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SWF Storm - March 24th!

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“Lot of knots, lot of snags!”


…The crowd, simply put, explodes!


”Lot of holes, lot of cracks lot of crags!”


“Well, well,” says Annie, “we’re going to be joined by the new SWF World Champion!”


”Lot of naggin' old hags,”


“About damn time too,” remarks King, “you’d think the champion would show up once in a while, but not Wes.”


”Lot of fools, lot of fool scum bags.”


“Aww King, did Davenport reject your advances too like I did?”


”Oh it's such a drag, what a chore,”


Oh, please,” grumbles King, “I wouldn’t make a pass at either of you.”


”Oh your wounds are full of salt.”


“C’mon King, in this pair, I’m more of a straight man than you are.”


”Everything's a stress and what's more,”


“…RILEY DOESN’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE! Besides, Lesbian’s can’t do colour.”


”…Well it's all somebody's fault!”


“… What the hell are we talking about now?”


“I don’t know, I don’t think anyone can hear us over this deafening roar anyway… bitch.”


The crowd reaches near record breaking levels of excitement as “Get Over It” hits to a thunderous ovation! As the chorus begins to play, a familiar, striking silhouette is seen coming out from behind the curtain, World Title slung across his shoulder!


“Ladies and Gentleman,” Funyon booms, trying valiantly to hear himself over the rabid crowd, “please welcome to the ring… the NEW Smarks Wrestling Federation WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION… WES DAAAAAAAVVVVEEEEEEEENPOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRT!”


As Davenport strides out looking as suave as ever (although he’s trying to fight back tears at the response), a bitter King remarks, “I still won’t believe this hack is the World Champion, I just refuse to recognize it.”


“Truthfully, I haven’t done much research for this role, but if Davenport can defeat a man such as Magnifico, he must be doing something right,” the Lesbian replies, “and boy, I wouldn’t mind cuddling up with him tonight, he sure is a tall drink of water, yes sir, quite handsome.”


“Peters is telling you to say this, isn’t he?”


“Hey, we have to make the guys listening think they have a chance with me, otherwise they’ll tune out.”


“I think they just did.”


“.. I did bad, didn’t I?”


The World Champion, which he likes to be known as all the time now, makes his way to ringside. He takes the time to shake the hands of a few fans, acting gracious and dignified as he climbs the steel steps and enters through the second and third ropes. Wes makes his way over to Funyon, who, as he agreed to do earlier, takes Wes’ world title. Davenport quickly runs to the ropes and slides out of the ring… before entering the ring the exact same way as before, approaching Funyon with a beaming smile as he ecstatically accepts his World title like an award, and grabs the mic from Funyon, who leaves the ring ruing the day he ever dropped out of dental school. The cheers begin to die down, but since they were so damn loud it takes a few minutes, but Wes doesn’t seem to mind as he keeps looking at his title, feigning disbelief. As soon as the crowd falls silent, Wes Davenport raises the microphone to his lips…


“I – I just can’t believe it. You love me, you REALLY LOVE ME!”


Wild applause breaks out once again, as a “DAVEN – PORT!” chant is started. The Champion soon settles everyone down, however, and continues. “All joking aside, I’m thankful all of you stood by me on my quest for this coveted title, and for that, I thank you all.”


“Oh please,” King snidely says, “he couldn’t care less about the fans! All that he wants is the adulation they rain down upon him for whatever ungodly reason!”


“Come on, King, I think you’re overreacting just a smidgen,” replies Annie, grinning, “I don’t know much about him, but from what I’ve seen, he adores the fans just as they adore him, and you can’t fake that.”


“Quiet, butch,” King responds, thinking he burned his partner good, “You rest assured, you’ll see Davenport’s true colours soon enough.”


“At From the Fire, I did something many could not,” Davenport boasts, much to King’s disdain, “I defeated El Luchadore Magnifico, the ugly head of this federation, but I emerged victorious where many said I could not.” Davenport turns to King and grins, causing the commentator to fume, “And I have you fans to thank for it.”


Again the fans show their support and cheer wildly, causing Davenport to break out into a smile. “I admit, I’m not a man of many words…”


“… not unless they’re written for him,” King says with a scowl before Wes continues, “but I promise you all that I will do my utmost to bring back some class, dignity and pride to this title!”


Davenport suddenly thrusts his newly won title aloft as hundreds of flashes go off in the sea of fans. Annie is impressed. “It’s refreshing to see someone speak with actions, rather than words.”


“But that’s the thing, he gives these fans nothing but terrible, sloppy in-ring action,” rebuts King, “and yet they still love him. Well, soon enough Magnifico, or someone else more deserving of the title will come along and bring the dream to an end, and believe me, EVERYONE is more deserving of the title than Davenport.”


Davenport lowers his title and gazes at it for a second, continuing with his victory speech, “winning this title means the world to me. The acting community shunned me, despite many great performances, and I thought I’d never receive any praise ever again… but coming here and winning this gold has turned my life around. I can see I’m getting the wind up now,” Wes says as he looks at the timekeeper, who just shrugs having no idea what he’s talking about, “so I’ll leave you with this…”


“I’ll do my absolutely utmost to keep this title, and to make all of you proud…”


“… Trust me.”


With that, the fans go nuts as, for some strange reason, “Hooked on a feeling” begins to play, and as Davenport leaves the ring, he bellows out in his sweet singing voice, “I can’t stop this feeling!”


“Deep inside of me!”


“Oh you have got to be kidding me…” King says, closing his eyes, hoping this is all a terrible dream.


“Boy, you just don't realize…”


“He’s serenading this crowd with a song, and isn’t it great to see our World Champion’s sing again?” Annie replies, nudging King repeatedly.


“… What you do to me!”


As streamers and confetti fall from the sky, and the fans cheer, a string of dancers come down the ramp, surrounding Wes as he sings! Dry retching can be heard from the announce desk, but the jubilant event continues unabated!


“Your lips are sweet as candy! The taste is on my mind!”


“If he’s singing to the fans now,” Remarks King, “he has some severe mental problems.”


“…You just keep me thirsty, for another cup of wine!”


”When you hold me in your arms so tight, you let me know, everything's all right!”


As Davenport reaches the entranceway, ready to head behind the curtain, the cheers die down, and the dancers cease…







The World Champion suddenly spins around, hitting the chorus with gusto! The cheers break out even louder as the fans sing along!


“And I’m high on believing…”


“… That you’re in love with MMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”


“I think I’m going to be sick.”


“Oh come on, lighten up King!” Annie yells, “Get into the spirit! I know you love this song!”


“I’m not RILEY!” King tries to settle himself down as the whole sickening display continues with Wes being raises into the air by the dancers as…




… A dazzling array of pyrotechnics shoots into the air! The song finishes, prompting the fans to go insane as Davenport waves to them as he’s carried to the back!


“A spectacular show from our new World Champion has certainly kicked things off with a bang,” Annie says, “what else could possibly happen here tonight? Stay tuned to find out!”


“God Damnit, now you’re treading on my lines you carpet…”







Edited by realitycheck

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THE MAIN EVENT - SWF Cruiserweight Championship Match

"The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu © © vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins

GUEST COMMENTATOR: Ghost Machine 2.0


---> Oooooh yeeeeeah, diggit! The Cruisers take the Main Event! Spike Jenkins cashes in his long-awaited shot against the man who took the gold from his partner, Akira Kaibatsu! Will Spike bring the gold back home to Camp Spyon, or will Akira retain, and leave SpYon in the dust?


And this match just wouldn't be complete without the man next in line for a shot on Color Commentary.


Rules: PURE RULES. Each man has three ropebreaks allowed to break up submissions and pinfalls - after those three are used up, there are no more ropebreaks. Closed fist punches result in the loss of a rope break - if you throw a closed fist and you have no more ropebreaks, you are disqualified, and the title CAN change hands in this manner. Outside count goes to 20.




Ultraviolent Championship Match - House Rules

Fever Pitch Match

Bruce Blank © vs. Sean Davis


---> Bruce Blank scored his lucky 13th on Smarkdown, and how are we celebrating? By shoving him straight into #14! Tonight, the Beat the Champ Challenge sees Sean Davis vying for the title. Davis had an impressive reign of his own a while back - will he be the one to defeat the Hardcore King?


Rules: Tiger Stadium crowds have set a record for loudest audience ever - it's time to see if our competitors can do the same! The match will be fought under standard hardcore rules - no DQ, no countout, BUT! The object of the match is not to pin your opponent!


LSU Professor Mark Slovak and his undergraduates will be on the floor, right in the thick of the action, measuring the volume of our competitors!


The match will last 15 minutes long - your goal, within that time, is to make your opponent scream/shriek/cry/etc. as loud as they can! Whoever has the loudest decibel volume recorded at the end of the match is the loser!




Zyon vs. Ghost Machine 2.0


---> Ghost Machine picked up a HUGE win over Spike Jenkins on Smarkdown, sending a clear message to the Cruiser Division: 0001011100101001011010111001.


Get it? It's a binary joke.


Anyway, while Ghost Machine patiently awaits his shot at the Cruiserweight title, he takes on the former owner of said title, Zyon! A win for GM would be big... a win for Zyon, potentially bigger...


Rules: Standard singles match.




Tornado Tag Team Match

Insane Luchadore and Amy Stephens vs. Kevin Coyote and The Crimson Skull


---> Insane Luchadore and Amy Stephens have something in common - they both want a shot at Bruce. Will they be united in their hatred for all things Blank, or will their quest for Ultraviolent Gold pit them against each other? Hopefully the former, as they will be facing the formidable team of Kevin Coyote and The Crimson Skull, who also have something in common - neither one has an A in their name.


Rules: Tornado tag rules - everyone is legal, all the time! No countouts! DQ's are still in effect, though, and pinfalls still take place inside the ring.




I Am Completely Lacking In Originality Triple Threat

Stryke vs. Christian Fury vs. Jimmy the Doom


---> In the name of getting as many people booked as possible, two Calvinball losers will take their aggression out on the winner!


Rules: Standard triple threat rules (no tags required).




Opening Bout

JJ Johnson vs. David Cross


---> BECAUSE, that's why.


Rules: Standard singles match.

Edited by realitycheck

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And on that note, SWF Storm opens up to the bumping G-funk of (hed) PE’s “Suck It Up”, the crowd cheering as a leather-jacketed, long-haired form comes striding through the curtain, a black-gloved fist raised in the air.


“Ladies and gentlemen, THIS! IS! STORM!” begins trial announcer Annie Eclectic. “For those who don’t know, I’m Annie Eclectic, former Junior League announcer, Hardcore Queen-“


“-and esteemed punching bag of Danny Williams,” the Gambling Man chimes in.


Annie sighs. “And, of course, joining me as always is the Suicide King. Now, what we’ve got as an opener for you folks tonight is a very interesting matchup, as we pit former Tag Team Champion and USJL Champion David Cross against the longest-reigning Cruiserweight Champion of all time and former #1 Contender to the World Heavyweight Championship, JJ Johnson.”


“I’m not sure why you think this match is interesting,” muses King, “both of the competitors are men.”


Annie sighs again as Funyon brings the microphone up to his mouth and booms “The following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL! Introducing first, from Oil City, Pennsylvania, now residing in Salem, Oregon, weighing in at 269 pounds…DAVID! CROSS!”


Cross continues his saunter down the aisle, slapping a few hands before rolling into the ring and springing to his feet, where he raises his arm once more before settling into the shoulder-rolling, neck-popping and tall-being that is his pre-match ritual…as the lights drop out.




The sliding riffage that begins Mastodon’s “Blood and Thunder” begins sounding out over Tiger Stadium, the 100,000+ crowd’s mood shifting quite quickly (as wrestling crowds are wont to do) as the lights begins lowly shifting from red-and-white. One drum lead-in later, though, the song is not going as slowly, the lights are not going as slowly, and smoke is rocketing out of the entranceway as a shape becomes apparent striding through…and becomes obvious as it emerges, JJ Johnson breaking the plane of the smog to a great deal of disappointment – for lack of a better term – from the crowd.


I think that someone is trying to kill me

Infecting my blood and destroying my mind

No man of the flesh could ever stop me

Your fight for this fish is a fight to the death


“And his opponent!” shouts Funyon over the now-raucous crowd, “from Windsor, Ontario, Canada, weighing 223 pounds…J! J! JOHNSON!”


As Johnson makes the way down the ramp, his jacket slightly tinted in the flashing arena lighting and the rapidly fading natural lighting to form a conglomeration that is very odd indeed. Regardless, Johnson’s pace is slow and methodical as he makes it to the thin pads before jogging rapidly up the steps and stepping through into the ring.


What remorseless emperor commands me

I no longer govern my soul


And from there, it’s business as usual, up to the second rope, at which point he throws his arms wide in what has become his signature pose as the second verse finishes up, glaring quite angrily at the masses almost stacked up by the ring.


I am completely immersed in darkness

As I turn my body away from the sun


And with that, Johnson hops down, stripping off his jacket and tossing it to Gus on the outside…




…and gets bum-rushed by David Cross, who wastes no time charging across the ring and piling himself into Johnson in the corner as referee Blaine Kalem is forced to ring the bell!




“And Cross is wasting no time taking the initiative in this match,” notes Annie E as Johnson stumbles out of the corner, more than a little of the breath knocked out of him by Cross’ near-270 pound mass, “which is probably a good idea considering who he’s facing.”


“Definitely a good idea,” agrees King, “Cross wasn’t around when Johnson showed up, so he has no idea what Johnson can do; I think it’s pretty smart that he doesn’t want to find out.”


Cross has all the time in the world to take advantage of his punishing match-opener, but instead he gets right to work, sprinting off the ropes and coming back with his always-devastating Yakuza Kick!


…That misses! Johnson was dazed, but he had long since recovered and was merely playing possum by the time Cross got around to throwing his kick, and he proves this by rolling right under the punishing blow! Cross’ momentum means he can’t exactly stop and adjust to the situation, which means Johnson is free to throw an elbow!




Cross’ head snaps back, but it whips back into place alarmingly fast, prompting Johnson to blast him with another!




The Fallen Angel is not as quick to recover after the second thunderous blow, but he’s certainly not out on his feet, and he once more brings his head back to stare down at the far smaller man…who, deciding he needs bigger guns, plants his foot before whipping the other one around with a brutal roundhouse kick!


…That’s blocked, David using his massive strength to slow the momentum of the boot to almost nil! Unfortunately for Johnson, he doesn’t let go, instead choosing to hold the leg up and spin on the spot, cracking the Canadian in the back of a head with a modified-short arm enzui lariat!


…That misses, Johnson being just flexible enough to tuck his head under the blow! The arm goes sailing overhead and Johnson, sans the leg that Cross is still holding, leaps with his plant leg and blasts Cross with a good ol’ fashioned kick to the head!




Cross is more than dazed as the blow connects with the precision and force expected of an Ultimate Fighter, but as opposed to simply releasing the leg he’s got, Cross bends down and scoops the OTHER leg up onto his shoulder, placing Johnson in perfect position for a powerbomb!


“Amazing!” says Annie. “It’s like Cross didn’t even feel that kick!”


“Cross is a tough guy,” admits King, “but Johnson can take him down.”


It looks like that’s going to wait; powerbombs are not easily recovered from. However, they ARE easily reversed, and Johnson proves this by driving a quick fist into Cross’ forehead, dazing the powerful man just enough to twist around on David’s shoulders and, in a move Johnson doesn’t exactly use, roll forward and stack Cross on his shoulders with a Victory Roll!




