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SWF STORM - March 3rd!

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“Wes Davenport, I know you’re in there!”



“You come out this instant young man!”



With Storm 5 minutes from going to air, Joseph Peters stands in front of the locker room of, you guessed it, Wes Davenport. Joe bangs on the door relentlessly, hootin’ and hollerin’, but the thespian refuses to come out, sulking as he clutches onto his Saskatchewan Film Festival award and curling up into the fetal position on the floor.


“I’m going to give you until the count of five, Wes! If you don’t come out, you’ll be in mighty big trouble mister!”


Wes’ eyes bulge from their sockets.




The door flies open.


“I’m sorry Joe, I’m sorry!”


The actor looks down at Peters, trying to regain his composure. Joe looks up at the actor, swearing he had been crying. Davenport shuffles about nervously. It’s clear something is wrong, but unfortunately, Peters isn’t in the mood to sympathize.


“Where the HELL have you been these past few weeks, Wes?” Peters shouts, spit flying and arms waving. “One night, you go from, let’s face it, relative obscurity, to becoming one of the hottest stars I have, and then you up and disappear! You better have a DAMN good reason for screwing with my schedule!”


“I’m sorry, Boss, really I am,” Wes stutters out, almost as if his name were Lenny, and Joseph was George. “It’s just… since winning the Clusterfuck, I’ve been having these uncontrollable feelings of… dread. You see, since I was a boy, I-“


“Can we skip this track and move on, Wes? Storm is fast approaching, there are things to organize, people to meet, and it’s absolute chaos around here.”


Tumbleweed passes by.


“Well, you know us actors, Joe; we can be a little… temperamental.”


Peters grunts.


“I’ve just felt so claustrophobic, so smothered… there’s just too much pressure. At least with movies, I knew what was going to happen, there’s a plot, there’s an ending, but now, I… just don’t know if I can cut it.”


There’s a pause... A long pause. Joe lets out a sigh.


“Wes,” Peters replies, looking elsewhere in exasperation, “I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but you’re fucking six foot five. You’re what, two hundred and sixty pounds? You’ve got a power style the likes I haven’t seen in god knows, and you’re dangerously close to getting your rhythm back. This isn’t acting, Wes. This is all about deep hurting, and you’ve got all the tools to do it, now enough of this wussy bullshit!”


Wes looks up, his eyes gleaming, as if he were just waiting for someone to say those words.


“Thanks Joe, you know, you’ve been a real friend to me this past thirty seconds,” Wes puts his hand on Peters shoulder. Joseph shifts uncomfortably. “Thanks for the kind words, I won’t forget it.”


“Yeah, sure, Wes,” Joe responds, trying to calm himself. “Now that you’re back with us, we’ll have to find something for you to do, perhaps a match…”


He thinks for a moment, before calling out, “Janet!”


“Aye?” A distinct Irish voice is heard far down the hallway.


“Is Myers busy? I was thinking of putting him out there with Wes.” Peters smugly smiles, winking at Wes, who’s now brimming with gusto.


“What’re ya talkin’ about? The bloody man is still in traction aye!”


“Jesus, again!?”


“Dun’ take the lords name in vain now, aye?”


“Sorry, Jan,” Peters yells, secretly afraid of his secretary, who only works for him on Storm, by the way. “Well, I don’t know what to do with you, Wes-“


“How about he goes out there and… talks.” Says the man in the shadows, stepping out to reveal himself.


“Jesus, Tom, a promo?”


“Precisely, Joe,” executive consultant Thomas Flesher says, looking at Davenport. “He can always go out there and cut a promo.”


“Oh, well…” Peters hesitates. So far he had been trying to confine Wes to in-ring action only, fearing the lack of script would ruin Davenport.


With the written word behind him, Wes was a formidable force.


When using his power, he’s a machine.


But to say he blew at improv would be the understatement of the century, like saying the Clan were only a tad nasty. It’s not as if he lacks charisma, but when thrust in front of a crowd with nothing to say… he buckles under the pressure. Sure, he commentated a match, but not without having Axis helping him out via headset.


“Perfect!” The actor cries, putting his navy blue dress coat on and straightening his tie. “I can do this, no problem. I said I wouldn’t let you down Joe, and I won’t!”


With that, Wes breezes past the pair on his way to the ring.


“Hold on, Wes! Hold-“


…But the exuberant actor has flown the coop, and perhaps, torpedoed his short lived SWF career.


Tom simply smirks. Peters closes his eyes, sighs, and then looks at Flesher.


“God, I fucking hate you.”


Peters turns around and storms off in a huff, leaving Flesher to stroll into Davenport’s locker room, plonking himself on the couch, putting his feet up, and changing the channel to SWF Storm…

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The Smartmark's Wrestling Federation Presents...



(7:00pm PST, 10:00pm EST; check local listings)


So, we went from Washington to Minnesota to... Canada?


Blame JJ for that.




We head back to the glorious U S of A, and will be heading in a Westerly direction as From the Fire draws nearer! Tonight, the final first round matches of the Lethal Lottery will be decided, and the World Heavyweight Champion will be in action! Plus, we hear from the #1 Contender, and... uh... more!




The Main Event (non-title)

El Luchadore Magnifico © vs. Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix ©


---> In the spirit of keeping our World Champion tuned up, as well as giving our tag champions something to do while they wait for TLC, here comes part two! Max King went toe-to-toe with the champ a few shows ago, and now it's his partner's turn - will he fare any better?


Rules: Standard singles match.

Word Limit: 6000

Send to: realitycheck




Lethal Lottery Match (Pool A)

Stryke and Wildchild (1-1) vs. The Asian Underground (Akira Kaibatsu © and Michael Cross) (2-0)


---> The Asian Underground, Akira and Cross, are beginning to make waves in the SWF. 2-0 in the tournament has helped, and Cross's recent ascent to the #1 Contender for the Ultraviolent Title hasn't hurt either! Tonight they go up against WildStryke in their final match - another potential 3-0!


Rules: Standard tag team match.

Word Limit: 5000

Send to: janusd




Lethal Lottery Match (Pool C)

Insane Luchadore and Kevin Coyote (2-0) vs. Ced and Laberinto (0-2)


---> Insane Luchadore and Kevin Coyote get the chance to join Jimmy the Doom and Manson (and possibly SpYon) in the elite 3-0 club! To do that, though, they must face the not very dangerous Ced and the curiously unmotivated Laberinto!


Rules: Standard tag team match.

Word Limit: 5000

Send to: Evolution




Lethal Lottery Match (Crosspool)

Rush Hadrian and Todd Cortez (0-2) vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins and Zyon (2-0)


---> Team SpYon - a lean mean tag teamin' machine! 2-0 in the Lethal Lottery, their odds of moving on are very good, but WAIT! Two contendors we should not take lightly, Rush Hadrian and Todd Cortez, stand in their way! Will SpYon join the ranks of the elite 3-0, or will ToddRian knock them down a peg and even out their records?


Rules: Standard tag team match.

Word Limit: 5000

Send to: chirs3




Lethal Lottery Match (Crosspool)

Drunk and Disorderly (Amy and Bruce ©) (1-1) vs. Jay Hawke © and Arch Griffon (1-1)


--->Despite Arch Griffon and Jay Hawke's agreement to work together, they don't seem to be faring too well in the Lethal Lottery. Tonight, they go against the 1-and-1 team Drunk and Disorderly - will GriffonHawke leave the tournament empty handed, or can they salvage a win, and tank D&D's chances of moving on in the process?


Rules: Standard tag team match.

Word Limit: 5000

Send to: Justice




Opening Bout

Christian Fury vs. Ghost Machine 2.0


---> Sean Davis returns, and Fury is UPSET~! Peters wants cooler heads to prevail, so on Storm, Christian Fury gets a chance to vent against the possibly-a-robot-man himself, Ghost Machine!


Rules: Standard singles match.

Word Limit: 4500

Send to: Secret Agent




Opening Promo: WES MF'N DAVENPORT!~




Send all material (marked matches, promos, etc.) to realitycheck...

Edited by realitycheck

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The famous voice of Funyon greets us as it always does and the fireworks are set off as Storm finally kicks into gear! The fans in Montana and as rabid as the rest of the country, cheering to their hearts content, waiting on the absolute edge of their seats! As the camera pans through this sea of madness, it finally comes to a stop on our two announcers, Longdogger Pete and the Suicide King


“Welcome to all our fans watching around the country, and indeed the entire world, as we bring you another jam-packed Storm!” Pete shouts, stealing the introduction from his partner once again.


“You know, just once I’d like to have the chance to do that, but hey, after From the Fire, I might actually get my chance.”


King smirks and Pete groans, and it’s bid’ness as usual at the commentary desk. “Anyway folks, we’ve got so many great matches headed your way, including-“


Suddenly, Pete is cut off by the always cliché dimming of the house lights as the audience mutter and murmur, wondering what the sudden intrusion is all about. Their ponderings are soon put to rest as they hear the stamping feet and hand clapping of “Get Over It” begin to play, heralding the arrival of none other than…


“It’s WES DAVENPORT!” Longdogger shouts, figuring people needed reminding after not seeing him in one show. “Rather an odd time for Wes to appear, as I don’t seem to have him on my card…”


A Spotlight suddenly shines down on the entranceway, and Wes Davenport is quick to step into it, holding his arms outstretched, greeting the fans with a confident and sexy smile. The women said it, not me.


“Well, you can be sure that if Wes is out here, he’s going to make a fool of himself.” King reminds his partner, although he’s the only one who believes this. “He doesn’t have a match here tonight, so he may be out here to… talk to us.”


“Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome the Number One Contender to the SWF Title… WES DAAAVVVEEEENNNNPPPOOORRRTTTT!”


“It’s about time too.” Pete says as the crowd goes bananas for Davenport, who confidently strides down the ramp way, nodding to the fans in cool fashion. “Since his arrival here not two months ago, Wes has been silent, making his presence felt with his many victories instead, including his massive victory in the Clusterfuck, where he won the aforementioned match in the Pay Per View of the same name.”


King raises an eyebrow at Pete.


“Anyway, this should be a ground-breaking, historic event as Wes will suit up in only a few weeks, facing El Luchadore Magnifico for the SWF Title!”


“Ugh, don’t remind me,” King answers with a sickened groan. “Talk about making a mockery of the World Title. If Davenport somehow, by sheer dumb luck or act of god, wins that title, I don’t want my name associated with it, just forget I even held it.”


“I think most of us already do, King.”


Wes climbs up the steps and enters through the second rope. His very manner remains all class as he smiles at Funyon as he receives the mic.


The crowd begins to cheer, the absence of Davenport only making their hearts grow fonder.


His grip on the mic tightens. Sweat begins to drip freely from his brow, and his teeth begin to chatter. Haunting memories of speaking in front of the French audience at the Cannes Film Festival come flooding back to him.


He’s still not allowed back in France.


“I haven’t seen a man act this wooden since seeing Kingdom of Heaven.” Suicide says, remembering Orlando Bloom’s performance.


“He’s a consummate professional,” Pete replies, “He knows how to work a crowd, and how to build the tension. After all, Wes didn’t win an Uscar for nothing.”


Wes gulps. The crowd begins to stir, wondering what is happening with the Clusterfuck winner as he stands in the centre of the ring, not saying a word. Suddenly, Wes sees something in the crowd, or maybe, a someone, that puts his nerves at ease. A smile suddenly appears on his face as the microphone is slowly, but surely, raised to his lips.


Pete gasps.


King burps.







The crowd, simply put, explodes! Davenport is taken back as the crowd roar to life once again, cheering for the man who not six months ago was acting in low budget films in Uganda. He lowers his head, trying to compose himself as the cheers continue unabated.


“You know,” King says, “I have this same effect on women.”


“No you don’t.”


He finally raises his head back up, gazing out at the fans as the cheers slowly down die. Simple signs in the crowd like, “I <3 Wes!” and “Wes is oarsome!”, though shabbily constructed and lacking a spell check, make him feel… good.


“I’m Wes Davenport,” he continues, “You may remember me from the 2006 Clusterfuck…” Wes stops and smiles, “…since I won it.”


Again, the crowd roars shortly after, the events of the night not fading from their memory for a long time. King is not amused, “Oh come off it! Wes got lucky and everyone knows it! He STOLE that victory from TORU by swooping in like the untalented vulture that he is!”


“I know you’ve waited a long time to hear me, but I’ve always lived and died by the sword, and feel what I do in this ring, what I fight for, says more than any mere words can.” Wes halts for a moment. His voice is low but strong and he stands proudly in the ring, looking out at the fans with pride and confidence. At that moment, no one believes the possibility that Wes may be acting. For Wes, his natural instincts and feelings take over and his fears recede as the lights shine down and the arena falls silent to listen.


“Many of you may have seen me before, on the movie screen.” Despite the gravity of the moment, some fans look confused, having never seen Wes before now. “There, I was an actor, and often I found myself fighting nefarious men who lusted for nothing more than money and power, but every time I would prevail, and everything would be as it should be.”


“But here, right now, I find myself the number one contender to the World Title, a title held by the villainous El Luchadore Magnifico.”


Loud boos are heard from the crowd, but Wes just nods and agrees. “And even though I have no script to follow this time around, no cues from a director, and no outcome set in stone, I assure you all that come From the Fire… I will become the SWF World Heavyweight Champion, and defeat Magnifico.”



“…Trust me.


Davenport suddenly stops and hands the mic back to Funyon, who seems a little confused himself. Backstage, Flesher grins, hearing the sweet sound of silence greet Wes as he leaves the ring.


But as he begins his walk up the ramp, the crowd suddenly breaks into a round of applause! The cheers begin to fill the Metrapark Arena, and every fan is on their feet as Davenport stays in the moment, keeping his head up, remaining steadfast in his resolve.


“Is may have been short, but it was certainly sweet as the fans are whipped into a frenzy at Davenport’s heroic proclamation!”


“My god, does everything he do have to be such a song and dance?” King replies, a bad taste still left in his mouth. “I know Wes, and I know he’s still afraid of what’s ahead, and he’s still deeply insecure, but no one will listen! Not that it matters though, because at From the Fire, Magnifico will make short work of this idiot and prove me right.”


“Let’s hope you’re wrong King,” Pete responds. “These fans have rallied behind Wes and are cheering him on, and I have a feeling he may just be the man to finally slay the Dragon in Magnifico!”


“Why is everyone being so damn melodramatic all of a sudden?”


