From the Fire Losing Matches

[devo 0]

Hrm.

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“Ladies and gentlemen, believe me when I tell you that this is the investment opportunity of a lifetime!” Chris Raynor breathlessly states to the audience at home. “Whether you decide to go with the more conventional Giant Panda or the high-risk, high-reward Red Panda, you can rest assured that it’ll be money well spent. Remember, Panda Equals Profit…For You!”

 

The screen goes black shortly after Raynor finishes speaking, bringing the rather confusing advertisement to a close and leaving the viewers at home to reconsider their respective investment portfolios. For a few moments, that’s all they really can do, as the SWF seems to have decided to broadcast nothing but blank silence for now.

 

I have a mind, a good memory

Here's how my life begins

 

But that all changes when the broadcast quickly cuts to a shot of the inside of the American West Arena, where Amorphis’ “From the Fire” is blasting over every one of the arena’s speakers! The official From the Fire theme song whips the fans into a frenzy, cheering nearly loud enough to drown out the energetic heavy metal. The camera quickly pans over the tens of thousand people in a dizzying assault on the senses, which mercifully comes to a close when the broadcast cuts to Cyclone Comet and the Suicide King. The commentating pair anxiously sit behind their announce desk, ready to continue reporting this spectacular event.

 

“Salutations once more, home viewers!” Comet dramatically cries. “As you well know, I am CYCLOOOOOOOONE COOOOOOMET, taking a much-needed break from my duties protecting the good, honest citizens of these United States.”

 

“And filming action movies in Southeast Asia.” King flatly interjects.

 

“Right, that too.” Comet admits. “At any rate, we have had a fantastic show here in Phoenix, which has showcased the best talent the SWF has to offer. What’s been the highlight of the night for you thus far, my smarmy, vaguely evil commentary partner?”

 

“Easily the TLC Match for the World Tag Team Titles.” King responds. “Any match where Landon Maddix gets the piss beat out of him is okay with me. It even made up for all the garbage wrestling in that contest. In a close second is the cage match between Jay Hawke and Wildchild for the International Title. Hawke simply put on a clinic, showing Wildchild that his laughable flip-flopping doesn’t work within the confines of a steel cage.”

 

“Great matches without a doubt.” Comet affirms. “But, even though it was technically on the pre-show, my favorite contest thus far was the third installment of the Calvinball Series. It was delightfully ridiculous and displayed just how fun the SWF can be.”

 

“Just the kind of pick I’d expect from a lunatic in a superhero costume.” King rolls his eyes.

 

“But our next contest definitely has the potential to trump all the matches we’ve seen thus far!” Comet declares, ignoring King’s insult. “In this evening’s Main Event, El Luchadore Magnifico will defend his World Heavyweight Title against the winner of this year’s Clusterfuck, Wes Davenport!”

 

“Christ, and I thought it was bad when they had Spike Jenkins going up against Mags.” King spits. “This ridiculous sham of a match only serves to show just how far the SWF has fallen. Magnifico, one of the few worthwhile competitors left in this fed, is forced to defend his World Title against a mere actor who won the Clusterfuck on a stroke of blind luck.”

 

“That’s hardly fair, King.” Comet counters, foolishly trying to talk some sense into his commentary partner. “One need only look to last week’s Lockdown, where the team of Magnifico and Jay Hawke took on Davenport and Wildchild, to see that Wes is more than able to compete at this level. This is easily the biggest match of Davenport’s life, and I guarantee you that he’s ready for it.”

 

“Please.” King scoffs. “If you’ll remember correctly, Magnifico took Wes completely out of that match near the end with a beautifully executed Baja California Crusher. Wildchild just got amazingly lucky and happened to be in the right place to take advantage of ELM’s one moment of inattention after landing the Crusher.”

 

“Plus, let’s not forget the amazing, historic run ELM has had with the World Title thus far.” King rambles on. “He’s successfully defended the belt five times, easily besting such stiff competition as Todd Cortez and JJ Johnson. Twice on the latter, even. There’s no way this pathetic excuse for a professional wrestler has any chance of defeating Magnifico here tonight.”

 

“That’s an amazingly ridiculous stance to take, but I suppose nothing I say will talk you out of it.” Comet grimly speculates.

 

“Damn straight.” King stubbornly agrees.

 

Comet rolls his eyes and returns his attention to the home audience. “Fine viewers at home, King may not agree with me, but I believe that we have a fantastic Main Event in store for you. So, let’s not delay it any further. We’ll now pass it along to the indomitable Funyon for the introductions so we can get this contest started.”

 

As promised, the camera quickly cuts to Funyon, who stands in the middle of the ring, bedecked in a perfectly pressed tuxedo. Smiling, he looks out over the anxious, excited crowd for a moment before bringing the microphone to his lips and beginning his spiel.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, “The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the SWF World Heavyweight Championship!”

 

“RAAAAAAAAAAAHH!”

 

Hey! Get, get, get, get, get over it!

 

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!”

 

The crowd releases an immense pop as OK Go’s “Get Over It” hits the speakers, easily drowning the music out as they raucously express their unbridled affection for Wes Davenport. Their reaction somehow manages to grow even louder when the man himself bursts out onto the entrance stage, his every movement illuminated by a single spotlight that shines down from the ceiling. Wes seems a touch nervous when initially stepping out onto the stage, but that instantly disappears when he sees and hears twenty thousand people cheering their hearts out for him. A broad grin on his face, Davenport quickly makes his way down the ramp, slapping as many fans’ hands as he can on his way.

 

“Introducing first, from Hollywood, California, weighing in at two hundred and fifty-eight pounds…” Funyon begins, “WEHHHHHHHHHSSS DAAAAAAAAAVENPOOOOOOOORRT!”

 

“Would you just listen to this audience!” Comet cries, delighted. “They love Wes Davenport! Ask them if they think he’s ready for this match, King!”

 

“I would if they’d shut up for a goddamn second!” King angrily shouts in response.

 

Davenport reaches the ring and rolls beneath its bottom rope, before popping to his feet within the confines of the squared circle. A cheek-splitting grin on his face, Wes quickly strides over to the closest corner, steps up onto its second turnbuckle, and throws his arms into the air. The crowd roars once more and bathes Davenport in flashbulb light as he looks out over his adoring fans, visibly grateful for their undying support. After a few moments, he steps back onto the canvas and begins his pre-match stretching routine, making sure his body is prepared for the tremendous strain that’s going to be put on it in just a few moments.

 

“Not a trace of fear shown by Wes Davenport prior to this contest!” Comet observes. “The biggest match of his career is about to start, and I can’t sense even a trace of anxiety or apprehension.”

 

“Just give it a little time.” King counters in a bored tone. “His spirit may not be broken just yet, but believe me, it’ll be shattered into tiny pieces the moment Magnifico gets his hands on him.”

 

Davenport’s just beginning to stretch his arms out when the lights go out throughout the arena, which immediately draws a wave of anticipatory boos from the capacity crowd. Their voiced displeasure is the only sound heard for several moments, until...

 

“HEY HEY!”

 

*BOOOOOOOOOMM!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

...Atake FDD’s “Tu Final” begins to pound over the arena’s speakers, just as a burst of red, white, and green pyro explodes upwards from the entrance stage. A moment later, El Luchadore Magnifico bursts through the pyro induced smoke, his Mexican Flag flapping gracefully behind him and the World Title visibly glinting at his waist. Illuminated by a single spotlight, Magnifico quickly makes his way down the entrance ramp, paying no mind to the thousands of indignant fans that line his path.

 

“And now, from Mexico City, Mexico, weighing in at two hundred and ten pounds...” Funyon bellows over the raucous crowd, “He is the SWF World Heavyweight Champion...EL LUCHADOOOOOOOOOOORRE MAGNIFICOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

ELM doesn’t even glance in Wes’ direction as he reaches the ring and rolls beneath its bottom rope. Magnifico immediately pops to his feet once inside, stepping into the center of the ring under the watchful, disdainful glare of Wes Davenport. A disgusted scowl on his face, Magnifico looks out over the capacity crowd for a brief moment...before thrusting his Mexican flag high into the air, doing so as the lights are turned back on throughout the arena. The now-illuminated crowd lets up only slightly in their booing as ELM turns to the ref and hands him his World Title and Mexican flag, right before retiring to the corner opposite Wes’. Facing away from Davenport, Magnifico begins a light stretching routine, doing so as the ref hands the luchadore’s possessions to the timekeeper.

 

“Such blatant disrespect.” Comet notes in disbelief. “Magnifico doesn’t even want to look at Davenport before the match starts, as though he’s not even worthy of being seen by the luchadore.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you finally caught on.” King happily chimes in. “Wes doesn’t deserve the slightest bit of Magnifico’s recognition. I haven’t received official confirmation of this, but I’m pretty sure that if Wes were to look directly into ELM’s eyes, he’d be destroyed as though he gazed upon the Ark of the Covenant.”

 

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Comet cries in amazement.

 

“You act as though I have to.” King counters, matter-of-factly.

 

The referee steps back into the center of the ring and observes the two competitors for a moment. Wes is standing right in front of his corner, staring at Magnifico with resolute determination while ELM continues to stretch, paying absolutely no attention to his opponent. Seeing that things are as in order as they’re going to be, the ref turns and signals for the bell.

 

DING DING DING

 

The second the bell rings, Magnifico spins around and saunters towards the center of the ring, wearing an expression that clearly says “Let’s get this over with.” ELM stares at Wes and lazily motions for him to approach, an act which draws scattered boos from the annoyed audience. Possibly believing he’s being led into some sort of trap, Wes stays put, his glare unwavering as he stares coldly into Magnifico’s eyes. ELM observes Wes for a moment before laughing loudly in disbelief, shaking his head and rubbing his temple as he does so. Davenport’s clearly agitated, but maintains his composure as Magnifico chuckles just a few feet in front of him. After a few seconds, ELM mercifully stops and looks at Wes once more, signaling to Davenport to watch him. Magnifico slowly lays down in the center of the ring, facedown, and locks his hands behind his back. ELM shouts at Wes to come over, suggesting not so subtly that he’s a gutless coward if he doesn’t. The crowd’s boos grow in number and volume as Davenport stares down at Magnifico, his teeth gritted and his fists clenched.

 

“Now see, there’s a shining example of sportsmanship if I’ve ever seen one.” King boldly declares. “Knowing that Wes Davenport is several hundred levels beneath him, Magnifico graciously allows Davenport to make the first move, apparently not wanting to him to go home completely empty-handed.”

 

“My, how generous of him.” Comet flatly states. “I’m sure Wes is unendingly grateful for Magnifico’s kind consideration.”

 

“He better be, the jerk.” King growls in a decidedly bi-polar fashion.

 

Wes observes Magnifico for a few moments before stepping towards him, still not convinced that it’s not a trap but at the same time fed up with ELM taking him so lightly. Magnifico rolls his eyes and puts his face down on the mat, not even bothering to watch Wes as he steps behind the luchadore. Davenport observes the luchadore for a moment...before the proverbial light bulb seems to go off, as Wes suddenly grins from ear-to-ear. Wondering what Wes could be so excited about, the curious fans look on as Davenport reaches down, grabs both of Magnifico’s arms...and then folds them both behind ELM’s back in a Double Chickenwing! The surprised fans immediately respond, cheering in anticipation of the Cattle Mutilation...but are quickly silenced when ELM jerks his arms free and slithers away from Wes, stopping at the ropes in front of him. Magnifico grabs the middle rope, pulls himself to one knee, and turns towards Wes, a furious scowl painted across his face. Davenport simply smiles at Magnifico, holds out his palm, and motions for the luchadore to approach. The delighted crowd roars its approval as Magnifico slowly rises to his feet, his eyes locked on Davenport’s and his mouth twisted into an indignant snarl.

 

“Looks like ELM might have lost a little of that unbridled confidence.” Comet observes with just a hint of amusement. “In allowing Wes to make the first move, he almost got caught in the Six Degrees of Separation, the very submission that won Davenport the Clusterfuck.”

 

Wes backs off just a bit, giving Magnifico some room to act. ELM calms down after a few moments and starts to pace around the ring, struggling to maintain his composure as he does so. Both ELM and Davenport begin to circle the center of the ring, slowly getting closer to each other and the middle of the squared circle. Once he’s close enough, Wes lunges at Magnifico, looking to lock up with him...only for ELM to throw out a well timed knee, slamming it into Davenport’s gut in mid-lunge. Magnifico earns some well-deserved boos for that act, which continue when ELM grabs Wes by the arm and attempts to whip him across the ring. However, Davenport’s superior strength wins out, allowing him to reverse the whip and send Magnifico rushing towards the far corner. ELM crashes into the corner’s turnbuckles back-first, sending a shock of pain up his pain that manages to distract Magnifico from the fact that Wes is now bearing down on him at a terrifying pace. However, ELM manages to shake off the shock just in time to throw his boot into the air and drive it into the chin of the charging actor. With both hands gripping his aching jaw, Davenport turns and stumbles away from the corner, giving Magnifico enough time to hop onto the second rope of the corner behind him. Wes spins to face ELM, cueing Magnifico to leap off of the turnbuckle, extending his arms and legs in mid-air and flying at Davenport with a Flying Cross-Body!

 

“Magnificent! Just look at the grace ELM displays with such a simple move!” King gushes.

 

ELM makes perfect contact with the aerial maneuver, his entire body slamming into Davenport’s chest...only for Wes to wrap his arms around Magnifico’s body right after contact!

 

“Well, he may have executed the move beautifully, but that actually seemed to work against him.” Comet reports, smiling as King grumbles something about cheating. “Wes now has Magnifico in a very compromising position.”

 

Trapped against Davenport’s chest, ELM tries to wriggle free, but Wes’ capable grip keeps him stranded in mid-air. Then is, until Davenport turns and falls onto his stomach, driving Magnifico in front of him and slamming his back into the canvas with a ring-shaking Powerslam! All of Wes’ weight is driven into ELM’s gut, knocking all the air out of Magnifico’s body and causing him to wheeze for breath as the delighted crowd releases an impressive pop. Davenport remains on Magnifico, quickly hooking his leg as the ref slides into position and begins counting...

 

ONE!

 

TWO! No! Magnifico kicks out right after two, quickly silencing much of the live audience.

 

“Davenport is off to a very impressive start thus far.” Comet notes, impressed. “Magnifico appears to be completely surprised by Davenport’s abilities thus far.”

 

“And for good reason.” King grumbles. “Wes is competing way above his talent level at the moment. Once things average out, he’ll be reduced to a quivering, cowering mass in a matter of moments.”

 

Undeterred by the lack of a pinfall, Wes grabs Magnifico by the arm, pulls him to his feet, and then clocks him in the chin with a stiff European Uppercut that sends ELM stumbling backwards into the ropes behind him. Davenport steps up, grabs Magnifico by the arm again, and then uses his grip to pull ELM off of the ropes and whip him across the ring. The luchadore rushes across the canvas and bounces off of the far ropes, doing so as Wes steps into the middle of the ring in preparation for Magnifico’s return. ELM charges off of the ropes and at Davenport, who grabs Magnifico as he approaches and effortlessly lifts him into the air! Wes spins ELM’s body around in mid-air for some sort of Tilt-a-Whirl maneuver...only for Magnifico to twist out of his grip in mid-spin, landing on his feet to Davenport’s side! Wes immediately steps towards ELM and lashes out with his arm, looking to slam it into Magnifico’s neck with a quick Lariat! However, Magnifico is able to deftly duck beneath the Lariat, and even manages to reach up and grab Davenport’s arm with both hands in mid-duck! ELM maintains that grip as he jumps into the air and scissors his legs around Davenport’s other arm, before throwing every bit of his weight backwards! Magnifico manages to pull Wes down to the canvas and roll his shoulders onto the mat, pinning him with a Crucifix Cradle!

 

“Terrific move from Magnifico, as he not only easily avoids Davenport’s clumsy Lariat but manages to reverse it into a Crucifix Cradle!” King breathlessly reports.

 

Wes struggles to break free of Magnifico’s grip on his arms, writhing wildly under his hold as the ref slides into position and begins counting...

 

ONE!

 

TWO! No! Wes manages to break his arms free right after the two count, effectively ending the pin as he does so.

 

“An impressive maneuver to be sure, but not quite enough to keep Wes down.” Comet announces. “However, it was important for Magnifico to stop Davenport’s momentum as quickly as he could, which is exactly what he did by capturing him in that Crucifix Cradle.”

 

Both men scramble to their feet, with Magnifico, being significantly quicker and more spry than his opponent, reaching his feet a split second before Wes. That split second gives Magnifico time to draw his arm back, and as Davenport pops to his feet in front of him, ELM drives his arm forward...

 

CHOP!

 

*SMAAAAAAAACK*

 

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

...slicing it deep into Davenport’s chest with a Knife-Edge Chop! The fans gleefully “whoo” despite themselves as Wes is knocked back a couple steps by the force of the Chop. Magnifico steps up and draws his arm back once more...but his pre-Chop preparations are suddenly cut off when Davenport drives his forearm upwards and cracks it into ELM’s chin with an European Uppercut! ELM turns and stumbles away from Wes, collapsing into the corner behind him. Davenport follows right after him and throws a few quick stomps into the luchadore’s gut, kicking Magnifico deeper into the corner and causing him to slump a little lower with each stomp. ELM threatens to simply crumple to the mat, but before he can do so, Wes grabs him by the arm and uses the grip to pull Magnifico out of the corner and whip him across the ring. Wes runs after Magnifico right after whipping him, trailing only a few steps behind the luchadore as he approaches the corner. However, as ELM reaches the corner, he grabs the top rope and leaps into the air, kicking his feet out as he does so and just barely getting his legs over the blitzing Davenport! Unable to stop himself in time, Wes crashes chest-first into the corner’s turnbuckles as ELM lands on his feet behind Davenport.

 

Comet winces. “Davenport may have gotten just a bit too excited there. Instead of taking the safe route and making sure that Magnifico was vulnerable before continuing his attack, Wes went for the riskier course of action and, unfortunately for him, it didn’t pay off.”

 

“Jeez, why are you bothering to analyze any of what Davenport does?” King questions, annoyed. “Anything Wes does in this match can be explained away by the fact that he’s an inexperienced, worthless bum who’s amazingly, inconceivably lucky to even be in this contest.”

 

Davenport stumbles backwards a step or two as Magnifico leaps into the air, kicking his feet out as he does so and slamming them into Wes’ upper back with a perfectly executed Flipping Dropkick! Davenport is violently knocked forward by the force of the Dropkick, falling into the corner in front of him and knocking his head against the top turnbuckle as he does so. Annoyed boos pour in from every corner of the arena as Wes collapses against the corner, his arms hanging over the top ropes the only thing keeping him from falling to the canvas. ELM scrambles back to his feet, grabs Wes by the shoulder, and turns Davenport towards him. Magnifico then draws his arm back, drives it forward, and...

 

CHOP!

 

*SMAAAAAAAACK*

 

“WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

...smashes it into Wes’ chest with a Knife-Edge Chop! Davenport gasps for breath and doubles over slightly, only to have Magnifico immediately shove him back into the corner, draw his arm back once more, and...

 

CHOP!

 

*SMAAAAAAAAAAACK*

 

“WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

...punish Wes with another Knife-Edge Chop! The fans quickly shift their response from “whoo”s to “boo”s as Davenport slumps in the corner, his shirt burst open by the force of the Chops, revealing the glowing bright red skin underneath.

 

“How kind of Wes to allow Magnifico to finish a set of Chops.” King snarkily comments. “Looks like he’s realized that interrupting ELM’s offense is not only pointless but also very rude.”

 

“Or, he might just have been stunned by crashing into the corner and then being Dropkicked into it.” Comet counters, raising an eyebrow as he does so. “Honestly, King, do you think Wes would hold back in the biggest match of his life merely to be polite towards Magnifico?”

 

“You’re acting like it’s such a ridiculous theory that Wes should pay the proper respect to his insanely superior opponent.” A slightly miffed King responds.

 

ELM grabs Wes by the arm and pulls him out of the corner, before using his grip to try and whip Davenport across the ring. However, Wes is still lucid enough to reverse said whip, instead sending Magnifico charging towards the far corner. ELM turns as he approaches the corner, crashing into its turnbuckles back first. Stunned by the force of the impact, ELM stumbles out of the corner and towards the center of the ring, where Wes eagerly awaits the luchadore, clenching and unclenching his fists in anticipation. Once Magnifico is close enough, Davenport throws the tip of his boot into the luchadore’s stomach, doubling him over in the center of the ring. Wes is then able to easily pull him into a Front Face Lock and lift the luchadore into the air, holding Magnifico perpendicular to the mat as the crowd roars in anticipation of the Brainbuster! However, before he can execute the maneuver, ELM manages to wriggle out of Davenport’s grip and flip right over him, landing behind Wes and facing away from him! The moment he hits his feet, Magnifico reaches up and wraps his arms around Davenport’s neck, trapping Wes in a Inverted ¾ Headlock! ELM then suddenly sits out, violently pulling Davenport down with him and driving his neck into Magnifico’s shoulder with a Shoulder Neck Breaker! Raucous boos pour in from every corner of the arena as Wes falls to the canvas, cradling his neck in both arms. ELM takes a moment’s rest before casually rolling onto Davenport and making the cover, lazily hooking Wes’ legs as the ref slides into position and begins counting…

 

ONE!