T-Cross kicks out powerfully, no matter how off-guard that pin may have caught him, and he’s up to his feet and turning just in time to be on the receiving end of a powerful JJ Johnson rolling elbow!


…That’s blocked; much like Johnson’s roundhouse, Cross is simply too strong for the strike to make it through his powerful hands, and Cross takes a brief moment to chuckle…and in that moment, Johnson turns on his axis in the other direction, slamming his elbow into Cross’ jaw with a screaming elbow!




The Fallen Angel doesn’t quite stagger; it’s more of a quake. Still, it’s enough for the ever-persistent Johnson to spin the OTHER direction and get that rolling elbow he was looking for!




NOW the Oregonian stumbles, and Johnson buries his boot into the stomach of the former Oil City native, which doubles him over sufficiently as he pulls the Fallen Angel into a standing headscissors!


“Looks like Johnson is going for a powerbomb of his own!” shouts Annie as the Canadian doubles over as well, wrapping his arms around the thick waist of his opponent. “But the question is, can he get the considerably larger Cross up?”


“I’m confident he can,” says King. “After all, Johnson may not be extremely strong, but he’s extremely powerful – yes, there’s a difference, as power has to do with how explosive your strength is.”


Taking a deep breath, Johnson bends his knees and ducks as low as he can before lifting!


But alas, while the Canadian may be strong enough to get Cross into the air, he’s certainly not going to achieve such a feat with David as fresh as he is, and the Pennsylvania native spreads his base, increasing his inertia to the point that the Ultimate Fighter, despite his straining, is simply not able to get the Fallen Angel off the mat – a fact Cross takes advantage of by exploding upwards, shifting Johnson over to his shoulder, and whiplashing him back down into a thunderous spinebuster!






“Spinebuster!” shouts Annie. “A cliché counter to be sure, but it’s cliché because it’s so damn effective!”


“Not this early, it isn’t,” scoffs King derisively (as opposed to all of those other methods of scoffing) as Cross dives over Johnson’s body and hooks a leg, Kalem sliding in to count another pin!




TW-King is right again, the Canadian rocketing his shoulder off of the mat! Impatient to get the difficult-to-move Cross off of him, Johnson bounces a few fists off of his skull, causing the Fallen Angel to recoil back to his knees and grab at the afflicted area as Johnson springs to his feet before charging off of the ropes and, on the bounce back, leaping into the air and tucking his feet behind him!


“Busaiku knee kick!” shouts King.


But it’s not to be, as Cross is quick enough to vacate the area where his jaw formerly was as Johnson’s knees go rocketing by, the Canadian fortunate enough to be able to extend his feet and arms and plant himself on the second rope as the Pennsylvanian-turned-Oregonian scrambles to his feet, ready to take advantage of Johnson’s disorientation!




Of which there is apparently none, as the Ultimate Fighter is more than happy to bury an elbow into the skull of David when he draws too close. For good measure, Johnson follows up with two more, then tucks a leg in the crook of David’s near arm before using his other foot to propel himself off of his unsteady perch, twisting through the air as he looks for a flying La Majistral! Unfortunately, his shove was not enough to get him the sufficient momentum, and Cross merely catches him before rocketing back and pulverizing Johnson with a Samoan Drop!




“And again, Cross squashes Johnson like a bug!” half-shouts/half-sighs ‘Ichiban’ as the Fallen Angel leans back for another cover. “It seems as if JJ is having trouble adjusting to a) his ring rust, and b) the fact that he’s not wrestling a cruiserweight, and that moves that quite possibly could have won him the match already against a lighter opponent will not work against the bigger, stronger Cross!”




TW-Again, Johnson kicks out, much to the crowd’s disappointment. Cross is averse to face-punching, and now knows what happens when he hangs around after a pin, quickly scrambling off of the Canadian and reaching down, tugging Johnson to his feet…and lighting his chest up with a chop!






100,000 strong shout out in unison, “Death Valley” rumbling with the combined sonic force of the Flairism as Johnson grabs at his already-reddening pectoral…before shooting in and grabbing Cross by the legs, muscling him HIGH INTO THE AIR…but Cross has sufficient enough mat wrestling ability to know when he’s being taken down, and in a display impressive for a man his size, sprawls in mid-air forcing Johnson to release him or get his head crushed upon landing. A bit taken aback by the relatively amazing maneuver, the Canadian hesitates, giving Cross all the time he needs to shoot in and hook his arm around Johnson before bridging back with an Exploder…no! Johnson tucks a leg between the Fallen Angel’s, effective canceling out any momentum he may have had generated by the powerful Oregonian’s throw. Now it’s CROSS that’s taken aback, and it’s JOHNSON that capitalizes, burying a heavy knee strike into the gut of his opponent before trapping him in another standing headscissors!


“Johnson, looking for that powerbomb again!” shouts Annie E, “and I can’t help but think that Johnson still hasn’t worn Cross down enough to hit the move!”


“You know, I don’t like agreeing with you, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to,” admits the Gambling Man once more as Johnson doubles over, goes into another deep breath, ducks low, heaves…


…and gets Cross off the mat!


But only a little bit, and Cross is quick to shift his weight backwards, dropping him back onto his feet before surging upwards, looking for another spinebuster reversal to a foolish JJ Johnson tactic; but it’s not to be as, mirroring Cross earlier, Johnson sprawls backwards, taking a firm grip on David’s head by trapping him in a front facelock! 223 pounds of pulling is strong, but 269 is stronger, and Johnson doesn’t have it in him to tug the Fallen Angel off of his feet from his mid-air position; as an alternative, Cross doubles over, and Johnson lands on his feet before throwing a few knees into his face!






The Fallen Angel is sufficiently dazed now, and Johnson capitalizes by reaching forward, hooking a leg, and lifting Cross UP…before dropping him on his head with a sheer-drop fisherman’s brainbuster!




“FISHERMAN BUSTAH!!” shouts King! “NOW Johnson is going to have some momentum going his way.”


Johnson quickly covers the folded-up opponent, Kalem dropping down for a cover…






TH-at Cross breaks himself out of, sitting up and shaking his head, trying to get some feeling rushing back in. It is the work of a moment, however, for Johnson to change his rush-want from feeling to air as he snaps to attention and draws Cross’ arm back before tucking an arm around him and squeezing with his Buffalo Sleeper hold!


“Now Johnson has the right idea here,” commends King, “because if Cross can’t breathe, Cross can’t squash him like a bug with a black belt in four martial arts.”


“Subtle,” groans Annie as Cross’ face quickly begins to turn purple; the Buffalo Sleeper is a dangerous hold indeed, and David is working on seemingly borrowed time. He is working on borrowed time with a 6’5” frame though, so it wouldn’t take much stretching and repositioning to be able to drape a foot over the bottom rope; an easy task this is not, as Johnson has a firm grip on him, and doesn’t really look like he’s going to be lenient and let Cross out of the first real advantage he’s gotten all match. The Fallen Angel attempts to power his arm out of the chickenwing Johnson has it in, but the Canadian responds in turn by squeezing his neck even harder, and since nobody likes breathing being a big chore, Cross’ resistance stops – at least, for now.


“Actually,” begins King, “IS this the right idea?”


“I see your point, King,” says Ichiban, drawing a swear from the Gambling Man despite himself. “Johnson’s momentum – and adrenaline – that he had built up is going out the window with every passing second he spends latched onto that Buffalo Sleeper. Should Cross escape, Johnson’s going to have to fight his way back into a dominant position, and I’m still not sure he’s got the fighting a big man’ mindset back entirely.”


Johnson takes a moment to adjust his rock-solid grip on Cross’ arm…and the Pennsylvanian takes advantage, drawing his limb out of the crook of the Canadian’s arm, giving him more functioning body parts to work with – always a good thing. Capitalizing on his newfound dexterity, Cross reaches up and grabs the submission artist’s hair, mostly ignoring Kalem’s reprimands as he tugs him over with a snapmare that frees him from the hold and gives him the opportunity to lock on a hold of his own!




Or give Johnson a vicious elbow strike to the back of the head! Gets the job done either way is Cross’ line of thinking as he scoots to his feet, although not as quick as he might have when he wasn’t gasping for air (which seems like ages ago now). Tugging Johnson up, Cross sticks him in a standing headscissors before bending down and wrapping his arms around his waist, bending low, and effortlessly tugging him up into the air for a powerbomb!


“Show-off,” whines King, but the Gambling Man’s indignance is soon avenged as Johnson once again rolls off of the shoulders of the Fallen Angel, although not for a pin this time; instead, Johnson completes a full front-flip, landing right on his feet before dashing straight to the ropes, bouncing off, leaping into the air and TAKING CROSS’ HEAD CLEAN OFF HIS SHOULDERS WITH AN ENZUI-DYNAMIC KICKAAAAAHHH!!!




“HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!” screams King as he and Annie perform stereo leaps to their feet, Cross slumping forward into the ropes with a blank look in his eyes, the ropes tensing up before sending his full body weight stumbling backwards…and into Johnson’s waiting arms as he takes a deep breath, wrapping his arms around the sizable waist of his opponent before surging backwards and DROPPING HIM ON HIS HEAD WITH A DANGEROUS GERMAN!!




THAT’LL TURN THE MOMENTUM BACK IN HIS FAVOR!” shouts Ichiban Onita as Cross is fortunate enough to be able to roll through the landing to prevent extensive damage to his neck; this does not mean he knows what day it is right now, mind you.


“DANGEROUSGERMAAAAAAAAANNN!!!!” bellows King, something he’s probably been wanting to do for quite a while as Johnson sits up, panting heavily after the intense effort it took to send the near-270-pounder sailing through the air onto his head. Dragging himself to his feet, Johnson strides over to Cross, who is looking expectedly worse for wear as the Canadian takes him by the hair and, with great gusto, sticks him in a standing headscissors before looking out over the 100,000+ crowd, a ‘here we go again’ look on his face as he gets his breath back before bending down and wrapping his arms around the motionless Cross’ waist, bending low, digging deep for strength, and with a roar of adrenaline, pulling upward with all his might!







“POWERBOMB! JOHNSON GOT THE POWERBOMB!” shouts King jubilantly as Johnson slides across the Oregonian’s battered form, pinning him in a difficult position to kick out of even WITHOUT having his brains scrambled. Kalem slides in, and the count is almost academic.















In the sentence preceding the count, the emphasis should primarily be placed on ‘almost’.




“WHAT?!” screams King, screams the heel section of the audience, and silently screams Johnson as Cross shoves his shoulder JUST off of the mat, forcing Blaine Kalem to stop his count and signal that yes, his hand only hit the mat two times. Johnson sits back on his haunches and closes his eyes for a moment, swearing under his breath at Cross’ unexpected resiliency.


“Amazing heart from Cross!” notes the Hardcore Queen. ‘That flurry of offense would have put anybody else down for the count easily; it truly shows how tough Cross is that he can survive that, and everything else Johnson has thrown at him this match, although you have to wonder: why doesn’t Johnson just go for his juji-gatame? He’s in perfect position.”


“He’s probably too frustrated to think straight, Annie,” responds King. “He’s rusty, he’s been struggling to adjust to wrestling a bigger guy all match, and then when he finally hits on a string of offense that works…it doesn’t work. You’d be frustrated too.”


Johnson continues to sit back with his eyes closed, gritting his teeth as he tries to formulate a plan to beat Cross…when his eyes shoot open, and his teeth gritting goes to a grimace as the Fallen Angel’s hand shoots up and wraps itself around his throat!




With a grimace and a groan, Cross sits up and shakes his head a few times, the glazed look in his eyes washing away with every subsequent shake. When he has apparently gotten sufficient amounts of senses back, he brings himself to his feet, wincing some more at the pain shooting down his neck and back as he makes it to his full, impressive height before tucking Johnson’s arm over his shoulder, planting an arm on his back, and lifting him for a chokeslam!


That Johnson blocks, once more wrapping his leg around that of the Oregonian to halt his upward momentum, before launching a signature elbow smash to the back of his opponent’s head!




Cross shakes his head, but other than that, the blow doesn’t hardly affect him, and he takes a breath before hoisting Johnson skyward once more!


And once more, it’s blocked! Tired of this nonsense, Cross blasts the Canadian with a headbutt…




…and for a moment at least, all attempts to block a chokeslam (or just motor skills in general) cease, Johnson’s head lolling back on his neck. Seeing his opportunity, Cross lifts!


Johnson goes up!


And snaps to attention, breaking Cross’ grip on his neck before unfolding in midair, planting his feet on the Fallen Angel’s chest and sending him stumbling back into the ropes with a dropkick!




The crowd is more than displeased with Johnson’s possum-playing, and Cross isn’t that happy either, surging forward for a second Yakuza Kick…that once more ends up ducked, and Johnson whirls on the spot to catch Cross on the rebound with a rolling elbow!


That Cross blocks! Instead of hesitating, Johnson goes immediately into his reverse elbow from earlier!


That Cross sees coming this time and blocks again! Visibly frustrated now, Johnson turns back for his rolling elbow, and the Fallen Angel gets his hands up to that spot yet again to block the blow!


But Johnson continues spinning, and Cross, anticipating a sudden screaming elbow, moves his hands back over to where he previously blocked the move…as Johnson immediately turns his spin into high gear, merely a blur as he finishes his rotation with terrifying speed and, unfolding his arm, drives a hooking lariat straight into the side of David’s head!




“Shotgun lariat!” shouts King as Cross goes back to his prior state – dazed – and Johnson doesn’t even bother with a kick to the gut, instead meeting no resistance as he bends Cross over, tucks his head between his legs, and bends down before going into a breathing routine…heaves…and Cross stays put.


“Johnson simply doesn’t have the energy for a second powerbomb,” notes Annie, “which once again has me wondering about that juji-gatame opportunity he passed on.”


Johnson apparently has an alternate plan, though, as he reaches down and hooks Cross’ arms before taking YET ANOTHER breath and, with an enormous tug, brings Cross vertical, then falling backwards…


…and then Johnson drops to his knees, plunging Cross high onto his shoulders with a Tiger Driver!




“Tiger Driver! The powerbomb was too much effort after the first one, so he goes with an easier and arguably more powerful maneuver! Brilliant!” cries King as Johnson once more stacks himself on top of Cross, folding the Oregonian in an almost comical manner as Kalem slides in for the academic count.










No almost in that sentence.











“Blood & Thunder” strikes up again as Johnson slides himself off of Cross, rolling out of the ring and making his way to the back, never one for arm-raising.


“Here is your winner, J! J! JOHNSON!” booms Funyon as the crowd continues to be rather displeased.


“Excellent effort from David Cross in this action-packed matchup,” admits the Hardcore Queen, “but tonight, once he got back into the groove, JJ Johnson was just too good for him.”


“JJ Johnson’s too good for ANYONE, Annie,” says King, rolling his eyes as if this were common knowledge.


“Except Magnifico,” responds Eclectic.


“Well, duh,” says King, and Annie rolls her eyes before advising the viewers to stick around; after all, it’s Fury vs. Stryke vs…Doom, and it’s next!




Edited by realitycheck

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Joseph Peters is seated in his office, mulling over his paperwork when we hear a door slam open and an angry voice yell, “Peters, I demand Justice!”


Peters: “Come in, I’m not busy at all.”


After a brief pause, we see a figure enter the picture, and the crowd immediately boos at the sight of Jay Hawke staring down Peters. Hawke, despite the stylish blue pinstripe suit he’s sporting tonight, still looks somewhat naked without the International Championship belt around his waist.


Peters: “Jay. Just the man I wanted to see.”