With the crowd roaring behind him, Davenport disappears behind the curtain. His heart pounds and his hands shake, but the adrenaline rush he felt was just the kick start he needed.


Then the fear of letting the fans down takes hold. The thought of losing those cheers appears in his mind.


He gulps.



Backstage, Flesher is seen by SWF employee’s as they pass Davenport’s locker room, sitting up, his eyes looking off in the distance. Peters suddenly pokes his head around the door, a huge, satisfied smile on his face.


“Tom, you’re an ideas man, and I love you!”







Flesher shotei’s the coffee table and trudges out the room.

Edited by realitycheck

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After the Storm intro gets done playing the shot does not go to the normal panning around the arena for witty signs but changes to a shot from a backstage camera approaching Bruce Blank as he sits on a steel chair by the wrestlers’ entrance door holding a barbwire bat in his hands. His brother Wayne is there as well but it seems like they’re not exactly on the same page


“Ah come on Bruce, why don’t you come back to the locker room? You already missed the Davenport bit and all, the show is starting.” Wayne asks


“No! I’m gonna sit RIGHT HERE and wait on Insane Luchador’s “surprise” – He’s not sneaking by me” Bruce says with determination.


“You’re just going to sit there?”


“Yup” Bruce says as he grips the handle of the barbwire wrapped bat even tighter.


“What if he’s already inside? What if it’s someone on the staff who retired from the ring? Someone like Janus” Wayne asks.


The word “Janus” apparently bugs Bruce as his face twitches a little, probably in the memory of the “Dust 2 Dust” match.


“No way, it can’t be him man” Bruce states


“Why not?”


“Rickmen said that it would be someone he trusts… do YOU trust Janus? Does ANYONE backstage trust Janus after he became the head rent-a-cop around here?” Bruce says sounding like he’s trying to convince himself that it can’t be Janus.


“Alright, alright so if it’s not him it can still be someone else already backstage – plenty of guys that Luchador knows from “back then” ain’t there?” Wayne asks


“A few yeah but who’d trust him after that whole “I’m dead, oh no I’m not” scam he pulled? I’m telling ya I’ve thought it over all logically and all and deducted that it has to be someone from the outside”


“Who do you think it is??”


“I dunno Bro” Bruce says as his eyes turn all shifty from side to side, they’re all out to get me – everyone wants to see me go down. Especially those who got upset when I renamed the Hardcore title… pansies.”




”OH FUCK ME!!” Bruce yells as he leaps into the air when he hears a weed whacker being fired up.


Since he’s not really “up” on SWF history Wayne doesn’t really think much of the sound of a weedwhacker and totally surprised by Bruce’s reaction.


“Check out who’s outside” Bruce says as he takes a few steps away from the door.


Wayne opens the door and spots some little scrawny guy trimming the edges of the green areas around the arena, nothing dangerous or mysterious about that.


“It’s just some little dude doing the lawn, sjesh” Wayne says.


“Oh… yeah I knew that, I knew that” Bruce says as he sits back in the chair and resumes his watch.


“What about when it’s time for your match? You can’t sit here and watch the door AND get in the ring now can ya?”


“Good point” Bruce says “You’ll watch it while I’m in the ring”


“Oh come on! I wouldn’t know who any of these guys were if they showed up in sweats – unless it’s some sort of Unholy Trinity of masked men how would I tell the difference?” Wayne asks.


“Just watch the door and tell me about everyone who comes it – it won’t be that many people, the in ring action will be underway by then” Bruce says in a stern tone


“Yessir” Wayne says, he knows there is no point in arguing with Bruce when he gets like this. “I’ll get you before your match” Wayne says and then walks away leaving Bruce in his solitary vigil by the doors.


And back to the ring for the opening match we go.

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Premised by a low buzz from the crowd, SWF Storm comes back from the blackness of post-commercial bliss...


Except that we find that the ‘low buzz’ is actually a full-hearted roar from the Montana crowd. The camera fades into the swarming throng of people in the MetraPark Arena, the huddled masses being spared from another cold Montana night with some hawt, hawt wrestling action. YEAH! The signs and banners are rather uninspired this go-around, so... Uhm...


Here’s your announce team!


“Welcome to Storm, folks!” Longdogger Pete blurts through the bursting crowd. “And that’s Storm as in sweeping through the towns we play in, and leaving a wake of destruction behind us.”


“As opposed to the perennial jobber of the past, Omega Storm,” King jumps in, where he’s not allowed.


“Uhm... King? Storm actually won a few belts back in the day.”


“... You’re kidding, right?”


“Nope. I’m in with the Fed historian.”


A beat of pause.




“As it is,” LDP continues on with a snicker, “We do have quite the entertaining card for you this evening. Several Lethal Lottery matches scatter the card, and our Main Event features two strap-holders duking it out in a non-strap match... And...” Pete shuffles through his papers... “Wait...” He looks at King. “That’s it?”


“Yeap,” King says with a nod. “Short and ending none-too-soon, just like your ‘career’ here in the SWF.” Pete scoffs.


“Mmm-hmm... You only wish, King.” And right on the heels of Pete speaking... Some funky electro-techno song busts over the speakers, and the crowd roars into applause.


“Wow,” utters Pete, “Sounds like Ghost Machine 2.0 is starting to get pretty popular.”


“Everyone always wants the newest gadgets and gizmos,” King quips. “But in no way is GM 2.0 as popular as... An Octopus!” His voice almost takes on a tone of reverence.


“Ahhhh yes,” Pete replies in a hushed tone. “An Octopus... Best match I ever saw. I heard he made a guest appearance at Joe Louis Arena for a Red Wings game. Even got to skate on the ice with Pavel Datsyuk and Chris Chelios.”


“Oh yeah, I heard about that too,” King responds. “They were extremely humbled. And I heard An Octopus shot against Manny Legace. He made 7 out of 8.”


“Yeah... Only because An Octopus shot that last one off Legace’s mask on purpose, just to show him who was boss.”


“That’s right. And the Red Wings still won 8-7, because of the pure PoWeR of An Octopus.”


“Yep. I also heard several goalies had their GAAs raised that day because of An Octopus’ awesome performance, including Dallas Stars goalie Johan Hedberg.”


“An Octopus is truly awesome.” Meanwhile, Chris Belcourt has wheeled Ghost Machine down to the ring, and is already gone... Ghost Machine, after several agonizing moments, has sprung up and joined Funyon in the ring. Funyon takes the slip that has issued from GM’s ‘mouth’, and squints at it for a moment before raising the microphone to his lips.


“Ladies and gentlemen, BennerCorp would like to introduce their latest and greatest piece of hardware... Designed to emulate human behavior, then snuff it out in the squared circle... Their design weighs in today at 229 pounds...”


“Must’ve drained his case pre-match,” King mutters.


“... And stands an impressive 5 foot 10... The name... Is Ghost Machine... Two-Point-OOOOOHHHHH!!!!!” The crowd erupts in applause as GM 2.0 does a little robot dance in the middle of the ring.


“Im not impressed,” Kind states simply.


“I know,” Pete says agreeingly. “An Octopus was sooooo much better.” The lights in the arena drop out a little bit, and “Remember The Name” belts out over the speakers. The crowd rounds into a decent reception as Christian Fury parts the curtains. He comes between the sparklers on the entrance ramp, kendo stick perched over his shoulder.


“And here is Fury,” LDP says, “who has been pretty pissed off as of late. Changes of partners due to the severe knee injury to Mistress Sarah, and he got none other than Sean Davis, with whom he’s had title-feuding history. Less than stellar performances on his own since his return... And he seems oddly disturbed by the return of Janus in his head of SWF security capacity.”


“Wah, wah, wah,” King mutters. “Fury just can’t deal with the fact that this league is a league of constant changes. He just can’t hang.” Funyon raises the mic to his lips, but the maybe-robot picks something up with its visual input apparatus... Or his eyes, if you’re convinced that GM is human. He charges out of the ring, up the ramp, and... Clocks Fury square in the jaw with a quick shotei! Fury staggers back, and GM follows up with another shotei, a charging one this time, and puts Fury down on the ramp.


“Whoa, what the Hell got into Ghost Machine?” Pete asks to a somewhat stunned audience, but they have no answers. They only watch as GM looks the stunned Fury over, leans down...


And plucks the kendo stick out of Fury’s hand! GM looks it over, looks Fury over...


Then walks back down the ramp, into the ring, and hands the kendo stick to the befuddled referee. That done, GM goes back into his robot jig, like he was when he was waiting for Fury to arrive.


“Hah!” King snorts. “Fury fell victim to the GM ‘feature’ of not dealing well with weapons!” Fury, meanwhile, is picking himself up off the ramp, rubbing his jaw, looking less than thrilled. He stares GM down as he approaches the ring... GM stops his dance once again, slides out of the ring, and stops Fury short of the apron with a hand to the chest. Fury glares at the robot-or-is-it as it spreads its arms wide. The ringside mic picks up something finally, the tinny reception first being attributed to crappy equipment, but we quickly realize that it’s GM’s voice.


“...search you for weapons.”


“Are you serious?” Chris Fury sounds well-annoyed.


“You brought one weapon to the ring, I must search you for more.”


“You’re out of your ever-loving mind!” Fury tries to get around the Machine, but it will not let him by. Once more he tries to sidestep the pseudo-robot, but GM laces out with another shotei to the jaw, forcing Fury to a knee. GM then turns and climbs back into the ring, starting to confer with the referee. Fury, whose expression suddenly goes from shock and annoyance to something quite a bit more hateful, spiteful... He stands, grabbing a chair from nearby, folding it up...


“Uh-oh,” Pete intones. “This could be quite bad...” Indeed, Fury slides into the ring with the chair, stalking towards the manbot...The fans are in shock, oddly awaiting the results of ths. The ref sees what’s happening, and gets around GM to try and stop Fury... But Fury easily dekes the ref, eating up the few feet between GM and himself as GM turns around...




GM staggers back, but Fury is not to be denied... Something... As he swings...




...connecting hard with the steel chair...




...and again...




.and again in a complete rage, driving GM to the mat!


“Fury has gone completely apeshit!” King blurts out. The ref tries to grab Fury and pull him off the downed competitor, but Fury has none of it, shoving the ref off him. He continues to swing...








... continuing to pummel the everliving Hell out of GM. The ref signals quickly to the timekeeper, and the bell starts ringing like mad. Fury pays it no heed... The mic can pick up the shots from the steel chair, and Fury’s seething voice...




“You want some weapons?”




“I’ve got your fucking weapon right here!”




“What’s wrong??? Where’s your weapons search now, huh??? Get up, and do your fucking worst!”




The ref finally manages to swing Fury around and away from the downed and unmoving GM... And Fury looks about to swing the now-deformed chair at the ref when he stops as suddenly as he started, looking at the chair in his hands... He drops it to the mat, managing to shake loose of the ref, and slide out of the ring, an expression of pure shock on his face.


“Just what in the blue Hell is going on with Fury???” Pete rattles as Fury watches the EMTs rush to the ring, going to the still-downed GM 2.0. Fury looks at his hands, then back to the ring, staggering backwards up the ramp, greeted with something that he hasn’t heard in ages...




“Chris Fury obviously disqualified with his actions,” Pete states for the audience at home, “but the bigger question might be what made him do it... He’s been trying to tell everyone he’s turned a new leaf, but... This is terrible. We’ll be back...”


The screen fades to black with the camera focused on Fury’s shocked expression, the Smarktron behind him showing the EMTs working on GM 2.0 in the ring...

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Ben Hardy stands patiently in the back, microphone in hand. He checks his watch and glances at the burly security guard off to the side. He nods, having some small sense of security knowing that Janus’ lackey is present. Entering the shot, Sean Davis towers over Hardy, his demeanor already sour. Davis is in workout pants and a sweatshirt, hardly ready for in ring work, but ready for a fight if it comes down to it.




“Welcome, Sean Davis,” Hardy begins. “I’m delighted you’ve come to talk with me.. the SWF fanbase is well aware that you haven’t been around for quite some time. Please tell us what you’ve been doing since your injury.”


Davis nods slightly and answers calmly, “I had a couple months of physical therapy, then I trained. I recently started traveling with the SWF again, wrestling in dark matches to get my in ring form back.”


“We’ve noticed that neither Rashelle Moore or Marcus Washington is with you.. what happened?” Hardy shifts the microphone to Davis, almost flinching as he finishes the question.


Sean semi-glares down at Hardy, but replies, “Rashelle’s contract was allowed to expire, and Washington is caught up in the whole Hurricane Katrina scandal.”


Ben breathes a slight sigh of relief, glad that this interview is going well. “A lot has happened in the SWF since your untimely departure.. David Cross has left and Revolution Zero has split up. What are your thoughts since returning?”


The Perfect Storm frowns, shaking his head, “I’m disappointed David Cross is no longer here. I was looking forward to beating his ass. It looks like I’ll have to focus that energy on Spike Jenkins. Revolution Zero is one of those groups that doesn’t just die. It’s been abandoned, but I’m back. I’ve got some loose ends to tie up, but the SWF better be on the lookout.”


Hardy looks confused, “So you’re going to revive Revolution Zero by yourself?”


“It’s not like there’s never been a one man revolution. And as a sign of things to come.. I’ve got a few messages for my coworkers.. first goes out to my boy Spike Jenkins.” Sean looks at the camera, his expression menacing and angerful~! He points a finger at the camera, “Dog, you fell off the wagon and I ain’t about to help you back on it. I’m comin’ for you, son. Janus and his boys better be watchin’ out for your sorry ass, because I’m gonna make sure your face is beyond mangled.. “ Davis taps his chest, “Something you couldn’t achieve with my ankle.”


“And then there’s Landon Maddix.” Sean points again at the camera, singling out his target, “I hear you week in, week out callin’ out Toxxic like you got some festering problem with him. You do, you got a problem with me. I hear one more word outta you whinin’ about how Toxx ruined you, you’re gonna have more problems than what you think you’ve got with Toxxic.”


Ben retakes the step he took backward before Sean went on his rant. “One last question, Sean.. you attacked Christian Fury, your tag partner, on Smarkdown. Why?”


Davis looks back at Hardy, “Bitch came at me. I put him back in his place. I ain’t got any alliance with Christian Fury. When it comes down to it, in the ring, I’ll do my part. On Smarkdown, my part was to clean house, and I did that, no matter who got in my way. He’d best just remember that.”


Hardy nods and looks at the camera as the shot zooms in on his face, “Thank you, Sean Davis, and we’ll be right back, live on SWF Storm.”