 

TWO! No! Wes gets a shoulder up right after the two count, drawing a few hopeful cheers from the relieved crowd as he does so.

 

“A beautifully smooth and fluid reversal from Magnifico, turning Wes’ attempt at a Brainbuster into a neckwrecking Shoulder Neck Breaker.” King gleefully reports.

 

“Davenport is overpowering Magnifico at basically every turn, but whenever he tries to capitalize, ELM manages to evade his grasp every time.” Comet grimly assesses. “If Wes is going to gain any sort of advantage, he needs to focus on wearing Magnifico down instead of going for a killing blow.”

 

Magnifico rolls off of Wes, pops to his feet, and then place the sole of his boot right on Davenport’s face. ELM looks out over the already booing crowd for a moment with a cheerful grin on his face...before twisting his foot, giving Davenport’s guise a rug burn with a cringe inducing Boot Scrape! Wes covers his face in his hands and rolls away from Magnifico as boos pour in from every corner of the arena for the ridiculously underhanded act. Amused at the crowd’s reaction, ELM chuckles to himself while grabbing a handful of Wes’ hair, before using that grip to painfully pull Davenport to his feet.

 

“See, stuff like that is the reason I love this job.” King grins. “It does my heart good to see the current generation carrying on the hallowed customs and traditions of heeldom.”

 

Once Wes is standing, Magnifico cracks him in the chin with a quick Elbow Strike, causing Davenport to stumble backwards and into the ropes behind him. Wes is only able to lean up against them for a moment, however, as ELM grabs him by the arm, pulls him off of the ropes and tries to whip him across the ring. However, Magnifico once again overestimates his own strength, as Wes easily reverses the whip, sending ELM rushing across the canvas and towards the far ropes. Magnifico bounces off of said ropes and charges back towards Davenport, who’s hasn’t moved away from the ropes behind him since whipping the luchadore. As Magnifico approaches, Wes suddenly bends over and grabs him by the legs, before suddenly standing up and chucking the luchadore into the air with a Back Body Drop! An impressive pop rises from the live audience as ELM flies over the ropes behind Wes...but they’re quickly silenced when Magnifico grabs the top rope in mid-air and manages to corral himself onto the apron! The fans’ reaction quickly changes to shouting warnings at Wes, who’s playing to the crowd and is blatantly unaware that Magnifico isn’t currently writhing in pain on the floor. Confused by the lack of cheers, Davenport turns towards the outside...and as he does so, Magnifico shoots his hands out and locks them behind Wes’ neck! ELM then hops backwards off of the apron, pulling Davenport down with him and driving his neck into the top rope with a Hangman!

 

“Once again, Wes’ childlike overexcitement and desire to please the fans costs him.” King smugly reports. “Since landing that lucky Powerslam, Davenport hasn’t done a single thing to help his standing in this match. Admittedly, I had expected Magnifico to emerge victorious much more quickly, but it’s still fairly obvious that Wes poses no threat whatsoever to the luchadore.”

 

“That’s a ridiculous conclusion.” Comet sharply replies. “Yes, Magnifico has displayed remarkable versatility and, let’s be honest, luck throughout the contest thus far. But Davenport is still clearly stronger than him. All it takes is one moment of inattention, one mistake from the luchadore for Wes to gain an edge in this contest.”

 

Wes turns and stumbles away from the ropes, choking for breath with one hand on his neck...but doesn’t get very far, as Magnifico grabs him by the ankles from behind! ELM then pulls back on Davenport’s legs, tripping him up and causing him to fall flat on his face right in front of the ring ropes! Still clutching Wes’ ankles, Magnifico then uses every bit of his strength to drag Davenport out of the ring beneath the ring ropes! ELM lets Wes go once he clears the apron, causing Davenport to fall hard onto the thinly padded concrete as annoyed boos pour in from every corner of the arena. Wes writhes in pain on the floor as the ref, from inside the ring, begins to count both men out.

 

ONE!

 

“Ouch.” Comet profoundly comments. “Magnifico doesn’t let up on his attack for even a second, as he follows up the Hangman by dragging Wes to the outside and simply throwing him onto the floor.”

 

Magnifico begins to stomp away at Wes, landing kicks all over his back as Davenport tries to climb to his feet through the incessant stomping. Wes manages to reach one knee, but as he does so, ELM grabs him by the hair and pulls him the rest of the way to his feet. Magnifico then uses his grip to guide Wes over to the apron and slam his face directly into it, drawing another wave of boos from the increasingly agitated audience.

 

TWO!

 

His hands over his face, Wes turns and stumbles away from Magnifico, turning the corner at the ring post and making his way to the other side of the floor. Annoyed at the extra effort he’s forced to exert, ELM follows after Wes, not wanting to give him even a moment’s rest. Magnifico catches up with Davenport, grabs him by the shoulder, and turns him around...only for Wes to lash his arm out as he does so, slamming his forehead into ELM’s chin with a quick European Uppercut!

 

THREE!

 

With Magnifico reeling from the force of the Uppercut, Wes is able to grab him by the arm and whip him across the floor, sending ELM rushing towards the far guardrail! Magnifico’s unable to stop himself in time, but he’s at least able to turn around before reaching the rail, taking all of the severe impact right on his lower back. ELM arches his entire body and his mouth opens wide in a soundless cry of agony as a jolt of pain runs up his spine, distracting him from the fact that Wes Davenport is currently bearing down on him with as much speed as he can muster!

 

FOUR!

 

“Snap out of it, Mags!” King shouts. “That washed-up bum is bounding at you with what little speed he has!”

 

“Why should you be concerned, King? We all know that Davenport poses absolutely no threat to Magnifico, don’t we?” Comet asks with a small smile on his face. King grumbles something unintelligible, but leaves it at that.

 

As he approaches the luchadore, Wes releases a guttural cry and lashes out with his arm, slamming it right into Magnifico’s neck with an obscenely stiff Lariat! The force of the blow knocks ELM right over the guardrail and into an aisle dividing the mass of people surrounding the ring! Magnifico lands awkwardly onto the concrete and immediately curls up into a ball in reaction to the pain surging through various parts of his body.

 

FIVE!

 

“Jesus and Mary!” Comet cries. “Wes seems to express his frustration with the contest thus far as he wallops Magnifico with a devastating Lariat that knocks the luchadore clear into the audience!”

 

A mighty pop rises from the audience as Wes climbs over the guardrail and steps into the crowd, a look of sheer determination on his face. Davenport strides over to Magnifico, grabs him by the arm, and effortlessly pulls the luchadore to his feet. Wes then fluidly takes hold of ELM’s thigh and hoists him into the air, pushing Magnifico high above his head with an impressive Military Press!

 

SIX!

 

The delighted fans cheer and take countless pictures as Davenport does a complete turn with Magnifico, showing him off to the crowd and cracking a pleased smile at their reaction. When his turn faces him towards the guardrail, Wes suddenly throws Magnifico forward, hurling him over the guardrail and back towards the ring! ELM crashes shoulder-first onto the padded concrete, his cry of pain from the impact easily drowned out by the crowd’s raucous cheering.

 

SEVEN!

 

“I think Magnifico finally has a good idea of just how strong Wes Davenport is.” Comet reports with a trace of amusement in his voice. “Davenport was able to effortlessly hoist him into the air with a Military Press before just as easily tossing him back over the guardrail and onto the floor.”

 

“So, Davenport finally got a move or two off. Good for him.” King rolls his eyes. “If you ask me, you’re seeing Magnifico at his most benevolent right now. He’s fairly obviously holding back so as to boost Davenport’s self-esteem and make sure he doesn’t leave the arena an emotional wreck.”

 

A self-assured grin on his face, Davenport climbs back over the guardrail and strides over to Magnifico, who is slowly trying to push himself to his feet next to the ring. When ELM looks up and sees Wes coming, his eyes visibly widen and he scurries onto the apron, apparently having had enough of Davenport for the moment. Magnifico wriggles beneath the bottom rope and into the ring before scrambling to his feet within the confines of the squared circle. ELM then falls against the ropes as Wes, anxious to continue his attack, slides into the ring under the ropes opposite Magnifico’s. However, as he does so, ELM suddenly charges off of the ropes and at Davenport, getting right on top of him as he pops to his feet in the center of the ring! Wes barely catches a glimpse of the luchadore before he throws his knee out and slams it into Davenport’s gut, doubling him over with a Running Knee Strike! Not wasting a moment, Magnifico immediately pulls Wes into a Front Face Lock and falls onto his back, jerking Davenport down with him and planting him into the mat with a DDT! The displeased fans roundly boo ELM’s actions, and only grow louder when the luchadore turns Wes onto his back and covers him. Magnifico reaches for one of Davenport’s legs and hooks it, doing so as the ref drops to his knees and begins counting…

 

ONE!

 

TWO! No! Wes kicks out right after the two count, drawing a few pleased cheers from the capacity crowd.

 

“Well, Magnifico admittedly isn’t able to overpower Wes, but it’s pretty obvious that he can outsmart him whenever he wants.” King chuckles. “It shouldn’t be that easy to successfully play possum.”

 

“I know Wes must be excited from taking it to the World Champion,” Comet begins, ignoring King’s commentary as he does so, “But he’s got to learn to calm down and plan out a strategy for this contest. Rushing headlong into every confrontation is not going to win him this match.”

 

ELM rolls off of Wes, takes a moment to shake off the lingering effects of Davenport’s earlier attack, and then climbs to his feet, leaving Davenport alone on the mat beneath him. Magnifico stomps Davenport a couple times before grabbing him by the arm and arduously pulling him to his feet. Once Wes is standing, ELM pushes him back against the ropes behind him, using the momentum from the springing action to whip Davenport across the ring and towards the far ropes. Wes bounces off of said ropes and charges back towards Magnifico, and as he approaches, the luchadore leaps into the air and extends his legs, before he wraps them around Davenport’s head for a Hurricanrana! Without even bothering to stop running, Wes raises his arms and wraps them around Magnifico’s waist, capturing him in mid-air and preventing him from doing anything with the scissor lock he has on Davenport’s neck! Wes then jumps into the air, carrying Magnifico with him, before falling into a sit-out position, violently pulling ELM down as he falls and slamming his spine into the canvas with a Running Powerbomb! The ring shakes with the incredible impact of the maneuver as the fans roar their approval, surprised but not at all displeased by Wes’ reversal. Davenport remains in the sit-out position but shifts his grip to Magnifico’s legs, using his hold to push ELM into the mat as the ref slides into position and begins counting…

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH-No! Magnifico gets a shoulder up at two and a half, quickly silencing the live audience as he does so.

 

“Davenport hits a ring-shaking Running Powerbomb out of nowhere which surprises everyone in attendance, including El Luchadore Magnifico!” Comet cries. “Magnifico’s ill advised attempt at a Hurricanrana may have been the break Wes needed to gain a distinct advantage in this match!”

 

“Not likely.” King snaps. “If I’ve learned anything from watching this contest, it’s that Wes excels at not taking advantage of the rare opportunities Magnifico offers him. It’s getting to the point where I think ELM should just ditch the niceties and put Wes down once and for all.”

 

Not deterred in the slightest by the lack of a pinfall, Wes pushes Magnifico onto his stomach, grabs him by the hair, and then stands, painfully pulling ELM to his feet with him as he does so. Davenport then strides over to the nearest corner with Magnifico in tow, where he pulls ELM forward and drives his forehead directly into the corner’s top turnbuckle. Stunned by the combination of the blow to his skull and the lingering effects of the Powerbomb, Magnifico turns and simply collapses against the corner, leaning up against the turnbuckles with his arms hanging languidly over the top ropes. Davenport winds up and smashes ELM in the chin with an European Uppercut, violently knocking Magnifico’s head upwards before he slumps down even further in the corner.

 

 

“Again with the European Uppercut.” King groans. “Doesn’t Wes know any other strikes?”

 

“Judging from the effect they’re having on Magnifico, I don’t think there’s any need for him to switch.” Comet innocently counters, earning himself a nasty glare from King in the process.

 

Before ELM can droop all the way down to the mat, Wes grabs him by the arm, pulls him out of the corner, and then uses his grip to whip Magnifico across the ring and towards the far corner. Wes steps into the center of the ring as ELM crashes into the corner, his back slamming into the turnbuckles with ridiculous force. Magnifico drunkenly stumbles out of the corner and unknowingly right at Wes, who greets him by wrapping his arms around the luchadore’s waist, trapping him in a Waistlock in the center of the ring! However, before Wes can do anything with it, ELM seems to suddenly come to life, cracking Davenport in the jaw with a quick right! Seemingly desperate to escape the hold, Magnifico begins bashing away at Wes’ face and chin with both hands, doing whatever he can to weaken Davenport’s grip on him! Wes remains steadfast to begin with, but the pain eventually causes him to unconsciously weaken his grip, allowing Magnifico to slip out of it! Immediately after slithering out of Wes’ arms, ELM spins behind him and wraps his arms around Davenport’s waist, trapping him in a Rear Waistlock! Magnifico uses every bit of his strength to lift Davenport into the air, but that only takes him so far, as Wes struggles mightily once in mid-air and prevents ELM from lifting him more than a few inches off of the ground!

 

“A clear mistake from Magnifico in attempting that German Suplex.” Comet assesses. “ELM appeared to get caught up in the moment and forgot just how large Wes Davenport actually is. It’d be nearly impossible for Magnifico to get Wes over his head.”

 

“He didn’t forget anything, Comet.” King sharply replies. “Magnifico was more than capable of executing that German Suplex. If Wes woulda kept still and accepted his fate, ELM would have effortlessly spiked his neck into the canvas.”

 

Magnifico is forced to put Wes back down, and the second Davenport’s feet hit the canvas, he throws his elbow backwards and slams it into the side of ELM’s head, knocking him silly with the ridiculously stiff Elbow Strike! Wes is able to easily break free of Magnifico grip after landing the Elbow Strike and immediately spins behind the luchadore after doing so! As soon as he’s behind the luchadore, he grabs both of Magnifico’s arms and folds them into Chickenwings, immediately drawing a mighty cheer from the live audience as he does so! Wes prepares to flip over ELM’s head and lock in the Six Degrees of Separation...but before he can do so, Magnifico wraps his foot around Davenport’s ankle, preventing him making any sort of movement, much less a flip over the luchadore’s head! While Wes struggles to untangle his leg, Magnifico manages to break one of his arms free of Davenport’s grip, before throwing the elbow of his newly freed limb backwards and deep into Wes’ gut! Surprised and stunned somewhat by the blow, Davenport’s grip on ELM’s other arm weakens enough for the luchadore to yank it free!

 

“Amazing series of reversals traded by these two men!” An impressed Comet comments. “Davenport’s initial attempt at a Belly-to-Belly Suplex is reversed into a German Suplex attempt from Magnifico, only for Wes to turn that into a bid at the Six Degrees of Separation!”

 

“Which ELM effortlessly escaped from yet again.” King cuts in. “I’ll admit that the Cattle Mutilation poses some threat to Magnifico, but there is no way Wes is locking it in if ELM has anything to say about it.”

 

Magnifico immediately makes a break for the ropes in front of him after escaping Wes’ hold, bouncing off of said ropes as Davenport struggles to get the air driven out of his body by the Elbow Strike back into his lungs. ELM charges back towards Wes, and as he approaches, Davenport suddenly sidesteps towards the luchadore, throwing his foot into the air and aiming it right at Magnifico’s jaw with a Standing Side Kick! He moves just a moment too quickly, however, as ELM has just enough time to roll beneath the kick and pop to his feet behind Wes! Both men spin to face each other, but Magnifico moves just a little more quickly, giving him time to throw his foot forward and drive the tip of his boot deep into Davenport’s gut! The kick doubles Wes over, allowing ELM to easily hook both of his arms as if for an Underhook Suplex! Summoning every bit of his strength, Magnifico then hoists Wes into the air, the unbelievable strain on his muscles causing him to shout out in pain as he does so! ELM barely gets Davenport perpendicular to the mat before sitting out, violently pulling Wes down with him as he does so and slamming his skull into the canvas with the Cancun Crunch! The live fans seem to wince at one before collectively booing the entire scene, doing so as Wes flops onto his back, completely motionless save for the spasmic jerk of an arm or leg. His chest heaving, Magnifico rolls onto Davenport and hooks his leg, doing so as the ref slides into position and begins counting...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR-No! Wes gets a shoulder up at two and a half, drawing a few hopeful cheers from the relieved crowd as he does so.

 

“Looks like all that talk about the strength difference between Wes and Magnifico is meaningless.” A grinning King cheerfully states. “ELM is just strong enough to get Davenport’s big fat ass into the air, and that’s all that matters.”

 

“Admittedly, I didn’t think that Magnifico had enough strength to execute any sort of Suplex on Davenport.” Comet reulcantly admits. “Even though it’s a strain on the luchadore, he does have the ability to land his signature suplexes and slams, meaning that Wes can no longer take his superior size for granted.”

 

Visibly frustrated at the kickout, Magnifico grits his teeth and slaps the mat as he rolls off of Wes and climbs to his feet. The second he’s standing, ELM purposefully makes his way over to the nearby corner and begins to climb his turnbuckles, the crowd’s booing growing louder the higher he gets. Magnifico reaches the top turnbuckle and slowly stands up on it, careful to keep his balance he does so. ELM then turns towards Wes, looking down on Davenport as he lays prone on the mat beneath him. Magnifico observes him for a moment before suddenly turning towards the timekeeper’s table and proudly saluting his Mexican flag, drawing a raucous wave of boos from the panicking crowd as he does so.

 

“Mexican Pride Press! Here we go!” King gleefully announces. “Looks like ELM’s patience with Wes’ antics has finally run out, as he looks to end it right here and now with his signature Shooting Star Press!”

 

ELM’s prolonged salutes comes to a close and he turns his attention back towards Wes...right before leaping off of the top turnbuckle, flipping backwards as he does so! Thousands of flashbulbs go off throughout the arena, illuminating Magnifico’s graceful descent...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...and his unexpectedly rough landing, as Wes rolls out of the way just before impact, leaving ELM to crash belly-first into the unforgiving canvas! Magnifico bounces nearly a foot off of the mat before coming to rest on it, lying face-down and motionless as the crowd roars for his botched attempt at a finisher.

 

“No! No!” Comet shouts. “Magnifico hesitated just a second too long, as Wes was able to roll out of the way just before ELM could land the Mexican Pride Press!”

 

Wes lies motionless next to Magnifico, his chest heaving and his eyes staring blankly up at the arena’s lights. It looks as though he needs a few moments’ rest before continuing...but that theory’s validity is quickly dashes when Davenport suddenly rolls onto ELM’s back and grabs both of his arms! Moving quickly, Wes pushes himself into a sort of three point stance while twisting both of Magnifico’s arms into Chickenwings! The crowd’s already going crazy in anticpation, but their cheering reaches deafening levels when Wes flips over the luchadore, landing in a bridging position in front of him and locking in the Six Degrees of Separation! Magnifico is violently pulled out of the daze induced by missing the Mexican Pride Press, as he comes to life beneath Wes’ iron clad grip and practically screams in pain!

 

“Six Degrees of Separation! Oh my God!” Comet cries, halfway out of his chair. “With ELM dumbfounded from missing the Mexican Pride Press, Wes was able to easily lock him in the Six Degrees of Separation! He appears to be mere moments from shocking the world and winning the World Heavyweight Title!”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” King spits. “Yeah, sure, Wes managed to get lucky and capture Magnifico in hissilly little submission, but he might have done well to not lock it in with ELM’s feet so close to the ropes. He’ll be out of it in no time and with little to no damage done to his arms.”

 

Indeed, Magnifico’s feet are perilously close to the ropes shooting out from the corner he just leaped off of. ELM kicks them wildly, trying to get a feel for how far he is from escaping from the incomprehensible amount of pain he’s currently in. As he’s doing this, the ref falls to his knees and gets right in Magnifico’s face, asking him if he wants to submit. For his effort, he gets a shouted “No!” before a cry of pain and a string of curses from the luchadore. Above him, Wes’ teeth are gritted and his hair mussed, strands of it plastered onto his profusely sweating forehead. He looks back at ELM and shouts at him to submit, but his commands are easily drowned out by the jubilant audience and their raucous cheering. But when Wes cranes his head back to yell at Magnifico, he catches sight of the luchadore prodding at the ropes behind him, getting ever so close to placing his foot on one of the bottom ropes! Davenport curses, his eyes darting back and forth in their sockets as he desperately tries to think of a way to get Magnifico away from the ropes. After a moment, the proverbial light bulb seems to go off, as Wes turns his head back, raises his foot, and then plants it on the mat a few inches further than its previous position. Davenport begins a kind of crabwalk, slowly but surely dragging Magnifico away from the ropes and towards the center of the ring!

 

“What?! No!” A terrified King yells. “That’s unfair, Wes! Give Magnifico a shot at escaping, you cheap bastard!”

 

“Wes has begun to drag Magnifico away from the ropes, lowering ELM’s chances at retaining the title with every step!” A delighted Comet reports.