Hawke: “Can it, Peters. I want you to explain to me why I came all the way to Louisiana to regain the International Championship belt, only to find out that the so-called champion isn’t even here tonight.”


Peters: “Wildchild had some family issues to attend to, and the championship committee felt it was more important to take care of that than for a title match tonight.”


Hawke: “Really? Well, allow me to treat to a little wrestling history lesson. See, I seem to remember that back in the days that Ray Stevens was United States Champion in the old San Francisco NWA territory, a clause was put into every standard title match contract stating that if the champion refused to show up for a scheduled defense, he would forfeit the championship to his opponent. As I recall, you’re the one who told me the rematch would be tonight, so take some promo time and hype it because we want the ratings. Now, that so-called champion might have decided to take a night off and pad the length of his title reign, but I’m here as scheduled, and I want the title belt awarded to me right now!”


Joseph Peters hasn’t even budged from his comfortable chair as he continues to stare at Hawke, waiting for the Dean of Professional Wrestling to finish his rant. Convinced he’s finished, he finally gives his answer:








A cheer from the crowd in the stadium is heard as Hawke looks like he’s ready to jump over the desk and murder Joseph Peters on the spot.


Peters: “In fact, it’s been decided that you’re not getting your rematch for the International Championship at all.”


Another cheer from the live crowd is heard, but as for Hawke…


Hawke: “This is ridiculous, Peters! What the hell do you think the rematch clause is the contracts for, our health? Why, if you weren’t my boss, I’d reach across this table and--”


Peters: “You’re moving up.”


Hawke: “--wrap my hands around your neck and…



…what did you say?”


Peters: “You’re moving up. See, the championship committee decided that while you are certainly entitled to a rematch with Wildchild, and while we’re sure the ratings for the said rematch would be through the roof, we simply have to reward you for a record-breaking title reign. So you are to be at Lockdown next week, and you will face Wes Davenport for the World Heavyweight Championship.”


The live crowd watching on the Smarktron gives a mixed reaction as Hawke nods.


Hawke: “World Title?”


Peters: “World Title.”


Hawke: “No catch.”


Peters: “No catch. You’ve earned it, Jay.”


Hawke: “Mr. Peters, you’ve got yourself a deal. But when I win the championship next week, it will be a long time before anybody removes me from my throne.”


Jay Hawke turns and leaves the office, and Peters shakes his head.


Peters: “Just once I want someone to hear me out before I get screamed at.”

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SWF Storm fades back onto televisions worldwide to the huge throng of screaming masses packed into Tiger Stadium. The camera pivots around to peruse the eclectic mix of people, seeming to hail from anywhere and every...


Wow! Did you see the bozooms on that one?!? Check that... Zoom in on...


Oh... Yeah, right!


Sea of humanity, lots and lots of signs, blah blah blah, gals with huge...


...Heaps of love for the now-in-view Suicide King and special guest ANNIE ECLECTIC! Yeah, that’s it... Annie starts to speak, but...


“No time for intros and all that fancy crap,” King screams, completely plowing through whatever Annie was going to say, “It’s time for action! Let’s hear that lovely ring bell action!”




Ding ding DING!


As the bell rings, I hear the crowd ignite behind me. The two men that I’d been observing in the ring with me seem to have momentarily gotten together in a common goal.


Unfortunately, that common goal seems to be outing me from immediate competition.


The one known as Stryke, I can already tell, is lightning quick, and on me before I have a chance to breathe. Meanwhile, Jimmy The Doom seems to be stalking the outer periphery, looking for an opening. Advancing in, Stryke throws a swift right forearm... I catch it, twisting his arm around using his momentum, and...




...briefly put him to the mat, much to the dismay of the fans in attendance. To my semi-surprise, he kips up, reversing the twist, and managing to add one of his own. I slap my arm as I feel a bit of a searing in it, trying to reverse it myself... But...


Suddenly Jimmy lets his presence be known as he levels the concentrating Stryke with a clothesline. The crowd shows their displeasure as Stryke stumbles to the mat, yanking me off-balance with him... And Jimmy takes advantage by introducing my head to his knee as I’m trying to regain my balance. My arm released, I find myself stumbling back a slight bit as Jimmy presses his offense... Grabbing me by the arm, slinging me into the ropes. He catches me on the rebound, trying to toss me... But I manage to get my weight down to a solid base, and reverse the favor...




...putting him on his back. A minor response from the crowd ensues.


Gee, thanks.


Before I can take advantage, though, a set of arms wraps around my waist... Stryke.


The little bugger’s damn quick.


I feel him trying to power me up, but my base is still solid... His arms are cinched in... I lean back to try to use my arms to try to break him off of me... But apparently that’s what he was waiting as he manages to get me out of my solid base, and hauls...








The crowd response is fiery as he keeps his hold cinched in on my waist... The scurry of the ref...


ONE! The ref’s hand hits the canvas with a slap... But the second never comes... As I’m rolling my shoulders to break away, the bridge suddenly collapses. I roll slightly to see Jimmy trying to put a boot down where the rolling Stryke’s rib cage was. That explains the break in the hold as Stryke comes to his feet, rubbing his side. I make it to my feet as well as Jimmy and Stryke lock up in a test of strength... It looks damn even for a second or two until Jimmy manages to free an arm, getting Stryke off-balance again, and throwing a loaded elbow smash to Stryke’s temple.


My turn now, bitches.


I charge in to impose my will on the unaware Jimmy... Only to find that he’s not-so-unaware.


But I’m already committed, so I lower the shoulder, plant for a little more speed, and hope for the best...




...and I get it as I manage to mostly catch Jimmy and put him to the mat. I stop my momentum and recover myself only to hear the crowd pick up in its exuberance...


The slap of a hand on the canvas...


I look back to find Stryke trying to take advantage of -my- work as he’s got Jimmy’s leg hooked. I move in, but Jimmy kicks out quickly enough, leaving Stryke rolling away.


This will not do at all.


I rumble over to where Stryke is regaining his feet, help him to his feet...


Only to plant him back down to the mat with a heavy short-line clothesline.


And boy the fans don’t like that.


Oh well.


I lift him back up and sling him towards the ropes...


I give a little spin, and throw a kick towards the oncoming Stryke’s head...


The fans raise a hellacious cheer...


As Stryke slides right underneath my outstretched leg! I let the momentum keep me spinning to try to catch him on the other side, but...


Jimmy stops my motion with a quick grab of the arm, then reverses it, spinning me back around... My mind’s swimming a little, but I can feel him grabbing my head... The fog clears as I feel myself dropping...




...to the mat, a shock of pain shooting through my neck. Not at all pleasant, and the crowd voices my feelings on the whole matter. Jimmy comes to hook the leg...


ONE! But barely that as Stryke makes Jimmy suffer a bout of Pinnus Interruptus with a dropped fist to the back of the head. I roll away as Jimmy stands, holding the back of his head...


And the crowd rises up once more as Stryke lands a smooth-looking front dropkick to the unbalanced Jimmy’s chest...




...felling him to the mat. And Stryke follows that quick and dirty move with yet another kip-up!


Okay, that’s just disgusting, you know?


Finally to my own feet, Stryke approaches me with a forearm to the chest, driving me back towards the corner. I try to recover, but my wheels are still a little tingly from that Jimmy neckbreaker. Stryke throws another forearm into me...


And another...


And yet another!


And the crowd is eating this up like it was Pixie Sticks.


Or Frost-Brand Whale Tacos.


As it is, Stryke has managed to plant me in the corner with continued forearms, and frankly... My chest is starting to hurt. It’s a little hard to get a full breath with as quick as he’s hitting these shots.


Suddenly, he stops. I watch as he grabs the top ropes on either side of me, lifting himself up...


This could be all sorts of bad.


I force myself up and out of the corner, and he releases off the ropes, seeing his move will be countered...


But I’m already on him, lacing a quick kick to his mid-section while he’s off balance. He falls flat back to the mat, and I advance in.


I realize that I have to get back to my usual game plan, or this guy’s speed will be my undoing. As he rolls to find his feet, I reach down, grabbing Stryke’s foot in a quick ankle lock. Then scissoring his leg, I drop to the mat hard. I’m rewarded with a loud grunt of pain and a whole arena of people giving me no end of anti-love. I’m very concentrated on this task of slowing this speedster down as I wrench the ankle a little more...


Suddenly I’m told how totally concentrated I am at a meeting of Jimmy’s thigh with the side of my head at a speed that could only be created from a second rope drop. My world goes quite whirly and bubbly as my body releases the hold on Stryke’s leg, having received some sort of scrambled instruction from an addled brain to do so...


And suddenly, I remember why I hated wrestling triple threats so much...




The crowd exhales in relief as Fury’s hold on Stryke’s ankle is released... They never thought they’d be thanking Jimmy The Doom for anything, but here they are. The aforementioned Jimmy hauls the aforementioned Fury up by the hair. He slings Fury into the corner, and follows suit as Stryke clamors to his feet.


“Looks like Fury might have had the right idea there,” muses Eclectic as Stryke tries to walk off a small limp... Could be a stinger, could be damage... We can’t tell right now.


“All Fury did is forget about the major player in this match,” King responds. And indeed, Jimmy is unloading cornered elbow shots. The crowd could care less about all that it seems as their murmured concerns are for the current Cruiserweight Champion. The minor limp he has is still there as he approaches Jimmy, backing off from Fury in the corner. The crowd’s sudden cheering looks to put Jimmy on edge as he turns, meeting a smiling Stryke...


And with a swiftness that seems to belie description, Stryke takes the fellow cruiserweight up in a scoop slam...


Then doing a graceful spin, sets Jimmy up for a sit-out piledriver...




The crowd goes B-A-N-A-N-A-S! (Because, after all, this shit -is- bananas...)


“Holy Hell-In-A-Handbasket!” Eclectic burbles. “Stryke with the Aero Driver!”


“It’s not enough, too soon, Annie!”


“We’ll see about that, King!” As Stryke hooks Jimmy’s legs...




TWO!! But indeed, Jimmy powers the shoulder out after the second count. Stryke doesn’t seem to mind as the crowd continues to pump him up. He hauls Jimmy up, and launches him into the corner...




The same corner that just happened to contain the formerly-recovering Fury! The crowd applauds Stryke’s ingenuity and resourcefulness as he advances into the corner... But still with that light limp.


“Stryke just killed two bir...”


“Don’t... Even say it, Annie... You’re just as bad as Pete if you do...”


Stryke rushes into the corner, again grabbing the top ropes, much faster this time, trying to pull off his elevated basement dropkick, this time successfully...


However, the result is actually worse this time as Jimmy launches out of the corner, catching the helpless Stryke in ‘mid-air’! Both tumble in a heap...




...to the mat as we find...


“Fury broke up the attack blindly!” Eclectic shouts as Fury slowly comes out of the corner... But suddenly...




TW... And we find that in their tangled mess, Jimmy managed to get Stryke’s shoulders to the mat... But no more as Stryke pushes Jimmy to the side.


“And Fury almost gave Jimmy the means to win,” King retorts. “First thing he’s done almost right all match.” Jimmy is to his feet, Stryke shortly behind, but Fury advances on the closer of the two... Suddenly the somewhat unawares Stryke is the victim of a quick and hard Russian legsweep! The crowd is all over Fury as he presses onward, leaving Stryke momentarily to take care of the advancing Jimmy...




...who levels a shot against Fury’s chest, stopping him short... But he doesn’t stop his mind set as...




...Fury gives one right back!




Jimmy takes exception...




...but Fury says, “You’ll take it, and like it!”... Just not in words...




...and Jimmy says, “Fuck off, yo!”...




...and Jimmy then ends the conversation with a tilde-bang in the form of a follow-up clothesline off of Fury’s chop. The crowd isn’t liking this at all...


“King, wake up!”


“Oh... Uh... Wha? Are they done slapping at each other, the pansies?” Jimmy drops down, leveling stiff gut punches to the prone Fury, allowing him no quarter at all... But suddenly... The crowd erupts as The Nearly Forgotten Stryke pulls Jimmy off Fury with a spin... Slaps on the facelock...








The crowds has baby monkeys as Stryke completes the...


“Snap Brain-BUSTAAA...” Eclectic tries to call...


“IIIII can’t believe you’d do that, Annie!” King follows right on his heels, as Stryke comes around to a good spot and hooks the leg.


“Do what?”




“Pull that Long-DOGGAAAAAH shit.”




“You mean... Like you just did?” The ref shows Stryke a two-count as Jimmy runs the shoulder up.


“...Ah, crap.” King’s realization comes on the heels of Stryke’s slow climb to the top turnbuckle. The crowd urges him on as he looks over the ring... He sees the more-or-less prone form of Jimmy... But he sees a more distinct threat.


That of the risen and approaching Chris Fury. Stryke makes a split-second decision, once again throwing caution to the wind...


After all, why save up for tomorrow what you can today...


Especially when you don’t know how many tomorrows you have left.


But just as he jumps, he sees something that makes him think that his day might get real good, real quick...




The crowd is off the charts as Stryke’s missile dropkick manages to knockdown both Fury -and- the poor soul known as Jimmy, who had stood up and tried to engage on the offensive against Fury, unawares that a Missile Stryke was incoming on his 6 o’clock! All three men wind up in a pile in the middle of the ring, tangled heap, all that...


“Again Stryke manages to bring both of his opponents down!” Eclectic gushes.


“Yippie,” is the best response King can muster up as Stryke rises slowly to his feet to the joy of the crowd... His legs look a little wobbly, probably due to the fact he was dealt the impact of -two- human bodies under his feet. Jimmy took the brunt of the punishment from initial impact, as he’s lying on the ground, holding his head in his hands and not much else... But then we see Fury slowly rising from ground level, seeing Jimmy and probably realizing how lucky he really was...




Wow... I was -extremely- lucky.


I saw Stryke climbing, and I knew that I was in big trouble...


But Jimmy The Doom, bless his heart, tried to beat my ass right in the nick of time! I am a little rattled, don’t get me wrong... But I’m nowhere near in the head-ringing shape that Jimmy is.


But I have to take advantage...


Or not, as Stryke decides to back me off (and collapse my chest at the same time) with another of his front dropkicks, complete with the kip-up...


But as I’m falling back to the mat, I notice he’s still limping... Ginger on that ankle I had before...




Suddenly it dawns on me what I really needed to do to take this guy out. Something I remembered seeing in tapes. But I have to do it decisively and quick, or Jimmy would be in the way once again.


Of course, being flat on my back and having Stryke hovering over me was all part of the plan.




He hauls me to my feet, then slings me into the ropes... I rebound, and he tries to grab me... I recognize what he’s trying to do... Tilt-a-whirl into... Something... Don’t really care... I let him work me into the start of the ‘whirl, then throw my weight away from him with a little twist. His grip is bothered, and he can’t complete the move as I fall out of his grasp...


...Managing to land on my feet, albeit unsteadily. Stryke looks quite surprised at this turn of events, and that’s just what I want. I grab him by the arm, and pull him hard into my free arm, laying him out...




...with a short-arm clothesline. Ignoring the boos and jeers of the crowd, I’m back on him, flipping him over hurriedly... Bending his legs at the knees, crossing them, my foot in the middle... Facing away, standing... I can hear the crowd... They know what’s coming.


I wonder if Stryke does.


I flip back suddenly, locking my arms around his chin, and pull. Hard.


By the pained groans from Stryke and the fans, I’ve done my homework right. I arch myself a little further, working Stryke’s upper body back more, putting that pressure on the neck... But more importantly, the back that I knew was injured...


This move is perfect for this purpose, and I cinch it in a little harder...


But once again...