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"Ladies and gentlemen the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a 30 minute time limit, and it is part of the Lethal Lottery Tournament!!" Funyon says, looking like he just let everyone in on a deep dark secret. On cue, the opening guitar riff of Dead Kennedys' 'Too Drunk to Fuck' hits as the crowd gets excited about another high-impact, high-quality match coming their way.


"Introducing first at a combined weight of 466 pounds the team of Amy Stephens and the SWF Ultraviolent Champion Bruce Blank – DRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNK AAAAAAAND DISORDERLY!!!"


"LET'S GO A-MY!" *Clap*Clap*Clap*Clap*




Amy Stephens steps through the curtain as she takes a drink from the can in her hand and then holds it up to draw the 50/50 reaction more towards the positive than the negative. Moments later Bruce steps into the light, beer in one hand, cooler under the other arm looking like he couldn't give a shit about the fans as the reaction turns more negative towards the big man.


"This has got to be one of the oddest couples in the Lottery Tournament King," Pete says as Bruce and Amy walk down the aisle towards the ring, "I mean, the only thing these two have in common is beer."


"Are you saying that people need more than that? Come on now, it's no weirder than Laberinto and An Octopus teaming up," King replies.


"Oh, I wish An Octopus was in this tournament. UN-BEATABLE!!" Pete sighs as he dreams of the day An Octopus rules the ring.


Amy quickly enters the ring and gets up on the ring ropes, can of larger raised in the air as the crowd cheers for her. Bruce rounds the corner of the ring and then places the Igloo cooler next to the Suicide King and tells him to watch his beer while he goes and "rassles"


"Why do YOU get to watch the beer and not me?" Pete asks, rather annoyed and in serious need of a beer.


"Cause I'm the trustworthy one, Pete" King says as he pulls out a nice cold one from the cooler and pops it open.


"…and their opponents," Funyon booms, "coming down the aisle at a combined weight of 525 pounds… ARCHIE GRIIIIIIIIIFON and the SWF International Champion "The Dean of Professional Wrestling", JAY HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWKE!!!"


Pink Floyd invites you all to "Learn to Fly" which of course draws a very familiar reaction from the fans.




The International champion walks out first with the mountain of a man known as Archie Griffon right behind him, making Hawke look even smaller than his 215lbs. Hawke stops about half way down the aisle while Arch just passes by him without even looking at his tag-team partner.


"Talk about a harmonious unit," King points out as Arch just heads to the ring.


"I admit they've had their… rough spots, but it could be worse," Pete replies.


"They could be Landon Maddix? I suppose you have a point."


Hawke is distracted by a guy in the front row who's dressed up like Wildchild complete with a braided wig and a big Bahamian flag that he keeps holding up to annoy Hawke. The Dean quickly shakes off the distraction and heads to the ring where he hands his luscious robe over to some ringside gopher and then gets in the ring with the other three competitors before turning to apparently make a close inspection of the top turnbuckle in his corner.




Hawke and Blank quickly come face to.. well face to chest more or less as the two begin to argue back and forth with each other, probably over the length of their… title reigns. Amy just shrugs her shoulders and leaves the ring while Arch stretches out in his corner.


"Look at them, the two longest reigning champions EVER in the history of the SWF," Pete says as he gets excited about the possibilities of the match.


"Yeah but they're turning it into a debate club – come on now, neither of you won the titles on a soap box, get a'fighting!!" King says.


Bruce seems to be the first man to go to action over words, probably because he just doesn't know that many words whereas Hawke's unlikely to run out for a few days. The Ultraviolent champion raises his beefy right arm in the air motioning for a test of strength. Hawke just looks at the big man like he was crazy and shakes his head in arrogant refusal. Apparently the shake of the head is some sort of moral victory to Bruce as he turns around and flexes both his arms to the crowd with a big shit eating grin.




…but when Bruce turns back around he's surprised to discover that Hawke has just tagged out of the ring and let his much bigger, stronger partner take on the massive Ultraviolent champion instead! Arch just grins as he flexes HIS massive arms and shows off his superhuman physique.


"Very few people are as physically intimidating as Bruce Blank, but Arch Griffon is definitely one of them!" Pete points out.


"Do those new contracts cover advertisements for roids?" King asks innocently.


Bruce sizes this new challenge up for a second before he runs at the ropes, bounces off and then strikes Arch in the chest with a running shoulder tackle…


Half a step back!!




The crowd get behind Griffon's miniscule reaction, and this time Arch is the one to hit the ropes before driving his massive shoulder into Bruce's chest… driving him half a step back as well, to the disgust of the fans.




"It's the classic struggle of the irresistible force against the immovable object," Pete says drawing on his vast knowledge of wrestling clichés.


"Oh brother," King says, and takes another swig of the beer Bruce asked him to watch.


Arch raises both his arms in the air and takes up the test of strength challenge Bruce offered earlier. Bruce doesn't immediately rise to the bait but watches his opponent closely as he cautiously raises first his right hand and then his left hand in the air. The moment the two behemoths lock hands they begin to jockey for position, trying to get the advantage.




Both men grunt and groan as they try to overpower the other, neither giving an inch, neither gaining an inch either as they seem to be very closely matched in power. After some more back and forth with no clear advantage in sight Bruce decides to take a shortcut and drives his metal brace enhanced knee into Arch's mid section to break the deadlock.


"Bruce cheats to get an advantage – that calls for a drink!!" King utters right before he empties the beer can and casually tosses it over his shoulder.




"Hey, watch it!" Pete says as the can bounces off his head.


With the knee to the gut Bruce gets the upper hand and manages to push Arch down to his knees as their hands are still locked together. Bruce uses his leverage to muscle forward and power Arch's hands down to the ground, then swiftly pull his own hands away before driving the heel of his cowboy boot into Griffon's hands.






With Griffon hurting from the stop Bruce quickly goes to work on his opponent as he lets loose with a series of double axe handle blows to Griffon's back driving the big man to the ground by sheer force and determination alone. Bruce then pulls Arch back to a seated position, wraps his hands around Griffon's jaw from behind and sits down while pulling Arch backwards against his knee.


"We've seen Bruce sport that brace for a few weeks now and every time he's in the ring he demonstrates that it's not for medical reasons but simply to help him cheat!" Pete says indignantly.


"Bruce cheated? That means I need another drink of beer," King replies, as he seems to be playing his own private drinking game.


"Man, you're even more useless than usual," Pete groans.


After grinding the brace into Arch's back for a couple of moments Bruce gets back to his feet, pulls Arch back to a vertical base as well and then picks up the big man for a body slam that shakes the ring. One quick stomp to the forehead later and Bruce is off to tag in Amy Stephens who's been waiting patiently on the apron.




"LET'S GO A-MY!" *Clap*Clap*Clap*Clap*


The Nottingham Lager Lass climbs up on the top rope as the crowd cheers her on. Then with the aid of Bruce's power she's launched across the ring aiming an elbow straight at Arch's chest…




…but Archie wasn't quite as dazed as he seemed, and rolled away from the elbow drop! Hawke is now reaching over the top rope and calling to his partner to tag him in; Griffon pauses to swipe Amy Stephens with a casual backhand as she gets back up to her knees and send her sprawling across the ring, but decides that he wants a chance to properly clear his head and quickly crawls towards his partner, holding up his hand for Hawke to tag himself in.






"Oh look at the look on his face, he's LOVING this," Pete says with mild disgust as Hawke hovers over the hurting Amy Stephens, who is trying to shake off the feeling that she's just been bitch-slapped by a polar bear.


"He's in control, what's not to like?" King says like Pete had just uttered the stupidest thing EVER.


Hawke circles Amy, looking for the perfect chance to attack but very aware that his female opponent has shown herself to be considerably tougher than she looks… then suddenly turns around and just pastes Bruce across the jaw with a punch out of nowhere!




The blow shakes Bruce a little but it's not really enough to hurt him, nor does it seem like Hawke really intended it to as he quickly backs off when Bruce tries to step through the ropes. In his anger Bruce disregards all rules and wants to jump back in the ring but he's prevented from doing so by Matt Kivell (who employs the referee's Special Skill of being able to hold back a man outweighing him by 100lbs or so simply through the power of the Shirt~!).


"Is it really smart to piss Bruce off?" Pete asks.


"I've always said that Hawke is a thinking man's wrestler, if he thought it was a smart move then that's good enough for me," King replies, "besides which, cheap shot = a drink."


With the referee's attention diverted Hawke quickly turns his attention towards Amy Stephens, grabbing her by her baggy pants and T-shirt and hurling her shoulder-first in between the middle and the top turnbuckles!






"You know King, I'm surprised Hawke bothered to distract the ref for that," the Longdogger says.


"Distraction = a drink. Go Hawke."


The Dean of Professional Wrestling seems awfully pleased with himself as Amy slides to her knees grasping her shoulder in pain. His level of arrogance and smugness increases as he grabs Amy's right arm and hauls her to her feet away from the ropes, then twists it backwards in a standing arm bar where he adds additional pressure to the shoulder by placing his free hand on it and pushing forward as he twists.


"I've said it before, as a wrestler I admire Hawke – he's very skilled. But as a human being I got no respect for him at all," Pete declares.


"Oh Lord," King says with another eye roll (probably just counting down the days to Coyote tearing up his old man's contract), "you can make a drama out of an armbar."


Amy is not going to give up to an armbar however, no matter how expertly applied. Accordingly Hawke alters his position slightly, taking up a stance alongside the Punk-Rock Princess before wrapping his left arm around her shoulders in what might appear to be a tender hug… if it didn't end up with a Russian Legsweep.




Once on the ground Hawke is if anything even more in his element and he quickly rolls over Amy to her other side, keeping hold of her right arm to bring her onto her front where he can apply… a Fujiwara armbar.






Hawke grins as he cranks back on the hold, causing Amy to yell out in pain. Referee Matty Kivell bends down to check on the Punk-Rock Princess and see whether she wants to give it up, but just gets a loud swearword in response. Hawke's smirk increases, but no matter how he cranks the hold he doesn't get the tap on the mat that he's looking for. Bruce keeps looking like he wants to get in the ring and intervene but every time he starts getting fidgety Hawke makes sure Kivell sees him and the referee warns the Ultraviolent Champion about the consequences of getting in the ring. Finally Hawke seems to decide that this isn't really getting him all that far and he starts to lessen the pressure on the hold, then gets up to his knees. Amy tries to make a scramble for Bruce's outstretched hand but Hawke drives his elbow into her shoulder, instantly putting her back down. Now back in total control (no, not Marcus Ward), Hawke hauls Amy back to her feet by her arm, then slams an elbow into the back of her head. Amy drops back to one knee holding the back of her skull and Hawke takes the chance to turn her around and place her into a standing headscissors. From there he reaches down and grabs a gutwrench, then hauls her up and balances her upside down in a Canadian Backbreaker for a second before grinning and Bruce and slamming her down into a shoulderbreaker!




"Good God!" Pete bellows, "Jay Hawke could have just incapacitated Amy Stephens!"


"Shutting her mouth would be a valuable extra," King says unsympathetically.


Amy isn't in too good a shape at the minute as she rolls on the mat holding her shoulder and arm. Hawke just grins and stands over her, nudging her with a couple of insolent kicks that are more for humiliation purposes than anything else. Bruce, now severely concerned, leans over the ring ropes and tries to motivate his partner:


'C'mon girl! You worried about breaking a nail or something!?'


"Well, that's a… unique form of team spirit," Pete comments, slightly non-plussed.


However, Bruce may have latched onto a good idea as the vaguely abusive shout seems to fire Amy up. The junior member of the Stephens clan catches Hawke's leg on her left arm and shoves it away, then barrels upwards and swings her right fist at his head…






…unfortunately that arm is the one Hawke's been working on and Amy's instinctive swing, although it connected with her opponent's jaw, seems to have hurt her more than him. Jay rubs his chin thoughtfully and beckons her to try again as Stephens clutches her arm in considerable pain. Amy narrows her eyes…






This time it's Hawke who reels away in pain, as Amy gave up on punching and used her head! The International Champion hides his face in his hands in a futile attempt to suppress the excruciating pain in his nose and forehead while Amy wavers unsteadily, then focuses on Blank and starts towards her partner… but Hawke still has the presence of mind to bring her down with a drop toehold and prevent her from reaching him!




"I don't know what these morons are booing for," King says conversationally, "that's a perfectly legal move."


Hawke shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, then gathers his wits and grabs Amy's ankles in both hands before getting back to his feet and starting to tow his opponent back to his corner! Amy struggles as best she can but her 170lbs is not much encumbrance for Hawke, and in short order he is standing in front of Arch Griffon with his arm outstretched for a tag.




The hulking form of the former International Champion steps through the ropes in response to the tag from the current International Champion, and Griffon places one massive hand in the other before squeezing the knuckles until they crack. Then he simply extends one elbow and drops to plant it squarely in Amy Stephens' back!




"The fans don't seem to be too fond of Arch Griffon's treatment of Miss Stephens," Pete says, "but then Griffon has never gone out of his way to woo them, and his current alliance with Jay Hawke probably hasn't helped matters."


"Bah," King snorts, "they only like Toxxic's sister because of her tits."


Just like he hasn't tried too hard to get the fans on his side, Griffon doesn't seem overly bothered by their less than enthusiastic reaction to his re-entry to the match. The man from Des Moines simply grabs Amy Stephens by her hair and drags her back to her feet (getting a warning from Matty Kivell, which he duly ignores). He then enfolds her right wrist in one massive paw before hauling her towards him and-




"Ouch," Pete winces, "I think I felt that clothesline!"


"I'm feeling… a bit drunk, actually," King admits, taking another swig from one of Bruce's beers.


Predictably, Arch Griffon isn't happy to leave things there and he drags Amy back up before wrenching her in and delivering another massive clothesline, but he releases her hand on this one and Amy is actually sent flipping through the air to land on her front! Hawke applauds from the apron and shouts for his partner to keep focusing on the arm. Griffon just looks at him, implying that the wrenching effect on Amy's arm was purely coincidental and he has his own game plan, thank you very much, then turns his attention back to the unfortunate English lass. Amy seems to be struggling to rise but she can't seem to work out which way is up, and Griffon drops to make a cover…





















-but Amy kicks out!


"That's the first cover of the match," Pete informs everyone, "but the team of Hawke and Griffon could have won it right there if Amy Stephens had been a shade slower!"