 

A panicked Magnifico plants his chin into the mat, doing his best to prevent Wes from pulling him any further. With the little leverage that position offers, ELM lifts his head ever so slightly off of the mat and reaches back as far as he can with his feet, knowing that this might very well be his last chance to escape! Not willing to let Magnifico go just yet, Wes takes another ardous step, dragging ELM’s chin across the mat...but is interrupted when the ref gets in his face and commands him to release the hold! Shocked, Davenport looks back and catches sight of Magnifico’s foot slipping off of the bottom rope, having hung on it just long enough to cause a rope break! Davenport closes his eyes, throws his head back, and curses loudly before finally releasing the hold. Magnifico simply flops onto the mat, completely lifeless, and Davenport falls on top of him before rolling onto the canvas and banging his fist against it in frustration.

 

King breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. Wes’ unsporting attempt at taking away Magnifico’s chance of escape was unsuccessful. I’d hate to think what would happen to this federation should Wes win this contest and become the World Champion.”

 

“I’m guessing everyone would be a lot happier not having an insufferable prick as Champion.” Comet innocently comments, earning himself a cold glare from his commentary partner.

 

After a moment’s rest, Wes slowly pushes himself to his feet, sweat dripping off his chin and his lungs straining to bring as much as oxygen as possible into his body. Upon reaching his feet, he looks out over the gigantic mass off SWF fans, many of whom are out of their seats, undeniably excited by Davenport’s near win. Wes observes them for a moment....before throwing his fist high into the air, drawing a massive pop from Davenport’s adoring masses. Their response seems to energize him somewhat, as a brilliant grin crosses his face, belying his tired eyes and strained body. Ready to continue, Wes reaches down, grabs Magnifico by the hair, and agonizingly pulls him to his feet, receiving almost no assistance from the luchadore as he does so. Once ELM’s standing, Davenport pulls him into a Front Face Lock, grabs him by the tights, and then hoists Magnifico high into the air! Wes twists him ELM around in mid-air so that both men are facing the same direction as Davenport holds him perfectly perpendicular to the mat! The overstimulated crowd releases another impressive pop in anticipation of the Exit, Stage Left...but are quickly silenced when Magnifico throws his weight forward, breaking free of Davenport’s hold in mid-air! ELM slides down Wes’ back and lands on his behind him, facing away from Davenport. The second his feet hit the ground, Magnifico reaches back and hooks Wes’ arms as if for a Backslide!

 

“Yes! ‘Atta boy, Mags!” King cheerleads from his announce table. “ELM not only escapes Wes’ attempt at the Exit, Stage Left, but is poised to reverse it into the legendary Baja California Crusher!”

 

“Magnifico once again escapes defeat by the skin of his teeth, and the match might be determined by how Wes reacts to this situation!” Comet excitedly hypothesizes.

 

The distraught crowd immediately begins booing as loud as they know how, doing whatever they can to deter Magnifico from executing the Crusher. Unfortunately for them, ELM pays them no mind, and makes his first step towards the corner directly in front of him...but is immediately stopped when Wes reaches back with his foot and wraps it around Magnifico’s ankle, preventing him from taking another step forward! Before ELM can do anything about this latest development, Davenport manages to break an arm free, throwing it backwards and slamming the elbow into the side of Magnifico’s skull! Dazed, ELM’s grip weakens enough for Davenport to break his other arm free! Wes untangles his foot and spins around, right before wrapping his arm around Magnifico’s arm and pulling it behind him. Davenport then reaches through ELM’s legs and grabs his other arm, putting him in a Pumphandle Position to the great delight of the live audience!

 

“No! Wes escaped Magnifico’s attempt at the Baja California Crusher, and it looks like he might be looking to put ELM down once and for all with the Die Hard...With a Vengeance!” Comet dramatically reports.

 

Wes immediately lifts ELM into the air and spins him forward...but Magnifico manages to spin right out of his hold in mid-air, landing in his feet in front of Davenport and foiling his attempt at the Die Hard...With a Vengeance! ELM throws his knee forward the moment he hits his feet, slamming it deep into Wes’ gut and doubling him over in the center of the ring! Magnifico then grabs Davenport under the arm and by the tights, and arduously hoists him onto his shoulder! ELM then sits out, slamming Wes’ skull into the canvas with the Dia de los Muertos! The shocked crowd falls into a kind of hush as Wes flops onto his stomach, completely motionless, while Magnifico falls onto his back and just lays there for a second, needing to recover after using every ounce of his strength to execute the Fire Thunder Driver.

 

“Well, it took a little longer than I would have liked, but ELM’s finally put Wes down once and for all.” King smugly states. “Good on Wes for putting a couple of cinks in Magnifico’s nearly-impenetrable armor, but now it’s time for him to go back to his rightful spot making shitty movies that no one cares about.”

 

The crowd begins to cheer and shout as one, trying their damndest to spur Wes to shake off the Dia de los Muertos and get back to his feet. Their spirits are dampened somewhat when ELM slowly, dramatically turns towards Wes and throws an arm over his chest to make the cover! A tired, victorious smile crosses Magnifico’s lips as the frantic audience doubles their efforts, doing so while the ref slides into position and begins counting...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHRRRRRRRRRNNNNNOOOOOOOOO!!

 

“RAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

 

Davenport gets a shoulder up with the ref‘s hand mere millimeters from the canvas, drawing a deafening pop from the ridiculously grateful live audience. His eyes bulging and his mouth agape, Magnifico rolls off of Wes, appearing to be in complete shock of Davenport’s kickout.

 

“Kick out! Davenport kicked out!” Comet exclaims, barely able to believe what he’s just seen. “Wes Davenport is displaying incredible, improbable determination in kicking out of the Dia de los Muertos and keeping himself in the match! What will it take to keep him down?!”

 

Magnifico seems to be pondering that very question himself, as the luchadore visibly racks his brain while climbing back to his feet, scrambling to think of the best course of action to take. He seems to come to a decision while lunging to his feet, as he immediately steps towards Wes upon gaining his balance and grabs him by the arm. It’s an agonizing task, but ELM manages to get the big man to his feet, receiving basically no help from the still-dazed Davenport. The second Wes is standing, Magnifico spins around behind him and again hooks his arms as if for a Backslide! The distraught crowd peppers Magnifico with boos as the luchadore takes a deep breath and charges towards the corner in front of him with Wes in tow! At first, it looks as though ELM will execute the Baja California Crusher without incident...but that’s before Wes begins to run backwards with Magnifico, sending him towards the corner at a much quicker pace than he planned on! The luchadore is unable to stop himself in time and is driven chest first into the corner’s turnbuckles, much to the delight of the live audience! ELM’s grip on Wes’ arms is significantly weakened by the collision, allowing Davenport to easily break them free of the luchadore’s hold! Immediately after retaking possession of his arms, Davenport spins towards Magnifico, wraps his arm the luchadore’s, and pulls it back over his body. Wes then reaches through ELM’s legs and grabs his other arm, placing him in a Pumphandle position for the second time this evening!

 

“Wes Davenport simply refuses to lose this match!” A delighted Comet excitedly reports. “He’s reversed Magnifico’s attempt at the Baja California Crusher, his killing blow, and now looks poised to land the Die Hard...With a Vengeance and win this contest!”

 

“Yeah, because he was so successful in hitting it the first time.” King counters, his tone not hiding his concern very well. “Davenport will once again fail at landing his ridiculously-named move and succeed only in embarassing himself.”

 

Wes takes a moment to soak in the crowd’s adulation and catch his breath before using his grip to hoist Magnifico onto his shoulder! He then takes a couple steps backwards and away from the corner, not wanting ELM to end up right beneath the ropes...but unfortunately for Wes, that gives Magnifico time to break his arms free of Davenport’s grip! The luchadore does just that and slides down Wes’ back as the disappointed crowd’s reaction quickly changes to indignant booing. Davenport immediately spins around to face Magnifico, only for the luchadore to grab him under the arm and by the leg as he does so! ELM releases a guttural cry as he hoists Wes into the air, his muscles screaming in pain as they’re pushed to their absolute limit and his brain shouting at them to hold on for just a little longer. Davenport struggles wildly, but Magnifico still manages to turn him upside down in mid-air...before sitting out, driving Wes downwards as he does so and planting his skull into the mat with the Dia de los Muertos! The shocked crowd can only look on as Davenport lifelessly falls to the mat, his eyes rolled back in his head and his body completely motionless. Meanwhile, ELM simply collapses to the canvas next to him, in desperate need of a rest before he can even make the cover.

 

“Yes! Yes!!” King jubilantly cries, pumping his fist in the air as he does so. “What’d I tell you? A second Fire Thunder Driver from Magnifico, and Davenport is DONE!”

 

“This is going to be the greatest test of Davenport’s determination thus far.” Comet grimly assesses, ignoring King’s mindless gushing as he does so. “He’s shown remarkable heart in lasting this far and matching the champion blow for blow. If he can kick out here, I can’t see Magnifico’s being able to do anything that’ll put Wes down for good.”

 

Their hopes not completely vanquished, the crowd begins to slowly come to life, cheering and chanting as one in a desperate attempt to keep Wes in this match. As Magnifico summons up the strength to make the cover, a collective phrase booms from the audience, emanating all the way from the rafters to the front row...

 

“KICK OUT WES! KICK OUT WES! KICK OUT WES!”

 

Whether or not their plea will be fufilled by Davenport is about to be seen, as Magnifico finally manages to roll towards Wes and throw his arm over his chest! The anxious fans wait on baited breath, every one of them praying them Davenport has the wherewithal to continue as the ref slides into position and begins counting...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEE!!

 

DING DING DING

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by pinfall, and STILL, SWF World Heavyweight Champion...” Funyon dutifully announces, “EL LUCHADOOOOOOOOOORRE MAGNIFICOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

One can almost see the energy escape the arena as Atake FDD’s “Tu Final” hits the speakers, confirming the horrible reality that just played out in front of the fans eyes. All throughout the arena, they simply stand in front of their seats and stare blankly at the ring, as if trying to wrap their hands around the result of the contest.

 

“Finally.[/i” King groans. “I mean, I’m glad Magnifico was gracious enough to give us an entertaining match, but man, did that drag on forever or - ”

 

“King, would you shut up for one damn second?” Comet snaps, surprising his commentary partner with an unnaturally angry outburst. “Wes Davenport came amazingly close to winning this match and becoming the World Heavyweight Champion in what would have been an amazing moment in SWF History. The fact that he even came this close is commendable on every level.”

 

“The hell it is.” King counters. “Davenport did nothing but waste our time here tonight, as this match ended up just how we all knew it would, in a glorious victory for El Luchadore Magnifico.”

 

“You’re the only one who thought that.” Comet replies, doing his best to maintain his composure. “Believe it or not, King, Wes had a damn good shot at winning this match. He pushed Magnifico to his limit. If you ask me, ELM is lucky to have won this contest.”

 

King scoffs loudly at that but has no other response to it. Comet rolls his eyes and returns his attention to the ring, where Magnifico is slowly, painfully pushing himself to his feet, every muscle in his upper body aching like it’s never ached before. As he stands, he’s greeted by the referee, who’s just fetched the World Title for him. Upon seeing his belt, Magnifico smiles warmly and gently takes it out of the referee’s hands, bringing close to his body and greeting it as he would an old friend. After a moment, his attention turns to Wes, who hasn’t moved a muscle since the bell rang. His warm smile turning into a smug smirk, the luchadore lowers the title so that the bottom of the strap is hanging only a couple inches from his face, drawing scattered boos from the remaining fans as he does so. He holds it there for several seconds, and those that can read lips would clearly catch sight of ELM saying “This is as close as you’ll ever get.” to the stunned Davenport.

 

Comet takes in the sight and sighs, disappointed. “Well, it was a fantastic contest, even if the outcome was less than perfect.”

 

King immediately buts in “Well, I thought it was magnificent, in fact - ”

 

“That’s all the time we have tonight, ladies and gentlemen.” Comet interrupts King before his mindless rambling can get too far. “Thank you for tuning into From the Fire. Good night.”

 

The final image broadcasted is that of El Luchadore Magnifico standing victorious over Wes Davenport, the World Title mere inches in front of his face...

[Toxxic 0]

Here we go. I was hoping to sneak by on sheer goofy humour, but alas...

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

 

“Well noble viewers of the SWF, I can certainly say that we weren’t expecting that end to the Calvinball match,” Cyclone Comet booms, but is cut off by the Suicide King.

 

“Comet, what exactly were you expecting from a match based on a game with no rules but what the participants make up?” the Gambling Man says in exasperation, “for goodness sake, Insane Luchador won the Hardcore Gamers’ Championship last year without even winning the match!”

 

“That’s as maybe,” Comet declares, turning to the camera and dazzling fans with a SuperGrin™, “but coming up next we have a fantastic contest pitting man against machine-”

 

“-actually, Amy Stephens is a… well, whatever she is, she’s not a man. And don’t give me that look Comet, if she heard you calling her that it’d be your neck.”

 

“Well for that matter, the debate still rages as to whether Ghost Machine 2.0 is in fact a machine!” the Self-Deluding Superhero declares, “he certainly seems remarkably familiar at times!”

 

“Of course he does, his programming has been modelled on the greatest wrestlers ever to grace the ring!” King retorts.

 

“Which may explain why we’ve never seen him bust out the Jokers Wild,” Comet says, then flashes another grin in which the ZING~! can almost be heard.

 

“…God, I’m almost hoping Pete wins.”

 

The cameras cut away from the bickering duo to pan down to the ring in which Funyon is standing, microphone in hand. The veteran announcer raises it to his lips and is about to begin speaking when weird robot music starts pumping out over the speakers!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, will be contested under Cruiserweight Rules and is for the Number One Contendership to the Cruiserweight Title,” the big man booms. At this point the curtain at the top of the entrance ramp is pushed back and an incredibly bored-looking Chris Belcourt makes his way out, pushing the familiar barrel-chested figure of Ghost Machine 2.0 on his dolly. Funyon waits with just the slightest hint of impatience as Belcourt unstraps the fiendish machine and then disappears to somewhere where he can smoke a quiet rollup in peace. Meanwhile Ghost Machine 2.0 begins moving with jerky precision and scales the ring steps, steps through the ropes and then prints an slip of paper from his mouth which Funyon takes and begins to read.

 

“Introducing first, the pride of BennerCorp’s construction line; he hails from the BennerCorp factory in Parts Unknown and weighs in tonight at a trimmed-down and lightweight 229.9lbs. Weak humans of flesh and blood, this is the pinnacle of design that is GHOST MACHINE, VERSION TWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“AN-DROIDS SUCK!”

 

“AN-DROIDS SUCK!”

 

[“You know King, that introduction seems awfully familiar as well!”]

 

[“Well goodness me, Comet! Maybe it’s because it’s being done by Funyon? You know, the guy who’s done our ring announcing ever since F/X proved how much they sucked?”]

 

[“Quiet, miscreant.”]

 

Ghost Machine 2.0 does a quick rendition of the robot but succeeds in little more than further rousing the ire of the fans, then having completed what passes as a stretching routine for a mechanical monstrosity such as himself he lapses back into complete stillness. All is quiet for a moment or two… but then the crashing start of ‘Blitzkrieg Bop’ by the Ramones fires up!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Comet, I just don’t get it,” King admits as Amy Stephens appears on the soundstage, can of Stella Artois in hand, “this girl is foul-mouthed, overly aggressive and on top of all that is openly sleeping with Landon Maddix, yet people still cheer her! Why?”

 

“Maybe because she has huge tits?”

 

“COMET!!” King gasps, beside himself with shock.

 

“To fight the villain you must sometimes think like him,” Comet mutters darkly.

 

Meanwhile Amy has jogged down to the ring (getting rousing applause from some of the more drunken men nearby, work that one out for yourself) and mounted (easy tiger) the turnbuckles where she raises her can of lager in the air and leads the crowd in a chorus:

 

“HEY! HO! LET’S GO!

“HEY! HO! LET’S GO!

“HEY! HO! LET’S GO!

“HEY! HO! LET’S GO!”

 

Then as Joey Ramone comes in on the first verse proper the Punk-Rock Princess hops back down to the mat, takes a last swig from her still half-full can and places it carefully on the apron. Referee Brian Warner checks that both competitors are ready and calls for the bell…

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

…and we’re underway! Amy belches, spits, swings her arms around a couple of times in a warm-up and heads towards Ghost Machine 2.0... who doesn’t move. At all. Amy stops, confused, and waves a hand in front of her opponents eyes/visual monitors. Nothing.

 

“What in the name of Zeus’ beard is going on here?” Comet asks.

 

“Maybe he went into standby mode?” King speculates.

 

Amy looks at Brian Warner, who shrugs as if to say ‘wrestling him is your job, girl’. Amy snorts and turns back to her bizarrely immobile opponent, then shoves him in the chest. The mechanical man-strosity wobbles back half a step, but otherwise remains unbothered. Amy tilts her head quizzically, then tries again… with a similar result. Now at the end of her patience (never that long to begin with) Amy lashes out with a right hand-

 

*thwack*

 

-that Ghost Machine catches at the wrist with his left! Amy has merely a moment to register shock before her opponent twists to one side with a vicious armwringer that takes her clean over and dumps the Nottingham lager lass on her back! Ghost Machine 2.0 then returns to his stationary position, arms at his side, back ramrod-straight and apparently staring directly ahead… or, alternatively, at nothing.

 

“Such precision,” King crows, “it’s unhuman!”

 

“It was an armwringer, King,” Comet says with disdain for his commentary partner’s enthusiasm, “although given that it didn’t involve an act of gross rule-breaking I suspect it is still a foreign concept to you.”

 

Amy Stephens takes a moment to realise what has happened, but when she does she scrambles back to her feet with a snarl and launches herself headlong at her opponent again! This proves to be a mistake however, as Ghost Machine calmly sidesteps at the last moment and drops to the canvas, wrapping his lower appendages around Amy’s legs and bringing her down with a crisp drop toehold. From there he jumps onto Amy’s back so that for a moment they resemble a parachute team before pushing himself around with his arms and legs (or robotic equivalents) so that he spins atop the downed Stephens!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Well, this alleged robot is showing a terrific amount of disrespect to Amy Stephens!” Comet says in righteous indignation.

 

“What were you expecting? C-3PO?”

 

“Only if Citizen Riley was in charge of the programming.”

 

Leaving that little aside… well, aside… Ghost Machine has now stopped spinning and has adopted a kneeling position atop his adversary. Amy is trying to buck her opponent off but Ghost Machine 2.0 is just heavy enough to make this too difficult, and as Brian Warner checks for any sign of a submission move the possible-android reaches down and… begins to frisk Amy?

 

‘Gerroff me, you bloody pervert!”

 

‘You Are In A Team With Bruce Blank,’ Ghost Machine informs his adversary, the tinny distortion on his voice picked up by the ring mics, ‘You Must Be Checked For Weapons.’

 

“Heh… wish I’d thought of that one,” King says ruefully. “Hey, I wonder if Janus needs help on the security team. I bet the supermodels that sit in the skyboxes for these shows carry lots of weapons.”

 

Ghost Machine’s search appears to have come up a blank (heh) but the mechanical man-strosity doesn’t let his opponent up, instead grabbing Amy’s legs as they flail around and starting to try and lock them together in some sort of hold! He has to lean forward to do this however, and with the weight lifted from her back Amy is able to scramble the relatively short distance to the ropes to force the break. Ghost Machine rises to a vertical base and perambulates to the centre of the ring before turning back to look at his opponent. As Amy gets to her feet the cyborg raises one palm before him…

 

…performs a few Kung-Fu moves in the style of the Robot…

 

…and then motions Amy to ‘come on’ with one hand, the other drawn up behind his head!

 

“LET’S GO A-MY!”

 

“LET’S GO A-MY!”

 

Stephens doesn’t need much motivation from the Phoenix faithful and charges at her arrogant opponent, but this proves just as unwise as her earlier rush and Ghost Machine simply steps forward and to the side, bringing his right palm forward with surely unnatural speed to deliver a stunning shotei to the onrushing Briton!

 

*CRACK!*

 

“OOOOHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Amy Stephens hasn’t got the softest skull in pro-wrestling, but even she felt that one; the Punk-Rock Princess sits up again but looks decidedly woozy, and this isn’t helped much when Ghost Machine drops down behind her and wraps his upper appendages around her head with a sleeper hold!

 

“LET’S GO A-MY!”

 

“LET’S GO A-MY!”

 

Let’s face it, Amy isn’t exactly trained in the finer arts of technical wrestling. She was partially trained by Toxxic, for Christ’s sake. As a result, her first instinct is to lean back to try and lessen the pressure, but her second is to reach up and claw her opponent’s eyes. Sadly for Miss Stephens Ghost Machine’s visual monitors are covered by secondary lenses that deflect her attempts. Her next target is the mouth, but Ghost Machine’s mesh covering blocks that avenue as well. Finally, nearing desperation, she simply clamps hold of the canvas mask that blocks the view of Ghost Machine’s theoretical shining servos and gears…

 

…and it shifts a centimetre!