...Jimmy The Doom comes falling out of the sky to ruin my best-laid plans. This time, though, I have no defense in my positioning as he slams into me with a freaking Hurricanrana! The pain that shoots though me is intense, the air rushing out.


But I’m sure Stryke, being under both of us, faired a lot worse. Jimmy is slow to get up, but he finally does, and I’m still sucking wind as I roll off Stryke... I’m wondering where the next attack is coming from when...


ONE! The slap of the ref’s hand brings me back to some semblance of reality as I roll back...


TWO!! I see Jimmy trying to grab the win, so I reach out and grab him, pulling with all my might...


And it does break the count.


Jimmy isn’t happy.


The fans are though.


I try and get to all fours, working towards getting my feet about me, but Jimmy has other ideas as he gives me a swift kick to my side.


Well, that ended the getting-up idea.




Apparently satisfied with the beatdown he’s given Fury, Jimmy reaches down and drags the hurting Stryke to his feet, and launches him into the corner. Stryke impacts...




...the turnbuckles with massive force, and just sags there. The crowd novas, raining radioactive heat down on Jimmy.


“Jimmy The Doom taking control!” King croons. “He’s taken Fury out of the picture, and now he’s looking to finish Stryke for the match!”


“Stryke, King.”


“Shove it, Eclectic.” Jimmy The Doom, quite pleased with himself, kicks Fury again as he gets up, seemingly waiting for something... He kicks Fury, then eyes the corner where Stryke is... Kicks Fury, looks in the corner... Kicks Fury, then...


Stryke is moving... The fans explode with delight.


Jimmy grins. Apparently the opportunity he was waiting for is at hand as Stryke stumbles slowly from the corner... Jimmy stalks him, keeping clear of Stryke’s view... Then...


Jimmy taps him on the shoulder.


The crowd is none-too-thrilled.


“Here it comes!” King cries. Stryke stops, and starts to turn... But Jimmy helps him the rest of the way, following up with a completely explosive clothesline!




Stryke hits the mat like a load of dead parrots as Jimmy The Doom styles for the booing, hissing fans.


“Jimmy just blasted him!” King gushes. “This one is over! OVAH! Ugh...”


“Not quite, King!” The reasoning behind this statement isn’t clear... But the crowd senses... Sees something. Something that brings their reactions around... Jimmy seems to read the crowd, and starts to turn to see what is going on...




“HOLY WHAT THE...???” Even the crowd gasps in awed amazement...


Out of nowhere comes a Mack Truck, blowing right into Jimmy! But it’s name is not Mack... It’s Chris Fury, and he just went Hell-Bent and full-bore into Jimmy with a desperation Spear! Jimmy flails back...




...hitting the mat extremely hard before tumbling between the bottom and middle ropes to...




...unceremoniously impact the floor below... He finally comes to rest against the steel crowd barricade.


“UNBELIEVABLE!” screams Eclectic. “Fury from out of NOWHERE with that Spear, but Fury took one Hell of a shock it seems!”


“Nooooo!” laments King. Jimmy The Doom lies motionless on the outside of the ring, completely out of commission from his meeting with the floor. Meanwhile, back in the ring, Fury still hasn’t gotten up from a completely massive impact... The Spear seems to have done as much damage to him as it did to Jimmy. Suddenly, the crowd goes all Mount Saint Helens.


“All he needed was time, King!”


“NOOOOO!” King’s reason for panic is clear: Stryke is finally standing! He looks absolutely groggy from the Jimmy Takedown he suffered moments earlier, but he’s standing!


“He should’ve been done... Or dead... Or both!” King cries in anguish. But Stryke is none of those... That’s why he’s who he is. And he’s on the offensive... He hauls Fury up by the hair, getting him standing... Then pauses as the fans chant and cheer his name...


“What’s he doing?” Eclectic muses.


“Continuing to be a fool!” Sensing the finish at hand, and maybe without full mental facilities in place, Stryke puts a plan in motion... He quickly springboards onto the ropes, facing the crowd, and twists through the air like... Something... Really graceful...


“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!” Eclectic calls to the home crowd... Stryke, determined to keep his match alive, and to give the fans the best he’s got, is trying to hit the Blitzkrieg Spike... But there’s just one very small, yet very potent problem...


And the fans deflate before it even happens, because they see it... Fury, somehow with some sort of wits about him, throws a hard, stiff forearm into the flyer’s mid-section. It’s not too terribly effective against a falling human being, but it’s just enough to screw Stryke’s momentum and trajectory. Stryke plows uncontrolled into Fury, sending both men...




...hard to the mat.


“MY GOD!” Eclectic belts out. “A simple but devastating defense from Fury spoils Stryke’s flight into victory!”


“Ha HAH!” King gloats, somewhat. “Risk takers never win!” Both men are stunned and not doing much besides rolling faintly in their spots... Meanwhile, the crowd sees something that drops their enthusiasm by several notches.


“And all that was needed was time!” King mercilessly mimics Eclectic as...


Jimmy The Doom is finally rising to his feet outside. He looks completely out of sorts, but somehow slowly works his way under the ropes.


“This could be horridly bad for Stryke and Fury,” Eclectic says in a hushed tone.


“No no no,” King says with an audible grin. “This is PERFECT. The road is clear for Jimmy!” Jimmy slowly stands against the ring ropes, and sees both men down. He could so easily pin one of them. So easily.


But he wants more than that... He wants to deal with the reason he’s so groggily wandering around, when he should be standing tall and proud.


And that reason is now at his feet.




He hauls Fury to his feet, wrenching his arm around, getting him to his right side...


He’s looking for the big finish here...


“Go, Jimmy, go!” King calls out as Jimmy’s only fan in the place as he lets go of Fury’s arm, and lances back with his arms to lock around Fury’s head to start the flashy and powerful... Wait...


But Fury’s not there... At least his head’s not. Instead, Jimmy find his arm grabs, and his world spinning... Only half-spun though as Fury stops him with a kick to the solar plexus. Jimmy finds himself doubled over and at the mercy of Fury as he’s wrapped in a fancy-looking headlock, Jimmy’s chin precariously over Fury’s shoulder... Fury drops to a knee, rocking Jimmy’s head as his jaw impacts hard, unforgiving shoulder... But the fun’s not over as the headlock’s still cinched... Fury stands, then takes two quick steps to the side before sitting out...




...and completely knocking reality loose from Jimmy as his head re-impacts Fury’s shoulder, and he drops back limply to the mat.


“HOLY SHIT!” Eclectic blurts. “The Lightning And Thunder has returned, in a new and devastating form!”


“Damnit no!” King shouts right after. The crowd...


The crowd is going wild... To see Jimmy go down like a house of bricks pleases them to no end... But there’s something else...


Stryke... He’s starting to come back to earth... Fury sees this, the adrenaline finally flowing... He hauls Stryke up...


And doubles him over with a lick to the mid-section! The fans go completely 180.


“Fury’s going to get this!” Eclectic rails over the crowd, her emotions tossed... Fury plants Stryke with the mini-Stunner, then the two quick steps, and the sit-out Stunner...




...and Stryke’s momentum is evaporated... The crowd is livid and screaming for their boy to make a comeback as Fury hooks the leg...




The fans raise in volume, trying to will their boy on...




The fans come out of their seats, pleading to the wrestling deities to bring them a miracle! The ref’s hand swings down one more time...












Ladies and gentlemen, your Gods have abandoned you.


Ding ding DING!


Funyon gets on his mic...


“Ladies and gentlemen... The winner of the match... Christian... FUUUUU-RYYYYY!!!” The crowd rains Hell down upon him, but Fury pays it no mind, a smile on his weary lips.


“No!” King shouts. “He stole it from Jimmy! He’s nowhere in the same league as Doom!”


“No, King,” Eclectic says with the barest hint of respect. “Fury did what he needed to. And he proved something in the process. We’ll be back, folks.”


The show fades to commercial with the camera square on Fury’s victorious smile...

Edited by realitycheck

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We’re backstage and Insane Luchador is WALKING~! Probably heading to the gorilla position as his match is up next. As he walks down the hallway he hears heavy footsteps behind him but when he stops they stop, when he starts they start again too. After playing the game for a moment or two IL stops, turns around and just says


“Bruce I hear you coming a mile away, leave me alone unless you want me to kick your ass tonight instead of on Lockdown”


No reply


Does that mean Bruce got the message?




Insane Luchador stops dead in his tracks when he hears that sound, he knows it – knows it very well






That’s the unmistakable sound of a weedwhacker being fired up and as everyone has probably guessed by now Bruce is indeed the one holding the weedwhacker poised to attack Insane Luchador.


“You may have signed a contract little man, but that doesn’t mean I’ll allow you to make it to Lockdown in one piece” Bruce says and guns the weedwhacker once more




“You like it? I found it in the back of this landscaper’s truck and just couldn’t resist it” Bruce says with a smirk as he holds up the “business end” of the weedwhacker and makes the blade spin once more




Insane Luchador isn’t one to back down from a fight or run away and if it wasn’t because he had a match in mere moments and the fact that Bruce would LOVE to injure him before the match then the Ill One would have stayed there and taken Bruce on.


“You think it’ll be that easy to get out of our match? No way, I owe you a beating bigger than the one I laid on Wayne” Luchador says


“You put my brother in the hospital… you think I’d just let that go unpunished?” Bruce asks and guns the weedwhacker once more.


But the moment he makes his move towards IL the smaller, much faster Luchador turns around and runs down the hallway towards the gorilla position


“Yeah you better run!” Bruce yells out as he begins to run after him.


After chasing IL round the corner and down another hallway the weedwhacker sputters and dies without warning.


“What the hell?” Bruce exclaims as he examines the gardening tool.


A tug on the starter cord doesn’t do any good, it’s well and truly dead. Then he gets a thought, shakes the weedwhacker and then unscrews the gas cap and looks inside it.


“AH SON OF A BITCH!!” Bruce yells out and then hurls the now useless weedwhacker against the wall in frustration.


The last thing we hear before fading out is Bruce cursing up a storm about how people need to keep some gas on their damn weedwhackers.

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With tag team action on the way, Amy Stephens is psyched up to the eyeballs as usual. The mixture of sibling pride and her natural hot temper whip Amy into a frenzy before every match. It's probably not healthy and might cost her a match or two, but it's her way. There to add a calming influence is Landon Maddix though, the 'boyfriend' of Stephens, if you could classify their relationship that way. Reaching the 'go' position, Amy stops and continues with a few stretches as she turns to Landon.


"Good luck." smiles Landon, a little absent mindedly.


Amy takes the encouragement as she gets it though and gives Landon a quick peck on the cheek. As she pulls away from Landon though, the Nottingham lass' attention is taken by something behind Landon. Stood up against a wall in the distance, Megan Skye is in conversation with a female jobsworth, but clearly isn't paying attention as she instead watches what's going on in front of her. Brushing Landon aside, Amy glares at Megan which sends the nameless female beside her scattering.


"OI! You got'a problem, bitch?"


"Easy Amy..."


"Nah, I ain't standin' 'ere gettin' stared at by sum stuck up blonde slapper, innit."


"Does she not have a muzzle?" says Megan snidely, provoking a tempered reaction from Amy who looks ready to attack until Landon keeps her at bay.


"You wanna start summit!?! Eh? I'll break ya fekkin' nose, ya stuck up little slag!"


"C'mon Amy, you've got a match. Leave it, she's not worth it..."


Landon glares at Megan.


"...trust me, she's not."


"Yeah, you're prob'ly right...I'D RIP 'ER IN TWO, INNIT! Not worth the 'assle."


Smirking, Landon pats Amy on the back and let's her walk on towards the entrance position. Amy gives Megan a lingering look of death as she goes, which Megan does her best to brush off. Making sure Amy's out of sight, Landon finally breaks from his position and walks over to Megan with a scowl etched on his face.


"Have you got a deathwish?"


"Have YOU?" asks Megan in return, clearly referencing their last conversation.


"You know, baiting someone like Amy's pretty daring for someone like you, isn't it? Looking for some excitement, are we? Baking bread and packing Todd's lunchbox boring you, is it? Because if you're looking for some excitement, you should get yourself a new vibrator or something. Safer than picking fights with my girlfriend."


"Girlfriend? That's a little feminine for her, isn't it?"


"Have you got a problem with me and her then?" smirks Landon.


"Yes, I have. She's signing your deathwish, because when Toxxic comes back he's going to mutilate you for messing around with his little baby sister..."


"This again?" Landon groans. "Look, you're obviously feel guilty about what you and Todd did and that's really cute, honestly. I should probably be flattered that you're paying me so much attention all of a sudden. Trouble is, I don't care. It's a little too late for your sympathy I'm afraid, so if you're trying to repent your sins or whatever it is you good little Catholic girls do, then you're preaching to the wrong choir honey."


"I'm no good little Catholic." smiles Megan, realising she's getting off the subject. "I'm just trying to get through to you. But, whatever. I suggest you run along...imagine how pissed off Toxxic would be if he knew you were talking to me while 'dating' his sister, eh?"


Megan turns on her heels and walks off, disappearing into the distance as Landon watches on with hand behind his head. He looks thoughtful. Almost confused.




Until, a smile comes over his face.





"Yeah. He would be, wouldn't he?"

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Insane Luchador, Amy Stephens, the Crimson Skull and Kevin Coyote are lying around the outside of the ring - or at least they would, if INSIDE of the ring wasn't now a smoking crater. All four of the wrestlers are charred and unconscious, but look to be alive.


Annie: Well, I'll be damned. What are the odds of a meteorite crashing into the ring just before this tag team match?


King: This is why we shouldn't do outdoor shows.


Annie: I bet this was all Skull's fault. That guy's evil weather machine probably malfunctioned.


King: Weather machine...? Comets aren't...?


Annie: Meteor shower. Duh.


King: ...


Annie: Anyway, we'll be back after these messages, with all this cleaned up without a trace. Funny, that.



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“Welcome bock…” King starts realizing that he already botched the opening. “Erm, Welcome back SWF fools…oops,” Obviously not used to his new duty of opening the show after one of the cricket chirping commercials that air previously, King begins to stutter and stammer a bit. “Wwwwww…what the fuck am I doing?”


Oh yeah it’s Storm, Fuck is suitable. However, it is Louisiana, so anything to do with professional sports will be bleeped, disabling the chance for suck to be heard on the screen…


Oh yeah, that’s a fifteen yard penalty, and a few pissed off native Saints and Hornets fans.


“Welcome…bock…ok I give up.” King places his head in the darkness of his palms.


Which means the “celebrity” co-broadcasters takes over where the male left off.


“Oh sugar, you didn’t even bother to explain to the world that you have one of the most luxurious women in the SWF by your side.”


“Megan Skye, Melissa Fusaki, to a lesser extent Amy Stephens?”


“Hahahha. Oh King, don’t kid yourself buddy. Those inferior females can’t touch the aura I bring to this announce team. To those unaware I’m the lovely Annie Eclectic, a favorite of the guys AND the girls.”


“This is going to be such a tough show, I have a wife…I have a wife.”


“King, you should know you have no chance with me.” Annie cuts the Suicide King down to size.


King strikes back in Gambling fashion, “Woman, I wasn’t talking about myself. I was talking about my beautiful wife who is sitting at home thinking about me and only me…not you.”


Off camera the troublesome broadcasters are sure to bicker, on camera the audience alternates from loud to feverishly orgasmic. Stomping mad the audience not-so-patiently waits for the notorious F-U-N-Y-O-N to kick this P-A-R-T-Y into full gear.