"Griffon needs to keep working her arm over," King says, "not only because Jay Hawke has told him to, but also because she'll find it difficult to kick out with a dodgy wing."


"Personally, I'm amazed she could kick out from underneath Griffon's bulk," Pete says, "he weighs nearly twice as much as Amy!"


"Believe me Dogger, you'll do an awful lot to get out from underneath a mountain of smelly, sweaty man," King reminds his partner, "although sitting next to one isn't that pleasant either, come to that."


Arch Griffon seems a little disbelieving of Kivell's declaration that it was only a two, but doesn't take it any further at this moment in time and instead rises back to his feet, once more dragging Amy up after him as if she was a ragdoll (don't ask why a 6'4, 300lb wrestler would be playing with a ragdoll). Meanwhile the fans are treated to a thoroughly unusual spectacle - Bruce Blank pounding the top turnbuckle in an attempt to get the crowd to rally behind his partner!








Amazingly enough, wrestling fans being what they are, it starts to work!


"LET'S GO A-MY!" *clap clap clap-clap-clap*


"LET'S GO A-MY!" *clap clap clap-clap-clap*


Not that it seems to be doing Amy Stephens much good at the moment, as Arch Griffon enfolds her in a massive bearhug that seems to engulf her completely, before bridging backwards to hurl her over his head with a monstrous belly-to-belly suplex!




"Arch Griffon's tactics are sound," LDP points out, "he's not just throwing Amy randomly - although he just tossed her across the ring, he's thrown her into a neutral corner where she is still a long way from her tag partner!"


Indeed, Griffon gets back to his feet and orientates on his opponent, and although Amy has her arm stretched out in some vague attempt to make a tag, the entire width of the ring separates her from the corner where Bruce Blank is waiting. Blank actually bellows at Griffon, demanding that the big man face him, but Griffon just ignores him; the clear message being that staying on Amy is the quickest way to win, and that's all he's here to do. With the air of a man who's going to keep trying until it works, Griffon drops to make another cover…



















-but Amy gets her shoulder up again! Griffon frowns and covers again, this time pressing down hard on Amy's right shoulder with his forearm…



















-but Amy just manages to squeeze a shoulder off the mat, although she had to spasm her whole body to get the necessary momentum!


"That's going to wear her out quick," King says, "Archie could just keep covering her and he'd probably win the match by exhaustion pretty soon."


Griffon seems to want a slightly quicker solution than that though, and once more he drags Amy back to her feet. This time he places her in a standing headscissors and makes a pumping motion with his arms, signalling the hoisting of a weight…


"Could we be about to see the Arch Nemesis?" Pete queries, "it'd surely be curtains for Amy if so!"


But no, Griffon seems to want to soften his opponent up a little more, as he hoists Amy up high for a powerbomb…




…and Amy gouges him in the eyes in a desperation counter! Archie staggers backwards, suddenly trying to escape from his opponent, but Amy shows surprising flexibility and leans down to bite his forehead!










Amy breaks off before the DQ point, although the indication is that this is simply because she can't hang on any longer rather than a fear of losing the match. Griffon has forgotten all thoughts of powerbombing her and is content to grab his face in agony as she slithers off his shoulders and drops to the mat, crumpling to the floor upon landing but quickly staggering up again and heading for Bruce…


…who drops off the apron and heads for the beer.




"Get back up there!" Pete yells at the Ultraviolent Champion, "she's your partner, damn it!"


"Shut up!" Bruce snarls back, grabbing the cooler from a protesting Suicide King even as Amy is grabbed from behind with one hand by Griffon, who is still clutching his face with the other. Blank hops back up to the apron with a can in his hand, then hurls it at Griffon! Archie ducks and the alcoholic missile clatters harmlessly away, Kivell rounds on Bruce in a fury…




…and Amy mule kicks Arch Griffon in his happy-happy-joy-joy area!




"Cheating!" King shouts, "time for a… damn you Blank, bring that beer back here!"


Bruce doesn't obey the Suicide King, but he does drop the cooler and apologise to Matty Kivell; meanwhile Amy turns around to find Archie Griffon bent double and clutching at his groin. Instinct kicks into action for the dazed lager lass, and she wraps one arm around Arch's head before swinging one leg out behind her, then kicking it forwards to give herself more momentum as she fall back…




"That's the Double-D T, and that could be lights out for Arch Griffon!" Pete shouts as Griffon's head. Bruce is yelling for a tag but Amy ignores him, instead making something approaching a cover…


















…but it's going to take more than that to put Arch Griffon away, and the former International Champion kicks out moments after Kivell's hand hits the mat for the second time.


"LET'S GO A-MY!" *clap clap clap-clap-clap*


"LET'S GO A-MY!" *clap clap clap-clap-clap*


Now Amy seems interested in making the tag, and the groggy Punk-Rock Princess slides off Griffon's mountainous chest and starts to make her way towards Bruce Blank. Meanwhile Archie has realised that things could be going better for his team and starts to make his way towards Jay Hawke. The Dean of Professional Wrestling is leaning over the top rope and barking instructions, although for some reason this doesn't seem to make Griffon's dazed and limping crawl much faster…


"LET'S GO A-MY!" *clap clap clap-clap-clap*


Amy is within a couple of feet of Bruce now.


"LET'S GO A-MY!" *clap clap clap-clap-clap*


Griffon's long arm reaches out, but is still slightly short of Hawke…


"LET'S GO A-MY!" *clap clap clap-clap-clap*


"LET'S GO A-MY!" *clap clap clap-clap-clap*








"It's Bruce Blank vs. Jay Hawke," Pete booms, "and… Bruce is getting cheered!?"


Sure enough, the simple fact that he's a) partnering Amy Stephens, who's easily the most fan-friendly person in the ring, and b) he's facing Jay Hawke, Bruce Blank is greeted with a roar of approval as he steps over the top rope and lumbers towards Hawke! The International Champion seems so astounded by this that he completely fails to dodge a huge cowboy boot sailing straight towards his head!






"So tell me King, does this call for a drink?" Pete asks his commentary partner.


"Are you kidding? I'm not touching this stuff again, I'm hallucinating I tell you!" King splutters in fear, wiggling his fingers in his ears disbelievingly.


Arch Griffon heard the impact behind him and figured it's even odds that it was bad news for his team, so he turns around… and is flattened by a massive running clothesline! Bruce, drunk on fan support and possibly beer, turns on a quarter (a dime is asking a bit much for a big lug like him) then heads back across the ring towards Hawke, who is picking himself up and wiping blood away from his nose where the heel of Bruce's boot caught him. Things don't get much better for the Dean of Professional Wrestling and Blank cannons into him with a football tackle that sends him tumbling out between the second and third ropes to the arena floor!






Hawke lands in a groaning heap, but he's a tough sonnovabitch and starts to pick himself up almost immediately… only to have Amy Stephens jump on him from the apron and land with a Lou Thesz press before beginning to pummel him (left-handed)!








Matty Kivell starts yelling at the pair brawling on the outside, and therefore completely misses the action inside the ring. Archie Griffon, looking vaguely regretful but doing it nonetheless, reaches into the turnbuckle that Hawke was 'inspecting' earlier, then as Bruce Blank turns around he hurls powder into the Ultraviolent Champion's face!




Bruce staggers, swiping at his eyes and coughing, but is unable to avoid a kick to the gut and then a thunderous knee to the face that drives him to one knee. With his opponent suitably incapacitated Griffon places him in a standing headscissors ready for the Arch Nemesis, notes with approval that Jay Hawke has thrown Amy into the guardrail and is about to re-enter the ring, ready to make the cover as the legal man… and as Matty Kivell turns back round to start protesting about Arch being in the ring, Griffon sees something very disturbing.


That guy with the braided hair and the Bahaman flag? Surely he didn't look that much like Wildchild before, did he?




"Wildchild's here! Wildchild is here!" Pete screams like a teenage girl at a concert as the Bahaman Bomber, dressed in his street clothes, slips silently over the guardrail to position himself behind Jay Hawke. The International Champion finds himself tapped on the shoulder and he turns around…






"Caribbean Cutter on the outside!" Pete hollers. Arch Griffon is desperately pointing, trying to direct Kivell's attention to the outside, but the ref remains adamant that Griffon should leave the ring… and at this time the point becomes moot, because Bruce has recovered himself enough to back bodydrop his way out of his predicament!




As this is happening Wildchild hurriedly rolls the dazed Jay Hawke into the ring, then hops back over the guardrail and disappears past his thrilled lookalike, who begins waving the Bahaman flag for all he's worth. Bruce looks down at the recumbent form of Hawke, takes a moment to kick Arch Griffon out of the ring (it takes a couple, but Bruce can be persistent), then hauls Hawke back up to something approaching a standing position. The King of Pain looks around to see Amy Stephens back on the apron, and he jerks his thumb upwards!


"It looks like we could be about to see some sort of double-team move," Pete says, "I'd venture that after that Caribbean Cutter it could be redundant, but I doubt the crowd will mind!"


Sure enough Bruce Blank grabs Hawke in a rear waistlock, then hoists his opponent off the ground before tilting him forwards into a reverse powerbomb position. Amy has now ascended to the second buckle, and from there she leaps off to drive a scissors kick into the back of Jay Hawke's head!






"That move used to be used by the Unholy Trinity as the Decapitator, but now it is Disorderly Conduct!" Pete yells above the crowd noise as Hawke has his face mashed into the mat. Bruce Blank leans down and turns him over, then as Amy heads out of the ring to grab a beer the crowd counts along…
























"Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners," Funyon booms, "the team of Bruce Blank and Amy Stephens… DRUUUUUNNNNNNK… AND… DIS-ORRRRRRRRRRRRRRDERLY!!"


"Bruce and Amy win it, Bruce gets cheered for probably the first time in his life, and we move one step closer to From The Fire!" LDP shouts. "We still have no idea who's going to be in the TLC match, but who cares?"


"Perhaps more importantly, we saw Wildchild shamelessly blindside and assault Jay Hawke, costing him the match," King states flatly. "Is this the moral crusader we… hey, Bruce? I know you told me to watch the beer, but honestly, it was Pete who had them all! Honest!"


"You leave me out of this," the Longdogger protests as Drunk & Disorderly advance on the announce table with a nasty gleam in their eyes, "let's go to commercials!"







This Starwipe was sponsored by Jim Beam. Intoxicating Australian psychopaths better than any other.

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The SwF presents an SWF films production... From the makers of 'The Champions', 'D2: The Mighty Ducks' and 'D3: The Mighty Ducks'...




Just when you thought it was safe to step back onto the ice...


The camera cuts to a courtroom, where Wes Davenport is on his feet, delivering a stirring address. "This is Chewbacca. Chewbacca is a wookie. Why am I talking about this in court? Why am I wasting the court's valuable time discussing Chewbacca when my client's life is at stake? IT DOES NOT MAKE SENSE!"


Charlie Conway is a hot shot lawyer.


Quickly, the scene cuts to the front steps of the courthouse. A man approaches Davenport, looking rather annoyed. "Man, you used the Chewbacca defence? That was a low blow. Your client was a mass murderer! Scum! And you felt compelled to pull out the big guns!?" he exclaims.


"I do what it takes to win. A man taught me that a long time ago. But he also said to have fun," Wes remembers.


"...You have fun letting men like that walk free? Man, fuck you." The annoyed man, rapidly turning into an angry man, quickly walks off.


But one day, things go pear-shaped for Charlie...


Now, Wes is in his Mercades, speeding along some desolate road. It's dark, with some light snow making driving difficult. He picks up a bottle and takes a swig, veering over the road. He then starts headbanging to the loud obnoxious music on the radio, quite obviously pissed. Suddenly, blue and red lights appear in the back window. He brings the car to a stop, and a Policeman quickly arrives at Wes' window.


"Sir, license and registration," the policeman sternly requests.


"Wha, what?" Wes slurs in return.


"I need to see your driver's license and vehicle registration, sir," the cop repeats.


"No, YOU need to seeeee YOUR driver'sss licccense and vehic... Vehicle regisstraation!!! ZING!!!"


"...Sir, step out of the car."




And the only way he can make his debt to society...


We - you guessed it - cut to a new scene. Davenport is looking at the camera. He groans. "Oh no... Not this... Anything but this..."


...Is by coaching the local pee wee hockey team.


A bunch of misfit kids on ice skates appear on the screen, getting up to all sorts of hijinks on a frozen pond. There's the fat one, the scrawny one, the tough one, ones from various ethnic minorities and they're all shoving and bashing at each other with hockey sticks. The camera pans out to a man in a suit, looking rather dumbstruck.


"Now I know how Coach Bombay felt."


From the makers of such classic films as The Mighty Ducks, D2: The Mighty Ducks, D3: The Mighty Ducks and Jingle All the Way comes this year's biggest film...


The scene shifts again, this time to a local hockey rink. The kids, dressed up in what appears to be fairly low-budget hockey garb, are scrambling about on the ice, attempting to catch up the other team, dressed in black, and looking generally evil. Davenport is on the bench, shouting instruction. "Jimmy, get the puck to..." Jimmy, the player Davenport is trying to address, is promptly checked in the FACE by one of the evil opposition players. "Damn it ref, call something!" Davenport pleads. Slapstick comedy~!


Starring Wes Davenport as Charlie Conway...


This time, Wes is alone in a dark room, looking at what appear to be pictures of his junior hockey days. Suddenly, a figure appears in the background. "Hey Charlie. It's been a long time."


Emilio Estevez as Gordon Bombay...


"You left me all alone, Gordon! We loved you and you just ran away!" Davenport screams.


"I had to leave, The Mighty Ducks of Anaheim wanted me to play with them," Estevez calmly states.


"But what about us!? Did we mean nothing to you!?"




A story about overcoming adversity...


"Teach them to fly, Charlie," Emilio advises Davenport. "Teach them to fly."


"I will, Coach. I fuckin' will. Quack quack."


D4: The Mighty Ducks


Again, Davenport is behind the bench. "Do it now! THE FLYING V!"


Comming summer 2006...

Edited by realitycheck

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We cut backstage to the Blank dressing room. Bruce is nowhere in sight, he’s returned to watching the front door after his match but Wayne Blank has parked himself in a chair and is busy oogling a copy of “Big ‘Uns” when he’s interrupted by a knock on the door.


“Dang it can’t a guy get some peace and quiet for some quality readin’?” Wayne mutters as he puts the magazine down.