 

“No tampering with the equipment!” King shouts, but Ghost Machine has gone into what in a human would be called ‘panic mode’. Abandoning the sleeper hold, BennerCorp’s pride and joy raises both hands to the head and quickly tugs the covering back into place but allows Amy to roll away! Amy quickly decides to pile back in and surges forward from her knees, driving her shoulder into Ghost Machine’s midriff and causing the alleged android to double over sharply, then gets back to her feet and-

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

-slams a headbutt into her opponent’s face! Amy wobbles for a second after that but Ghost Machine staggers back; however, the deadly machine does not go down! Amy seeks to rectify that by stepping forward, grabbing the mechanical man-strosity’s head in both hands and then falling backwards with her knees raised to hit the Facebreaker!

 

“LET’S GO A-MY!”

 

“LET’S GO A-MY!”

 

“Miss Stephens is on the offensive,” Comet shouts, “and that grab at Ghost Machine 2.0’s mask seems to have unsettled it enough for her to get some shots in at last!”

 

“Amy Stephens is offensive,” King retorts, “I’ll say that much!”

 

Ghost Machine 2.0 has finally ended up on his (its?) back after Amy’s flurry of attacks, and Stephens piles on to cover without a pause…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TW-

-but Ghost Machine kicks out before two, the exceptional power and resilience of its technology allowing it to easily power out of Amy’s pin. However the gyros are still destabilised (or something) and he can muster no further resistance as Amy hoists him up with a scoop slam and then plants him back down on the mat. A gust of what sounds suspiciously like breath is blasted from the robot’s mouth aperture as Amy wastes no time in heading for the turnbuckles, then boosts herself up to the second rope. This isn’t particularly familiar territory for the Punk-Rock Princess and she hesitates for a second, then seems to decide that yes, this is what she wants to do… and leaps off with a second-rope legdrop that catches Ghost Machine across where his throat would be!

 

*BANG!*

 

Amy quickly scrambles into another cover, trying to put her opponent away early…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Ghost Machine 2.0 isn’t buying what Amy Stephens has to sell, and the powerfully-built prototype kicks out again! Amy growls something that probably isn’t suitable for family viewing and the girl from Nottingham grabs her opponent by the mask, then starts to get back to her feet and hauls him after her. Ghost Machine 2.0 evidently wants to keep the covering in place and allows himself to be pulled up, but then Amy clamps a front facelock on and raises one arm.

 

“YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Stephens begins to swing her right leg backwards ready for the ‘snap’ on the Double D T, but Ghost Machine cuts her off by hooking his left hand behind her knee, then placing his right hand on her stomach and using his surprising power to shove the Punk-Rock Princess off him and down to the mat! Amy hits the back of her head and it takes her a second to register what has happened; in that time Ghost Machine has grabbed her right leg and raised his right arm, then falls to the mat and drives the point of his elbow into Amy’s knee!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Ghost Machine grinds his elbow into the joint, trying to inflict as much damage as possible on the leg of Toxxic’s sister! Amy yells in pain and uses her left leg to land a kick across her opponent’s shoulders, but Ghost Machine shrugs it off and attacks again, the impact coming from a lesser height this time but still obviously painful. Amy shouts again and this time reaches forward to try and grab her opponent’s mask once more. Ghost Machine rolls out of the way of her clutching fingers and gets back to his feet, then begins to launch kicks into Amy’s thigh!

 

“It looks like Ghost Machine 2.0 is attempting to immobilise Amy Stephens,” Comet declares, “and with his mastery of technical wrestling it’s likely that he will have a definite advantage!”

 

“What are you talking about Comet?” King asks, “he has the advantage now! Look at him!”

 

Sure enough Ghost Machine is still sending kicks into Amy’s leg and the Punk-Rock Princess is definitely hurting. Amy’s not beaten yet however, and she lashes out with her left foot to send it cracking into Ghost Machine’s right kneecap (or mechanical equivalent). Ghost Machine makes a noise that might mimic a human grunt of pain, but he retains his grip on Amy’s other leg and as the Lager Lass tries it again he catches that leg as well, then starts to try and bend one around the other!

 

“King,” Comet says in tones of deepest suspicion, “I recognise this move…”

 

“Why of course you do Comet,” Suicide King says impatiently, “after all, it’s a perfectly-applied Texas Cloverleaf!”

 

It is indeed, and Ghost Machine succeeds in locking Amy’s left leg into the crook of her right knee and then pulling backwards! Amy is understandably unimpressed with this course of action and lets her feelings known with a yell of pain!

 

“Come on King, don’t tell me that you can’t remember the one competitor in the SWF who made the Texas Cloverleaf one of his signature moves - in fact, it was his finisher at one point! The Superior Stretch!”

 

“Sure, I can remember him,” King shrugs, “what’s your point?”

 

“Oh, never mind…”

 

Ghost Machine is hanging onto the hold with all the strength in his stocky frame, but Amy Stephens has rather powerful legs, and she definitely does not want to be in this predicament; accordingly, the Punk-Rock Princess is trying to force her way out of the hold one way, whilst simultaneously clawing across the mat towards the ropes with her arms. The Pride of BennerCorp tries to ride his opponent like a… OK, let’s not finish than sentence. He tries to hold on, but Amy is just too lively at this stage of the match and the combination of her thrashings mean that she’s able to get to the bottom rope which cause Brian Warner to start a count…

 

‘ONE!’

 

Ghost Machine 2.0 looks blankly up at him.

 

‘TWO!’

 

‘Does Not Compute.’

 

‘THREE!’

 

‘Does Not Compute.’

 

‘FOUR!’

 

‘FI-’

 

But with mechanical precision, Ghost Machine 2.0 has broken the hold at the last moment before the disqualification!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

‘Boo.’ the robot repeats dispassionately as Warner gives him a thorough and completely pointless lecture about breaking in the ropes. Amy has now struggled up to her feet with the ropes for support, but before she can properly test her weight on her right leg Ghost Machine rushes in behind her and grabs a rear waistlock, then heaves her over his head!

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

*BANG!!*

 

“Merciful Zeus, did you see the elevation on that release German suplex?” Comet cries in disbelief as Amy sails across the ring and lands on the back of her neck, “Ghost Machine certainly packs a punch for his size!”

 

“No punches,” King corrects him, “only Shoteis. The hands of Ghost Machine 2.0 do not easily form fists.”

 

Aesthetic discussion aside, Amy Stephens has rolled over onto her front and is trying hard to not be dead. Ghost Machine steps unhurriedly towards her and uses his foot to roll her onto her back, then bends down to apply a cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but Amy kicks out before Warner can find the mat for the third time! Ghost Machine turns his head to observe the referee, who throws up two fingers.

 

‘Slow Count.’ the ring mics pick up.

 

“You heard him,” King shouts, “Ghost Machine 2.0 has a perfect metronome on board; if he says the count was slow, it was slow!”

 

“King, shut up,” Comet snaps, “you’re delusional.”

 

“I… what!? You think you’re a superhero!”

 

“And you entrusted Michael Craven to fight for your attempt to gain control of the fed,” Comet replies, “so who’s more grounded in reality?”

 

“Damnit, I thought it was in my contract that no-one was to ever mention that again!”

 

Meanwhile Ghost Machine has picked Amy Stephens up and applied a front facelock. From there he throws Amy’s arm over his own head and grabs hold of her skate pants before hoisting her up and then dumping her abdomen-first across the top rope! The younger Stephens balances there for a precarious second before toppling down to the mat, where she lies holding her stomach. Ghost Machine then grabs the top rope himself and uses it to steady himself as he steps on Amy’s throat…

 

‘ONE!’ Warner bellows.

 

‘One.’ Ghost Machine acknowledges.

 

‘TWO!’

 

‘One.’ the android counters.

 

‘uh… THREE?’

 

‘One.’

 

‘FOUR!’ Warner hollers in the face of the distracting counter-count.

 

‘One.’

 

‘FI-’

 

-and Ghost Machine breaks the hold again, then advances on Warner!

 

‘One. One. One. One. One.’

 

‘You break before five,’ Warner is heard to shout at him, ‘before FIVE!’

 

‘One.’

 

Brian Warner shrugs and gives up, turning away in frustration.

 

‘One. One. One.’

 

‘…Bitch.’

 

Warner spins back around, but Ghost Machine has returned his attention to Amy Stephens. She is trying to pull herself up on the ropes again, and just like before Ghost Machine slips in behind her and grabs a rear waistlock. However, this time Amy instantly lashes out with one, two, three back elbows that catch her opponent in the temple and send him staggering back, treading on Brian Warner’s foot as he does so. The referee yelps and clutches his toes, and as he is momentarily distracted Ghost Machine piles in again and tips Amy Stephens bodily over the top rope to the arena floor!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

‘Boo.’ the android says, raising both hands as if in triumph.

 

“That’s a disqualification!” Comet roars in righteous fury, standing up in his seat, “Referee Warner, award the match to Miss Stephens!”

 

“Shut up and sit down,” King snaps, “the ref didn’t see it, so it doesn’t count!”

 

And indeed this is the case; Brian Warner was clutching his foot and hopping at the time and his attention was elsewhere. Of course, now he sees Amy on the outside and starts asking Ghost Machine some harsh questions about whether or not she went over the top rope, but the mechanical man-strosity simply pulls the top and middle ropes apart, indicating that she went between them. Warner is dubious and continues arguing… and Ghost Machine grabs the referee, seemingly about to show him exactly what he did! The referee manages to back off and starts warning Ghost Machine 2.0 vociferously, then turns and begins the count for Amy on the outside.

 

‘ONE!’

 

‘One.’ Ghost Machine agrees, stepping through the ropes and dropping to the outside. Warner rolls his eyes and, with his count having been broken by a competitor leaving the ring, starts again.

 

‘ONE!’

 

‘One.’ Ghost Machine says again, turning to give the ref a thumbs up as if to say ‘you’re getting the hang of this’.

 

‘SHUT UP!’ Warner half-screams, stamping in frustration, then follows up with ‘TWO!’ Ghost Machine shakes his head sadly and climbs back in under the bottom rope, then approaches the ref.

 

‘One.’

 

*thump*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Amy Stephens has managed to get back to her feet, and reaches through the ropes to grab Ghost Machine 2.0’s ankles before tugging on them to topple the android to the mat! She hauls as hard as she can, literally towing BennerCorp’s prize creation out of the ring, then grabs him bodily and hurls him against the steel guardrail!

 

*CRASH!!*

 

‘ONE!’

 

Ghost Machine rebounds, so Amy grabs him by the back of his head and rams it into the ring apron!

 

*THUNK!*

 

‘TWO!’ Warner yells gleefully.

 

The masked machine wobbles but does not go down, and Amy grabs his head again then runs him straight into the ringpost!

 

*CHUNK!*

 

‘THREE!’ Brian Warner is almost hopping with joy at being uninterrupted on his counts. Ghost Machine staggers one step…

 

…two steps…

 

…lifts his leg for a third step…

 

‘Does… Not… Compute…’

 

…and falls flat on his face!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“LET’S GO A-MY!”

 

“LET’S GO A-MY!”

 

‘FOUR!’

 

Amy Stephens bends over, sucking in air as she takes a look at her opponent. Although now face-down on the arena floor Ghost Machine is starting to move again, albeit jerkily and without the machinelike precision that he has previously displayed.

 

“Well, it looks like the tables have turned,” Comet says in some satisfaction, “Ghost Machine may be the superior wrestler in the ring, but just like her brother Amy Stephens has demonstrated an impressive ability to improvise using her surroundings once outside the squared circle!”

 

“So what you’re saying is, she’s a sloppy brawler who can’t win a match unless she can throw her opponent into things,” King says.

 

“I’d like to see you step into the ring against her, Brian. After all, you’d find it difficult to nutshot a girl.”

 

Brian Warner’s count is progressing, but Amy has the benefit of the twenty-count for Cruiserweight matches and isn’t in any hurry. She grabs Ghost Machine 2.0 as he starts to struggle back to a vertical base, then positions herself in front of him and simply pushes as hard as she can, driving him back into the ring aprong again!

 

*WHAM!*

 

A not-very-mechanical sound escapes the Machine’s mouth, but Amy ignores this to grab his legs and hoist him onto the apron, then roll him under the bottom rope before following him. Once inside the ring Ghost Machine displays further evidence of his superhuman resilience as he starts getting to his feet yet again! Amy is less that impressed though, and fires a right hand which staggers him… and left hand which rocks him… then bounces off the ropes with a spinning Polish Hammer that sends the mechanical man-strosity down to the mat!

 

“LET’S GO A-MY!”

 

“LET’S GO A-MY!”

 

“With the punishment that Ghost Machine has been taking, one big hit could end the match!” Cyclone Comet says, optimistically ignoring the fact that until a moment ago Ghost Machine was still getting up. Amy seems to agree with him though, and the Punk-Rock Princess is heading for the turnbuckles again. This time though she heads for the top rope, facing out towards the crowd…

 

“We’ve never seen her go this high before!” Comet shills…

 

“Ghost Machine is playing possum!” King barks…

 

…and Amy leaps off with a moonsault!

 

*WHAM!*

 

If Ghost Machine was playing possum, it was a sedated one; he remained totally motionless as Amy came crashing down, and now Warner drops to make the count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRR-

-but Ghost Machine 2.0 kicks out; not long before Warner’s hand finds the mat for the final time, but long enough!

 

“THAT WAS THREE!”

 

“THAT WAS THREE!”

 

However, it appears that Ghost Machine disagrees. A faint ‘One.’ can be heard as Amy Stephens grabs his head and pulls him off the mat. Amy takes no notice of this however and simply grabs her opponent’s wrist before Irish-whipping him into the ropes and as he returns she wraps her left arm around his neck!

 

“Last Orders!” Comet bawls, “this could be it!”

 

…but no, for Ghost Machine raises both hands to his neck and prises Amy’s arm away, then slips behind her and takes the arm with him for a hammerlock! Amy struggles to escape and Ghost Machine does release her… only to grab a rear waistlock and, without waiting to get elbowed again, launches her through the air with another release German!

 

*THUD!*

 

Amy stays stacked on her shoulders for a moment or two, then slumps forwards to end up on her back. Ghost Machine picks himself up - a bit carefully, mind you - and moves over to her, then applies a lateral press as Warner drops to count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

-but Amy kicks out!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Brian Warner raises two fingers in the air, but finds Ghost Machine’s optic lenses turned towards him.

 

‘Slow Count. Bitch.’

 

Warner’s eyes open wide in rage and he prepares to chastise the android, but Ghost Machine forestalls him by dropping into another cover, this time hooking the leg…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

-but Amy Stephens kicks out again!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Amy Stephens will not go down-”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“…SILENCE, MISCREANT!”

 

Ghost Machine grabs Amy by her hair and hauls her up, ignoring the protests from Brian Warner, then kicks her in the gut and grabs her around the waist as she double over…

 

“He’s going for the Interface Bug, and that will end this match!” Comet calls in sudden fear, but as Ghost Machine tries to hoists Amy up the Punk-Rock Princess stubbornly grabs onto his leg and refuses to budge! Even Ghost Machine 2.0’s powerful servos aren’t capable of hoisting someone up when they are clinging onto his leg, and for a moment the two competitors are stuck in a stalemate… then Amy Stephens gives out a yell of effort and straightens up, back bodydropping Ghost Machine to the mat behind her!

 

*BANG!*

 

“LET’S GO A-MY!”

 

“LET’S GO A-MY!”

 

The crowd are firmly behind the girl from Nottingham, who takes a moment to grab a few deep breaths before moving in on her opponent. As Ghost Machine gets back to a vertical base Amy takes a swing… but Ghost Machine ducks and scoots behind her… then reaches round her and grabs her breasts!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Amy’s face registers the outrage she feels at being groped and her hands fly to her chest to knock her opponent’s digits away… which is exactly what Ghost Machine was counting on, as he grabs her hands and crosses her arms in front of her in preparation for a Straight-Jacket Suplex! Amy isn’t a great wrestler or student of the game, but she knows enough to realise that she won’t be able to kick out of this… so with a quick look to see where Brian Warner is she takes the only option open to her!

 

*CHING!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“FOUL!” King bellows, jumping up, “disqualify her!”

 

But just like with Ghost Machine throwing Amy over the top rope, if the referee doesn’t see it he can’t call it, and Warner’s view of events was blocked by his ring positioning. Granted, it’s very suspicious that Ghost Macine 2.0 doubles over clutching what would be the crotch on a human… but hey, machines go wrong all the time. Maybe it’s a glitch.

 

‘Does… Not… Holy shit, that hurts…’

 

“The villain is hoisted with his own petard,” Comet says gleefully, “perhaps we’ll see true JUSTICE~ reign tonight after all!”

 

Amy makes sure she looks surprised when she turns around to find Ghost Machine bent double and clutching himself, but she grabs his arm and Irish whips him towards the corner anyway… well at least she tries, but even in the middle of a testicular glitch Ghost Machine 2.0’s operating system is able to enable some protection software, and he reverses the momentum to send Amy into the turnbuckles instead!

 

*whump*

 

The Punk-Rock Princess wheezes in the corner for a second, but it takes Ghost Machine a second or two to reboot to the stage where he can charge in after her, and this allows Amy to raise one pink-and-black Van up to take the onrushing robot in the face! Ghost Machine staggers around in a circle, and Amy looks for something to give her the advantage… and finds it on the ring apron in the shape of a can of Stella! Taking a swig for good luck the Nottingham lass advances with her can of lager, and as Ghost Machine turns she grabs his head, tilts it back and pours it into the mouth aperture!

 

“NO!” King bellows, “you’ll invalidate the warranty! He can only be oiled with Smithwicks Ale, or a porter of similar quality!”

 

Alas, Amy did not read the instructions (or maybe she did); Ghost Machine staggers away, making hacking and wheezing sounds that do not sound healthy!

 

‘ERROR…!’ *cough* ‘ERROR…!’ *splutter*

 

With the Ghost Machine bending double in a desperate attempt to remove the vile liquid from its operating system Amy boosts herself to the second buckle, then leaps off to deliver a stunning scissors kick onto the mechanical man-strosity!

 

*BANG!*

 

“That’s one-half of the Disorderly Conduct,” Comet yells, “and could it be enough!?”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner,” Funyon booms, “and Number One Contender to the SWF Cruiserweight Title… AAAAAAAAAA-MMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYY… STEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!”

 

‘Blitzkrieg Bop’ fires up over the PA system and Amy wearily raises her hand in the air in victory before rolling out under the bottom rope. Meanwhile the production truck mutes King’s screams of rage, and the last thing we see is Brian Warner manically counting to three, again and again in front of the blank mask of Ghost Machine as we

 

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

[Toxxic 0]

Mags - I will confess to having skimmed the show, and have only read the end of your match. What I will say is that Muzz's match had a far more dramatic and sudden feel to it whereas yours, if you will forgive the comparison, had a vauge Triple H feel of 'hit the finisher, pause, gasp for breath, cover and win'.

 

NOT that I'm saying you're anything close to being as bad as Triple H, because you are Lord God of World Champions and we should all bow before you. But in terms of finishes, Muzz's was just so more urgent.

[Guest The Satanic Angel]

As someone who has no ground to stand on for giving constructive criticism, I'll just say this.. after reading Muzz's match (all the way through), ELM, I couldn't get past the point where the match went into the crowd.. your match is well written, but it seems to be more back and forth, whereas Muzz's got more into the strength of ELM and the weakness of Wes. It was easier to get behind Wes in Muzz's match because his fear and doubt were prevalent. There wasn't anyone to root for in your match.

 

I'll try to read the rest when I get home from work and maybe have some more to say. (If you want to hear any more.. )

[JHawk 0]

Eh, not my best work, but in the interest of everybody seeing I didn't drop the title without a fight.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Comet: “As if this incredible pay-per-view event hasn’t been incredible enough so far, take a look as they lower the steel cage. Jay Hawke will be defending the International Championship against Wildchild inside of that very cage in just a matter of moments, and the war between these two wrestlers goes way back.”

 

King: “Exactly. Their battles over the International Championship go back to this past Halloween, but it was last year at From the Fire that these two men first faced off, also inside a steel cage, for the Tag Team and Cruiserweight Championships.”

 

Comet: “And over that past year, despite all the matches between them, nothing’s been settled, especially when it comes to this International Title. Wildchild has had three shots at the championship, yet none of those matches have ended with a decisive winner.”

 

King: “Remember how the latest series started about three months ago. Jay Hawke attacked Wildchild’s left shoulder, claiming he was trying to tap into the potential that Wildchild has never seemed to show outside of the tag team division. And every single one of their International Title matches ended with Jay Hawke walking away with the championship, possibly proving Jay Hawke right. Remember that.”

 

Comet: “Well tonight, Jay Hawke can’t walk out of From the Fire with that title unless he wins the match tonight. This steel cage being erected means nobody can interfere, and nobody can get disqualified.”

 

King: “That’s right. Everything is legal, as Jay Hawke nicely pointed out to Wildchild as Lockdown went off the air last week.”

 

Comet: “Truly a dastardly deed if I’ve ever seen one.”

 

King: “And you’ve sure seen a number of dastardly deeds in your day, haven’t you?”