“The next match is a standard singles match, scheduled for one fall with a Sixty minute time limit, and a slight chance of an oil leakage.” Funyon gets a few laughs for the last comment.


Darkening, the Tiger Stadium is blanched with an electrical force field in the form of multiple lasers. As the green and purple trip the youngsters in the front row out, the man that God laughs at daily enters through the curtain.


Chris Belcourt.


Gaining a sympathy reaction, Belcourt who has muscled up a little bit, begins his strenuous workout. A workout that involves bringing the possibly mechanical Ghost Machine 2.0 to the forefront of the jeering audience.




One member of the jeering audience must be the future guy that dies at the end of Terminator. Ignoring the haunting gestures given to only the top heels, including the top heels of the past, who found themselves to be superior to their opponents. Being rolled down the aisle to the phat beats of some random weird robot song, the mechanical menace stares straight ahead.


Annie Eclectic is quite intrigued, “Is he really a robot?”


King wishes men were allowed to smack women, “Are you serious? Have you been keeping up with the SWF at all? Maybe if you would take the time to stop chasing up women’s skirts, you would realize that the top investigators in the world HAVE BEEN ASKING THE EXACT SAME QUESTION!”


Unstrapping the could be robot, Chris Belcourt has accepted his fate to be known as Ghost Machine’s bitch with the help of painkillers and a good man known as Captain Morgan. Stepping off of his dolly, Ghost Machine wonders his way into the ring, stomping his artificial figure toward the overly buff Funyon. Waiting for the index card through the gapping hole near the mouth trick, Funyon realizes something is terribly wrong.


“Is he choking…yes that robot is choking. Is that possible, King?”


Scrambling for answers King lets out, “Of course, the rotator circuit acts like our lungs. When the diminiscal circuit halts in progression, the rotator circuit shuts down causing what we know as a gag reflex…yeah that’s it.”


Turning away from the camera, the improved android sticks his metallic fingers down his outer port, vomiting the index card into the hands of Funyon. Staring into the unblinking eyes of the apologetic Ghost Machine, Funyon looks ready to hurl himself.


“Disgusting.” Funyon booms, looking down to read the moist index card, “With the nausea of the Lethal Lottery Tournament out of our machine’s system, we at BennerCorp are proud to announce that Ghost Machine is fully functional, even as it battles dramatically with numerous bugs. Motivated by the latest virus known as Dominate the Cruiserweight Division, Ghost Machine has a new protocol. Installed with the usual code of Crush, Kill, Destroy, Ghost Machine has also developed a taste for the resource known as gold. Stepping in the way of Ghost Machine’s gluttonous actions can result in immediate removal from life. Thank you.”




Even the Baton Rouge alumni understand that you simply can’t jeer an intro like that. Cheering the wired warrior on, the crowd looks toward the entrance ramp, waiting for the robot’s flesh and blood challenger.




More expensive than a third world country, the SWF smarktron lights up with the usual wording that has previewed the youth since the beginning of his career. With the audience already compelled to cheer the youth’s name like a vigorous storm, Zyon decides to leave the dramatics back home.




Hearing the constant blaring from the eager individuals in the stands, the Unique Youth salutes the audience before sprinting down the entrance ramp.


“Yeah…youngsters like him make you question your way of life, don’t they?” The match hasn’t even started and the Gambling Man is already pushing the boarders.


Annie fires back with venom, “I figured he would more or less establish your way of life more clearly.”


Struggling to keep the copious harvest of vitamins and Gatorade in his system, Funyon brings the description for the Unique Youth.


“And his…her…it’s challenger. Hailing from Elkhart, Indiana and weighing in at 200 lbs. He is the UNIQUE YOUTH…ZYYYYYON!!!…*burp*”


Hopping around on the apron with his back to the treacherous Ghost Machine, Zyon continues to salute the audience who gasp for the youth’s health. Analyzing the worry in their actions, Zyon turns to see a charging Ghost Machine. Stopping in his tracks the mechanical wonder speaks…




Grinning, the former cruiserweight champion leaps on to the top rope springboard style, taking the improved android down with a cross body. Immediately rolling off of the robot, Zyon stoops down in a shooting position.




With this being his only chance, referee Nick Soapdish signaled for the bell.


“That Zyon, what an underhanded individual. Attacking Ghost Machine before the bell rang.”


“Oh King, you are a funny man. What, was Ghost Machine not in defense mode.” Annie sarcastically spells out.


Pushing himself off the mat, the unorthodox machine locks in on his target, thrusting his leg in a downward motion at the squatted youth. Waving his right arm, slicing the air and averting the strike, Zyon dances around the deadly mechanism. Shifting his arms around the dynamic robot, the youth wraps his opponent in a reverse waist lock. With a hidden power only found in Ghost Machine’s core, one of the number one contenders for the cruiserweight title breaks free of Zyon’s grip. Visibly caught off guard by the lack of antics by the troublesome mechanical humanoid, Zyon finds himself tossed over with a one armed snapmare. Stumbling over his own momentum, Ghost Machine can only throw up his hands, noticing that Zyon has rolled backward tossing a foot toward the robot’s face. Knocking the resourceful could be robot back; Zyon spins back to his feet, charging at his opponent with a forearm.


“From what I hear King, this Ghost Machine is on quite the roll. I can see why, he just blocked that forearm perfectly.” Annie points out.


King is slightly stupefied, “You can actually do play by play?”


Diverting the forearm to a random location, Ghost Machine throws a well-timed throat thrust, forcing the youth into a gag. Choking on his impacted larynx, the youth mimics the machine, guarding his face for a potential blow. Acting as if his mode is set to “veteran” the superior 2.0 drives a knee into the unprotected gut of his opponent. Calculating the percent of energy and BennerCorp finances it will take to hoist the youngster up into the air vertically, Ghost Machine can only dance at the cheapness of it all. Finding himself trapped in a front face lock, the Unique Youth physically searches for his opponent’s wrist. Clutching the wrist, Zyon presses on what must be a hidden button on a robot, but to us known as the flesh and the blood, it’s a simple pressure point. Unable to stop Zyon’s plan of unhooking himself from his position, Ghost Machine loses control of the function of his right arm that extends to the side. Spinning to the right, the spot monkey overlaps his opponent’s leg with his own, driving Ghost Machine into the canvas with a Russian leg sweep!


“Now that’s what I like to see! A tried and true counter from the front face lock position, that leads into a Russian leg sweep.”


“Wow, Annie I’m impressed. Then again I’m sure you’ve found yourself in your fair share of front face locks.”


Annie nods innocently, “That I have King. My career was full of uncompromising situations.”


Showing early signs of damaged particles, the improved BennerCorp android reaches his feet. Blinking, the humanoid is once again forced into defensive mode as the youngster of flesh, blood, and emotion attempts to slaughter his opponent with multiple kicks to the right rib.




Out of the multiple kicks, a single crushing blow breaks through with the rest catching the brunt of 2.0’s shoulder. Opposing Ghost Machine with a kick to the opposite side, Zyon pays the price of a thousand volts. Finding his foot trapped between the mechanical mittens of 2.0, the youngster hops around on one foot, gaining what is left of his balance.




The mechanical terror calls out, shocking the surrounding humans who watch the match with praise on their mind. Stunned by the announcement, Zyon rages against the machine, leaping into the air, and twisting his body for an enziguri. Releasing Zyon’s foot, Ghost Machine shuffles to the side, catching the horizontal Zyon, hoisting the inferior human over his shoulder. With his emotionless nature intact, the second version of BennerCorp’s prized product shows little to no struggle keeping the hyper cruiserweight in check.


“Now that Annie is what the people come to see. They come to see these little spot monkey’s like Zyon play their part as the little engine that could, until getting crushed by a locomotive like Ghost Machine.”


Annie smiles…no grins from ear to ear, “From what I hear Gambling Man…you should have the title the little engine that couldn’t.”


Walking toward the turnbuckle, Ghost Machine emanates a microscopic flaw. That flaw would be shuffling toward the turnbuckle for a snake eyes without an opponent!!!




The crowd is getting their kicks out of the naïve robot. With the realization comes the terror…if he was human. Chugging along, rotating so he can see the now standing Zyon face to face.




“No close fists, Zyon.”


Referee Nick Soapdish lays the law down as the youth’s knuckles penetrate the masked face of his opponent. Remaining on his feet, Ghost Machine ties the youth up in your standard collar and elbow set up. Overwhelming the technically retarded Zyon, Ghost Machine dips and turns, wrapping one half of team SpYon in a reverse waist lock. Scratching and clawing, Zyon endeavors to break Ghost Machine’s grip to the point where a vein begins to pop out of the his reddened face. The crowd is pleased by this side of one of their favorites, watching the youth break free of the death grip without fancy counters is rare indeed. With its metallic fingers unlatching, Ghost Machine’s artificial intelligence kicks in, fluidly shoving his arms up and around Zyon’s shoulders, tightening the youth in a full nelson!


“Here we go. The great thing about Ghost Machine is that he is programmed to destroy. He’s not going to full around with this twerp, he’s just going to crush him.” King is happy.


Whipping Zyon from side to side, Ghost Machine demonstrates his superiority over humans to the sold out crowd in Baton Rouge. Cheering for one of their favorites, the audience pleads for Zyon to prove scientists all over the world wrong. Clinching his teeth, twitching his brow, and stomping his feet the Unique Youth powers forward. Comprehending that he can’t and won’t be able to break through 2.0’s stupendous surge of strength, Zyon inches his way closer to the ropes. Besieged by Zyon’s forward motion, Ghost Machine is helpless to stop the courageous youth from reaching the ropes.


“Break it!”


Nick Soapdish orders electrical wrestler to release Zyon, but all he gets is a slow nod and a blank stare.














Back in the ring, Ghost Machine latches on to Zyon’s wrist, planting his foot, and sending the youth across the ring with an Irish whip. Without previous data of the youth’s athletically gifted talents, the former bodyguard of JL Crunk shuffles forward. Stutter stepping on his way into the ropes, Zyon positions the sole of his feet on the second rope before blindly leaping backward. Rotating his body as he floats through the sky, Zyon faces Ghost Machine with a forearm to the bridge of his opponent’s nose!




The crowd erupts, content with Ghost Machine’s status of being unbalanced. Rushing up on the stunned Ghost Machine, Zyon forces his head between the could be human’s arm and side. Wrapping his arms around the waist of his mechanical opponent, hoisting the metallic terror through the air, Zyon slams his opponent on his back. Bridging with a completed Northern lights suplex.
















Jabbing the youth in the rib, the resourceful robot breaks the bridge. Rolling on to his stomach, Ghost Machine lifts himself back to his feet. Meeting with the right hand of his already standing opponent, the improved version of the original Ghost Machine staggers backward. Bashing into his opponent’s hard drive, Zyon grins from ear to ear as he blasts Ghost Machine in the face with a flurry of forearms. Taking the aggressive stance against such a dangerous opponent, the former cruiserweight champion Irish whips Ghost Machine into the ropes. Without the flashy brilliance of his young opposition, Ghost Machine fails to make a suitable counter. Bouncing back toward his waiting opponent, Ghost Machine finds himself spun into a tilt-a-whirl.




Buzzing with the memory installed to counter THIS maneuver, Ghost Machine flails to the mat, taking Zyon over with a surprising arm drag!


“That was impressive. I had no clue Ghost Machine was capable of such excellence. All this time, I though he was a body of junk metal.” Annie approves of the action so far.


Bouncing directly off the mat and to his feet, the wide eyed youth bounds forward. Shooting in a southwestern angle, the youth forces Ghost Machine to the mat with a double legged takedown. Unknown to the frantic youngster, the very visible machine wraps those very same legs around the youth’s sternum. Feeling the screws of his bolts and wired opponent, Zyon struggles to break free of the body scissors.






With the echo of his chuckle buzzing inside his tortured mind, the Unique Youth looks to retort with something a bit more respectful than an open handed smack. Throwing his fist at the BennerCorp project, the hostile youth feels the shadow of terror loom over him. Crushing his hand into the canvas, Zyon shouts, not from the pain but from the impending attack heading his way.




Knocking the youth for a loop with a dead on Shotei, Ghost Machine tucks Zyon’s head into his arm, jerking backward with a trapping neck crank. His hatred of the human race overwhelming his other artificial emotions, the agro android continues to choke the youth out.


“Hey ref can’t you see that’s a choke!” Annie calls out.


King watches Ghost Machine dominate the match while calling Annie on her extra curricular activities, “Yeah, Annie I’m sure you’ve experience plenty of choking in the bedroom behind the closed doors. As for the choke, give me a break. It’s you standard front face lock with a simple body scissors.”


“King, that body scissors could help separate Zyon’s vertebrate along with closing his windpipe.”


With shades of purple dawning over his face, Zyon frantically jabs Ghost Machine in the rib area. Unaffected by the inferior strikes, the Ghost unit tightens the hidden choke. Blurred visions and moistened eyes follow Zyon’s substandard struggle to continue the match. Scuffing the canvas with his shoes, the lack of oxygen begins to bestow spaghetti legs on to the young cruiserweight.




Ghost Machine’s main objective repeats in the robot’s man-made brain, feeling grand satisfaction from the youth’s limp upper body. Clawing the mat with the top of his shoes, the youth’s eleventh hour is almost up! Grinding it out, Zyon pushes with his feet, using his shoulders to force Ghost Machine’s to the canvas!












“This could do it!”






No…no it can’t.




Deflated from the mechanical terror’s persistence of crushing his opponent, the crowd takes a gulp of their beverages. However, not all is lost for the courageous cruiserweight, since during the kickout Ghost Machine unwrapped his legs for a moment. With the light fading, Zyon drives his body backward…BREAKING FREE OF THE FRONT FACE LOCK!




Ballistically shouting at the top of their lungs, the crowd stares at the youth as he scampers into the ropes off balanced. Coughing, gagging, doing the next best thing to turning his whole body inside out, Zyon takes a moment to regain the precious oxygen he lost.


“GET HIM!” King calls out.


Hearing the outspoken Gambling Man, Ghost Machine takes a moment to respond in robot like fashion.




Sprinting down the path leading to one half of team SpYon, Ghost Machine fails to realize that Zyon is no longer in the ring.


In fact, he’s out on the apron.


Let me correct myself, he’s springing on to the top rope.


Actually, he’s smashing his opponent’s chest in with a brutal springboard missile dropkick with added impact by the robot’s errant sensors. Gasping for air for his all but empty lungs, Zyon clutches the lame purple mask of his opponent, pulling Ghost Machine back to his feet. Flattening his hand, Zyon performs a 360 degree spin, smacking Ghost Machine with an inventive chop that certainly had some MUSTARD BEHIND IT!


“Smmmmmmmmmm…It hurt!”


His lack of brute strength proves to injure Zyon’s confidence as he watches Ghost Machine take a step back…and that’s it. Unsure on whether he has the tools to take the robot apart, Zyon takes a moment to mope.


“Let’s go Zyon!”


Team Zyon’s sixth man comes into the game, motivating Zyon to the point where he TOTALLY MISSES THE SHOTEI THAT JUST CRACKED HIM IN THE FACE!!!


“HA!” Simple but effective comment from the Gambling Man.


If it weren’t for the ropes behind him, Zyon would be looking up at the lights. Shaking the startling effects of the shotei off into his memory, the youth reaches out to Ghost Machine who embraces Zyon with a kick to the gut. Working Zyon over like the well-oiled machine that he is billed as, Ghost Machine fences Zyon in a front face lock. Taking no time to acknowledge the excited audience, the superior machine to the original Ghost Machine, hoists Zyon into the air vertically. Usually the youth would kick and swim his way out of the predicament, but could it be that Ghost Machine has destroyed the youth’s confidence.




