

Joseph hands Tom a Frost Brand Cigar, then fills up two glasses and hands one to Tom, who takes a sip.

 

"... horse piss."

 

"Cheapest bottle I could find."

 

*clink*

 

They tap their glasses together, and take another swig.

 

"I have to know - how did you do it?"

 

"How did I do it? You pointed me to Frost - I should be thanking you."

 

"I knew he knew people - I didn't know he knew people desperate enough to do this..."

 

"Well," Peters chuckles, "when you're desperate, you do desperate things," then downs the rest of his glass. He starts to pour himself another, while Tom just looks at him, now maybe a bit worried.

 

"How'd you get them so fast?"

 

"I made them one hell of a deal, that's how."

 

Peters stands up, and begins a slow walk around the room, because it seems like what you're saying is more important when you do that.

 

"I knew that any new sponsors we got would be hit just as hard by those nut-job censor groups... you know how it is, they organize boycotts of products advertised on the show, they stage protests, blah blah blah... I knew Robert wouldn't care either way, but I had to give our new sponsors a guarentee that they wouldn't lose any money if the shit hit the fan."

 

Tom, highly amused (more at the fact that Joseph is getting drunk than anything else), asks "What did you give them?"

 

Peters moves to the door, making sure no one is outside.

 

"Promise not to tell anyone? I mean, I'll have to tell everyone soon enough, but I want them to at least celebrate tonight."

 

"My lips are sealed."

 

Peters checks the door one more time, then moves back to his desk and picks up a thick folder, and tosses it to Tom. He opens it, and begins perusing the contents.

 

"... these are the contracts our wrestlers are signed under-"

 

"Almost - they're the new contracts."

 

"New?" Flesher's eyes go wide.

 

"Don't worry, don't worry, they're identical to the old ones, except one... one little thing."

 

Tom keeps scanning the pages, until his eyes rest on a small, almost unnoticeable clause buried deep in the back pages. He reads it to himself, as Joseph waits. Slowly but surely, Tom's eyes widen again.

 

"... if I'm reading this correctly... the new contracts require... free endorsements, from SWF Superstars?"

 

"Ding ding ding ding, we have a winner!" Joseph shouts, just a little too loud, before sipping his champagne again. "In order to woo our new sponsors, I had to guarentee them a way to recoup anything those wimpy-ass parent groups cost them."

 

"So you lend them our talent, for their commercials and advertisements... for free..."

 

"Exactly. Celebrity selling power, minus the ungodly cost of celebrities... now, now don't worry - they can still pursue endorsement deals outside of our immediate sponsors, but for the time being, their contract will require them to appear in commercials for our benefactors."

 

Tom grins, half amusement and half amazement. "This is gutsy, Joe. I'm not sure they'll be too happy about it."

 

"It fixes my immediate problems - that's what matters."

 

"You could have taken your time with this - switched sponsors a few months down the road, and not had to give up this much."

 

"I could have, yeah, but... I was just so sick of those assholes... of this namby pamby fuzzy wuzzy family friendly nonsense... I don't think I could've taken another show without losing it, Tom. I really don't. I don't think the ratings could have taken it either. They're going to jump, you know... now that we've tossed Family Friendly out on its ass, they're going to come back."

 

"I hope so... for your sake."

 

Joseph stops... grins... and pours himself another glass. He tilts the bottle to Tom, who shakes his head.

 

"Nah, I gotta get going."

 

"Ok then... hey - want some cigars for the road? Tacos?"

 

"No thanks. I'll see you later, Joe."

 

"Ok... seeya," says Peters, and he waves as Tom steps out, closing the door behind him. Peters talks a slow, winding walk back to his desk, plops down in his chair, and has another drink.

 

All in all, this has been a very good day.

 

SWF Lockdown - 1/18/06

Rule of Law Productions © 2006

The SWF: “Raising Workrate by Typing Faster”

[Justice 0]

Excellent, excellent show. I'll explain the whole 'Sponsors' thing in the card, which will be up in about an hour or so.

 

Again, great show! Keep it up!