 

Comet: “I certainly have. And I’ve seen plenty of classic steel cage matches as well, and this could be one of those classics. Let’s not waste anymore time. Let’s go to Funyon for the introductions.”

 

DING DING DING!

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a steel cage match for the SWF International Championship!”

 

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

 

Funyon: “In this contest, victory can be attained either by pinfall, submission, or by escaping the cage with both feet touching the arena floor!”

 

“Bouncin’ Back” by Mystikal comes over the PA system, bringing the crowd to their feet.

 

Funyon: “Introducing the challenger. He is accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki! From the Bahamas. Weighing in tonight at 214 pounds. Here is … WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILDCHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILD!”

 

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

 

The music continues to play, and the lyrics begin. However, Wildchild has a different look on his face. Gone is his normal smile. Gone is the attention he normally gives to the fans. In its place is a look of determination. A look of anger. A look of focus. A look Wildchild only gives to those he really wants to teach a lesson.

 

Comet: “Have you ever seen Wildchild look so intense?”

 

King: “Not since last night in the hotel when Melissa…”

 

Comet: “Don’t you dare finish that statement.”

 

King: “…ordered the wrong dinner from room service. What do you think I meant?”

 

Wildchild enters through the door of his cage and takes his corner, keeping both eyes firmly focused on the entryway. His theme music dies down, and the crowd’s cheers turn into jeers as the opening strains of Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” begin blaring on the PA.

 

Funyon: “And his opponent…”

 

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

 

Funyon: “Hailing from the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio. Weighing in at 215 pounds. He is the reigning and defending SWF International Champion… ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!”

 

 

As the lights dim and Jay Hawke emerges into his usual spotlight, the crowd breaks into their usual anti-Hawke chant:

 

 

“JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!”

 

 

Hawke ignores the chants. In fact, he doesn’t even hear them. He has the same look on his face that Wildchild does. Determination. Anger. Focus. Intensity. This might be the biggest defense of Hawke’s nine month title reign, and every member of the audience can tell that he’s unwilling to make it his last.

 

Comet: “Can you feel it, King? These are two men who are willing to do whatever’s necessary to take that title belt home with them.”

 

King: “I’m actually getting goosebumps, and we’re at least an hour away from the main event.”

 

Jay Hawke walks onto the steps outside the door and removes his robe, then slowly removes the title belt from around his waist. He takes one last gaze at the championship belt, hoping it will be back in his hands before the hour is up, then reluctantly hands it over to referee Scott Ryder, who will be on the floor to determine when one wrestler’s feet hit the concrete. Referee Red Herrington, who will be inside the ring counting pins and checking submissions, calls for Hawke to enter the cage, who does so as Ryder locks it behind him.

 

Comet: “Seconds away from the bell ringing to signal the beginning of the match, as you can hear the crowd buzzing with anticipation.”

 

King: “With the looks on both of these men’s faces right now, I’m surprised they’re actually waiting for the bell to ring to get started.”

 

Comet: “Pinfalls, submissions, or escaping the cage, and you get the impression that Wildchild’s not thinking about leaving the cage.”

 

King: “If he wants to win the title, he’d better be willing to if the opportunity presents itself.”

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

As the opening bell sounds, both men begin circling around the ring, eyeing each other. After a few seconds, Wildchild slowly begins moving in a few steps, with Hawke backing up ever so slightly in an attempt to keep his distance. Hawke finally stops and says a few words before spitting in the Bahama Bomber’s face.

 

 

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

 

Wildchild looks at the mat for a second, then charges, catching the International Champion with an insane flurry of quick, short right hands.

 

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

Wasting no time, the challenger backs the champion into the ropes. He whips Hawke into the ropes on the other side of the ring and follows him in, leaping into the air and catching Hawke underneath the chin with a leg lariat. Hawke rolls into the corner and begins to stand, but Wildchild moves in and quickly takes Hawke over with a hiptoss. Again, Hawke is quickly to his feet, only to get taken right back down to the mat with another hiptoss.

 

Comet: “The challenger isn’t giving the champion any chance to catch his breath here! He is doing whatever he possibly can to maintain control of the action!”

 

King: “But if there’s one thing I know about Jay Hawke, it’s that he knows how to come back from seemingly impossible odds!”

 

Jay Hawke quickly makes an attempt to climb the cage, but gets as far as the bottom turnbuckle before Wildchild grabs him by the hair and pulls him right back down to the mat. Wildchild catches Hawke with a couple of forearm smashes into the side of the head, then whips Hawke into the opposite corner. Hawke hits the turnbuckle so hard that he falls down to the mat. Wildchild immediately goes for the cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout. Hawke immediately rolls to the side of the ring, using the ropes to pull himself to his feet. Wildchild quickly knocks him back down to the mat with a standing dropkick. Hawke gets to his knees and fires at Wildchild with a couple of fists to the midsection that do just enough to slow his challenger down. The Dean makes his way back to his feet, then runs into the ropes, only to get caught coming back in with another leg lariat by the challenger. Wildchild drops into another cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

 

Comet: “A series of near falls by Wildchild in the early going here! He’s going for the quick win!”

 

King: “You’re going to need more than some dropkicks and leg lariats to put Jay Hawke down after nine months of dominating the division!”

 

Wildchild pulls Hawke to his feet and tries to become the first man to use the chain link fence as a weapon, but Hawke puts both hands up to block it and drives an elbow into the midsection to double Wildchild over. He follows it up with an elbow to the back of the head that drops Wildchild to his knees. Hawke drives several more elbows into the back of the head until Wildchild is able to pull himself to his feet, then levels him with a series of hard right hands to the face.

 

Comet: “I think we can forget this one being a technical masterpiece.”

 

King: “Yeah, I have a feeling this is going to look more like Bruce Blank vs. Janus than Tom Flesher vs. anybody.”

 

With Wildchild staggered, Jay Hawke whips the Bahama Bomber into the ropes, taking him down with a dropkick to the left shoulder as he rebounds off the ropes.

 

King: “Pinpoint precision. And now you’re going to see Jay Hawke do what he does best. Work the shoulder until it’s hamburger, then climb the cage. He’ll never catch up with an injured shoulder.”

 

Jay Hawke picks Wildchild up and picks him up, as if to body slam him, but he drops Wildchild’s shoulder onto his knee instead. Hawke then immediately drops down into a chokehold, which Red Herrington asks Hawke to break but can’t really accomplish anything in a no DQ cage match.

 

Comet: “What do you call that?”

 

King: “Taking advantage of the lack of rules.”

 

Hawke finally releases the chokehold and once again pulls Wildchild to his feet. Hawke levels the challenger with a couple of hard right hands, then whips him into the ropes again. The Bahama native’s back hits the cage as he hits the ropes, slowing him down just enough for the Dean to miss a dropkick. Wildchild quickly grabs both of Hawke’s legs, then falls backwards, slingshot ting the champion head first into the cage. Hawke staggers backwards, and Wildchild hooks Hawke into a modified sunset flip:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

Comet: “Jay Hawke is the first to hit the cage, but luckily for him he didn’t get busted open by the steel.”

 

King: “Exactly. If you start bleeding in this environment, it makes you weaker a lot faster and makes it virtually impossible to come back!”

 

Wildchild, sitting on his knees, pounds away with a series of right hands on the forehead of Jay Hawke. The champion makes his way to his feet, only to get caught with a handful of forearm smashes and an uppercut that sends saliva, and possibly a tooth, flying. The champ staggers backwards, and Wildchild grabs Hawke by the back of the head and throws him forward, causing Hawke to hit the cage head-first yet again. Hawke falls flat on the mat, and Wildchild again goes for the cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

Comet: “Still using the cage as a weapon, still covering at every opportunity, and there’s no escape for Hawke. He has to combat this onslaught to retain the title.”

 

Wildchild bends down to pick Jay Hawke up, but Hawke rakes the eyes to buy himself some time.

 

King: “And again, taking advantage of the lack of rules. Illegal in a normal match, but inside the cage, you can go to the eyes to gain the advantage.”

 

Hawke drives a knee into Wildchild’s midsection, then, trapping Wildchild’s arm in a hammerlock, sends Wildchild into the turnbuckle. The left shoulder smacks against the steel, and Wildchild falls to the mat clutching at the shoulder. Hawke then measures the challenger, using right hands to jab away at the shoulder.

 

King: “Look at the champion, charley horsing the shoulder up with those quick right jabs. This is absolutely brilliant!”

 

Jay Hawke levels Wildchild with a hard forearm smash to the side of the head. An Irish whip sends the challenger hard into the corner. Hawke charges, but Wildchild moves out of the way, and Hawke’s shoulder hits the ringpost hard.

 

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

 

Comet: “How is that for a switch? After a nine month title reign, this time it’s Jay Hawke who misses a charge and hits the ringpost shoulder first!”

 

King: “And that could be one huge turning point in this matchup right here!”

 

Wildchild seizes the opportunity, covering Hawke for the attempted pin:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

T -- kickout.

 

Comet: “Another count of two.”

 

King: “He doesn’t really have Hawke all that hurt yet, but as much as I hate to, I have to say I like this side of Wildchild. Always going for the win wherever he can get the cover.”

 

Wildchild pounds away at Jay Hawke with a series of right hands, and Hawke reaches up, grabs a handful of Wildchild’s black tights to get him off-balance, then grabs him by the hair to pull him completely down to the mat. Hawke then wraps both hands around Wildchild’s throat, trying to choke the life out of him.

 

Comet: “And Hawke goes back to the normally illegal tactics. I wonder if he’s even capable of beating Wildchild without resulting to villainous ways.”

 

King: “Hey, anything goes inside that cage!”

 

Even low blows, which is what Wildchild uses to stop the choking.

 

King: “Hey!”

 

Comet: “You were saying?”

 

King: “Shut up!”

 

Wildchild shakes off the cobwebs, then levels the champion with a series of forearm smashes that back Hawke up against the ropes. Wildchild immediately rebounds off the ropes and charges, leaping into the air for a flying forearm. Hawke ducks out of the way just in time, and Wildchild hits the cage with full force, injuring the right arm this time while knocking the wind out of himself upon hitting the mat.

 

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

 

King: “And there’s the turning point!”

 

Comet: “Quite possibly! Now Wildchild has had both arms run into steel at some point, not to mention the sheer force he just hit the side of the cage with.”

 

Hawke takes a minute to clear the cobwebs, then walks over to Wildchild, draping a foot over his throat and choking him with it.

 

Comet: “What are you waiting for? He was right near the door and could have won this thing, but he decided to choke his opponent out!”

 

King: “Simple. He doesn’t want any excuses from Wildchild when he retains the title tonight!”

 

Hawke gets a couple of stomps to the left shoulder, then pulls Wildchild to his feet, only to send the Bahama Bomber face first into the chain link cage. Hawke looks like he wants to continue the attack, but instead he flips Wildchild off and turns for the door. Scott Ryder opens the door, and Hawke steps through the ropes, only for Wildchild to make a lunge and grabs hold of Hawke’s ankle. Jay also lunges forward, trying to free himself while crawling toward the floor, but Wildchild has a vicelike grip on the ankle. With the crowd cheering Wildchild on, Hawke begins kicking away at Wildchild’s head, trying unsuccessfully to break free of his grasp.

 

King: “All he needs to do is get free and he’ll retain the title!”

 

Comet: “And Wildchild is doing everything within his power to prevent that very thing from happening!”

 

Wildchild finally grabs Hawke by the tights and pulls him back into the ring.

 

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

 

However, Hawke kicks Wildchild square in the face as Ryder shuts the cage door.

 

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

 

Hawke follows it up by slamming Wildchild’s head squarely into the canvas. Hawke then makes a move for the corner and begins climbing, trying again to escape the cage.

 

King: “That’s OK, he’ll just go over the top. You know, going over the top is the manly way to leave the cage. The door is for sissies.”

 

Hawke begins putting one foot over the top of the cage, but the man from the Bahamas reaches up and grabs the ankle. Wildchild then climbs up the corner as he pulls Hawke back into the ring until both men are standing precariously on the top rope. Wildchild begins throwing punches as Hawke desperately throws elbows, each man exchanging blows as the crowd begins to root their favorite on.

 

 

“DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!”

 

 

An elbow to the eye knocks Wildchild down to the mat sends Wildchild off the turnbuckle, but he lands on his feet and instinctively pulls Hawke’s tights, exposing just enough bare ass to make the men in the audience cringe. One quick yank sends Hawke crashing to the mat below as the crowd erupts.

 

Comet: “Well, we’ve been saying anything goes in this one, right down to tight pulling.”

 

King: “I’m just thankful we didn’t get a Rick Rude-Jake Roberts moment out of that one, although another couple of inches and we would have.”

 

Wildchild reaches down for his opponent, but is meant with another thumb to the eye. The eye gouge sees Wildchild turning away from Hawke out of instinct, and Hawke immediately locks his opponent into a sleeper hold.

 

King: “Here we go!”

 

Comet: “The champion has this one locked in the center of the ring, and this could be it for Wildchild!”

 

King: “And this will either give Hawke a submission victory, or it will paralyze the challenger enough to simply allow Jay to walk out of the cage for the victory.”

 

Comet: “And even if Hawke slips this into a choke, there is nothing Red Herrington can do about it.”

 

Wildchild falls onto his buttocks, allowing Hawke to lean forward to put more weight on the back of his opponent’s neck.

 

King: “And now he’s making Wildchild carry an additional 215 pounds on the back of his neck. Just ring the bell right now. This is all over right here!”

 

Hawke adds a body scissors to the hold as Wildchild’s arms fall to his side. Herrington asks Wildchild if he’s still in it, and he says he is, but it’s obvious he’s fading. Herrington asks if Wildchild submits again, but there’s no response as Wildchild’s arms go limp to his side. Herrington lifts the arm….

 

 

….and it falls.

 

Comet: “That’s one. If the arm drops two more times, Jay Hawke will retain the championship.”

 

Red Herrington lifts the arm again…

 

 

….and it falls.

 

King: “That’s two! Somebody get the champagne ready!”

 

 

Red Herrington lifts the arm a third time…

 

 

….

 

 

…then lets it go….

 

 

…..

 

 

…and it stays up.

 

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

Comet: “Wildchild is still in this one!”

 

King: “But for how long?”

 

Hawke tries to maintain his grip on the sleeper hold, but Wildchild feeds off the reaction and makes his way to his feet. Wildchild tries to break the hold with elbows to the midsection, but Hawke clamps down on the hold to try and keep control. Possibly out of desperation, Wildchild runs a few steps forward and ducks down. The shift in weight releases Hawke’s grip on the sleeper hold, and the momentum sends Hawke tumbling forward, his head smacking across the cage. Both men are down, and Herrington simply shrugs his shoulders.

 

Comet: “Normally we’d begin the double ten count here, but not in a cage match.”

 

King: “Absolutely not. We continue this match until one of these men walks out of the cage a winner. Although Jay should have let go of the hold and let Wildchild ram himself in the cage.”

 

Both men get to their knees and crawl toward one another before using each other to pull themselves to their feet. Jay Hawke goes for a right hand, but Wildchild blocks it and levels Hawke with one of his own. Another Hawke right hand is blocked and countered by another one from the challenger. Now Hawke is unable to even try to get a shot in as Wildchild unloads with punches, then forearms that stagger the champion back into the corner.

 

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE, LET’S GO! *clap clap*

LET’S GO DUB-CEE, LET’S GO! *clap clap*

LET’S GO DUB-CEE, LET’S GO! *clap clap*

LET’S GO DUB-CEE, LET’S GO! *clap clap*”

 

Jay Hawke takes a wild swing out of instinct, but Wildchild ducks underneath it and ends up behind the champion. He lifts Hawke up and drops him down with an atomic drop, the force of which sends Hawke into the cage yet again. Hawke falls backwards, and Wildchild goes for the cover again:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- kickout.

 

 

“YA -- BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

 

Wildchild waits for a moment for Hawke to return to his feet, then he runs to the ropes, quickly leaping, spring boarding onto the top rope, and crashing down on Jay Hawke with a rolling attack.

 

Comet: “Pinball! Pinball by Wildchild, and this could to it right there! The cover!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- NO! Jay Hawke gets the left shoulder up!

 

King: “No! Hawke waiting until the last possible second, but kicking out of a classic Wildchild move!”

 

Hawke struggles to pull himself to his feet and Wildchild is right there to once again level Hawke with a series of forearm smashes. Wildchild then whips Hawke into the ropes and leaps on the rebound, flipping Hawke over as he comes in. However, as Wildchild lands on his feet, he’s unaware that Hawke has summoned some uncharacteristic agility and landed on his feet as well. Hawke immediately makes a mad dash to climb out of the cage, and Wildchild is quick to turn around and climb up after him.

 

King: “Did you see that, Comet?”

 

Comet: “Hawke is certainly a better athlete than a lot of people give him credit for considering Hawke doesn’t show a lot of it, but he’s still nowhere near as quick as Wildchild, which has enabled to catch up with the champion at the top of the cage!”

 

With both men straddling the top of the cage, both men exchange right hands. Wildchild levels Hawke with a shot of the forehead that nearly knocks Hawke to the floor, but Wildchild grabs him by the hair to keep him from falling.

 

Comet: “If someone can keep their balance up here while someone else falls to the mat, we’re going to have a winner!”

 

King: “And it looks as though that winner would be Wildchild if this continues at this rate!”

 

Wildchild drops down just a bit, balancing himself on the top rope as he continues to punch away at the champion. Hawke loses his balance but tries to fall backwards, but Wildchild grabs him. Wildchild balances himself better before taking Hawke off the top of the cage with a high impact press slam.

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

Comet: “What impact! What incredible impact, and Wildchild is still on the top rope!”

 

King: “It will be easy to get out of the cage from there if he wants it!”

 

The crowd screams for Wildchild to leave the cage, and he starts his climb, only to stop at the top of the cage and turn around.

 

Comet: “Oh no!”

 

King: “What the hell is he doing?”

 

As Hawke makes his way to his feet and turns around, Wildchild leaps off the top of the cage, doing a front flip and leveling the International Champion with a dropkick to the face.

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

HO-LY SHIT!

HO-LY SHIT!

HO-LY SHIT!”

 

 

King: “For once I’m inclined to agree with the crowd. Holy shit!”

 

Comet: “Cover him! Leave the cage! Do something, Wildchild! Don’t let this opportunity go to waste!”

 

Sensing the match is well in hand, Wildchild pulls Jay Hawke to his feet. Wildchild hooks Hawke’s arms and begins to spin around into position for the Wild Ride, but Hawke continues to spin through, unhooks his arm, then drives a knee into the midsection. Then, cradling Wildchild’s left arm, he leaps into the air, driving the Caribbean Cruiser’s arm and shoulder into the mat while hanging on and pulling back.

 

Comet: “Beautiful counter into the Fujiwara armbar, and now Hawke looks to have things in control!”

 

King: “Pull back on that arm! Break it if you need to! But keep him down!”

 

Wildchild uses his free arm to push himself up, then rolls forward to break the hold. He quickly arm drags Jay Hawke down to the mat, then runs into the ropes. He charges, but Hawke catches him, staggers backwards, then falls just enough to drive Wildchild face-first into the steel support of two sections of the cage,.

 

Comet: “Oh my God! Wildchild hit the side of that cage hard!”

 

Wildchild turns toward the camera, and the camera gets a closeup on the face of Wildchild, as well as the blood beginning to pour out of the forehead.

 

Comet: “Oh no!”

 

King: “Oh yes! We talked about it earlier! What happens if the blood begins to pour from one of these men’s heads? Now you’ll see it! Wildchild is about to suffer the consequences of this one!”

 

Sensing the opportunity, Jay Hawke grabs Wildchild by the braids of his hair and drags him over to the cage. Hawke then takes Wildchild and grinds his face into the cage, opening the cut on the forehead up even more.

 

King: “Damn. This is why you never want to give Jay Hawke the opening. One opening is enough to get your career handed to you.”

 

Comet: “And I’d be willing to bet Hawke’s not going to be doing a whole lot of damage to the shoulder. All of his offense is going to be focused right on that open cut.”

 

King: “As it should be.”

 

Hawke drags Wildchild into the center of the ring, then bites his challenger’s forehead.

 

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!”

 

Ignoring the catcalls from the crowd, Hawke locks Wildchild into a front facelock.

 

Comet: “And into this headlock here, although he could be inadvertently doing the challenger a favor by cutting the flow of blood.”

 

King: “No he’s not, and I’ll tell you why. If Wildchild doesn’t pass out to this hold, then once the hold is released, the blood will pump faster to compensate for it, which means it will flow out of his forehead at an alarming rate!”

 

Hawke continues to clamp down on the hold, but Wildchild slowly begins to pill himself to his feet. The Caribbean Cruiser pounds away at Jay Hawke's midsection with a series of weak punches that rally the crowd...

 

 

"DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!"

 

 

...but Jay Hawke quickly turns it around, dropping his challenger headfirst onto the mat. Wildchild ends up nearly vertical upon contact before slumping into a heap on the canvas.

 

Comet: "Thunderous DDT!"

 

King: "Beautiful! Wildchild is damn near out like a light!"