Feeling the audience glare at his fluid motions, Ghost Machine figures to give them all a treat as he turns the youth chest to chest, driving him into the mat with a falcon arrow!


King has never been happier to cheer a glorified tin man, “Oh my god. Look at that. Ghost Machine just annihilated Zyon with a flacon arrow. I haven’t seen one in forever. Not since…”


Annie interrupts King, “Not since Tom Flesher. Speaking of the Superior Douchebag, his style is fairly reminiscent of this creature’s in the ring style.”


Placing his palm on the youth’s chest, the machine holds Zyon’s shoulders to the mat for the slightly arrogant cover.

















Kicking out, the youth proves his harshest critics wrong, refusing to give up completely on stopping the seemingly unstoppable. Asserting his hands around the hair of his opponent, Ghost Machine forces Zyon back to his feet. Hugging Zyon with a front waist lock, the robot looks to channel Tom Flesher with a crisp Railgun suplex. Channeling the technical wrestling spirit of his partner, Zyon locks his right leg around Ghost Machine’s while turning his body at the same moment. Conspicuously, the robot menace has no problem locking the youth is a side waist lock. With the ability to throw his opponent around like he’s nothing, Ghost Machine hurls Zyon through the air. His confidence might be an issue at this point and time, but his athletic ability is not. Cartwheeling through the atmosphere, Zyon lands on his feet.


“Wait…how did he do that?” King is amazed, but refuses to admit it, “What a foolish spot monkey.”


Snapping his head to the side, the enraged mechanical destroyer of humans charges at his patient opponent. Why the patience? No need to hurry when your opponent is basically running head first into a waiting Last Dance super kick!!


“CR…uh oh.”


Lacking the stupidity of the average wrestler, this superior performer is able to catch what many would be blasted across the face with. Once again the youth is balancing on one foot with his fate lying in the unsure hands of the unorthodox Ghost Machine!




The robot goes for a taunting metallic voice to that eerily reminiscent of an overconfident wrestler. During the uber short monologue, Ghost Machine catches a shocking enziguri to the side of the face. It’s sloppy connection to the side of the face instead of the back of the head is due to the robot’s attempt to dodge the strike. No matter, Ghost Machine stumbles…and that’s all. Undecided on his ability to keep the advantage, Zyon leaps forward, plunging his shoulder into the gut of the radical machine. It’s staggering comes to an end as the BennerCorp creation, falls through the middle rope on to the ring apron. Refusing to let the doubts creep into his mind, Zyon exits on to the ring apron as well.




Shocked by Zyon’s suddenly ticked off personality, the crowd continues to root on the fan favorite nonetheless. With Ghost Machine using the top rope to balance himself on the top rope, Zyon is ready to strike! Noticing the distorted stance of his hurt opponent, Zyon licks his lips readying himself to take the match for good! Horrifying those close enough to realize that Ghost Machine’s eyes have switch from glazed over to intense, the fans freak out as Ghost Machine TOSSES ZYON OFF THE RING APRON WITH A DAMNING RAILGUN BELLY TO THE BELLY SUPLEX!!!!!




A few obscenity filled chants break out. Multiple replays for the next five years will show that Ghost Machine immediately grabbed the top rope, which saved him from the evitable fall. Ignoring the screams of the downed Unique Youth, referee Nick Soapdish administers the standard ten count.


“Annie, I don’t think the boy is going to be able to deny that one. And neither can you. Ghost Machine has disabled the youth both mentally and physically.”


“Maybe,” Annie trails off before continuing, “I think that Zyon could still pull it off, but my gosh did that Railgun suplex look painful.”






Soapdish calls out with Ghost Machine taking the next maximum of ten seconds to either…


Intelligently rest up and tend to his wounds.


Watch the count as Zyon wills his way back into the match.




If you chose either of the first two, then you have a functioning brain. If you chose the third option, you much be clinically insane…


…But you’d be correct.




Jeering the dancing robot, the crowd screams, yells, and prays for the youngster to pull himself into the ring.








Pulling himself up with help from the ring apron, Zyon falls backward into the safety barrier. Respectful fans pat their hero on the back, unintentionally halting the youth’s momentum that could get him in the ring.






“HE MADE IT!” Annie shrieks.


Visibly losing his natural robot cool, Ghost Machine stomps Zyon into the mat with a pair of boots to the face. Jerking Zyon by the hair, Ghost Machine tosses the youth into the turnbuckle.




Only to receive a gracious forearm for his troubles. Raging from the lack of fumes, Ghost Machine forms a hammer with his fists that acts as a halo over his head. Driving the duo of fists down, Ghost Machine absolutely obliterates…the turnbuckle. Grinding his teeth, the robot begins to show human like traits, which includes a bug eyed expression as Zyon wraps his hands around the head of his opponent. Jumping into the air, chef Zyon sprinkles a devastating knee into the face of the once indestructible Ghost Machine!!!


“FUCK!” Ghost Machine grinds out before falling on to his ass, clutching his face.


“King, is fuck a designated word in Ghost Machine’s system. The last I checked he only knew commands.”


King is flabbergasted by the accusation, “Annie you should know through all your experiences that fuck is a command.”


“Real mature King, oh well. Your just a child compared to me.”


“Whatever, you fucking lesbian!” King shouts gaining a gasp from censors.


Clutching both hands with the top rope, Zyon swings his body into the air acting like a destructive pendulum. Gaining momentum with every swing, the youth blasts Ghost Machine with a brutal elevated basement Snap dropkick!!!! Draining the precious gases from his system, Zyon drags the sleeping machine from the turnbuckle.


Yeah robots sleep.


Measuring the distance, Zyon leaps from the second rope to the third rope. Falling straight below his feet, the youth lets his legs clip the top rope, flattening the wounded machine with a Dusk!!!!


“Amazing. Double jump split legged moonsault. Simply amazing.”


With everyone on their feet counting along, Soapdish smacks his hand against the canvas.
























“Now that’s amazing. Only Ghost Machine would have the fortitude to continue after such a savage beating.” King supports the radical android.




The irritated youth verbally whispers, forgetting the young kids in the front row. Stirring to his feet, Ghost Machine looks up for his opponent, who has inexplicably vanished? Short circuiting from the difficult situation, Ghost Machine spins around as the legs of Zyon wrap around his head.


Surprise, Springboard hurricara…ok ouch!


Using the momentum of his internal wiring, Ghost Machine spikes Zyon into the mat with a MUDERDEATHKILL POWERBOMB…FOOL!!! Folding the youth up on his shoulders, Ghost Machine takes a step back, tying his opposition’s legs up in a knot with his hand in the middle.


“He’s going for the move that stopped Zyon’s friend Spike last week. That’s right it’s the Texas Cloverleaf, Baby!”


“Please King, it’s the Superior Stretch to us SWF’ers. Loser.”


Turning Zyon on his stomach, the youth cries out in pain immediately as he feels the need to tap da fuck out. Extending his arms, Zyon is mere inches away from the ropes.




Then again, Ghost Machine is mere moments from breaking Zyon in half or at least getting the tap out victory. Understanding that he threw everything at the ultimate machine, Zyon raises his hand for the tap.


Then he remembers that he failed his team in the TLC match. He failed the fans. He failed Spike. He failed the friendship. He will NOT fail this battle!


Slithering forward a bit, Zyon extends again…




Soapdish calls as Ghost Machine does so, going right into his victory dance.


“I DA MAN!” The mechanical beast roars to a dumbfounded audience.


“The match is not over.” Soapdish explains.


Back on his feet, Zyon circles around in facing the destructive 2.0 Challenging the robot for a final man vs. machine encounter, Zyon braces himself for the shotei that is thrown his way.




Like a machine, Zyon stored the feeling of a shotei from earlier in the match, and he learned how to dodge it. Averting the signature strike, Zyon drops down, snapping Ghost Machine into the canvas fast first with a drop toe hold. With his sensors malfunctioning, 2.0 rises to a doubles over position…unknown that his far arm his between his legs. Clutching the trapped wrist, Zyon hooks the masked warrior over the head, and hoists the evil machine up…


…And driving him down…9…1…1…AERO DRIVA!!!!


“Gah wha…”


Zyon floats over onto the failing system of the machine.






















“He got him King. Unlike Spike, Zyon didn’t have an injured knee, which helped in his survival of the Superior Stretch. The kid stuck out the bad, and finished with the good. He gave Ghost Machine everything he had, and it was JUST enough to get the job done.”


“The winner in 56 minutes and 13 seconds, THE UNIQUE YOUTH, ZYYYON!!!”


Funyon bellows leaving Zyon to crawl out of the ring, barely escaping with the victory. A warrior beaten both physically and mentally by an awesome wrestler or a capable machine, Zyon weakly walks to the back.


“He dodged a bullet…nothing more, nothing less.”


King whispers the tiniest of whispers that may not actually make it to live television as we FADE TO COMMERCIAL!

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The crowd is buzzing with excitement as Storm has already been both action packed and red hot with no end in sight. The unexplainably popular Funyon steps into the ring and gets ready to introduce the next match as the cameras pan across the audience to capture some of the signs in the audience


"Davis fears Bollywood"


"The guy behind me can't see anything :) "


"Donde esta El Luchador Maginfico?"


"The following match is scheduled for 15 minutes and it is for the SWF Ultraviolent title contested under "House Rules: Fever Pitch" Funyon begins, then pauses to contemplate if he needs to explain the rules in detail or not, with a shrug he decides that if people didn't read the card then he's not going to bother. Instead he introduces the special guests for the match.


"Please welcome LSU's very own professor Mark Slovak and his undergraduate students" Funyon says and points to the professor and his skinny, nerdy students located at ringside with their measuring equipment.




"Well the jock population is out in force" Suicide King says with a nod of approval.


"Weird huh? You'd think big muscular men would appeal to nerds and their gadgets" Annie says with her tongue firmly placed in her cheek.


"Yeah I'd also think men would appeal to women in general, but you proved that wrong" King mumbles so low that Annie can't really hear what he said.


A low rumble of thunder is heard as the arena lights begin to flicker on and off, first time watchers they would probably think that a thunder storm is coming, the sirens going on just aid to the whole sensation of an oncoming natural disaster.


"Introducing first the challenger: From Jacksonville Florida, weighing in at 285 pounds this is the former 2 times tag-team champion and a 3 times Hardcore Champion – I'm talking about "The Perfect Storm" himself SEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVISSS!!


"Battle Ready" kicks in as streaks of fireworks strike the stage resulting in two large golden red explosions going off




"Here comes Davis to rain on Bruce's parade" Annie quips.


"Did you write that joke down before the show started?" King asks scoffing at his temporary co-commentator.


Sean Davis steps out from behind the curtains and heads to the ring without looking at the fans in the arena but focusing totally on the ring and the carnage that lies ahead in the next 15 minutes. As Sean steps through the ropes the fans begin to chant, a few fans at first but soon it catches on with a large part of the audience




Davis focus and concentration is broken by the very unflattering chant as he begins to pace back and forth in the ring like a caged tiger looking for someone to pounce on.


"And his opponent, the defending SWF Ultraviolent champion on the 203rd day of his title reign: From Mobile Alabama, weighing in at 295 pounds the pride of the Trailerpark BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!!!"




"Boulevard of Broken dreams" has hardly begun to play before the crowd starts giving Bruce a hard time about his less than "sophisticated" background: Even if that is somewhat ironic given the large portion of the crowd that probably life a similar life style.


"Here comes Mr. Hardwork" King says making references to Bruce's title defense schedule


"Mr. Hardwork? Isn't that like one of the Chippendales?" Annie asks.


"How would you know" King replies.


Bruce steps out through the curtains with a metal trash can held high in the air, a trash can containing "Ultraviolent Plunder" that's totally legal in this match. When Bruce lowers the trash can it's revealed that the trashcan of weapons isn't Bruce's only plan, he's wearing a leather muzzle that's tightly strapped behind the back of his head.


"Oh dear, Bruce forgot to change after some freaky sex session" King says with a smirk.


"Don't even try that King! It's a clear sign of Bruce being scared and NO ONE needs that mental image." Annie states


"Bruce?? Scared? He doesn't even know the meaning of the word" King replies either defending Bruce or insulting his intelligence.


"BULL!" is the only appropriate response Annie can think off


Even though he's not known for being a cerebral assassin Bruce still taps the side of his head as he passes by one of the hand held cameras making reference to his muted state. It's clear that Sean Davis isn't sure WHAT to think of Bruce's muzzle while he waits with an annoyed expression on his face for his opponent to get to the ring. Annoyance turns to initiative as Davis rushes his opponent the moment Bruce steps one leg over the top rope.




Sean Davis nails Bruce with a stiff elbow to the side of the head while Bruce is still straddling the top rope. The blow to the head knocks the can of weapons out of Bruce's hand and down to the floor where it spills it's content of barbwire wrapped objects and for some reason a golf club.


"Come hell or high water this won't end for 15 minutes and looking at the history of violence for both men this could very well be the most Ultraviolent 15 minutes of regular television in years" King says as The Perfect Storm grabs the top rope with both hands.


With a sharp upwards pull Sean drives the cable up in a place it really shouldn't go and as he keeps repeating the upwards motion so that Bruce jumps up and down like a puppet on a string.


"Now there is something you can't do with ovaries" Annie points out, forgetting that the same move would probably be quite painful to most women too.


"If it wasn't for the muzzle Bruce would probably be giving the professor and his ner… I mean students their first reading"


Sean stops shaking the top rope and then bounces off the ropes on the side facing Bruce while the big man is still distracted by his testicular state. The big man comes off the rope with added momentum and drives his outstretched arm into Bruce's chest for a massive clothesline


"HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLY!! If Davis had hit a smaller man than Bruce with that we would have seen a decapitation" King says with approval as the clothesline knocks Bruce off the ropes and actually into the ring.




The chant bothers Davis so much that he presses his hands over his ears so that he doesn't have to listen, unfortunately that just encourages the Tiger Stadium crowd and they demonstrate why they're the loudest crowd in the world




Davis drops an elbow square on Bruce's chest with all his weight behind it just moments after Bruce hits the ground. When he gets back up for another elbow drop he seems to finally have had enough of the crowd's chanting




"Does that constitute a scream?" Annie Eclectic asks as Davis bellows at the crowd to shut up.


At the bottom of the screen we see a read out of Professor Slovak's first audio reading of the night


dB 75 | | | | 80 | | | . 85 . . . . 90


"83 Decibels? Man Davis just fucked up big time, cause it's counted as a scream" King states.


Of course Davis isn't shown the reading nor are the fans in the stadium so it's only King, Annie and the fans at home that know exactly how loud Sean was and how bad a position he unintentionally put himself in. Davis decides to channel his anger and rage into attacking Bruce instead of yelling at the fans which he in hindsight realizes may have been a mistake. Davis pulls Bruce back up to his feet and then locks his powerful arms around Bruce's shoulder's and head with the Full Nelson.


"The big guy has a couple of options here really, he can keep it locked on and maybe force Bruce to yell in pain from it or he can use it to inflict damage to Bruce" King says totally ignoring the fact that Bruce is wearing a leather muzzle and can't really yell out.


"I don't think Davis is stupid enough to just keep Bruce in the Full Nelson, what he needs to do is remove that damn muzzle or he'll never stand a chance of winning the match" Annie points out.