“Git’in!” Wayne repeats but to no avail, then he shakes his head and says “Enter!” since apparently no one speaks his particular brand of “Southern”


The Crimson Skull’s manager/assistant Heff opens the door and enters looking a bit nervous and fidgety. He quickly looks around and is dejected to see that Bruce isn’t there.


“Is Bruce around?”


“Maybe he is... maybe he isn't” Wayne says as he sits up straight, eying an opportunity “Maybe I can help? I am his manager after all”


Heff closes the door behind him and approaches Wayne Blank with something wrapped up tugged under his arm.


“I wanted to see the Ultraviolent champion”


“Well now you git the next best thing, his little brother” Wayne says with a smile, there is a definite opportunity here.


“Well… erm … The Crimson Skull would like to request a shot at the Ultraviolent title… please?” Heff says as he looks around, worried that Bruce might be around after all and that he’s just waiting to attack him for fun or whatever.


“Ah he would, would he?” Wayne says as he rubs his hands “Now as his manager I can arrange it… if we can come to an agreement of course”


“Yes, I knew you would want something for this favor.” Heff says and places the wrapped up bundle on the table “Bruce can have this if he agrees to the match”


“What the heck is that?”


Heff quickly unwraps the bundle and holds up a black rod, about 3 foot long


“An Inanimate Carbon Rod!” Heff says with great reverence like that’s supposed to mean something to Wayne. Sadly for Heff it doesn’t ring a bell at all and Wayne just looks at it like it was a turd on a stick.


“I gotta say no to that one – we’ve got one already” Wayne says


“No way!”


“Yup bought one yesterday, we needed it for the car” Wayne says as he employs the negotiating tactic of “lying your ass off”




Heff looks a bit dejected, he had thought that the awesomeness of the Inanimate Carbon Rod would have secured him the contract.


Then he looks at Wayne and asks “You like girls? I mean you DO like girls right?”


“Why? What have you heard? That’s a lie, I was cold and he was just keeping me warm!” Wayne says as he starts to look nervous.


“No I mean… you know the Skull’s dancers right?”


“Yup, seen ‘em”


“How about one of them?” Heff asks, if he gets the title shot then he can always figure out a way to get one of the dancers to go out with Wayne… hypnosis or something.


“Any of them got any titty bar experience” Wayne asks like the man of the world that he is.


“I… no I don’t think they do” Heff says hoping that it’s the right answer.


“Ah well sorry then, I’m very selective about my wim’en” Wayne says as he leans back like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Wayne figures that a guy like the Skull must have something really nice stashed away – after all he’s been a criminal forever, he’s bound to have picked up something “nice” if you know what I mean.


Heff looks totally defeated, he had tried to get the Crimson Skull a shot at the Ultraviolent title but failed – it’s not like Skull would qualify for the Cruiserweight title and well frankly he didn’t think Hawke would agree to a match. He had figured Blank was the easiest to bribe . . .


*Light Bulb!*


Heff sits up straight – he’s got it! He went about this all wrong with Carbon Rods and girls, no he needed something that would appeal to the inner blood thirsty savage that lived in Bruce’s smelly, hairy body


“If you sign a contract for an Ultraviolent title match then I will give you the Crimson Skull’s most horrific weapon in return!” Heff offers.


“Weapon huh?”


“Oh yeah! No one in the SWF would be able to withstand it – It’s guaranteed to take out the Insane Luchador” Heff says as Wayne perks up, the weapon has definitely peaked his interest.


“And I can … I mean Bruce naturally, can have it if I agree to the title match?” Wayne asks making sure he’s got everything clear.


“Yes – just as long as he doesn’t use it on the Crimson Skull” Heff says, he doesn’t want to sell Crimson Skull up the river after all.


“Well what is it?”


“I can’t tell you… I’ll have to show you” Heff says as he gets up and heads out the door. A moment later Heff returns with a long black box that he places on the table in front of Wayne and then opens the lid. Sadly for the viewers at home they can’t see what’s actually IN the box – But Wayne can and he looks suitably impressed


“You’ve got yourself a deal pal” he says with a smile as he shakes Heff’s hand


“On Lockdown?”


“Sure why not, I’m not busy at Lockdown after all” Wayne says almost as an afterthought, it’s clear that he’s more interested in what’s in the box than worrying about booking a title match this close to the PPV.


We fade out as Heff skulks off, happy that he finally got the Skull a singles title shot like he demanded.

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“So Pete it looks like we are set to have another Lethal Lottery match.”


Suicide King’s voice busts through the post commercial propaganda as a way to greet the returning audience. Wonderfully, most returned from making a sandwich or cursing the universe over the fact that there Final Fantasy 7 data has been erased…again. And those who found “something else better to do”…fuck ‘em.


“King you would be correct. Up next will be the team of Spike and Zyon facing off against Todd Cortez and the young upstart Rush Hadrian.”


“So it’s mathematically possible for those two losers to go undefeated in the first round?”


“Well King, I’m guessing your speaking of Spike and Zyon.”


“Of course I am.”


“Then yes they can go undefeated, but the challenge of Todd and Rush will be no push over.”


And with that, the camera focuses on the announcing behemoth, Funyon.


“The next match is part of the LETHAL LOTTERY TOURNAMENT!”


Just about ready to pop out of his suit, Funyon advertises the popular Lethal Lottery tournament.


“Oh No” by Mos Def, Nate Dogg, and Pharaoh Monche plays over the PA system, forcing many in the arena to bust a groove. Leading through the curtain, the bulletproof vest wearing, Urban Legend emerges. Following close behind is the rookie upstart, Rush Hadrian who looks to be excited just to wrestle in front of the sold out Metrapark Arena.


“First, hailing from Hollywood Boulevard and Portland, Oregon. At a combine weight of 450 lbs, URBAN LEGEND Tooooooodddddd CORTEZ and RUSH HADRIAN!!!”




The crowd cheers the loveable veteran along with the determined rookie. The odd pair enter the ring, Rush exits to a random corner, while the thug like Cortez drops his bling bling off. The two talk strategy as they await their opponents.


“Cortez and Hadrian look determined to turn their less than spectacular run as a team around.”


“And for the love of tag team wrestling, I hope they do.”







“Wait that’s not Vitamin?” Longdogga brilliantly points out.


Zyon is basically pushed through the curtain, visibly confused by the entrance music. “Black Label” by Lamb Of God ends the grooving. Looking back, the Unique Youth shouts a couple unrecognizable sentences toward the next man to emerge through the curtain…Spike Jenkins.




The crowd explodes for the pairing, who seem get along worse and worse these days. Zyon salutes the cheering audience, while the TOTALLY FOCUSED new Straight Edge Sensation calmly walks down the entrance ramp.


“And their opponents. Hailing from Hollywood, California and Elkhart, Indiana. Weighing in at a combined, 420 (heh) lbs. HOLLYWOOD Sppppiiikkeee JENKINS and the UNIQUE YOUTH ZYON!!!”


Spike Jenkins and friend enter the ring, performing their respective taunts. Spike throws up the “X” signifying his straight edge nature, while Zyon head bangs, proving that he may just be hyperactive.


“Lately, Spike and Zyon have been having problems circulating around the cruiserweight title. Recently, Spike defeated Laberinto to become the number one contender to that very title.”


“BUT! I am proud to say, Zyon lost the title to one Akira Kaibatsu, and then subsequently loss the rematch. Yeah, February was a good month for me.”


“True. So could this possibly mean Zyon and Spike can begin to get back on good terms?”


“Of course not, Spike called Zyon GAYLORD. Not even I would call you GAYLORD. I may call you a horrible father with a twisted son, but I would never call you GAYLORD.”


Funyon exits stage left, while the two teams talk strategy. Well, Rush and Cortez talk to each other, but the favored team hardly even looks at one another.




Referee Nick Soapdish unexpectantly signals for the bell. The Urban Legend calmly exits the ring causing a few groans in the audience. Spike and friend take a moment to discuss who is doing what, which ends with Spike nonchalantly walking to the middle of the ring, forcing Zyon out.


“And already the two show friction.”


Spike grins while the nervous Rush Hadrian bounces around like a ping pong ball. The two competitors lock up, collar and elbow style. Both struggle to get the advantage with Spike getting the better of the rookie. Swiftly, the veteran takes the rookie down with a double leg takedown, rolling the rookie up in a ball, going for the cover.














The crowd chants.


“The winners…”


Yeah Spike and Zyon won. I don’t feel like writing this, and I’m going bowling soon. Yeah I am teh suck and stuff. I’ll do better next time and all that jazz. Imagine that there was tension between Spike and Zyon.


…And no I’m not going to go hide myself in a corner cause I’m not involved with a ho.



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Hadrian drags himself to his feet, shaking his head; whether in dejection or to get the cobwebs out is anyone’s guess, although it’s likely both. Todd has long since left for the back, leaving the rookie alone in the ring with the Metrapark Arena looking on, mostly mumnling going through the crowd.


“Ha!” crows King. “Remind me whose brilliant idea it was to hire this guy? I mean, he just lost this match in about fifteen seconds, just as he’s lost all of his matches since joining the SWF.”


“That’s not true, King,” says Pete, “he won a match.”


“He did?” asks King, as Pete nods. “Oh, right. Against Brett Favre.”


‘That…that wasn’t actually Brett Fa-“ begins the Longdogger.


“Not now, Pat,” interrupts the Gambling Man, to a massive groan from the Miami Menace, “I’m basking in the losership.”


“That’s not…never mind,” says Pete, shaking his head as the Heartbreaker leans back in his chair with a grin. In the ring, Hadrian stands in the middle of the ring, hands on his hips as he hesitates a moment before sliding out of the ring and striding over to where timekeeper David Blazenwing sits and snatches up a mic.


“What’s this? Career Hunter wants to say something?” inquires King, an eyebrow arched. The eyebrow arching is an action Pete mimics upon hearing the Heartbreaker’s new nickname for the unfortunate competitor.


“Career Hunter?” asks Pete.


“What? It’s like he’s out looking for jobs,” responds King, and the Longdogger sighs.


“Now,” begins Hadrian, the audience quieting down – yes, it could quiet down more – as the Oregonian begins to speak, “since I’ve been in the SWF, I’ve heard lots of adjectives used to describe me.” Holding up a hand, the Portlander begins counting them off on his fingers. “Loser. Stoner. Moron. Hero – that was in Minnesota. Any combination of the first three. And quite frankly,”


But then something interrupts him, and that something, quite frankly, is far more important than whatever he planned on being frank about.


The lights drop out.





The Metrapark Arena erupts as the first two grungy notes come slamming out of the sound system, Fear Factory’s “Scapegoat” assaulting SWF crowds for the first time in a while! The second notes hit…and Johnson is already on his way out, skipping the normal festivities, pyrotechnicalities, and assorted hooplah that generally precedes him…complete with steel chair in hand.


“THIS IS CERTAINLY AN UNEXPECTED DEVELOPMENT!” cries Pete. “JJ Johnson, who left the company some weeks ago, has returned without warning and is now making his way down to the ring, for reasons unknown.”


“Dammit, why does everyone have to be shrouded in mystery?” complains King. “Everyone has to have secret motives around here. Nobody can just be open with what they do.”


Johnson does his usual jog up the steps, dressed in normal street clothes – albeit all in black – as he strides through the ropes, unfolding the chair and setting it up on the canvas before turning his cold hazel stare on the rookie in front of him, the crowd still raucous in rejoice. There’s a few minutes of awkward staring, Rush making a few odd faces; he’s not aware attempting to add levity to the situation is probably a bad idea. Johnson’s stare stays unflinching.


Not quite sure what to do, Rush reverts to what Todd was constantly telling him to do when introducing him around the back: keep your mouth shut, shake the guy’s hand, try not to embarrass yourself. So he does exactly that, thrusting his right hand forward towards the Canadian, who looks down at it for a moment, the crowd continuing to cheer. The fans like it when the rookies show respect, you see.






The fans do NOT like it, however, when the veteran of the situation caves in the rookie’s jaw with a brutal elbow that sends Hadrian turning, his back to Johnson as he stumbles into the corner from the force of the blow!




“What the hell?!” shouts Pete, obviously more than a little disgruntled at this sudden turn of events. “What was that for?”


“I’m…I don’t know,” says King, not even bothering to come up with some sort of witty retort involving Hadrian’s propensity for poor performance.


Rush rubs his jaw, the appendage obviously stinging something terrible; of course, if he knew what was coming next, he might not be complaining about his jaw. But before he has time to turn back around, a pair of arms has gripped around his waist, and one forceful jerk later, he’s being tugged backwards, sailing through the air, the victim of one of Johnson’s signature Dangerous Germans. Knowing Rush’s mindset, he’d actually probably think this was really cool.



If not for that damn chair in the way.






And the crowd goes from booing to deathly silent as Rush lands, right on the crown of his skull, in the chair, his body weight causing the chair to implode, bringing him down in a position not conducive to the continuation of his wrestling career. Shit, it’s probably not conducive to the continuation of his ‘using things below his waist’ career. King and Pete are pretty much silent as Johnson stands back up, shooting Hadrian’s rather useless form a glare…before his attention is diverted to the entranceway. It takes only a glance, and then Johnson is through the ropes, over the barrier, and out through the crowd at a dead sprint.


Judging from the massive form lumbering down the ramp, it’s probably time to go.





Edited by realitycheck

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Fade in at nighttime on an unnassuming two story home in a suburban looking neighborhood. At the side of the house, behind some brush, three men dressed in black are huddled. One holds a flashlight while another attempts to cut the glass of a kitchen window. "It is the worst nightmare of any family," narrarates a familar baritone voice with a distinctive Australian accent. "At home, at night, your house is broken into." The assailant with the glass cutter succeeds in popping out a small circular section, which he reaches into and opens the window. All three men pile inside.


"What can you do to prevent this from happening?" The camera zooms out from the house and onto an enormous figure on the front lawn, dressed in a snappy suit. Janus regards the lens with a serious expression. "Turn to the experts, the oldest and most trusted name in home and business security - Brinks. Brinks' new deluxe package offers the best safety for your home with its most complete, reliable service yet." The camera closes in on Janus' face, where the hint of a smirk is now present.






The camera cuts to inside the house, where the front door is suddenly kicked off its hinges by an humongous size 20 boot! Shocked, two of the robbers hefting the television set drop it, and the third turns to the door with a terrified expression. For there, the Hell Machine, now dressed in ring attire, steps through the entrance meanacingly. Janus turns to the camera again.