 

Comet: "Oh God. Look at the ring."

 

Comet is, in actuality, referring to the mat that is now covered in Wildchild's blood, thanks to the flow of crimson liquid coming out of the forehead. An arrogant Hawke simply stomps on the back of his challenger's head, and that wakes the challenger up enough for him to begin to raise off the canvas...

 

 

...

 

 

...and see the blood-soaked mat. Wildchild instinctively reaches for his forehead and pulls his hand away, seeing the crimson on his face. Then his demeanor changes. If you thought he was mad before, you'd swear there was literally fire in his eyes now. With only adrenaline and fury fueling his desire, Wildchild gets to this feet, daring Hawke to move in. Hawke comes in firing a series of right hands, but Wildchild merely backs up a couple of steps and smiles. Hawke throws another right hand, but Wildchild blocks it and fires back with a series of rights and lefts to the head and face of the champion.

 

Comet: "Amazing! One sight of his own blood, and Wildchild has gone into a frenzy!"

 

King: "It's as though he's channeled every bit of anger he has ever had and is focusing all of it on Jay Hawke! He's still throwing punches!"

 

The punches have driven the Dean of Professional Wrestling into the corner, and the challenger continues firing away until the champion has slumped to the mat, completely out on his feet. Wildchild then grabs Jay Hawke by both feet and pulls him slightly into the ring, before turning his body and falling backwards, slingshotting Hawke face-first into the steel. The champion is unable to even get his hands out to block, and the moment his flesh connects with the steel, blood is already beginning to pour out from the champion's forehead.

 

Comet: "And now it's Jay Hawke busted wide open!!"

 

King: "Somebody get the HIV clinic on the phone! I think we've got two new patients for them before this one is over!"

 

It's Wildchild's turn to open up the cut on the champion's forehead. He pounds away with a series of right hands to the open wound, widening the gash until Hawke's forehead is nearly completely hidden by a mask of crimson. Unsatisfied, Wildchild grabs a hold of the Clevelander's head and pulls him to his feet. Wildchild points to the north side of the ring....

 

 

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!"

 

CLANG!

 

...and head first into the cage goes the champion. Dub-Cee then points to the east side of the ring...

 

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!"

 

CLANG!

 

...and Hawke's head meets steel again. Pointing to the south side....

 

 

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!"

 

CLANG!

 

....and Hawke is almost completely knocked out. But Wildchild doesn't want to disappoint the fans on the west side of the ring...

 

 

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!"

 

CLANG!

 

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!"

 

Comet: "Wildchild is a man possessed! He has placed Jay Hawke through all four sides of the cage, and I'm not sure Hawke's ever lost that much blood in his entire career!"

 

King: "We often use the expression that it's like his head is a faucet, but his head's more like a bottomless bucket! I hate to say it, but somebody has to stop the damn match and award Wildchild the title right here!"

 

Wildchild picks Jay Hawke up and drags him to the side of the ring. Wildchild rams Hawke’s face directly into the chain link mesh. Then, holding him there, he begins to grind the champion’s face along the steel, turning the steel from a silver color to a lovely silver and red tint.

 

Comet: “Look at this. I can’t remember the last time I saw this side of Wildchild!”

 

King: “He’s turning the cage into a cheese grater and Jay Hawke’s head into a block of sharp cheddar!”

 

Jay Hawke struggles to reach his feet, pulling the ropes with all his strength. Before he can even right himself, Wildchild is right there to drape a leg over the back of Hawke's head and drive him face-first to the mat. Wildchild immediately goes for the cover and hooks the leg:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THRENOSOMEHOWHEKICKSOUT!

 

Comet: "Only two!"

 

King: "I don't know where he got that from, but that might have taken all the strength he had left!"

 

Wildchild pulls Jay Hawke's nearly lifeless body back to his feet. Using strength not normally seen in the Bahaman, he lifts Hawke into a vertical suplex and holds him there. Five seconds.

 

 

....

 

 

Ten seconds.

 

 

...

 

 

After nearly fifteen seconds, he finally drops the champion straight down onto the top of his head.

 

Comet: "Brain buster! All the blood Hawke has left flowing down to the open cut on the head! It's over if he wants it right here!"

 

And indeed he does want it, as the cover with the hooked leg implies.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THRENOHEJUSTBARELYGOTTHEFOOTONTHEBOTTOMROPE!

 

King: "Pure instinct! Hawke's wrestling instinct allowed him to get his foot on the rope and save the title!"

 

Comet: "But how much more can he take?"

 

King: "Not much!"

 

King’s sentiment is probably correct. Which is exactly what Wildchild is thinking when he pulls Jay Hawke back to his feet one more time. He underhooks both of the champion’s arms and spins around, hanging the longest-reigning SWF champion of all-time upside down for a moment as the crowd buzzes with anticipation. Wildchild’s eyes get wide….

 

 

 

 

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

 

 

WILD RIDE!

 

Comet: “The Wild Ride! No way can Jay Hawke kick out of that after all the blood he’s lost over the past few minutes!”

 

Wildchild goes for the cover.

 

Comet: “He’s got him right there!”

 

The crowd counts along with the referee.

 

 

“ONE!”

 

 

Comet: “Truly a marvelous title reign coming to an end here!”

 

 

“TWO!”

 

 

King: “He didn’t hook the leg!”

 

 

“THREE!

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--

 

 

 

 

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Wildchild gets up, raising both arms straight into the air, unaware that Jay Hawke has once again draped his foot along the bottom ring rope.

 

Comet: “Again, the foot just barely goes over the bottom rope before the count of three!”

 

King: “It’s only a matter of time! Jay Hawke wanted to bring out the best of Wildchild, and it looks like he’s going to get his wish and lose the International Title in the process.”

 

Realizing what happened, Wildchild begins arguing with inside official Red Herrington, who holds his hands about two inches apart to show how close he came to making the fatal final three count. Wildchild gives up the argument and drags Hawke to the center of the ring, once again making the cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- Hawke just barely lifts the right shoulder blade off the canvas.

 

King: “Hawke kicks out, Comet, but I have to admit that if Wildchild would have made the first cover in the center of the ring, he’d be the International Champion right now!”

 

Wildchild once again pulls the champion to his feet and unleashes a barrage of right hands that have Hawke leaning against the ropes just to keep from falling down. Wildchild lets out a tribal yell and runs toward the ropes. Hawke briefly looks behind him as Wildchild rebounds. Wildchild leaves his feet and levels Hawke with a flying forearm to the bloodied and mangled face of the champion, who falls through the ropes…

 

 

….through the suddenly open door…

 

 

…down the ring steps…

 

 

…away from a lunging Wildchild…

 

 

…

 

 

…and onto the floor in a mangled heap.

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

 

Comet: “What?”

 

King: “He didn’t!”

 

Comet: “I…I think he did.”

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this steel cage match … and still![/i SWF International Champion … ‘the Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!”

 

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

 

Comet: “How did he pull that off?”

 

King: “I’ll tell you how he pulled that off, Comet! He had enough presence of mind to call for the bell just as Wildchild was running for that flying forearm smash, and the momentum of the forearm sent the champion sprawling to the arena floor for the victory!”

 

Comet: “You call that a victory? Wildchild had it in his grasp! He had Jay Hawke literally beaten into a bloody pulp!”

 

King: “I’ll grant you that! By all rights, Wildchild should be the International Champion right now. But the rules stated you could win by being the first to leave the cage. Hawke was the first to leave the cage, Wildchild wasn’t, so Hawke retains the championship.”

 

EMTs immediately run out to ringside to check on Jay Hawke as technicians raise the cage.

 

Comet: “I don’t even think Hawke’s aware he’s won the match yet.”

 

King: “He might not be. But when he comes to, he can take pride in the fact that he’s still the champion.”

 

Comet: “Wildchild has nothing to be ashamed with here, but Jay Hawke literally escapes this steel cage match with the title in hand. Plenty more great action still to come, so don’t you dare go away!”

[HollywoodSpikeJenkins 0]

Yeah, we showed...

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

 

“HOLY SHIT!!!”

 

“HOLY SHIT!!!”

 

“HOLY SHIT!!!”

 

That exact chat has echoed through the night’s sky as From the Fire continues to burn brightly. Panning the crowd with a magnificent 360-degree view, everyone not located in the American West Arena can clearly see that the fans located in the heated Phoenix, Arizona are very well excited. The immense buzz in the atmosphere, clouds the skies for good reason.

 

“The next match is one half of the FROM THE FIRE MAIN EVENT!”

 

“YEEEEEAAAAAHHHH!!”

 

The crowd explodes as tables, ladders, and chairs surround the ring.

 

“Well, next up we will be having the much anticipated, TLC match. And the rules…fuck it. I’m not Pete or this fool sitting next to me. If you are watching this program, you should know the rules to a TLC match.”

 

“King, such language doesn’t need to be used. You don’t see a superhero like myself swearing at every despicable opportunity. I’m just pumped for the match! We have two teams who went undefeated against every other team in the SWF, Team SpYon and The Asian Underground!”

 

“You can’t forget our tag champs. The multitalented Max King, and the stalker incognito, Landon Maddix. Personally, I am rooting for Asian Underground all the way. Spike and Zyon could spot wrestle their way to the morgue for all I care, and Maddix with a title is just too much to bear,” Suicide King makes his prediction.

 

“I just want to see a spectacular match. And with these six men in the ring, there is no doubt in my mind we will have a fantastic showing,” Comet sounds off.

 

“Magic People…Voodoo People!”

 

The American West arena rises to their feet as “Voodoo People” by Prodigy blasts over the too expensive for Oprah sound system. The triad emerges from behind the black curtain, completely focused on the task at hand. The Cruiserweight Champion, Akira Kaibatsu admires the position he is in as his partner coldly stares straight ahead. The chubby, but brilliant Mr. Kobe comes to a halt, nodding to his young pupils…before heading toward the back.

 

“It looks as if Mr. Kobe is willing to let his boys take the titles without his supervision. An ultimate form of respect for these youngsters.”

 

“Yeah, Comet, that is it. It couldn’t be because that slime ball is frightened of the position he could put himself in, or be forcefully put in.”

 

The triangle transfers into a straight line, Akira while even under a mask, shows more emotion than his successful partner.

 

“First, at a COMBINED WEIGHT OF 418 lbs, the SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION, “THE DIVINE WIND” AKIRA KAIBATSU AND MICHAEL CROSS, THE ASIAN UNDERGROUNDDDDDDD!!!”

 

The American/Japanese tandem carefully go around the ladder in the middle of the aisle, forming their straight line once again. The duo rolls into the ring as now Michael Cross shows a little bit of emotion, as the Asian Underground ascend the middle turnbuckle, looking out across the sea of fans.

 

“This is surreal. Big match feeling, right off the bat.” Comet has goose bumps.

 

“I’M BORN!!!”

 

“I’M ALIVE!!!”

 

“I BREATHE!!!”

 

…

 

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

 

Crashing over the thunderous PA system is none other than Lamb of God’s “Black Label.” Flying through the curtain, is the always-energetic Zyon…

 

“YEEEEAAAHHH!”

 

…Who gets a deafening reaction. Following the Unique Youth is the Straight Edger, “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins. Casually hidden by the yellow and black hoodie, Spike is all business as he walks down the entrance ramp. Halting his way toward the battlefield, Zyon salutes the audience before dashing down the entrance ramp…stopping at the ladder in the middle. Charismatically, Zyon lowers himself, and dances through the middle of the ladder…

 

“That’s some massive bad luck for that spot monkey.” King details.

 

“And their opponents, at a COMBINED WEIGHT OF 420 lbs, “THE UNIQUE YOUTH” ZYYYYON AND “HOLLYWOOD” SPIKE JENKINS!!!!”

 

“YYYYYEEEEEAAAHHH!”

 

The crowd favorite tandem slides into the ring, each doing their own thing. Respectively, Zyon does his quick head bang, while Spike throws the “X” up.

 

“Yeah, we get it guys. Zyon likes to go to heavy metal concerts and Spike is all, drugs are bad, mkay.”

 

And now the champions.

 

“PREPARE FOR THE RETURN OF MADIKING????”

 

The unorthodox message scrolls across the Smarktron, leaving many to realize that the tag champs really can’t get along. “Megalomaniac” by Incubus is the choice of music by the team as Max King and Landon Maddix enter the arena.

 

“BOOOOOO!”

 

The anxious audience brings the hate as Landon continues his stroll down the ring. Max stops to give the beautiful Kelly King a smooch…as she exits to the back. With his lady out of harms way, Max struts behind Maddix. Two enemies, one prize. Those titles hanging 20 feet in the air.

 

“And now, at a COMBINED WEIGHT OF 491 lbs, THE CURRENT SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS, LANDON “LA CUCARACHA” MADDIX AND “THE ICON” MAX KING!!!!!”

 

“I really feel sorry for Max. Not only will he have to put his career on the line tonight against two teams with spotty workers, but also it will all be for the chance to team with Maddix even longer. This is truly a lose-lose situation for The Icon,” Suicide King can’t help but feel sorry for the other King.

 

The six men in the ring take a moment to stare at the titles, located somewhere in the celestial lights. They all then stare at each other with the intent to kill, mime, and slaughter. Senior referee Nick Soapdish wishes he could have taken up the Calvinball match, but money is money.

 

Then again, so is a broken neck. With all six men surrounded by weapons of in-ring destruction, referee Nick Soapdish starts this shindig off the only way he can…

 

DING DING DING!!!

 

The bell sounds, but is ignored by the six men in the ring who all look up in unison. Wanting to get away from each other as soon as possible, Max and Landon split up, attacking the first men to come their way. Sadly, for the tag champs they run into the teams of Asian Underground and for lack of a better name, team SpYon. Landon is double teamed by Mr. Kobe’s clients while Max tries to fight off Zyon and Spike, but to no avail.

 

“I seriously doubt that Max and Landon will work together at all during this match,” Comet predicts.

 

“I actually agree with your crazy ass. Then again, I wouldn’t want to work with Landon either.”

 

The Asian Underground trap Max in the corner with an onslaught of kicks and punches, until Zyon interrupts the proceedings, wrapping the current cruiserweight champion in a reverse waist lock. Both men joust for position, as they back up into the middle of the ring. Zyon hoists and tosses the Divine Wind backward, but the agile Akira flips through, landing on his feet. Charging forward, Akira lunges at Zyon who turns around just in time to dodge a lariat. Immediately rebounding off the miss, Akira turns and locks the youth down with a reverse waist lock of his own…only to have Landon break it up with a forearm to the back. Across the ring, Cross has inserted himself into battle with Spike and Max King. Jabbing Max in the gut, Cross places The Icon in a front face lock, driving him to the mat with a snap suplex. Rising back to his feet, Cross turns toward Spike who shoot downward for a double-legged takedown. Hopping backward, Cross dodges the apparent takedown attempt. Planting his foot from a crouched position, Spike hurls himself toward Cross, locking the Suicide Machine down with a standard collar and elbow tie up. Spinning out, Spike latches on to Cross’s wrist, pulling upward, placing him in a wristlock. Tapping his shoulder, Cross twists backward, turning the tables on Spike, placing him in a hammerlock.

 

“Pretty clean match so far,” Comet can’t help but notice.

 

Unable to perform the same feat, Spike takes a much different approach. Wrapping his free arm around Cross’s head, Spike leaps upward, falling back down to Earth with a glorified snapmare takedown. The American half of the Asian Underground attempts to get back to his feet, but Spike pounces on his opponent with the always-annoying cravate.

 

“I can’t believe it. Spike just ran through his whole technical wrestling thing. He just applied a cravate in a TLC match. You know what, I’ll applaud that,” King claps his hands together.

 

Cranking on his opponent’s neck, Spike doesn’t see Max emerge from behind him…with chair in hand.

 

“It seems during the mass technical wrestling, Max was able to sneak out and grab a chair,” Comet fills in the blanks.

 

Hoisting the chair over his head, the fans look ready to react as ZYON SNEAKS UP AND TAKES THE CHAIR! A sudden look of frighten emerges over Max’s face as he drops down on one knee, pleading with Zyon.

 

“HIT HIM!”

 

The crowd chants.

 

“These people are absolutely ruthless,” Comet would not save these citizens.

 

“It’s a TLC match, what do you expect?”

 

Grinning from ear to ear, Zyon hoists the chair upward, only to get sweeped off his feet by Akira. With the chair in hand, hovering over his face, Zyon tries to get back to his feet, bur Akira leaps into the air with a leg drop…SMACKING THE CANVAS!

 

“OOOOOOOO!”

 

The crowd cheers, knowing that Zyon escaped some pain. While pulling himself to his feet, Zyon loses the chair to Landon, who stabs the youth in the gut with it!!!!

 

CRACK!!!

 

Zyon clutches his stomach as Landon brings the chair down across the Unique Youth’s back!!!

 

CRACKKKK!!!

 

Zyon crumbles to the mat as Landon instinctively drops the chair. Releasing the ¾ headlock on Cross, Spike attacks Landon from behind. Shoving Landon into the turnbuckle, Spike lays into the New Generation with forearm strikes. La Cucaracha’s partner, Max King pleases the audience as he brings a ladder into the match!

 

“YEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHH!”

 

The audience explodes, as Max sets the ladder up under the titles. Fresh and full of energy, Max climbs the ladder, not even getting half the way up before being pulled down by Akira Kaibatsu.

 

CRACK!

 

Max for all his troubles receives a brutal kick to the rib, followed by meeting the ladder with his face! Folding the ladder up, Akira points the metallic head of the foreign object toward Spike, who continues to beat on Landon. Running forward, Akira looks to strike Spike in the back, but the Straight Edger moves out of the way…and Landon….

 

CRACK!!!

 

…Is crushed! Falling on to his BUTT, clutching his stomach, Landon tries to regain his breath. Wildly, Akira swings at Spike who ducks the ladder strike, but Akira’s nearby partner does not!

 

CRACK!!!

 

Blindsided by the strike, Cross falls to the mat, clutching the back of his head. In a dead stride, Spike hurls himself forward, attempting to spear Akira, but catches the ladder with his face! Bouncing off the unforgivable object, Spike clutches his face as Akira sets the ladder up in the middle of the ring. Ascending the ladder rung by rung, Akira notices on the corner of his eye one Max King. Looking to stop Akira’s momentum, Max staggers forward, only to be SHOCKED as Akira blindly leaps off the ladder from a little more than ¼ the way up. Turning his body, Akira latches his legs around Max, looking to take him to the mat with a hurricanrana. However, Max stays strong, keeping his balance until Akira starts to lower the bombs. With rights and lefts raining down on his head, Max stumbles toward the ropes, giving Akira the chance to head scissor Max and himself over the ropes and to the floor!!

 

“YEEEAAAAHHHH!”

 

Back in the ring, Cross is batting Zyon back into the ropes with a barrage of forearms. Kneeing the youth in the gut, Cross latches on to Zyon’s arm, Irish whipping him across the ring. With the ladder standing in the middle of the ring, Zyon ducks under the ladder, bouncing off the opposite ropes, Zyon halts his momentum, placing his hands on the ladder, and pushing it over. The fearless Cross easily stops the ladder from dropping, holding the object up with his palms. Unknown to the Suicide Machine, Zyon has already made his next move up, shuffling to the side and with two swift kicks, knocks Cross to the mat. Falling backward, the ladder gets caught on the ropes. Sneaking up behind Zyon, Landon hoists Zyon in the air, crotching him on one of the ladder’s legs! Clutching his nether regions, Zyon is helpless as Landon abandons his recent style of wrestling. Springing off the ropes, Landon twists in the air placing both feet to the face of the stunned Zyon, knocking him off the leg and to the canvas.

 

“Say what you want about Landon…”

 

“Ok. He’s a punk, a loser, a bitch, a…” King takes the initiative.

 

“Ok King, that’s enough. I was going to say that Landon is a fantastic wrestler, and with a spotty background, he could be the favorite in this match.”

 

CRASH!!!

 

Outside the ring, Akira is shown lying against the steel steps, thanks to being tossed into them by Max King. Inside the ring, the rivals Landon and Spike are going at it. Looking to drop Landon across the ladder’s leg crotch first, Spike hoists Landon into the air, but the New Generation flips backward. Bouncing off the ropes, the Straight Edger attempts something that will never come to fruitation since Landon launches Spike through the air with a back body drop. Outside the ring, Max has another ladder, rolling it into the ring. Landon looks at his partner with disgust, while leaning the ladder against the turnbuckle. Waiting on the ring apron, Max communicates with Landon. Pretending to not hear his “partner” Landon lifts Spike from the mat, whipping him toward the ladder, BUT WAIT! Spike counters the Irish whip with one of his own, throwing Landon face first into the ladder in the turnbuckle. Grabbing up the other ladder in the ring, Spike charges forward, squishing Landon with the second ladder! Wanting to fall to the mat, Landon finds himself trapped in the turnbuckle between ladders. Max King coldly looks on as Zyon makes it back to his feet. Dropping to all fours, Spike signals for Zyon to do what he does best. The crowd rises to their feet, knowing that Landon has no idea what is going on.

 

“YEEEEAAHHH!”