Sean only keeps the Full Nelson locked on for a moment before he rather effortlessly lifts Bruce up in the air a little and then drops him straight down and plants his ass on the ground in a Full Nelson Atomic Drop. With Bruce sitting on his ass Davis is in the perfect position to reach for Bruce's muzzle and open the buckles in the back that keeps it on tight.


"Whoa Bruce did NOT appreciate that"


The sensation of Sean's hands on the back of his head, fiddling with the buckles brings Bruce's focus back and he quickly scrambles away from Sean and onto the floor out of the Perfect Storm's reach. The muzzle restricts Bruce's breathing making it harder for him to catch his breath but it seems to be a preferable option to taking it off at this moment to the Ultraviolent champion. Davis is quick to follow Bruce to the floor but since he's playing "catch up" with his opponent Bruce reaches the trashcan first.




The horrified grad students scatter as Bruce strikes Sean Davis with the metal trash can only 2 feet from where they are trying to take audio readings. Another swing and a hit creates a big dent in the side of the trash can and obviously staggers the Perfect Storm. Bruce's third strike with the trash can doesn't strike Sean in the head like the previous two but hits his right shoulder instead.




"Why didn't he hit him in the head again?" King ponders.


"Is there usually logic to Bruce's actions?" Annie inquires because she's not used to seeing much in the way of logic from the Ultraviolent champion.


"Well… not that much" King is forced to admit.


With three successful trashcan shots Bruce is able to turn the tide and plant his wide ass in the driver's seat. Bruce throws the trash can down to the ground and then picks the dazed Perfect Storm up with ease and slams him down onto the trashcan flattening it from the impact. Now that Sean Davis is down Bruce can turn his attention back towards the Ultraviolent plunder scattered over the ring mat as he picks his weapon carefully.


"FOREEEEEEEEE!!" The Suicide King yells out as Bruce picks up the golf club and holds it up in the air to show everyone his weapon of choice.


"You are such a suck up King! I bet you'll cheer for Davis the moment he's in charge of the match" Annie says as she's definitely catching on to the way King thinks and acts.


Everyone in the arena are probably expecting Bruce to strike his opponent over the head with the metal club but he swerves them all and strikes Davis in the same shoulder that he hit with the trash can instead. Bruce turns the club sideways and then thrusts the head of the club right into Sean's midsection doubling the challenger over as he tries to catch his breath.


"All he needed was an opening" King says "that's all he needed to show us just why he's the second longest champion ever, he's not just going to roll over and take it"


Sean's position puts him in an extremely precarious position, one which Bruce takes advantage off right away by wrapping his arms around Sean Davis' waist and flipping him up in the air before the Perfect Storm has a chance to block it. Bruce drops Sean back down as he drops to his knees with one raised to add extra damage to Sean's shoulder


"That's 285 pounds of pure muscle he just dropped with a shoulder breaker" Annie says marveling at Bruce's strength that made the move look effortless.


The Ultraviolent champion grabs Sean Davis by the back of the thrunks and then throws him under the bottom rope, rolling him back inside the ring. Bruce crawls in after him and then kicks the Perfect Storm in the shoulder as the big man was trying to get up. Feeling like he's got everything under control Bruce takes a moment to turn to the fans and strut a bit while Sean is on his knees holding his shoulder in pain.


"If there is one thing I learned from my time in the SWF it's that you NEVER ever take your eyes off your opponent" Annie shares with King and the viewers at home.


"Yeah? I thought that it was that you really enjoyed the joint changing room for the female athletes" King replies without thinking about it.


And quite rightly Bruce should NOT have taken his eyes off Sean as the Perfect Storm leaps forward driving his left shoulder into Bruce's mid section as the Ultraviolent champion turns back towards his opponent. The short burst of speed from Sean knocks both Bruce and Davis to the ground with Davis on top in a position to grab the golfclub from where Bruce threw it down earlier in the match. Unlike Bruce Sean aims straight for his opponent's head and swings




The blow is perfect, it strikes Bruce right above the eye and since it was so out of nowhere Bruce isn't even able to put up his hands to block it. Bruce's eyes cross and then the big man plunges backwards onto the mat in a heap.


"This is your chance big man, go Sean go!" King says


"I knew it" Annie mumbles as King proves his predictable self.


Sean wastes no time in reaching over and unbuckling the two leather straps that keep the muzzle in position and then removes the leather muzzle as a smile spreads across his face.


"NOW it's an even playing field! Blank can't just lean back and hope for a cushy title defense – he'll have to earn it the old fashioned way" Annie says with approval.


"Yes but remember that Davis already registered an 81 dB scream so as long as he keeps it below that he'll still walk out of here with the gold.


"Good point"


"FIVE MINUTES DOWN, TEN MINUTES REMAINING IN THE MATCH!!" Funyon informs everyone as the action continues.


"And unlike most other matches this match is guaranteed to go the entire time limit" Annie Eclectic says as the announcement of the deadline is made.


"Yeah thanks to whomever came up with these "House Rules" – I don't know who that was but it's obvious that the guy must have just come home from a night of binge drinking" King says.


Davis grabs Bruce by the hair and drags him un onto his knees even though it looks like Bruce is totally out of it and is only up because Sean Davis is supporting him. The Perfect Storm tries to get Bruce raised enough to get him in a gutwrench position, most likely to land the Cyclone Driver, but Bruce's legs are so rubbery that Davis has to give up the attempt and lets his opponent flop to the canvas face first.


"Either that's the most brilliant counter to the Cyclone Driver or Bruce is out on his feet" Annie says as they observe how Bruce lays on the canvas.


"Oh then it's brilliant, definitely brilliant" King says with enthusiasm.




This time Sean doesn't holler at the fans uncontrollably but just gives them a very rude hand gesture before turning his attention back towards Bruce. Davis stands with one leg on either side of Bruce's prone body and then squats down as he begins to lift Bruce's upper body up into a Full Nelson position.


"Avalanche!! The pain from this move has made many men scream out in pain and he's hoping it will do the same to Bruce" King says as Sean locks his finishing move on Bruce.


But Bruce isn't screaming, in fact he's not doing much of anything other than bleeding from the place where Sean struck him with a golf club and knocked him out only moments ago. Sean sits down all the way on Bruce's spine and pulls his opponent even further back in a move that would no doubt have Bruce shrieking in pain


If he had been conscious that is.


"This is a dead end for Davis, if Bruce isn't awake he can't scream" Annie quite rightly points out to everyone.


"And Bruce could win this by being knocked out for the rest of the match, it's less than 10 minutes and probably closer to 5 minutes and he will retain" King adds to give the audience watching at home the complete picture of the situation right now.


Davis looks at referee Stan Soapdish in frustration and even asks him if he's going to do something about this whole thing. Stan just shrugs his shoulders, what can he do? He's just there to raise the hand of the winner and that's ALL he is allowed to do under the "Fever Pitch" rules. Angrily Davis releases the Avalanche and stomps over to the announcers table where he grabs their pitcher of water.


"Add theft to his criminal record" Annie says.


If Sean Davis had heard that comment he may have been pissed at Annie but as it is he's more focused on the unconscious Bruce Blank. A quick flick of the wrist and the entire pitcher of ice water is dumped on Bruce's face more or less instantly bringing the Ultraviolent champion back to as he sputters and yells out in surprise


"What the hell!!"


dB 75 | | . . 80 . . . . 85 . . . . 90


"77 dB, not bad, not bad at all"


"Yeah but not good either Annie, it's still far from the reading Sean got earlier, he's still in a position where he HAS to do something big to win, Bruce could technically coast for the rest of the match and retain the title"


"He's the kind of guy that'd probably do that too" Annie states and she is right.




The unrelenting chanting of the rowdy crowd gets on Sean's nerves so bad that he looks like he's about to explode as he begins to jaw and argue with fans at ringside. Bruce tries to take advantage of the distraction and thus turn the match around but sadly for him his attempt at sneak attack is foiled by a stiff back elbow from Davis that knocks the big man back into the corner.


"No, no, no Davis! Choking a guy out isn't going to make him scream" King laments as Sean places his boot across Bruce's throat and pushes forwards pushing Bruce half way through the ropes as he tries to cut off Bruce's air.


"Yeah but if he can wear Bruce down with this then he still has plenty of time to make Bruce squeal like a piggy" Annie replies.




That announcement lights a fire under Sean's ass as he knows he has to act pretty quickly if he's to win the title for a 4th time. Davis notices that Bruce's Crimson Tide football jersey has bunched up on him and revealed that he's wearing a heavy leather belt around his waist with a jagged edged belt buckle to the ring. The Perfect Storm isn't slow to figure out a game plan as he reaches down and opens Bruce's belt buckle.


"Oh lord just make sure he keeps those jeans on that's all I can say" Annie says as she really has no desire to see Bruce's dirty underwear.


"Are you that afraid of "it"?" King asks totally misunderstanding Annie Eclectic's reasons for not wanting to see Bruce's pants pulled down.


With one mighty tug Sean Davis pulls the leather belt free from the loops on Bruce's jeans for Sean to use as he sees fit. The Perfect Storm grips the belt tight right below the buckle and then swings the black leather strap in a large arch down over across Bruce's back






dB 75 | | | | 80 | . . . 85 . . . . 90


"EIGHTY ONE DECIBEL!!" King yells out as Bruce's scream is measured.


"He's getting there, he's definitely on the right path here" Annie adds.


Davis isn't sure if the scream is loud enough for not, but just to make sure he whips Bruce across the back once more






dB 75 | | | | 80 | | . . 85 . . . . 90


"Man so damn close with that last" Annie says as the reading hits „82 dB"


"You know I just realized how clever Sean's plan of attack is, he's striking Bruce across the back a back that was severely lacerated on Smarkdown" King says as he catches on to Sean's way of thinking


"When he was power bombed into the big screen TV by Arch Griffon?" Annie asks to confirm what King was referring to.


Davis isn't about to give up on a tactic that seems to work for him and for the third time he brings the belt down in a sharp sudden motion and whips Bruce across the back with enough force to actually tear Bruce's shirt at the point of impact.






dB 75 | | | | 80 | | | . 85 . . . . 90


"EIGHTY THREE!! BRUCE HAS SCREAMED THE LOUDEST" Annie yells out as the measurement is displayed on the TV screen.


"Hold on, 83 dB is exactly the same as Sean Davis did quite accidentally earlier – it's a tie? How can there be a tie?" King asks all confused.


"Well it's not quite over yet King" Annie reminds him and everyone at home.


Sean grabs the other end of the belt with his right hand and then begins to wrap the strap around his fist so that the buckle ends up on the top of his fist making for a deadly weapon. Davis circles around Bruce to get a clear shot at his face, then with a 3 step run up Sean Davis' enhanced fist strikes Bruce on the jaw




The force of the blow knocks Bruce backwards onto his back with his blood staining the metal buckle over Sean's hand. Instead of striking Bruce once more Sean reveals that his vicious streak knows no boundaries as he puts his foot between Bruce's spread legs and pushes down










dB 75 | | | | 80 | | | | 85 . . . . 90


"Holy crap 85 dB? EIGHTY FIVE?? Can that be right?" Annie asks as the reading is displayed


"I can believe it" King says as he winces in pain over Sean's "Nut step" move


"That means that Bruce is the loudest at this point in the match, he'll lose the title if he can't make Sean Davis yell even louder in the few minutes that's left of the match.


"He better hurry the hell up then because we're down to the wire here" King adds throwing a quick glance at the clock


The intense pain from the "Nut step" almost knocks Bruce out but somehow he manages to cling on to his consciousness this time round. Davis has a different idea and wouldn't actually mind if Bruce got knocked out now and for the rest of the match. To that end he runs at Bruce and raises a boot that's aimed right at Bruce's bleeding forehead.


"BRUCE MOVED!!" King says as Bruce slumps backwards so that the kick from Davis sails way over his head.


"Don't be such a liar King, Bruce lucked out here – nothing more"


When Bruce moved out of the way Davis ends up kicking the turnbuckle behind Bruce with quite a bit of force. The fact that he ends up kicking what is essentially a steep bolt is quite evident as Sean drops to the ground and holds his ankle in a massive amount of pain.


"Oh man you hate to see that" Annie says trying to show sympathy even for someone as unsympathetic as Sean Davis.


"It's the same ankle that Spike Jenkin's broke last year, it's an injury that kept him out of the ring for well over half a year" King says sounding more genuinely concerned than Annie.


With Sean Davis on the ground in pain Bruce has a chance to breathe and maybe even shake some of the damage inflicted by Sean Davis. Bruce gingerly rolls under the bottom rope and then walks all bowlegged over to where the weapons are still scattered and picks up the golf club and then throws it into the ring. Then he throws a barbwire bat and a metal folding chair over the top rope into the ring next to Sean as well.




"He needs to do something HUGE and it seems that he's going back to what's brought him to the dance – the weapons" King says as Bruce slides back under the bottom rope.


"Weapons play a huge part in the Hardcore Gamer's division" Annie points out, she was after all a former Hardcore Gamer's champion and thus speaks from experience.


"Ultraviolent Annie, it's called the Ultraviolent division now. If you're going to land the gig you need to get with the program" King says sounding annoyed at Annie's slip up.


"Yeah if it means calling it with you I'm not so sure" Annie says not caring one bit that the Suicide King can hear her.


Bruce opens the folding chair a little and slides it up around Sean's ankle and then lets it rest on the ground in a very precarious position. The Ultraviolent champion just HAS to take a moment to adjust something in his jeans before he stomps on the chair.






Sean writhes in pain, clutching his ankle and probably praying inwardly that his ankle hasn't been re-broken tonight. Bruce extends his thumb and then drags it across his throat to signal for the end.


"Oh come on now!" is all that Annie can think of at that very moment.


"Do it Bruce!! Break his dream!!" King says to encourage Bruce to go for the Running Tombstone.


Bruce manages to lift Sean up on his shoulders in a power slam position, albeit with some trouble due to Sean's weight and Bruce's deteriorated condition. But instead of running forward Bruce just stands there for a moment.


"FOURTEEN MINUTES GONE BY, ONE MINUTE REMAINING!" Time Master F informs everyone bringing the crowd to their feet as the match is in it's closing moments.




Instead of a tombstone Bruce just drops Sean straight onto his stomach.


"Brilliant!!" King beams


"How is that brilliant? I think you're playing with less than a full deck King"


"If Bruce hit the Broken Dream them Sean would be out COLD – and as we saw before if you're unconscious you can't scream." King explains


"I'll be that's why he focused a bit more on the shoulder than the head earlier then, to make sure he didn't knock Sean Davis out" Annie says as 2 and 2 makes 4.


In what looks like a mirror image of earlier in the match Bruce sits down on Sean Davis' back and pulls his arms up into a Camel Clutch position. But instead of locking on a Full Nelson Bruce grabs Sean by both corners of the mouth, forces his fingers inside and then he pulls backwards to stretch Sean's mouth to the max.


"THIRTY SECONDS REMAINING IN THE MATCH! THIRTY SECONDS!!" Funyon claims and since he's holding the watch it must be true.


As Sean isn't screaming Bruce quickly changes tactics and goes to the eyes instead, gouging them from behind as Bruce pulls back on Davis head with his fingers pressed against the Perfect Storm's eyes.




dB 75 | | | . 80 . . . . 85 . . . .90


"Only 78, Bruce needs so much more if he's going to win this thing.


"FIFTEEN SECONDS!!" Funyon booms as Bruce's face displays clear signs of desperation.


The King of Pain quickly reaches out and grabs the barbwire bat that was laying near by and then quickly places it across Sean Davis' chest.