"Brinks home security monitors every entrance of your home for disturbances, and every large room for movement during the night. In the event of a break in, Brinks headquarters will be discretley alerted, and dispatch me to punch burglars in the face."


Stepping with authority from the wreckage of the front door, Janus does exactly that, scooping up one of the dumbfounded robbers and hitting him with a hellacious Knuckle Bomb - right through the living room window! Shocked, one of men who was carrying the TV set charges at Janus, only to get his faced introduced to the Australian's heel with a Big Boot.


As Janus bends over to pick up the disorientated theif, the third burglar fumbles inside of his jacket, producing a handgun! He shakily attempts to aim it at Janus, but never gets the chance to fire it as his comrade is thrown into him. The man with the gun topples backward and his weapon goes off several times... right into a nearby liquor cabinet, which spontaneously bursts into flames! Janus looks from the heap the two men are now in and back to the camera, speaking conversationally. "Brinks security systems are also tied into your smoke detector alarms. In the event of a fire, a alert can be dispatched to your local fire department."


The Hell Machine marches down the hallway and presses two buttons on a small security console in passing. Suddenly, he's attacked from behind by one of the two downed robbers, and the two begin to brawl up the stairway.




Janus and the two robbers continue to fight in a small hallway on the second floor of the home. Doors line one side, while the other has a railing that overlooks the living room. Janus disorientates one with a sharp elbow smash, but the second grabs the Hell Machine's arm and attempts an armlock, but Janus easily reverses the hold, twisting around the man and yanking his hand, sending him toppling to the ground. Janus turns around to find the first man... who smashes a picture frame over the Australian's head! This does little but make the Hell Machine angrier, and he fires off a quick punch that the robber is able to duck under, hopping on Janus' back and grabbing a desperation sleeper hold.


"In the unlikely event of damage to your home," Janus grunts, trying to shake the criminal off of him. "Brinks promises to work with your insurance company, making sure that things are - oof! - quickly returned to the way they were."


The behemoth finally grabs the legs of the burglar as one of the doors on the hall opens, and a middle aged man in atrocious looking pyjamas pokes his head out to check all the commotion. He has no time to react as Janus rapidly backs into him, crushing both he and the thief into a wall! The unfortunate homeowner collapses, as the thief wobbles down the hallway, stumbling around... right back into Janus, who throws a hand around the man's neck.


"Homes with Brinks security have a capture and incaceration rate of over 98%! If your home is broken into, the perpetrator will be captured and prosecuted." Janus grins. "We guarantee it."


And in one swift movement, Janus lifts the burglar off his feet and cokeslams him over the railing and into the living room, alight with flame!


"Since 1859," Janus begins, walking after the first assailant, crawling helplessly into the bathroom "Brinks has been providing peace of mind to Americans." Janus grabs the head of the dazed man and smashes his head into the sink counter several times, continuing to speak. "Would you trust your children to anything other than the most experienced hands?"


With that, the Australian takes hold of the man's belt as well and hurls him, head first, through the tiled wall! Janus gazes through the large hole in the wall at the little girl who was asleep in the room, flashing a quick smile. She looks at the bloody face of the burglar, then Janus... and then screams in fear!




Cut to Janus walking out of the bathroom. Smoke has now begun to fill the house and light from the fire flickers on the upstairs wall. Janus looks down at the homeowner, who is still lying on the ground and as begun to stir. The Hell Machine addresses the camera again...


"In the event of a medical emergency, Brinks offers an easy push-button interface that allows you to call for an ambulance, and friendly technicians are standing by 24/7 to help you with antyhing until the paramedics arrive."


"Oh, god... my head..."


"Additionally," Janus drawls, with a sly smile. "Should anyone be accidentally injured while I defend your home, I am trained in basic CPR and ressucitation techniques."


"No, I... I think I'll be fine. If you could just give me a hand..." the middle aged man mumbles in pain, but grows silent upon seeing the expression on the face of the Hell Machine. The Australian reaches down towards a mysteriously convenient bag and withdraws two paddles. The homeowner blanches and attempts to get up, but is returned to the floor by a swift chop to the chest. All that can be heard is the high pitched whine of an electrical charge before...








Cut to Janus standing outside the house again, on the front lawn. He is sweaty, his hair is rather mussed and there is some soot on his arms. Surrounding him is a swarm of police cars and a few fire trucks, strobe lights flashing in the night. Behind him, the blaze has engulfed the entire house, reaching high into the night sky. A number of firefighters are desperately attempting get the fire back under control. The frazzled looking homeowner, his wife and his daugher stand just behind Janus.


"Brinks - The home security professionals," Janus says, nodding and smiling awkwardly. Rapid Response. Peace of Mi--"


"Look out!"


The shouting of one of the firefighter's can be heard in the background, as a thunderous crash signaling the collapse the home's roof. The homeowner's wife begins bawling uncontrollably.


"Uh... Brinks! Steadfast and Strong for over 145 years!"

Edited by realitycheck

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"Welcome back to SWF Storm!" hollers LDP. "We are live once again from the sold out Metrapark Arena in Billings, Montana!"


"Christ," sputters Pete's counterpart, Suicide King. "Two shows before From the Fire and the best we can do is freaking Montana? Who is doing the damn booking anyway?"


Pete keeps going, "It has been a great show so far. Now we'll be seeing the team of Kevin Coyote and Insane Luchador up next, and with a 2-0 tournament record so far, this pair is making a strong case to get the SWF Tag Team Title shot at From the Fire!"


"Hey, I was wondering about that," says King. "If those two get the title shot at From the Fire, what happens to Coyote's ladder match against you?"


“I don’t know,” LDP curtly says.


"Ole" by the Bouncing Souls suddenly begins playing over the speakers as the first team of the next match emerges. The fans cheer politely as occasional referee and one time Bemani Cross Wizard Ced Ordonez walks down the ramp, accompanied by a Mexican luchador in a gold mask.


"Ladies and gentlemen," announces Funyon in the center of the ring, "the following tag team contest is a Lethal Lottery tournament match scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, at a combined weight of 429 pounds, and with a Lethal Lottery record of 0 and 2... the team of CED ORDONEZ and LABERINTO!"


"Well, here comes our first team," says LDP.


Inside the ring, the veteran Ced Ordonez rises up the far turnbuckle, posing for the modestly cheering Montana crowd. Laberinto watches Ced but doesn't join in with Ced's "working the crowd." He merely waits inside the ring until his theme music dies out, watching the stage area and awaiting the opposing team.


The next music to blare over the speakers is "Man in the Box" by Alice in Chains. The song is accompanied by red and black pyrotechnic explosions that incite the crowd to more cheers. This light show is replaced by a white flashing light display as the music briskly changes to "I'm Alive" by Disturbed, which continues playing as the second team emerges on the stage. The audience changes their tune as well, exhibiting a mixed reaction for this decidedly mixed team.


"Their opponents," announces Funyon, "at a combined weight of 446 pounds, and with a Lethal Lottery record of 2 and 0... INSANE LUCHADOR and KEVIN COYOTE!"


"Despite surprising the competition with their two wins," says Pete, "this team has not gelled together as well as some of the others."


"You're not kidding!" exclaims King. "Coyote took out IL with a set of brass knuckles in their last match and I loved it."


"I'm fairly sure that was accidental," says Pete, "but the fact remains that this team now holds wins over the teams of Bruce Blank and Amy Stephens, as well as Wildchild and Stryke."


Kevin Coyote and Insane Luchador make their way down the ramp and pause at the base of the ring. IL waits, a little impatiently, as Coyote removes his blue jean jacket and tosses it off to the side. The two begin arguing over which of them will start the match, and for a moment the argument looks pretty heated. Finally Coyote steps into the ring, facing off with Ced Ordonez, as Laberinto backs off into his corner, and IL climbs onto the canvas to take up position behind Coyote. The match's referee, Sexton Hardcastle, motions to the timekeeper to ring the bell so the match can start.




"Here we go!" shouts Longdogger Pete.


Coyote takes to the offense early, channeling his anger outwardly and projecting it towards Ordonez. Coyote strikes Ced across the upper body with a left elbow smash, then grabs Ced by the wrist and Irish whips him into the ropes. Ced bounces off the ropes and heads back toward Coyote, who pulls off a simple hip toss to take care of Ced, at least for a moment. Ced manages to land on his feet, but Coyote throws him off balance with a left hand punch to the gut, then knocks him down, using his quickness to pull Ced to the mat with a snap DDT.


"Coyote is really working over Ced Ordonez," says Pete, "showing some surprising early offense against his opponent."


Ced gets back to his feet and connects with a roundhouse kick which staggers Coyote back a step. Coyote dodges the next high kick from Ced, catching Ced's leg in midair, but Ced leaps into the air with other leg and connects with Coyote's upper body, knocking Coyote off balance with an enziguri. Both men fall to the canvas, but get quickly back to their feet. Coyote tries to connect with a high kick of his own but Ced telegraphs the move and catches Coyote's leg, twisting and sending Coyote to the mat with a dragon screw leg whip. Ced steps back to the ropes, then pushes himself off, hurtling himself toward Coyote as he starts to get back up. Ced rams his elbow into Coyote's midsection, bowling Coyote over. Ced lands atop Coyote in a move that looks painful for one, or possibly both men. Ced tries for a pinfall attempt, but Coyote doesn't show any signs of tiring yet, and shoves Ced clear.


"Ced Ordonez looking good with that Powerdrive Elbow," says Pete.


"He's putting a hurting' on your boy," replies King.


"Stop that," says Pete. "How about just letting me call the match?"


Both men return to their feet, and Ced launches himself at Coyote again, trying to use speed as an advantage, but Coyote sidesteps, then leaps forward, placing his hands behind Ced's head and shoving his face into the canvas with a face crusher. Coyote drops down and rolls Ced over onto his back, hooking Ced's leg for a cover attempt. Referee Sexton Hardcastle gets down on the mat to make the count.









Ced kicks out of the cover, stopping the referee's count. Coyote angrily gets to his feet, but Ced doesn't stick around, instead rolling out of the way to reach a sitting position close to his corner of the ring. Ced lifts his hand up to tag in his partner, Laberinto. Laberinto climbs through the ropes and rushes toward Coyote with superior quickness. Laberinto jumps up to attack Coyote with a spinning heel kick, getting some serious air and connecting with Coyote's upper body. Coyote staggers back, but Laberinto presses his attack, landing perfectly on his heels and bouncing forward to deal out a flying forearm to Coyote but he keeps his balance. The aggressive Laberinto strikes Coyote across the upper body with a knife edge chop-






Laberinto takes a half step back in preparation, then leaps into the air, wrapping his legs around Coyote's neck and sending him down to the mat with a hurricanrana.


"Laberinto is not letting up for a second!" observes Pete.


With Coyote on the canvas, Laberinto tries for a cover, dropping atop Coyote as Hardcastle makes the count.









THR-- NO! Coyote manages to kick out, looking a bit winded but none too worse for wear. Coyote kips up to attempt to turn the tables on Laberinto and succeeds as he knocks him down with a fierce clothesline. Laberinto starts to roll back toward his corner, perhaps in an attempt to tag in his partner, Ced Ordonez, but Coyote bends forward to start rolling himself, completing a forward somersault and diving onto Laberinto with a Rolling Thunder. Laberinto sprawls out on the mat, just inches short of his goal, and Coyote hooks Laberinto's leg.









Laberinto quickly sits up, breaking the count and further frustrating Coyote. Laberinto actually gets up faster than Coyote can, and rushes at the rising Coyote, leaping onto him and pulling off a Tilt-a-Whirl backbreaker that sends Coyote sprawled out onto the mat again. Laberinto drops onto Coyote for a cover attempt.









NO! Insane Luchador steps into the ring and darts over to stomp onto Laberinto to break the count. Hardcastle waves off IL as Laberinto continues his attack on Coyote, getting a few good stomps in before Coyote can get up.


"I think Laberinto's speed may be too much for the youngster," says Pete.


Coyote finally manages to get up, and desperate to get some offense in, he grabs Laberinto's wrist in an attempt to Irish whip him into the corner. However, Laberinto reverses the whip, sending Coyote into his own corner instead. Coyote smacks against the turnbuckle, and before he can do anything else, Insane Luchador reaches over the ropes and smacks Coyote on the shoulder!


"Again?" adds King to IL’s self-tag.


IL steps into the ring to do battle with Laberinto. IL wraps Laberinto up in a front headlock while a visibly irritated Coyote steps back out to his corner.


"As you may notice IL has done this before,” LDP says.


"Yeah, and IL ended up with a fistful of knuckles for it!" grins King.


"That was an accident, King," says Pete. "We've already discussed that."


IL keeps that front headlock locked in and feels free to bring up alternating knee strikes to Laberinto’s body. Laberinto looks stunned, and so IL adjusts the lock, shifting to Laberinto's back side and dropping him backward in a reverse DDT. IL rolls atop Laberinto and goes for an early cover.






TWO! Laberinto gets his shoulder up just before the three.


IL maneuvers around the winded Laberinto and works himself into a camel clutch submission. Laberinto looks pained for a few moments, and then manages to reach out and wrap a hand around the bottom of the rope, forcing Sexton Hardcastle to call for the rope break.


"Laberinto appears unaccustomed to all these submissions," says Pete. "It's a good strategy by Insane Luchador, forcing Laberinto to slow his pace to match."


"He's managing a hell of a lot better than Kevin Coyote was against Laberinto," says King.


"Well, Coyote is younger than IL and less experienced," explains LDP.


"See, there you go defending him again," complains King. "What is your problem?"


“Hey, you’re defending IL!”


Inside the ring Laberinto and IL are both back to their feet. IL rushes at Laberinto, attempting a flying elbow, but Laberinto throws him off balance with a well timed superkick to the jaw. IL reels off to the side, and Laberinto takes advantage, hopping on IL's back and dropping backward, landing on his back, suspending IL in the air on his hands and feet in a Mexican surfboard submission. IL grunts out in pain for several moments before Laberinto drops IL, who flops onto his stomach a couple of feet away. The move is physically draining on both men, and for a long moment neither wrestler moves. The referee sees the inactivity in the ring and decides to start counting to spur the men to action.















FIVE! Laberinto turns himself over, beginning to crawl toward his corner to reach Ced Ordonez, while Insane Luchador inches his way toward his own corner to get to Kevin Coyote. Undaunted, Hardcastle continues counting.






SEVEN! Insane Luchador rolls to his feet and staggers towards his corner as Coyote looks on in total disinterest.