 

The crowd is going bonkers as Zyon sprints forward, leaping off Spike who is a little farther out than usual. Stretching forward, Zyon’s eyes grow once he notices Max is no longer on the apron. The Icon springboards off the top rope, turning his back to Zyon, and shooting him out of the sky with a fantastic back elbow!!!

 

“YEEEAAAAHHHHH!!!”

 

The crowd erupts as Zyon lands on the mat HARD! Dropping to one knee, Max flexes toward the crowd, pumping the audience up even more.

 

CRACKKK!!

 

The Superior Talent pays for his constant showboating as Michael Cross flattens one half of the tag champions face with a basement dropkick! Wondering back to his feet, Cross grabs one of the ladders, trapping Landon. Once he pulls the ladder away, Landon ungraciously falls to the mat.

 

“Hahahahahahaah!”

 

“Looks like Landon has been out on his feet the entire time.”

 

“He’s just a pussy. Being crushed by ladders doesn’t hurt THAT MUCH,” King shrugs off the power of the ladder.

 

Setting the ladder under the titles, Cross’ eyes glow and refocus! Shooting forward, Spike tosses his foot toward the Suicide Machine! Always on his guard, the manic Asian Underground member catches the Last Dance super kick. Spinning Spike around, Cross is SHOCKED to see Spike attempt a discuss clothesline!

 

SWISH!

 

Always…on…guard. Cross ducks the attack, pulling Spike into a reverse face lock. With his muscles tensing, Cross lifts and twists, spiking the Straight Edger into the mat with the Silent Rage Syndrome!!!!!

 

“YYYYEEEAAAHHH!”

 

“Cross could have just won his team the match! That was a super move done by a super athlete.”

 

“Thank you, Richard Simmons. I’m missing Pete more and more tonight.”

 

Outside the ring, Akira grabs a chair and sets it up. He then grabs a TABLE and balances it on the ring apron and the top part of the chair. There is a little slant in the make up of the table, but surprisingly, it does not fall down.

 

“YEEEEAAAHHHH!”

 

The crowd goes nuts as Cross makes his way up the ladder. Ascending the ladder, Cross calls out to his partner. Instead, the Suicide Machine gets the New Generation to come to his aid…or failure. Latching on to Cross’s foot, Landon does what he can to pull the Asian Underground member down. Cross is almost halfway up, but is slowly dragged down…UNTIL AKIRA CHARGES INTO THE RING, tackling Landon away from the ladder. Breathing heavily, Cross continues his journey toward the titles. Reemerging from the mat, Zyon watches as Cross is more than halfway up the ladder!!!

 

“He has to do something!!!” Comet shills.

 

Zyon looks around and notices the other ladder, just leaning against the ropes innocently. Picking the ladder up, Zyon walks forward, tossing the ladder upward into the back of one of his opponents.

 

CRACKKKK!!!

 

“GAH!”

 

Cross shouts as his ascension has come to a dead stop. Setting the ladder perpendicular to the ladder, Cross is on, Zyon slowly ascends his ladder. While all this is going on, Max has once again exited the ring…for a chair. Lifting up one of the random chairs, Max enters the ring and smacks…ZYON ACROSS THE BACK WITH IT!!!

 

CRRRRRRRRAACK!!!

 

The shot knocks the breath from the youth, causing the Unique Youth to fall to the mat. The crowd cheer as Cross realizes that lady luck might be looking down on him…

 

…

 

…

 

SIKE! Max quickly ascends the empty ladder, catching Cross who has gone up one rung since. Pulling on Cross’s hair, Max cradles the Suicide Machine’s head in both of his arms. With arms flailing, Cross can only stare at the lights as Max pulls him off the ladder with a SUPER NECK BREAKER!!!!

 

CRASHHHHH!!!

 

“Holy Shit!”

 

“He could have just broken his damn neck!!!” Comet freaks out.

 

Michael Cross clutches his neck, as Max looks just as shell-shocked from the long drop. Looking at the wreckage, Akira pulls at his mask, wondering why they aren’t the world tag team champs right now. Slightly flustered, Akira turns his attention toward La Cucaracha.

 

“POKE!”

 

The only part of Akira’s face that is visible moistens as Landon’s finger penetrates his opponent’s eye socket. Grabbing one of the two chairs located in the ring, Landon calmly sets the chair up. However, he is calm no longer as the Divine Wind spins forward with a Roaring Elbow that Landon COUNTERS into the COMPLETE SHOT…ON THE CHAIR!!!

 

CRRRRRRAAAAAACCCCKKKK!!!

 

Akira’s face bounces off the chair, twitching as he lies on the mat. Landon looks up at the titles, and then down at his partner still recovering from his own offensive maneuver. Shrugging his shoulders, Landon begins to ascend the ladder, but a former Revolution Zero member stops the former Martial Law member. Spike pulls Landon off the ladder, and into a standing head scissor! Spike lifts, but Landon POPS OUT LOOKING FOR THE RUSSIAN LEG SWEEP COUNTER! Zyon though makes his presence known with a shoulder to the gut of Landon. Once again the man from Hollywood drags Landon down into a standing head scissor, this time with no struggle. Unannounced to Spike, Max King is back on his feet…with the second chair in hand. Diving forward, Wrestling’s Superman saves his partner with a HEINOUS CHAIR SHOT!!!!!

 

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC…you know the rest.

 

A deep, slicing cut appears vertically down Spike’s forehead, as the Straight Edger falls between the middle and top rope, to the outside.

 

“Jesus Christ, that was a hellacious shot from King. He deserves to have the same last name as me. Hell, I’ll chance my last name to Prince, just don’t hit me with a chair,” Needless to say, King was impressed.

 

Dropping the chair, Max is sweating bullets as the former cruiserweight champion; Zyon climbs up one of the ladders, both in the area of the titles. Instead of ending the youth’s dream, Max decides to take a chance, and climb up on the other side.

 

OOOOHHHHHHHHHH!

 

The crowd erupts as the two climb to the top of the ladder.

 

CRACK!

 

With a blatant, but legal closed right hand, The Icon stuns Zyon. Max ignores the spaced out youth, AND REACHES FOR THE TITLES!

 

CRACKK!

 

But receives a forearm to the chest for his troubles. Zyon refuses to make the same mistake as one half of the champions…

 

CRACK!

 

…But gets beat to the punch anyway.

 

CRACK!

 

CRACK!!!

 

CRACK!!!!!

 

…Again and again. Zyon is barely hanging on, but he notices something that the Superior Talent does not. Akira…hands…on…ladder! Oh shit. Thrusting forward, Akira tips the ladder, at the last second Zyon leaps on to the other ladder. Unfortunately, Max King suffers the fate of the few who compete in ladder matches as he falls over the top and all the way to the floor!!!

 

SPLAT!!!

 

The Icon rolls toward the entrance ramp and that’s all the motion he makes. Akira pulls the bouncing ladder back into position. Ascending the ladder rung by rung, Akira looks to out quick the wounded Zyon to the titles…AND HE DOES!!!

 

“GASP!!!”

 

The crowd is cheering madly as Akira grabs on to the titles as Zyon makes the only maneuver he can make. The Unique Youth carefully extends his leg, kicking Akira’s ladder out from under him…but Akira remains in the air thanks to the titles. Now Zyon starts to worry, knowing that the titles can unbuckle at any moment. Skipping rung by rung, the Unique Youth ascends the ladder two rungs at a time.

 

YEEEAAAAHHHH!

 

The crowd erupts as the Suicide Machine; Michael Cross is back up from that Super Neck Breaker from earlier. Still reeling from the effect of the previous long drop, Cross manages to push Zyon’s ladder over!!! BUT THE YOUTH LEAPS FOR THE TITLES! Zyon makes it!

 

“Good lord Suicide King, those two men are both hanging at least twenty feet from the mat,” Comet might have under or over exaggerated the actual height.

 

Cross can only watch on, visibly cheering on his partner. The two men, who had a brief series over the cruiserweight title, hang on the tag titles to the pleasure of everyone in the arena. Suddenly, Landon “La Cucaracha” Maddix reasserts himself in the possible final outcome, running Cross over with a shoulder tackle. Cross slides out to the ring apron as Landon is prepared to take matters in his own hand. Setting up one of the two ladders in the corner, Landon ascends said weapon. Akira and Zyon weakly kick one another, attempting to boot the other off. Finally, on top of the ladder, Landon balances him on the peak as long as possible. Titling side to side, the ladder looks ready to fall, but not before Landon leaps off proving why he is aptly called the New Generation. Extending himself Landon places a foot into the Divine Wind’s gut, and grazes Zyon with his other!!! Akira takes the full foot, swinging backward, and descending to the mat with a flipping back bump!!!!!

 

“Oh my god…!”

 

The announcers trail off as Landon realizes that he failed…

 

…

 

…

 

…BUT WILL CROSS. The Suicide Machine powerfully springboards off the top rope, homing in on the Unique Youth. Hugging Zyon around the waist, Cross pulls the youth off, obliterating him with a modified SPINE UPON THE PINE BUSTER!!!!!

 

“WHOOYYYHHEEWQ!”

 

The crowd explodes as Cross, Zyon, and Akira lie on the mat. Both Zyon and Akira look completely out of it, but Cross looks to have some fight left in him. The veteran, Landon pulls the hurt Cross to his feet, and pulling him into a doubled armed standing head scissor. Elevating Cross off the mat, Landon twists to the side and sits out, blasting his opponent with the Maddix Shock Syndrome!!!!!

 

Eat your heart out Toxxic.

 

“BOOOOOOOO!”

 

The crowd recognizes the move and it’s TRUE purpose, which to the uneducated is not to just put the Suicide Machine down. Continuing to mock the departed Straight Edge Sensation, Landon does the infamous crucifix taunt with his palms down. TO THE CONFUSION OF EVERYONE…somehow Spike is back in the ring. Wearing the crimson mask, the bloody Spike grabs on to Maddix, trudging forward, and tossing Landon over the top rope…where the table is sat up between the ring apron and a chair!!!

 

CRR…never mind.

 

Landon grabs the top rope, pulling himself on the ring apron. Spike’s bleach blond hair is now a wicked mix of red and yellow…BROTHER! Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Spike charges forward as The Icon sneaks into the ring!

 

“Spike doesn’t realize that Max King is behind him,” Comet attempts to warn the Straight Edger.

 

The New Generation stops his opponent dead in his tracks with a disrespectful slap to the face! Staring at his hand, Landon notices that his hand is covered in blood…the blood of one “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins. With a look of “ick” coming over his face, La Cucaracha secretly hopes that Max is able to successfully blindside the Straight Edger. Angered by the smack, Spike’s frustrated eyes wonder about, but his ears sound in on the loud rumblings behind him. Side stepping the Superior Talent, Spike watches with glee as Max King decks his partner with a running forearm. Teetering on the edge of the apron, Landon is barely able to keep on hand latched on to the top rope!!! Rolling out of the ring is Michael Cross who staggers around the ring, leaping on to the same apron as Landon Maddix. The New Generation is too busy yelling at his partner’s fault, and doesn’t notice the wickedly dangerous Suicide Machine beside him.

 

Crack!

 

A weak jab to the side of Landon alerts the tag champion of danger. Max looks to intervene, but Spike plays the part of the spoiler, pulling The Icon away from the action. Slipping Landon into a standing head scissor, Cross hoists the New Generation on to his shoulders…RUNNING POWER BOMB OFF THE APRON AND THROUGH THE TABLE…FOOL!!!!

 

“LANDON HAS JUST BEEN BROKEN IN HALF!!” Comet yells.

 

Pieces of the table fly everywhere as an unconscious Maddix lies beneath the ruble. Avoiding the table was Cross who more or less tossed the New Generation into the table that was balanced by the ring apron and a chair.

 

“YYYEEEEAAAAHHHH!”

 

The crowd explodes while Max King and “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins brawl in the ring. Bleeding profusely from his forehead, Spike attempts a sweep, but the athletic Superior Talent leaps into the air, dodging the strike. Taking advantage of an opening, Max places a firm boot in the gut of his opponent, and then takes off toward the ropes. Bouncing off the ropes, Max takes a few steps before hurling himself toward Spike, blasting him with a leaping forearm to the face. Blood splatters against the nearby camera as Spike falls to both knees trying to regain himself. Wrestling’s Superman though quickly rolls to his feet and showboats once again.

 

CRACK!!

 

Sneaking up from behind Max King is the Suicide Machine, who blasts the Superior Talent in the back of the head with a thrusting kick. Stumbling into the ropes, Max comes back with a wild lariat, that Cross ducks. Back on his feet is the Divine Wind who connects with a kick to the gut and locks Max into a front face lock. Hosting his opponent into the air, Akira twists his body, extending his knee as he drops Max across it back first with a crushing Divine Backbreaker! Finding himself in a sitting position, Max clutches his back as Cross bounces off the ropes blasting the Superior Talent with another basement dropkick to the face.

 

CRACK!

 

“It seems like my pick is taking control of this match. See Comet, if you had my backing, you could have had a great career. Now your just Pete’s substitute,” King scoffs at the super hero.

 

Akira grabs a ladder and moves it toward a random corner of the ring, setting it up. The Divine Wind latches on to Zyon’s hair, dragging the youth back to his feet. Akira calmly whips Zyon toward the ladder, but the youth gains the advantage by leaping on to the ladder. Peaking through the red liquid on his face, Spike attempts to slug Akira across the face, but the Asian Underground member counter with a simple arm drag. Both Cross and Akira charge toward Zyon who is ¾ the way up the ladder now. Reeling the tandem in like a fish on a hook, Zyon waits…and leaps backward corkscrewing through the air, landing on his bug eyes opponent with an AWESOME HIGH FLYING NO REGARD!!!

 

“YEEAAAAHHHHH!!!”

 

The crowd erupts again as Zyon makes it back to his feet. Noticing the other ladder in the ring, Zyon pulls the ladder directly under the belts. Regenerating from the previous collision, Cross rolls out of the ring. The other half of the Asian Underground duo hurls himself toward Zyon with a lariat. The Unique Youth doesn’t see the attack coming as the impact throws him face first into the ladder. Bouncing off the ladder, Zyon turns into Akira who places a well times foot into Zyon’s hands? Yep, the youth catches the kick attempt and performs a sloppy dragon screw. The attack hurts his opponent’s leg a little, but the real aiming point takes place when Akira’s back snaps into the ladder!

 

CLUNK!!!

 

The Divine Wind falls to all fours, allowing Zyon to leap off the cruiserweight champion’s back, inserting himself halfway up the ladder!!! And just to spite his opponent, Cross tosses another ladder into the ring. Quickly entering the ring himself, the Suicide Machine lifts the ladder up and sets it parallel to Zyon’s ladder. Akira also takes action setting the ladder up that was in the corner, next to Cross’s ladder, parallel to Zyon’s ladder. Unaware of the duo ascending their own ladders, Zyon continues his voyage to the top. However, by looking straight ahead, the Unique Youth can clearly notice his enemies. Zyon makes a crucial mistake by choosing to slow down, looking to meet the Asian Underground head on. Cross is first to meet Zyon who has the higher ground…

 

CRACK!!

 

…And thus halts the Suicide Machine with a right hand. Akira is second to meet the youth, taking Zyon by surprise with your standard eye rake! Blinded, Zyon is powerless to stop the Asian Underground from trapping him in a double front face lock. The American West Arena slowly pieces together what is going to happen.

 

“Oh shit…”

 

Many close to the action echo as the Asian Underground hoists the youth vertically, and then drops backward with a ULTRA SUPERPLEX FROM ¾ THE WAY UP THE LADDER!!!!!!

 

CRASSSSHHHHH!!!!

 

Zyon slithers on the mat clutching his back while the Asian Underground look to catch their collective breath. Akira staring into the lights shows little expression as he exits the ring. Heading toward the safety barrier, Akira picks up a table!

 

“YEEEAAAHHH!”

 

The crowd explodes with flashbacks of watching Landon going through the table. Since the Japanese import is old fashioned, the cruiserweight champion sets the table up on its legs right next to those in the front row. The Asian Underground member also sets a ladder up next to the table, confirming that he does have a plan. With Cross back on his feet, Akira puts his plan into motion by signaling for Cross to toss Zyon to the outside. Obeying his partner in the wrestling triad, Cross forces the spaghetti legged Zyon back to his feet, tossing him over the top rope and to the floor.

 

“It looks to me King that Akira and Zyon still have bitter feelings for each other.”

 

“That and like most idiots, they like to please the audience that surround them,” King sounds off on pleasing the audience.

 

Back in the ring, the bloodied Straight Edger pushes the Suicide Machine face first into the ladder underneath the titles. The ladder falls into the ropes as the Michigan native staggers back into Spike who sweeps the emotionally varied competitor off of his feet. Rising back to his feet, Spike grabs one of the ladders, and places it into the corner. Back on the outside, Akira has placed Zyon on the table, showing one true sign of emotion in the form of a throat slash.

 

Personal foul on Asian Underground, 15 yards…first down!

 

Of course this isn’t the NFL and Akira Kaibatsu isn’t Brett Favre. Akira slowly climbs the rungs closest to the table until he is maybe a rung or two from the top! Back in the ring, Max King has regained his composure, and his first act of godliness…to attack “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins. Too bad for The Icon, Spike actually sees him coming. Averting the attack, Spike forces the Superior Talent toward the ropes, where Max uses his momentum to complete a suicide dive into the ladder that Akira is standing on…

 

…The ladder falls toward the audience…gasp…

 

…As does the Divine Wind…OH SHIT!!!

 

“BY BATMAN, AKIRA KAIBATSU JUST FELL INTO THE FIFTH ROW!!!”

 

“I bet those people are getting more than they paid for, HA!”

 

Akira crashes into a pool of chair and a few unfortunate individuals who didn’t get out of the way!!!!

 

“YYYYYYYYYEEEEEAAAAGHHHHH!!”

 

The crowd goes insane as security surrounds the Divine Wind, keeping the riotous fans away. Stunned from meeting the steel ladder with his face, Max now finds himself on the table. Zyon now finds himself in Akira’s position as he climbs the runs that are away from the table. Ascending the ladder a tad bit quicker than the import in the fifth row, Zyon shakes uncontrollable while at the very top! Tilting to side to side, the ladder looks ready to give at any moment. Spike watches the events unfold, pleading with his fearless (read: Stupid) partner to get down. However, all Zyon can hear is the cheering crowd as he leaps off the ladder…

 

…Floating through the atmosphere…

 

…Watch me as I kiss the sky…

 

…FINAL FLASH!!!!!!

 

CRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAASHHHH!!!

 

“HOLY SHIT!!!!”

 

“HOLY SHIT!!!”

 

The crowd is in complete pandemonium as Akira lies in the crowd five rows deep while Zyon and Max King rest in a mess of table shards!

 

“He did it. That idiot risked breaking his back again…what a fool!” King feels the hysteria just like everyone else.

 

Spike can only continue the match for his team, but Cross has to do the same. Sneaking up from behind Spike, the Suicide Machine pulls the Straight Edger into a reverse front face lock.

 

“King, he’s trying to hit Spike with the Silent Rage Syndrome…again,” Comet has a good memory of the match.

 

Comprehending the fact that if he hits his finisher, the match is over, Cross struggles to kill Spike. Soon the jousting comes to an end as Cross does lift and twist Spike in the air. As Cross spins for the cutter finish, Spike SHOCKS EVERYONE by pulling his feet to the mat, and hooking Cross in a reverse front face lock…CLEAN FUCKING LIVING!!!!

 

YYEEEEAAAHHHH!

 

The crowd cheers as Cross’s face bounces off the mat, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. With a ladder balanced against the rope and another in the corner, Spike grabs the third ladder, standing it under the titles. Blood dripping down his swelled face, Spike latches on to the ladder, beginning the climb. Inch by inch, the Straight Edger can taste the gold, as he is easily ¾ the way up. As his voyage comes to an end, Spike reaches for the belts…AND WHAT THE HELL IS LANDON DOING????

 

“I can’t believe that scum is still alive,” King puts his hands in his head.

 

The metallic rungs of the ladder, stained in blood begin to shake with the rest of the foreign object. Spike loses his balance as the ladder is completely titled over, but Spike uses his veteran smarts to leap off to the mat. Staggering, Spike sidesteps another wrestler who charges at him blindly. As Landon is sent sprinting toward the ladder in the corner, Spike chases after his former rival. Bringing out the old Landon, the Landon that no yet had dreams of being a technical wrestler, the Landon that has yet to score with the female of the Stephens family, and yes the Landon that has yet to grow an obsession with a departed superstar, this Landon runs up the ladder in the corner, dropping down on the apron while pulling on the head. The upper part of the ladder flows downward causing a seesaw effect with the lower part floating into the face of the charging Straight Edger!!!!

 

CRACCCCCCKKKK!

 

“OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!!!”

 

The crowd echoes as Spike immediately hits the mat, clutching his face. Balancing himself on the ring apron, Landon carefully ascends the turnbuckle, grabbing the ladder. Putting one foot on to a random top rung on the ladder, the New Generation leaps off, smashing Mr. Hollywood with the ladder!

 

CLUNK!!!