EIGHT! Laberinto finally makes it close enough to his corner to get his hand in the air and slap hands with Ced Ordonez, who re-enters the ring as the legal man. On the opposite corner, IL raises his hand to tag in Coyote... but Coyote has suddenly turned away!


"What the hell's he doing?" asks Pete.


Suddenly oblivious to the ring action and ignoring IL completely, Coyote drops down from his corner and wanders back over to where he tosses his jean jacket. He appears to pull a small object out of his jacket. He cocks his head to the side as he presses some buttons before shrugging and putting the phone back down. He looks up in the ring with a little smirk on his face before hopping back onto the ring apron.


"I don't believe this," says Pete. "He's checking his damn cell phone! The total lack of respect is nearly astounding!”


Meanwhile, an incensed Insane Luchador is left to the wolves as a refreshed Ced Ordonez advances on him. He bends over and grabs a handful of Luchador’s spiked hair and begins to tug him up to his feet. Instead Luchador plops onto his knees and sends a punch into Ced’s gut and then tackles him down to the canvas at his knees. He scrambles to his feet and staggers over towards his corner before lunging out in desperation to make the tag. The fans jeer loudly Coyote enters the ring and IL rolls out without even bothering to help his partner. Ced Ordonez rolls to his feet in confusion but the wily veteran senses trouble as he ducks down and narrowly avoids Coyote’s clothesline attempt. He stands up straight and turns to face Kevin who’s forced a step forward by momentum but he spins around to bring an elbow up into Ced’s face! He is sent backpedaling from the elbow and Coyote steps forward to unleash a front kick into his gut. The Bemani Cross Wizard doubles over and Coyote takes a few steps back. He glances over to his corner at IL with a little smirk as he charges forward, leaps into the air and catches Ordonez in a tornado DDT! The fans burst into jeers as Coyote hops onto his feet and mouths a condescending remark to Luchador about that’s how it’s done.


“You have to believe that soon this team is just going to have a meltdown,” LDP says.


“If it involves Luchador getting taken out then I’m all for it,” King replies.


He drops to the canvas to hook Ced’s leg for a pin attempt-


ONE! Laberinto vaults over the top rope and he comes charging over to break up the pin.


TWO! Ced gets his shoulder up and his partner puts on his brakes. He sends a nasty kick into Coyote’s face and he falls back against the canvas with his eyes rolled back at his corner where his partner is smirking. Hardcastle tells the luchadore to get back into his corner. He pauses and then hops into the air to hit a double stomp onto Coyote’s chest. Kevin wheezes in response and clutches his chest in pain as the luchadore casually walks over to his corner and his partner sees an opportunity. He bounces back into the ropes and gains some speed as he rapidly approaches his opponent. He falls down to the canvas in an energetic elbow drop that actually smacks Coyote with his entire torso.


“Another Powerdrive and Ced Ordonez is on fire,” LDP says.


“Or, in Laberinto’s world, en fuego.”


He rolls up to his feet and bounces into the ropes again in an identical fashion. He attempts to drop down again but Coyote rolls away just in time to avoid a second Powerdrive. The two race to their feet and it results in a tie as they lunge at each other. They collide into a grapple and Coyote slips an arm free to give an elbow smash into Ordonez’s mouth. He uses the surprise smash as an advantage as he locks in a front facelock. He grabs a handful of Ordonez’s blue and lightning bolt tights and seems ready to lift him up for a suplex. He tries to lift Bemani Cross Wizard into the air but finds Ced to be relentless as he sandbags his weight down. He grunts and gets ready for another attempt but feels Ced’s leg wrap around his in a grapevine. He sends a knee out to stun his opponent and then successfully lifts him vertically into the air. He stalls and gets the crowd booing as he spends his sweet time with Ordonez held up high with the blood rushing down to his head. Coyote flinches as if faking to drop before falling back for the vertical suplex. Ordonez bounces on the canvas and he flops over to his stomach with Laberinto in his sights.


“He might be trying to make a tag soon,” LDP says.


He tries to make a break away towards his corner but Coyote stares down and simply plants his foot onto Ced’s back. He pins the light Ordonez down to the canvas in pure embarrassment to halt his attempt to escape. He bends over and grabs his opponent by the head then yanks him up to his feet. He tries to whip his opponent into the ropes but Ced spins with the momentum in an attempt to send him at the ropes. But Coyote still holds on and in frustration he whips Ced Ordonez right towards his own partner. He audibly swears as he quickly realizes his mistake and he charges after his opponent. It’s a feeble attempt as Ced holds out his hand to make the tag to a wave of cheers from the crowd and Coyote tries to stop in time. But Laberinto proves to be too quick as he hops onto the top rope and uses it as a springboard as he sails at his opponent. He spins his body with his legs out and levels Coyote with a picture perfect spinning wheel kick. Kevin Coyote tries to shake off the kick and roll to his feet but is too disoriented from the move and settles for getting to all fours. Laberinto rolls up to his feet and dashes over to his opponent where he drops to the canvas with a baseball slide into Coyote’s face. He groans in pain as he grabs his face and rolls away from his opponent towards his corner. The Mexican luchadore surges forward and leaps into the air as he leans his weight back to hit a back senton drop to kill Coyote’s escape attempt. He hooks the leg in high hopes of an easy win-


ONE! Insane Luchador beats Ced Ordonez by a millisecond as they enter the ring.


TWO! Luchador has the shorter run as he’s able to kick Laberinto in his floating ribs to break the pin. He ignores the charging Bemani Cross Wizard as he begins to stomp on Laberinto. Sexton tries to intervene but Ced Ordonez literally flies by his face as he looks ready to connection with the Insane Luchador. The Ill One looks up and ducks as his opponent soars over him before descending to the canvas. He smacks against the mat and skids into the ropes to a split reaction from the crowd at the crash-and-burn Crossbody Block. Kevin Coyote rolls up to his feet as Insane Luchador steps forward to confront him. Meanwhile Laberinto takes advantage of the tension as he patiently stands behind the two. Coyote shoves Luchador and tells him to get back onto the apron and Hardcastle echoes those thoughts backed up with the threat of throwing away the match.


“The tension between these two is nearly at its boiling point,” LDP says.


Insane Luchador grunts as he turns around towards his corner and in frustration he glances down at Ced. He throws a harsh kick to the downed Ordonez that has him roll out of the ring to plop on the outside to the fans’ disapproval. Insane Luchador gets back onto the apron and smirks at Coyote as he notices Laberinto poised to strike. The Mexican luchadore sends a roundhouse kick that cracks Coyote in the back of the head with a resounding smack. He then leaps into the air and dropkicks Kevin Coyote right in the back as he begins to fall. It sends Kevin Coyote staggering over to his corner where he hits the ropes and by accident makes contact with Luchador. He enters the ring but Laberinto isn’t fazed and ambushes him with a flurry of quick strikes and kicks. Insane Luchador, no stranger to brawling, throws up his arms to absorb some blows and willing takes a few shots until the flurry slows. He draws back his arm for a haymaker but Laberinto shoots a palm strike right into his jaw! He reels back and into the ropes where Coyote tries to lunge at him for the tag but doesn’t quite make it. Laberinto tries to press on another attack but Luchador unleashes a high kick to the side of his head. He quickly follows it up as he spins around with his arm extended to smash a spinning backfist onto his opponent.


“Huge spinning backfist by the Insane Luchador,” LDP says. “This is going to get interesting because if Laberinto gets into his groove he can avoid the strikes. But if he gets caught in any sort of ground-and-pound technique then this may be over.”


He reels back from the move and IL charges forward before throwing a forearm. But the speedy Laberinto ducks underneath it and sends a kick to Luchador’s kneecap. He throws a roundhouse kick that collides with Luchador’s temple and incites a loud groan. He sways as if resisting dropping down but gets caught with a spinning back kick into his chest. He tries to suck in his chest and ignore the pain but simply can’t as he drops to both knees. He instinctively drops onto his back on the canvas in an awkward stretch but proves to be wise as Laberinto hits nothing but air with his attempt step up kick. He falls down to the canvas and Luchador shoots out as he grabs one his legs. He violently lifts into the air and smacks it down onto the canvas. He presses the leg with his arms to keep it pinned as he hops into the air in a crouched position then knee drops onto Laberinto’s limb. Laberinto grabs his leg in pain and Luchador stands up in satisfaction. He grabs him by his mask and begins to tug at it which causes the luchadore to scramble to his feet. IL smashes an elbow into his face and clutches in a front headlock before bringing up alternating knees for the second time. However this time he ends it as he grabs a handful of his tights then hoists him into the air. He drops down to the canvas in a brutal Brainbuster that has the crowd groan in sympathy.


“Huge Brainbuster by Luchador and that may be it,” LDP says.


Insane Luchador gets right up to his feet and bounces into the ropes of his corner in an ignorant move. Kevin Coyote quickly reaches out and slaps IL’s shoulder to rip off Luchador’s own idea to get himself back into the match. Hardcastle calls it official but instead it sparks an argument. The two begin to yell at each other while Laberinto is able to begin to make his escape. Coyote enters the ring and Luchador shoves him into the ropes in response while quickly spewing insults in the fine art of “talking shit.”


“Who knew a guy from Pennsylvania could speak like that?”


Meanwhile, while the team of Luchador and Coyote argue as Hardcastle feebly intervenes, Laberinto begins to crawl to the anxious Ced Ordonez. Insane Luchador retreats to the ring apron and Kevin Coyote loudly barks out an insult just to taunt his partner. He turns around to see Laberinto on his feet and staggering a few steps before falling to his knees. He begins to walk over but sees Laberinto grunting and speedily walking on his knees towards Ordonez. However, this time, Kevin Coyote stops in center of the ring to keep his distance and allows the tag to be made. The former referee steps into the air and cautiously approaches towards the center of the ring. Coyote breaks into a charge at his opponent but immediately regrets his decision, while the fans adore it, because Ced leaps up with a dropkick to level him down. He tries to scramble back to his feet but instead Ced drops to the canvas to engage him. He gets to his knees and throws out a punch that Coyote dodges as he stands up in hopes to shoot off a kick. Instead Ced Ordonez shoots his arm out and clutches Coyote’s inner thigh then is able to hook his hand over the back of his head. He pulls him onto his shoulders in the Fireman’s Carry position and stands up. The fans break into a chorus of cheers because they recognize the signature move.


“Regal Roll!” LDP says in delight.


Ced Ordonez drops into a forward roll and crushes Coyote against the canvas with his signature move. He stands up and quickly grabs the dazed Kevin Coyote to yank him to his feet. He whips him into his corner as he points to Laberinto to an enthusiastic reaction from the crowd.


“Curiously unmotivated or more curiously liked?” King asks.


He jogs over and grabs Coyote as he lifts him onto the top turnbuckle. He then whispers something at his partner before making the quick tag. Across the ring Insane Luchador underestimates the potential damage as he just stares at the action. Laberinto hops up and perches himself on the top rope before Ced Ordonez turns his back to the ropes as he leans against them. The Masked Mexican shows off his agility as he stands up on the top rope and steps onto Ced Ordonez’s shoulders. He leaps off his shoulders and connects with Kevin Coyote and hits a beautiful hurricanrana. The fans explode in cheers as Ced steps onto the ring apron and Laberinto picks up Coyote. He sends a palm strike to his chest that sends him reeling back into the turnbuckle. Now he hoists him onto the top turnbuckle as he makes the tag to Ced Ordonez.


“What teamwork and what a move!” LDP says.


This time Laberinto turns towards Luchador and rushes which sets off an alarm. IL vaults over the top rope in the ring and ducks underneath a clothesline attempt from his opponent. As his opponent whirls around he throws out a front kick followed by the front headlock. He drops to the canvas in an Evenflow DDT that brutally spikes Laberinto’s head against the canvas. Meanwhile Ordonez steps onto the middle turnbuckle and grabs Coyote in a fallaway slam position.


“Evenflow DDT! Wait, Christ! Ced’s going for the Dynamite Rave, that fallaway moonsault always get the job done!” LDP shouts in the heat of the match.


Ced Ordonez carefully steps onto top turnbuckle and Hardcastle objects at Luchador’s presence but gets ignored. He runs up to the turnbuckle where he clubs Ced in the back to stop the finisher attempt. IL then wraps an arm around his back then pokes his head to side of his opponent’s body. He arches back and awkwardly throws Ced off the top turnbuckle with a backdrop suplex but all the weight causes Ced to fly over IL but land on his back. The fans explode into cheers for the move but dissolve into a mixed reaction as Coyote lands on top for a pin!
















“Wow, Insane Luchador and Kevin Coyote won yet again. More dysfunctional yet oddly effective than ever as they join the elite 3-0 club as our tournament will continue,” LDP says. “But don’t you dare go away!”



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"Uh...welcome back to Storm, where we're having a little hold up in the schedule." beings Pete, as the camera focuses on the ring where Laberinto and Ced Ordonez are still recovering from their third straight defeat in the Lethal Lottery. Laberinto is up and helping Ced up, as a few fans applaud, but not many. "Laberinto and Ced obviously...well, disappointed with what happened tonight."


"No kidding. Even Matt Myers didn't suck this bad." smirks King as he rubs some salt in the wounds.


"That aside, this young kid Laberinto's got a little experience teaming with Ced at least. He's a rookie and things can only go upwards."


"Unless they go down."


"Well...yeah, I guess."


Laberinto grasps Ced by the hand and pulls the Benami Cross Wizard to his feet, Ced clearly unhappy with another loss despite the fact that really he should be used to them by now. After all, he did team with Alan Clark. Weakly Ced pats Laberinto on the chest, the masked luchador returning the favour before raising Ced's hand in the air.




The crowd give them a little love, but really deep down, they want some more action.






Lucky then, that at that exact moment, Laberinto NAILS Ced in the jaw with a Superkick!!




"What the...!?!"


Ced drops to the mat as the masked Laberinto looks down on his fallen partner. Faintly, he shakes his head, grabbing Ced once more and pulling him to his knees.


"Laberinto, understandably upset with his performance...but, come on! This isn't the way to deal with things!" despairs Pete. "What's gotten into this kid? And what the hell is he doing now!?!"


Pulling Ced from his knees, Laberinto hooks Ced's arms to help him drag the referee and part-time wrestler's deadweight upright. Or, semi-upright, as he hooks him in a standing headscissors. Arms still hooked, Laberinto then looks into the crowd, setting Ced and lifting him up with a Tiger Drive...




...no, he doesn't get that far, stopping with Ced elevated, upside down...





"Oh shit, NO..."













Sure, it wasn't crisp. It wasn't executed perfectly. But there's no arguing about what it was.





"Oh God, get someone out here." mumbles an uncharacteristically concerned Suicide King.


Standing up, Laberinto looks out into the crowd. An unnerving silence has filled the air as Ced lays motionless in the ring...but slowly but surely, that silence begins to morph into excitement. Nervous excitement.


"We need to get someone out here to help Ced."


"Woah...wait a minute, you don't think..." Pete muses aloud, as he stares into the ring. "...no, it couldn't be..."


"Well, who else would it be? Who else uses that move?"


"No, it couldn't be him...I mean, somebody would have known..."


Turning to the centre of the ring, Laberinto looks down at Ced, head tilted slightly to the side. Some mild chants are starting up, the fans seeming to cotton on. The mask of Laberinto seems to be stretching under pressure from a large smile. But the mask isn't going to be stretched for much longer apparantly, as Laberinto reaches up and starts to untie the laces at the back, to a sudden buzz from the fans. Meanwhile referees have rushed to ringside, entering the ring but trying to stay clear of Laberinto. If it's who they think he is, they don't want anything to do with him. With the laces undone, Laberinto now turns to face the hard camera and the crowd are just waiting, begging, pleading that it's who they so desperately want to see, the long gone but not forgotten, right under everyone's noses for all this time...











...LANDON MADDIX!?!?!?!?!






"Son of a BITCH!" spits King furiously, as the crowd go wild around him.


"No...that doesn't make any sense. How could he...I mean, he's been here the whole time!! He's been here since Laberinto got here...no, you're kidding me!"


The crowd feel short changed and really let Landon have it, as he continues to clutch the mask in his right hand. Taking a deep intake of breath, Landon turns his head to where Ced lays and looks down at his fallen former partner. He knows what Ced must be feeling. He knows the risks, the dangers, the fact that his neck could be snapped in two.



And he smirks.


"Look at him...no remorse!" despairs King.


"Has Maddix been under the mask the whole time? I mean...that's...that's a hell of a way to go to send a message." Pete mumbles, at a loss for words.


"There's sending a message and then there's stepping over the line...and Landon Maddix just stepped over the god-damn line tonight!"


"I don't know what to say."


Leaving the ring, Landon steps over Ced's body without a second look back, still being booed from all corners of the arena. He stays emotionless however, as he strides up the ramp. Still he doesn't look back at the group of referees attending to Ced, who thankfully seems to be conscious and moving, although far from freely, Sexton Hardcastle encouraging him not to move and risk screwing up his neck.


"Uhm...well, I don't get this at all."


"What's there to get? Landon's lost his mind and he's trying to mutilate innocent people to draw back a retired SWF wrestler back for a match. If you wanna try and get your head around that then I'll promise to visit you when the men in white coats drag you away, but as for me, I think I'll just settle for not bothering."


"I think we'd better move on..."

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We fade in again on the halls of the <arena>, zooming in on the face of SWF Chief of Security Terrence "Janus" Bailey. Hanging off of his right arm is JJ Johnson, finally having been subdued after this evening's earlier excitement. Janus is, as always, flanked by his everpresent female shadow on one side. Johnson is struggling half-heartedly in the Hell Machine's grasp, as they presumably march towards the exit.


"Damn it, Bailey... let go of me! I-" Johnson rasps, struggling vainly to find the words to get him out of this predicament.


"There's no point in struggling, Mr. Johnson," Janus evenly replies. "It won't do you any good. I really find this hard to believe, that with weeks of each other, an SWF program is invaded not by one, but by two rejects long since cast off by the Federation."


Johnson can merely grunt in response, continuing to walk beside Janus as the Australian forces him down another twisting hallway. As they approach a service entrance, JJ's attempts at struggling free become more spirited.


"Janus, wait! Goddamn it, you need to listen to me! I--"


"And what do you have to say that we should listen to, hmm?" Janus queries. "If I fail to remove you from the premises, it will result in the nullification of my contract."


"If you'll just listen to me, I... rrg!"


With a desperate twist to free himself, Johnson manages to pop himself loose from the behemoth's grip. Taken somewhat aback, Janus begins to advance on Johnson with a meanacing impression.


"Wait!" JJ rasps, holding out a hand. "I have an... an offer for you!"


Janus halts in mid stip. A curious expression spreads out over his features, obviously not expecting this tactic from JJ. "And what, pray tell, could you possibly offer me? Unless you intend to offer a fight, for all the good it will do you."


"I.." Johnson begins, uneasily. "I... in return for a favour I can... I can give you my services! Myself!"


Janus stares quizzically at the former UFC fighter before him, and then balks. "Really now, Mr. Johnson. This is all very amusing, but I do believe it's time for you to be going."


Janus continues his advance, while Johnson, out of ideas and out of time, adopts a defensive position. As the Hell Machine reaches out towards him, he is stopped by the smooth sound of a third voice...


"My friends, please."


Janus turns towards the source of the voice, seeming to be somewhat surprised. "Hiroshi... what do you want with this miscreant?"


"I think it would be rude to remove this man before he has been given a chance to speak. I myself am quite... curious about this proposition. Mr. Johnson, if you would?"


From the shadows steps the Inquisitor, clad as always in his impeccible suit and black bowler derby - and, of course that pleasing smile. Which is what the camera closes in on as we...



Edited by realitycheck

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Oh my god match I must write!


Akira and Cross.


Crowd cheers.


Wildchild and Stryke.


Crowd cheers.


"oh my god, it's a big spot! yay!"


"oh my god, chain wrestling, yay!"


Jay Hawke interferes, and hurts Wildchild.


Not yay :(


Akira makes a cover.






Yay, or not yay, depending upon who you were rooting for.


FADE OUT (yay)

Edited by realitycheck

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"We are just moments away from our big main event here on Storm” Pete says to welcome the viewers back from the commercial break.




“Yeah I’m with you people – Boo Maddix” King says as the crowd begins to boo and jeer.


But they’re not booing the imminent main event nor are they booing the Suicide King, they are in fact booing at Bruce who just stepped through the curtains and is heading down the aisle with a steel chair in one hand an a microphone in the other.


“What the?”


“Maybe Bruce is here to do guest commentary Pete? Did you get a memo? I didn’t get a memo” King says as he starts to flip through his papers.


But Bruce isn’t heading over to the announce table, instead he steps into the ring, unfolds the steel chair and then sits down in the center of the ring. It’s obvious that Bruce isn’t pleased with something, but then again Bruce is hardly ever pleased so the fans will just have to wait until Bruce speaks up to know exactly what kind of bug is up his ass this time.




“I’ve waited all night but enough is enough!” Bruce starts out “Insane Luchador you don’t have a surprise do you? You’re just trying to rattle me with this “mystery opponent” bullshit when in fact it’s obvious you have no friends or allies at all”




“Well I’ve had it – it’s time to lay all the cards on the table little man. I’m going to sit right here in the middle of the ring until you come out and I could care less if there isn’t time for the main event or not, I WANT ANSWERS!!” Bruce bellows angrily.


“Oh come on! Who wants to see Bruce sitting in the ring instead of Magnifico against Maddix” Pete asks.


“You know what? I think Bruce sitting on a chair for 20 minutes beats seeing Maddix in the ring, he should just stay there until we’re off the air” The Suicide King replies.


“So Rickmen where is the big surprise huh? Come on!!” Bruce says as he waits impatiently.


IL!! IL!! IL!! IL!! IL!! IL!!


”Yeah come on Lunch-a-door!! Come out and admit that you couldn’t find anyone who had the guts to face me. Own up to the fact that everyone turned pale and wet themselves at the prospect of facing me in an Ultraviolent match” Bruce says with a smirk.


“You know what? Just call out Janus and his security team and get him out of the ring” Pete says annoyed that he has to listen to Bruce instead of watching a great match event.


“Why? He’s not hurting anyone, he’s not attacking anyone – it’s not a matter for Janus and their boys” King replies in smarmy tone.


After a few moments more it’s obvious that Bruce isn’t going to leave voluntarily and thus Janus enters the arena to take care of business. But before he makes his way down the aisle towards Bruce he’s stopped by Insane Luchador who tells him something and then heads down the aisle towards the ring himself.


“Well, well, well you look a little angry Bruce, it’s not good for your health you know?” Luchador says as the crowd cheers him on.


IL!! IL!! IL!! IL!! IL!! IL!!


“There he is and all by his lonesome too – what a friggin’ surprise” Bruce says as Insane Luchador approaches the ring.


“You’re a very impatient man Bruce, you wouldn’t be… scared?”




“I ain’t scared of ANYTHING! I’m just tired of your games!”


With all his attention focused on the Insane Luchador on the floor Bruce doesn’t even notice that a man in black pants and a black hooded sweatshirt jumps comes out of the crowd from the opposite side. With the hood up it’s impossible to tell who it is but he cuts a pretty impressive figure at about 6’5’’ – 6’6’’ and over 250 pounds for sure.


“There is a fan in the ring! SOMEONE GET SECURITY!!” King yells out as the black clad man gets to his feet right behind Bruce.


“Could this be Insane Luchador’s surprise?” Pete asks continuing the long line of stupid questions he’s known for asking.


“I knew you couldn’t find anyone with enough gu--“


That’s all Bruce gets out before the mystery man attacks him from behind, he grabs Bruce around the neck in a 3/4 lock and pulls him out of the steel chair, driving him to the canvas with a Diamondcutter variation that brings the crowd to their feet.




“That move...” Pete says, he obviously suspects something.


The mystery man is on his knees, the hood still obstructing his face as he reaches over and grabs the microphone Bruce was using, the big man has no use for it anyways since he’s been knocked out.


“One more time…” he says quietly before standing up straight, throwing the hood back “For the RENEGADE MASTAAAAAAAAAAAAA”




“HOLY MOTHER OF MERCY!! It’s the Renegade!!” Pete says as he leaps to his feet in surprise, shock and approval. “The Renegade will take on Bruce at From the Fire! X-FACTOR NINE REPRESENT!!”


“Oh calm down you’re so damn unprofessional” King says as Longdogger Pete seems pleased to see a former stable mate in the ring.




Luchador quickly slides under the bottom rope into the ring and high fives his long time friend and “Surprise” as the crowd cheers for the appearance of the Renegade – and not just for the nostalgia factor either but also for the fact that he just knocked Bruce’s ass out.


“I’m telling you Bruce is in TROUBLE!! This guy is a 2 time JL Television champion, a 2 time JL European champion and he’s a TWO TIME JL WORLD CHAMPION!! He’s got the goods! He knows how to get the job done!! And most of all he knows how to HURT PEOPLE!!” Pete says as he stresses the past accomplishments of the man in the ring.


“Someone should wake Bruce up and tell him what happened cause that Renebreak put him in la-la Land!” King says


“He’ll just have to catch the Storm Replay!” Pete says, not caring one bit as he’s busy marking out.


Fade out as Insane Luchador and the Renegade leave the ring together to a massive crowd reaction.

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"Well...I'm guessing it's main event time." begins Pete, flipping through his schedule frantically. "But, after what we saw earlier tonight, I don't have a god-damn clue what's going on! I mean, Laberinto unmasked in the ring and it was Landon Maddix, who's scheduled to be in this main event. We still want answers from that, but...Landon's already wrestled once tonight."


"And he lost."


"Well...yeah, but, he wasn't out here to win. Assuming that this wasn't a one night thing, why would Landon try to win a title shot against himself for a title he doesn't even want?"


"...coz he's dumb?"



Suddenly, a murmur goes up through the arena because here's Joseph Peters on the stage! If that looks like a rushed intro, it is, so shoot me and such.


"Alright, settle down people." begins Peters, in a tone that means bad news to come. "Before you get too excited, I'm unfortunately the bringer of some bad news regarding our main event tonight. And that bad news is...it's not gonna happen."




"Earlier tonight, something went down in this ring that I nor the SWF condone. In this ring, a loyal referee and SWF superstar was ruthlessly sneak attacked. Nothing abnormal about that...except that not only was Ced Ordonez conned and not only were the fans conned, not only was every competitor who faced Laberinto conned but I, Joseph Peters, was conned. Landon Maddix has been wrestling under a duel identity for the past two months! He went under my nose and he went against SWF regulation Section 5, Paragraph...uh...well, I forget which paragraph. I'll get Hearford on the case though, because right now I'm pissed off! Landon Maddix decided that he'd make a mockery of the Lethal Lottery tournament..."


"Well, that's not hard."


"King, quiet!"


"...so I see it unfair that he should wrestle again tonight. I don't see why he should pick up a double paycheck. And I don't see why he should be recieving a match with our vaunted SWF World Heavyweight Champion, El Luchadore Magnifico. So, while Ced Ordonez was being attended to in the back and thankfully folks, he's doing okay and he's been sent to the hospital for precautionary sake...while that happened, Landon Maddix was escorted from the building!"


The fans don't quite know how to react.


"I haven't decided on a punishment quite yet, but what I can assure you is that Landon Maddix will be required to turn up for his next booking. And his next booking will be another double header. Booking 1...He's going to have to come to my office and give me a full and honest explanation. And Booking 2...He will be forced to come to this ring and explain his actions, to the world! And then and only then will I decide what punishment he recieves. But Landon, just so you know, I refuse to hear Toxxic as an excuse. Unless you check into a mental hospital within the next 5 days, I will not accept any pleas of insanity. And Landon, whatever excuse you come up with better be good...because JANUS saw what happened to Ced and I think you may have just broken some of his guidelines my friend. Now, everybody, stay tuned for specially re-arranged main event involving Matt Myers an..."


The fans in one large mass stand up and start running for the exits, so Peters shrugs and goes to the back.


"I think Landon's in trouble, King."


"Oh, he done done it now! He definately done done it now!"


"What does that even mean?"


"It means show over. I'm getting outta here before they send Myers out. Stay here if you want, but don't expect me to nurse your back to sanity afterwards..."

Edited by realitycheck

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Alright, so that's Storm, and as you can see, we had a few issues. I'm hoping we work this stuff out by the morning. Just once, I want a show I can post within an hour or two of the deadline that isn't missing a fucking thing.


Anyway, we have A Very Special Lockdown coming up next, with a surprise GUEST BOOKUR! You're paying for the whole seat, but you'll only need the edge. That card should hopefully be up shortly.



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