 

The ladder crashes down on to Spike’s rib area with massive velocity. Spike coughs, spits, and almost vomits while Landon is still recovering from being put through a table…by the man standing behind him. Cross, who ignores Maddix’s existence, sets a chair up before turning his attention toward La Cucaracha himself. Once he sees Mr. Cross, a great volcanic explosion of anger takes over Landon’s cool matter, forcing the tag champion to perform a wild Yakuza kick! Cross not only dodges the move, but he locks the tag champion in a trapping suplex. Hurling Landon over his head, the Suicide Machine watches with a grin as the New Generation flattens the chair from a sitting to a squished position!!!!

 

AHHHH!

 

Landon cries as Cross shows a tad bit of arrogance by pushing the broken chair out of the ring, now that it’s no use. Clutching his back, Landon rolls away from Cross, who opts to not continue his thrashing of the tag champ. Turning toward the titles that seem so far away, Cross comes face to face with Spike, who uses the ropes to hold himself up. Smirking, Cross backs away from the wounded Straight Edger, motioning that he doesn’t want any blood on him.

 

“It seems without Mr. Kobe’s guidance, Cross is kind of a loose cannon to say the least. There is something strange about that man,” Comet can’t put his finger on Cross’s true personality.

 

Despising the way Cross is treating him, Spike recklessly charges down the battlefield, an open target for the Suicide Machine…or so one would think. Remembering that he is a cruiserweight at heart, Spike slides under the open legs of his opponent, getting the possible jump on the Asian Underground member. Sliding both arms around his opponent, Spike ties Cross down in a reverse waist lock.

 

YEEEAAAAHHHH!!!

 

The crowd erupts as Akira drags himself over the safety barrier. Stumbling over the bodies of Zyon and Max King, Akira rolls into the ring, choosing to stay down to catch his breath. Cross slithers out of Spike’s grasp, performing a standard switch. Latching on to Spike’s red and yellow hair, Cross drives the Straight Edger face first into the ladder that is located directly under the titles. The impact is enough to knock the ladder to the mat as Spike slides down into a kneeling position. Blindly reaching to his side, Spike finds a chair…gripping it with his hand. Springing off the ropes, Cross comes charging back…

 

CRACK!!!

 

…Obtaining a harsh chair shot to the leg for his troubles. The wounded Suicide Machine attempts to hop away from the menacing Straight Edger…

 

CRACK!!!!

 

…But Spike is relentless as he delivers another shot to the left leg of his opponent. And one more for the road.

 

CRRRACK!!!

 

Cross’ eyes twitch as he falls to the mat, clinching his left leg. Celebrating his dominance with the chair, Spike holds the chair up while Landon Maddix is in the ring…while Landon is leaping…while Landon is extending his legs…

 

CRACKKK!!!

 

…WHILE LANDON IS HITTING SPIKE WITH THE LANDAMINATOR!!!!

 

“Whoa, I haven’t seen that in awhile. And it still sucks,” Suicide King trails off, being cut short of an anti Maddix speech.

 

“But it sure was effective, huh!”

 

Spike falls to the mat in a 220 pounds heap of flesh. Landon, though, unlike Michael Cross, knows how resilient Spike Jenkins really is. Dragging Spike toward the turnbuckle, Landon forces the Straight Edger into a sitting position. Grabbing a random ladder, Landon sets the object on its side, with the head pointing toward his opponent’s nether regions. Dark Maddix returns with a smirk as the cruiserweight dropkicks the ladder into Spike’s testicles!!!!!

 

OOOOOOOOO!!!

 

The crowd cheers in unison as Spike clutches his lower half. With Cross’s leg in need of possible hospitalization, Landon sets a ladder up in the center of the ring. Forgetting the possible dramatics, Landon looks to stay a tag team champion.

 

Crack!!!!

 

“Akira is back in action, YES!” King cheers on a competitor not named Landon Maddix.

 

“I agree with you King, but for different reasons,” says Comet, a big fan of the Mr. Kobe pupil.

 

The Divine Wind latches on a cravate, which has become a Spike Jenkins special as of late. For Akira though, the ¾ headlock is just the beginning as the youngster runs up the rungs of the ladder looking for his modified finisher. Landon dodges THE DIVINE WIND by pushing Akira off, causing the young cruiserweight champion to fall to one knee. With his back facing Akira, Landon twists around extending his knee toward his befallen opponent. The only visible part of Akira’s face, his eyes grow, focusing in on the attack. As the impact would be overwhelming for Akira, the Divine Wind has no choice, but to duck under the strike!!! With Landon’s back to him once again, Akira takes advantage, wrapping the tag champion in a double chicken wing. Fatigued, but far from dead, Akira somehow summons the strength to flip Maddix on his sternum with the glorified Tiger Suplex, THE RISING SUN!!!

 

“GO GET IT KID!”

 

As if he heard Cyclone Comet, Akira begins to climb the ladder. Looking to become a double champion, Akira continues his way up with no obstacle in sight.

 

“A-KIRA…A-KIRA!!!!”

 

The crowd chants as the messiah like youngster is in arms reach of the gold…

 

…But he goes up one more rung as ZYON of all people wait on the ring apron. Exploding off the apron, Zyon springboards…straight into the mat!!!

 

“HA. That fool just botched a springboard!”

 

Ignoring the possible “You Fucked Up” chants, Zyon commences on the opportunity to steal Akira’s spotlight. Grabbing on to the bottom of the ladder, Zyon tries to tilt the ladder backward, but he can’t quite lift it. Sweating bullets, the masked Akira reaches for the titles as MAX KING rolls into the ring. He immediately assists Zyon, tilting the ladder over in one upward heave. BUT IT’S NOT TOO LATE! Akira’s fingertips graze the gold as the ladder falls backward into the ropes, launching Akira throat first across the top rope. Bouncing off the rope, Akira staggers forward feeling the impact of a Zyon and King double clothesline!

 

“Zyon and King just blasted Akira with a clothesline!”

 

“Landon is motionless from the Rising Sun Tiger suplex. Spike is bleeding in the corner, and Cross‘ leg is in horrible shape!”

 

Both announcers pinpoint where each wrestler is at in their wounded state as Zyon latches on to Max’s head, tossing him between the middle and top rope to the outside. Zyon’s eyes gaze over the destruction, finding eh answers he was looking for in the form of a steel chair. Setting the chair up near the ropes, Zyon springs off the opposite rope, leaping on to the chair, bolting over the top rope with a magnificent flipping attack that lands FLUSH on the Superior Talent.

 

YEEEAAAHHHH!

 

The crowd responds positively as the Divine Wind looks to one up the man he took the cruiserweight title from. Slowly, the cruiserweight champion ascends the turnbuckle, giving a certain bloody Straight Edger the chance at a weak jab. The jab lands, crotching Akira across the top rope. Staggering toward one of the ladders, Spike hoists it from a standing position only to lay it flat on the canvas.

 

“Spike, you dolt! You can’t climb the ladder that way,” King makes a valid point.

 

Climbing up after Akira, Spike hooks the young Japanese warrior in a front face lock, setting up a superplex on the ladder!!! Struggling to lift the problematic Divine Wind, Spike finds himself heaved into the air down toward the ladder with a release front suplex counter!!!!

 

OOOOOOOOHHH!

 

The crowd reacts as Spike fluidly grabs the top rope, positioning himself safely on the ring apron.

 

CRACK!

 

With Akira in a rut on the top rope, Spike follows through with a menacing forearm that knocks the cruiserweight champion for a loop. Balancing himself on the second rope, Spike once again places the resilient cruiserweight in a front face lock. Rising to their feet, the crowd notices how Spike’s body movement signals that Akira will not be meeting the canvas.

 

Oh boy.

 

Snapping Akira into the air, Spike leaps backward superplexing Akira on to a now standing Zyon and Max King on the floor!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

“OHHHHHHH!!!”

 

No, that’s not the crowd. That’s the reaction from the announcers.

 

WhOhOooooWWWOOOO!

 

Now THAT’S the Phoenix crowd blowing the roof off the place. Team SpYon along with the Divine Wind and The Icon lay on the floor. Akira has no movement at all while the other three are moving very little, at best.

 

“That was the damnest superplex ever…all the way to the outside onto two other competitors!” Comet still can’t believe his eyes.

 

Back in the ring Cross limps to his feet as Landon picks a perfect time to rise to his feet, as well. The much more motivated Suicide Machine skips forward and past the New Generation. Bouncing off the far ropes, Michael Cross attempts a diving forearm, which Landon ducks easily. Connecting with the mat hand first, Cross is able to push himself back to his feet, rushing up on La Cucaracha from behind. Locking his wrist around Landon, Cross tries to lift his charismatic opponent, but Landon blocks with his foot. Chaining his movements together, Landon fires off multiple elbows to temple of one Michael Cross.

 

CRACK!

 

CRACK!!

 

CRACK!!!

 

Dazed by the mediocre head strikes, Cross drops his hands at his sides…CKO!!!!

 

“WOAH!!!! Landon just dropped Michael Cross with a sudden CKO,” Comet does a motivated version of play by play.

 

On the outside, Spike calmly ignores the in-ring action, pulling out a table. Placing the table against the safety barrier, Spike notices that Landon is alone in the ring. With the table stretched out vertically against the safety barrier, Spike rushes into the ring to meet his longtime rival. Charging toward his opponent, Spike crisply wraps his hands around the arm of Landon, performing a speedy Irish whip. Striving to catch the Straight Edger off guard, Landon launches himself off the second rope with a moonsault, but Spike crouches down catching Landon across his shoulder. Unable to hold La Cucaracha for long, Spike sloppily tosses his former rival into a standing ladder face first! With his current opponent falling to the mat, Spike grabs a random chair, locating it over the face of the fallen New Generation. On the outside, Zyon has for some odd reason stacked three tables on the eastern side off the ring. Two on the bottom and one on top, a hellacious pyramid of pain!

 

“What the hell is that idiot doing? Why must he stack the wood so close to us?” King openly complains.

 

Back in the ring, Spike hustles up a ladder about three rungs as the chair has yet to be removed from its peculiar position. Diving off the ladder, Spike curls himself into a ball, uncorking moment before impact, extending his feet into the chair, CRUSHING LANDON’S FACE WITH A DOUBLE STOMP!!!!

 

“CRRRRR…THAT’S JUST SICK SOUNDING!!!”

 

Landon is now all-hyper as he squirms around on the mat, scratching at his damaged face. Some in the crowd were forced too look away as Spike remains in the ring with a now standing Michael Cross. Fighting on all one foot, Cross lunges toward Spike who has the dented chair in hand. Noticing that the left foot connected to the injured left ankle has yet to leave the ground, Spike slides in for the attack!

 

CRACK!

 

Striking the Suicide Machine in the left ankle with another wicked chair shot. Full of hate, Spike attempts to shatter Cross’s ankle with another ultraviolet shot, but Cross intelligently takes a step back. The Asian Underground member watches as Spike whips the canvas with the chair, leaving himself open for a right foot to the top of the skull. Flailing backwards on to his ass, Spike’s eyes twitch as the Suicide Machine delivers a low lariat to the face of his opponent.

 

“That was brilliant, King. Cross knew his ankle is in horrible shape, so the young warrior used his arms instead of the favored basement dropkick.”

 

“Wow, you figured that all out yourself. I’m impressed.”

 

Tossing two more chairs in the ring is Zyon, who rolls into the squared circle as well. Entering the ring from the other side is “The Icon” Max King, half recovered from his apparent car accident. Distracted by Wrestling’s Superman, Cross shuts The ICON down with a forearm, but Max retaliates with a right hand of his own.

 

“HEY!”

 

The Unique Youth calls for Cross’s attention before tossing a chair to the Suicide Machine??? Immediately, Cross turns, BLASTING MAX IN THE FACE WITH A CHAIR SHOT!

 

CRRRRRRRRAAAACCCCKKKK!!!!!!

 

Falling into the ropes, Max can only dream of Spike clutching Cross by the feet. However, the dream is no dream at all as the man from Hollywood gains the attention of everyone in attendance, including Michael Cross. Doing what he can to shake Spike off, the Asian Underground member looks to clobber Spike with the chair.

 

CRACKK!!!!!!

 

Spike remains conscience as the Suicide Machine falls to one knee clutching his left ankle. With chair in hand, Zyon directs Spike to ascend the top rope. With blood dripping off of his chin, Spike begins to climb the ropes as Zyon unmercifully traps his opponent’s impaired ankle in the chair. Buzzing the audience knows what could be on the way, but will the good-hearted team of Zyon and Spike…ok, Zyon follow through with it?

 

You Bet.

 

Leaping off the turnbuckle, Spike stomps the chair, snapping Cross’ ankle…SICK!

 

CRACK!!!!

 

“SPIKE JENKINS JUST PILMANIZED MICHAEL CROSS! JUST LIKE HE DID TO SEAN DAVIS A YEAR AGO!”

 

That sure isn’t the chair. Imitating the New Generation, Cross rolls around shouting random obscenities. Members of the crowd can’t help but feel sorry for the Suicide Machine, but those are the risks people take in the ring. The shilling continues as Cross goes through a variety of pitches, while team SpYon stands two ladders next to each other, directly under the titles. Zyon looks to clean the ring of The Icon, clotheslining his opponent over the top rope, or that was the plan. Missing the lariat, Zyon is unable to recover fast enough to avoid being dumped over the top rope and to the floor! Zyon smacks the floor while the Divine Wind rolls into the ring.

 

“One in, one out. It’s a cruiserweight substitution!” King calls it as he sees it.

 

Gushing blood, Spike’s journey stops dead before it even begins. Ignoring the ladders, Spike strides toward the man he superplexed out of the ring, and boy is Akira PISSED!

 

CRACK!

 

One of the STIFFEST KICKS EVER slices Spike across the face adding a splash of red pigment across the canvas. Akira’s blue and white tights highlight with a shade of red as the Divine Wind SMOKES the Straight Edger with another kick to the face!!! Kneeling on one leg, the stupefied Jenkins is trapped between Akira Kaibatsu and a chair wielding Landon Maddix. Surprising everybody, Zyon leaps on to the ring apron, springing off the top rope, astounding everyone by NOT botching it this time, YAY!

 

CRACK!!!!!!!

 

Landon “Slugger” Maddix KILLS Zyon with a monstrous swing of the chair!! Falling limp to the mat, Zyon is unable to help his partner as the crowd goes nuts for the steel chair blow. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, the emotion is let free as Landon extends both arms to the side, palms down!

 

“If I’m not mistaken King, that’s Toxxic’s signature taunt,” Comet points out.

 

Swinging the chair over his head, Landon pulls it down, just as Akira charges forward. Between a rock and a hard place, Spike breaks through the mold, catching and tossing Akira backward with a railgun suplex!

 

“Insert standard Tom Flesher reference here.”

 

“Sure no problem, Comet. He’s the greatest man to ever grace this planet, and Spike is lucky to just be in the ring with him at one point in his silly career,” King inserts a reference all right.

 

“Let alone…beat him!”

 

Floating through the atmosphere, Akira’s foot errantly kicks the steel chair into Landon’s face…OUCH!

 

CRACK!

 

“Spike Jenkins just railgunned suplex Akira into Landon Maddix!”

 

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE? Do they not have enough weapons around ringside? Do they really need to use EACH OTHER as weapons?”

 

I repeat…OUCH! Spike saunters over to one of the two ladders standing, but is forced to turn back by the irritating sight or the resilient Max King. Both men have been utterly destroyed throughout the match; so one more slow dance of pain won’t bother the two any. Driving the competitors crazy, the tag titles loom over the star-crossed wrestler, waving from side to side. Spike initiates contact with a simple kick to Max’s gut, leading to a standing head scissor. With the American West Arena shouting at the top of their lungs, Spike struggles to hoist The Icon up into the RATINGS CRASH!!! Pushing out, the Superior Talent wraps the Straight Edger in a Russian leg sweep position; thrusting each other backward, Max and Spike smack the unforgiving ladder!!!

 

CLUNK!!!

 

Even if he hates his partner, Max drives Spike face first to the mat, possible sealing the fate for the other two teams. Taking a moment to clutch his back, Max realizes that he is all alone…

 

“Go get it Max. This is for pride buddy; forget the fact that Landon is your partner. Forget the fact that tomorrow you will probably wake up in the hospital. Just get those belts!” King cheers King.

 

Valiantly, The Icon scales the ladder, inching himself closer to the tag title that ominously hang in the balance. The crowd stomp their feet and clap their hands as Akira Kaibatsu rises back to his feet. Fatigued, the Divine Wind begins to ascend the ladder standing next to the first ladder. What was a climb for immortality has turned into a race for the blasted tag titles. Climbing up the ladders on opposite sides, desperation feels the air as the slower Max King pulls himself upward much quicker than usual. Akira, on the other hand, should really be worrying with the arrival of Landon “LA CUCUARACHA” MADDIX!

 

“Oh boy, it just got bad for Akira. I hope he can make it through this possible disaster.”

 

“So do I. Fuck…Landon…Maddix;” King spells it out for those hard of…understanding.

 

Let’s Go AKIRA…CLAP CLAP CLAP!!!

 

The crowd is emotionally behind the cruiserweight champion who is ¾’s the way up the ladder. Reaching back into his speedy history, Landon surpasses Max on the ladder, even managing to Charlie Horse Akira’s right thigh. Aligning his body with Akira, Landon unleashes a brutal chop that is meant to send Akira crashing.

 

SMACK!!

 

“WHOOOOO!”

 

The tough Japanese import takes the shot like a man, firing back with a weak forearm. The New Generation fires back with a forearm of his own, knocking Akira down a peg. Struggling to remain in the equation, Akira watches, as Max is ALL THE WAY UP THE LADDER!!! The masked warrior’s eyes are about to explode…one last ditch effort. Ignoring Landon, Akira extends his leg, shoving the ladder maliciously. Titling from side to side, team MaddiKing does what it can to keep the ladder on its legs…DENIED! With one last thrust, Akira sends the opposing ladder titling to the side. Doing what they can to soften the death defying crash, Landon and Max fall over the top rope and through the THREE TABLES ON THE OUTSIDE!!!!

 

CRASH!!!!!!

 

“HE’S GOT IT!!!” Both announcers scream

 

Lying under the wreckage is an unconscious Landon and Max, no longer the tag team champion. However, the Asian Underground is still two rungs away from the gold. Clutching his body, Akira steps up one rung and then to the final rung. A quiet shake of the ladder worries the Divine Wind who looks down…all the way down…and sees a figure. A bloody figure summons whatever strength he has left to tip the ladder backward, sending Akira Kaibatsu falling through the wind, and crashing into a table balanced between the floor and the safety barrier!!!!

 

“HOLY SHIT!!!!”

 

The crowd chant as the table forms a sandwich with Akira body being the condiment…not quite straight bread, but that doesn’t matter. Zyon awakens from his slumber as team SpYon begin to scale the highway to the titles.

 

“Good lord King, look around us.”

 

“I did. It reminds me of my second marriage…a mess.”

 

The two partners, more importantly friends, continue their voyage…CROSS! The Suicide Machine rolls on to his hands, calmly pulling himself to his feet.

 

YEEAAAAHHH!

 

Showing the heart of a hero and the desire of a villain, Michael Cross makes it to his feet…

 

…

 

…

 

Collapsing back to the mat, holding his shredded left ankle. With cries of pain emanating from Cross’s vocal cords, Spike and Zyon make it to the top…

 

…Cross can only look on helplessly…

 

…AT THE CROWNING OF NEW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS!

 

“THEY GOT HIM…for real this time!!!”

 

DING DING DING!!!!!

 

YEAHHHHHHH!

 

The audience explodes as “Vitamin” spreads across Arizona. The two friends climb down to the mat, clutching the tag titles. In awe, Funyon does his duty.

 

“The winners and NEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS OF THE WORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRLD, HOLLLLYWOOOOOOODDDDD SPIKE JENKIIIINNNNNS AND ZYYYYOONNN!!!”

 

Funyon shreds the microphone with his yelling as the audience overcomes the power of the FUN! Acting like a bunch of raving lunatics, the audience cheers their heads off over what has been a hectic TLC match. Spike and Zyon struggle to their feet, looking over at the bodies surrounding the ring. Gripping the SWF World Tag Team Titles tight, Spike puts his hand out…

 

 

 

 

 

…And Zyon accepts with a handshake! Not only are they champions, but they are also friends.

 

 

 

 

Best Friends.

 

 

 

 

 

The SWF World Tag Team Champions!

 

“Kevin Coyote meets Longdogger Pete in a Street Fight, Pete’s first match since Mall Brawl at Genesis! El Luchadore Magnifico defends the SWF World Heavyweight Title against The 2006 Clusterfuck Winner, Wes Davenport! TONIGHT! NEW WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS! FROM THE FIRE!”

[Longdogger_Pete 0]

“Kevin Coyote meets Longdogger Pete in a Street Fight, Pete’s first match since Mall Brawl at Genesis! El Luchadore Magnifico defends the SWF World Heavyweight Title against The 2006 Clusterfuck Winner, Wes Davenport! TONIGHT! NEW WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS! FROM THE FIRE!”

 

When was I in a Mall Brawl?

[HollywoodSpikeJenkins 0]

I was on a lot of drugs at the time.