"TEN SECONDS!!" Funyon says as the crowd is on the edge of their seats as the time runs down


"OH MY LORD AND MAKER!!" Annie yells out in horror as Bruce grabs both ends of the barbwire bat and pulls back digging the barbs into Sean Davis' chest immediately drawing blood in several places.




dB 75 | | | | 80 | | | | 85 . . . . 90


"EIGHTY FOUR!!" it comes from Annie




Bruce leans further back on Sean's back pulling on the grip and the top of the barbwire bat digging even more of the sharp points of the barbwire into Sean's skin making him scream or maybe more likely shriek from the excruciating pain Bruce is inflicting on him.






"It's over!! It's over!!" King says sounding exhausted just from calling the match.


"Did we get that last reading?" Annie asks wondering if Bruce's gory Barbwire bat tactics managed to win the match for him or if Sean Davies retained his lead.


The last reading has not been displayed on the TV screens yet and the entire arena waits for Professor Mark Slovak to confirm the measurement and then display it.


dB 75 | | | | 80 | | | | 85 |. . . 90


"EIGHTY DAMN SIX!!" King yells out as he counts the dB "bars"




The result has been displayed on the big screen TVs at Tiger Stadium making it obvious what Funyon was about to inform them off.


"Ladies and gentlemen the winner of the match after getting 86 dB from his opponent and STILL SWF ULTRAVIOLENT CHAMPION BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE "The King of Pain" BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!!!" Funyon announces to make it official.


"That makes 14 successful Ultraviolent title defenses for Bruce Blank!! Is there anyone that can knock him off the mountain?" King says not missing a chance to push a successful heel.


Bruce released the barbwire bat the moment the bell run and then fell to the mat in a heap breathing heavily and holding his groin as it still seems to give him trouble. After he's been announced as the winner Bruce reaches over and runs his left hand across Sean's bloody chest. Then he takes the Ultraviolent title from Stan Soapdish and wipes Davis blood on the faceplate of the barbwire wrapped belt.


"You see this?" Bruce says between breaths as he sits on the apron "Sean Davis blood is on this along with everyone else I've beaten. Just give it up, you can't beat me on my home turf! You can't Beat the Champ!!


And with that Bruce slides off the apron and walks away from the ring, not really looking like a winner right now with blood all over his face and strips of fabric lashed from his shirt. In fact the only thing that would indicate that Bruce actually won anything at all in this brutal encounter is the Ultraviolent title that's dangling from Bruce's hand.


Storm fades to it's final commercial block before the main event, a commercial block that's used to remove the weapons from the ring and ringside and to try and mop up some of the blood from the canvas – so the usual procedure for a Bruce Blank match.

Edited by realitycheck

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Funyon grabs a microphone, and roars loudly, so everyone can hear him. “Ladies and gentleman, your main event for the evening will be a PURE RULES MATCH!” The crowd reacts to this with a huge ovation.


“The rules are as follows. Both wrestlers will be granted three rope breaks. You may use these in any fashion you chose. If you run out of rope breaks, your opponent may use them in any way he wishes. You are granted one closed fist strike. After the first, you will be given a warning. After that, you will lose a rope break. If you lose a ropebreak, and have no more left, you will be disqualified. A title may change hands on Disqualifications” Funyon finishes.


“Simple enough,” Ghost Machine says.


“Err, yeah” King adds.


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



And then *BAM*


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




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


Funyon picks up the microphone, and his baritone voice booms, “Hailing from Hollywood California, weighing in at Two Hundred and Twenty Pounds . . . He is HOLLYWOOD . . . SPIKE JENKIIIIIIINSSSSSSSSSS!”


Spike makes his way completely around the ring and rolls underneath the bottom rope. He continues rolling until he hits dead center in the middle of the ring. Spike rises to one knee and resumes the position he was in at the top of the entranceway. One arm hanging to the ground, the other placed on his knee. Finally, Spike rises to his feet. He quickly peels off the hood, releasing his blonde, dyed hair free. He puts his arms together, forming an “X” across his chest, again promoting his Straight Edge life style.


“And if you save yourself . . . you will make him happy . . .”




Nirvana’s “Sappy” plays through the loud speakers, and out comes Mr. Kobe, shortly followed by Akira Kaibatsu, sporting a title on his waist, and one on his shoulder.


“Akira Kaibatsu’s on quite the winning streak, King. Think it’ll last after tonight?” Annie asks.


“Did you see my March Madness bracket? I’m not making any more predictions.”


Kobe and Akira walk down the aisle, discussing things in Japanese. Kobe is slamming the back of his hand into his palm, driving a point. As Akira rolls into the ring, Funyon begins to call again.


“From Sendai Japan, he is your ES DOUBLE YOU EFF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLD . . . as well as YOUR ES DOUBLE YOU EFF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPION . . . weighing in at one hindred ninety five pounds . . . He is the DIVINE WIND . . . “AKIRA KAIIIBAATSUUUUUUU”


Before the sound of the bell, Akira extends a hand over to Spike. Spike nods, and takes Akira’s hand, and shakes.


“A show of respect from both men,” Annie says.




Spike and Akira circle each other, hopping around the ring. Akira tries to make the first move in the Pure Rules match, diving towards Spike’s legs trying to sweep him to the ground, but Spike swiftly moves out of the way, and Akira gets right back up. Both men draw near the center of the ring to put in a collar and elbow tie up. Akira moves one arm off Spike’s shoulder, over to the other arm, and wrenches it. Spike reverses Kaibatsu’s arm wrench, spinning and wrenching Akira’s arm.


Akira grabs the rope with his left hand, and uses it to back flip, and reverse Spike’s arm wrench. Upon using this maneuver, senior official Ced Ordonez turns over to the time keeper, screaming, holding his index finger up.


Ghost Machine searches through his computer “Rule #1 states clearly that Akira’s last maneuver will result in the loss of one of his three rope breaks.”


“Umm . . . I don’t think Akira intended to do that” Annie says.



King sighs, “Oh what a cruiserweight champion we have. Request a pure match, 15 seconds in one of your rope breaks is gone.”


Akira turns to Ced Ordonez to discuss the situation, saying that doesn’t count as a rope break, in Japanese, which Ced of course does not understand. Spike tries a sneak attack, running at Akira’s back, hooking him for a school boy! Ced is right there for the count!

























NO! Akira rolls backwards . . .


. . . but Spike uses this momentum to put Akira in position for the ratings crash!


“Going for it early!” Annie shouts.


“Spike may end this match early, but his reign will end just as quick, when I crush him!” Ghost Machine says


“Strong words from the #2 contender, folks” King adds.



Akira struggles, hanging upside down. He wiggles around, trying to escape. Akira finally draws up a plan in his head. He grabs at Spike’s left leg, and rolls his body to the side. Spike drops Akira and grabs at his leg, but Akira raises Spike’s leg up high, bringing Spike to the ground. Akira keeps hold of Spike’s leg, and puts in an Ankle Lock!


Instinctively, Spike grabs at the rope right in front of him. Ced Ordonez motions Akira off of Spike, and Ced turns to the time keeper once again.


“It’s taking these guys a while to grasp the pure rules . . .” King says


“Two to Two now” Annie says.


Both men get up. Akira takes a deep breath. Mr. Kobe yells from the outside, something in Japanese, likely reminding him of the rules. Akira nods at his mentor.


Both men gather in the center of the ring, and put on a collar and elbow tie up. Akira forces the hold over into the turnbuckle. Spike spins, and pushes Akira over to the adjacent corner. Akira uses Spike’s momentum to spin the tie up once again, and pushes it over to the next turnbuckle.


Both men keep pushing with the tie up. They eventually push so hard, that they actually fall out of the ring!


“This is quite a brawl, for a pure rules match” Annie says.


Even after falling outside of the ring, both men have their collar and elbow tie up in place! They’re still forcing each other all about the outside, in this tie up.



They struggle on the outside for minutes, until they finally recognize the count being yelled.








“Close call there, King”



“THAT would have been disappointing.”


“The title can change hands on a count out or disqualification, remember” GM adds.


“But a double count out?” Annie asks


Both men slide back into the ring as quick as possible. Both men calm down, breathing, before going on the attack again. They approach each other once again. Akira grabs Spike’s arm, and puts in a hammerlock. Spike spins around, and puts a hammerlock of his own on. Spike slides his hands up Akira’s back, and puts on a side headlock.


Akira tries to fight out of it, shoving Spike’s hands off, but Spike over powers Akira, keeping the headlock applied. Akira grabs a hold of Spike’s arm, and digs his foot into Spike’s knee joint, sending him into the ground, and taking the headlock off. Akira then kicks Spike’s back so that he lies completely face down, and applies a ground hammerlock. Akira takes a short leap, and hits a knee drop on Spike’s arm.


Spike slowly makes his way to his feet, and Akira keeps the hammerlock in. Spike spins around, and once again puts a side headlock on Akira, reversing the hammer lock.


Akira backs up into the ropes, and tries to shove Spike off his head, but Spike just uses the momentum to throw Kaibatsu down with a headlock takedown. Spike immediately grabs at Akira’s arm, and puts in a cross arm breaker!


“Cross arm breaker! It can’t be much longer!” Annie shouts.


Akira feels the pain shooting up his arm, and knows he has to reverse this move. He rolls to his side, decreasing the pressure applied, and catches Spike’s leg with his free arm. He pulls it up for an inverted prawn hold. Spike rolls backwards out of it, and jumps onto Akira’s chest from his knees, for a lateral press. Akira rolls out from under before any count can even be made.


Both men get to their feet. Spike keeps the action fast paced, and attempts a short arm clothesline, but Akira ducks, and puts Jenkins in a full nelson. Spike slips his arms through though, and tries to roll backwards through Akira’s legs. Akira is on his toes, and catches Spike by the legs, in a wheelbarrow. Akira spins Jenkins out to the side, and attempts an inverted powerbomb, but Spike grabs a hold of Akira’s leg, and pushes forward with a roll up! Akira rolls backwards out of it, and both men back away, breathing heavily. The crowd claps, appreciating the great technical wrestling.


King groans, “There’s no strategy here at all. Just moves. Spike, you’ve had a month to prepare. Akira, you requested this match. What have you been doing all this time?!”


“Oh come on, King. These guys are putting on a show!”


Both grapplers approach each other in the center of the ring. Akira offers a Greco-Roman knuckle lock, and Spike takes it. Akira pushes forward, as strong as he can, and forces Spike to the ground. Ced makes a count, but after one Spike pushes his arm up off the mat. Akira uses his leverage advantage to shove Spike’s hand back down to the mat. Spike struggles again to get a hand up before the 3 count, but at two, Spike gets his left hand in the air.


Akira once again pushes Spike’s hand back down, onto the mat. Spike instinctively bridges up, pushing his torso up off the mat to stop the count this time. Akira lifts his knee up, and throws it down at Spike’s gut, sending him down.


Spike uses all his arm strength and pushes both of his arms up off the mat. He kicks his leg up, hitting Akira in the gut. Spike lets go of Akira’s right arm, and grabs his left with both arms. He rolls to the side, and once again puts in a cross arm breaker!


“Spike going for it once again!” Annie shouts.


Akira easily reverses the hold, by wrapping his arm around Spike’s waist. He does the same to Spike’s waist with his free hand, and gets to his feet, with a rear waist lock. Spike rips Akira’s left arm off of his waist, and wrenches it. Akira spins around wrenching Spike’s arm in reversal.


Akira throws Spike to his right for a traditional arm drag. Spike gets right back up, but is met with another arm drag, but this time Akira holds onto is arm.


Akira holds onto Spike’s right arm for a few moments, before Akira pins it to the mat, and continually drives his knee right into it. Akira slams the am right into he ground, and gets up. He then stomps right on it!


“How’s that for strategy, King?” Annie smirks.


Akira makes a quick cover, only for another short one count. Spike rolls away from Akira, grabbing at his arm. Akira quickly picks up Spike, and wraps his right arm around his back for a hammerlock. Spike throws elbows backwards at Akira’s head, and Akira relinquishes the hold. Spike spins around behind Akira. He goes for a Russian Leg Sweep, but puts his knee out, and plants Akira’s back into it!


“Modified backbreaker from Spike,” King says.


Before Akira can fall to the ground Spike warps his arms around Akira’s waist, and puts his head to the side. He flips Akira backwards for a crushing back suplex, and bridges for a pin!









































































“Sooo close there! Almost got him!” Annie shouts.


“So very close there!” King says,


Akira is reeling now, and backs himself up into the ropes. Spike follows right back up, giving Akira a knife edged chop right to the chest. Spike whips Akira into the ropes. Kaibatsu bounces back, and Spike tries a clothesline, but Akira ducks. Spike turns around to face Akira after missing is strike, and is met with a huge Yakuza kick!


Akira walks right over to Spike, and grabs his right arm. Before he can do anything with it though, Spike grabs Akira while he’s bent over, and locks in a rear naked choke!


Spike is choking the life right out of Akira, but he finds the strength to make it to his feet while Spike has it in. Akira runs backwards right into a turnbuckle. Spike lets go of the hold after making impact in the corner. Akira turns around, and lifts Spike up to the top of the turnbuckle. Akira climbs to the top with Spike, but Jenkins elbows him off, sending Akira to the mat. Spike turns around, and plays to the crowd.


“Not the best thing to do . . .” Annie warns.


“Who cares? It’s what he’s good at.” King says.


Akira is extremely quick to his feet. Spike doesn’t quite realize this. Akira runs up the turnbuckle, and jumps. He wraps his feet around Spike’s torso, and flips backwards. Spike jolts back, and lands on his shoulder blades. Akira doesn’t have his legs to support him, and he lands awkwardly as well.


Annie pauses” . . . The hell was that”


Ghost Machine makes some beeping noises. “An Avalanche Japanese Rolling Clutch Bomb”


“Wise guy” King mutters.


“Whatever it was, both men are DOWN” Annie says.


And she’s right. Ced Ordonez has already begun a count.



















“My god, if Akira had just landed right the match would have been over,” Eclectic says.


“Indeed” Ghost Machine adds.





Akira rolls to his side, trying to make his way back to his feet using the turnbuckle.










Akira is almost to his feet. Spike, who hadn’t been doing anything, manages to get to all fours.






Both men are almost up, but not quite.






Both men are finally up to their feet, albeit unstable and groggy. Spike takes a little hop-step to get his balance, and runs an elbow right into Akira. Akira tosses a fore arm right back. Spike returns the favor with a forearm of his own. Akira wont take it without a fight though, and blasts Spike with his elbow. Akira follows up his elbow with a knife edged chop. Spike is determined to stay in the strike war, and rips at Akira’s chest for his own. Spike tries another chop, but Akira catches his arm, and whips him into the ropes. Spike reverses the whip, sending Akira into the ropes however. Akira bounces back, and Spike guts him with a kitchen sink!


Akira lands right on his ass, and Spike runs at the ropes facing Akira. He bounces back, and shoves a knee right into Akira’s face!


“Shining Wizard!” Annie calls.


“A trademark of the Great Muta, of course”


King mumbles under his breath “know it all.”


Spike makes a cover, nonchalantly. Just rolling on top of Akira.






















































































Spike holds his hands over his head, aggravated he didn’t win it there. He picks up Akira by the mask, and throws a quick forearm at him. He whips him into the ropes, and bounces back. Spike ducks to try for a back drop, but Akira kicks him in the face upon meeting Spike. Spike backs up, but quickly attempts a clothesline in compensation for his missed back drop. Akira ducks under it though, and nails Spike with a clip kick!


“Very nice action here,” Annie compliments


King speaks up. “Yes, um. That clip kick was of course modernized, by, uh, Sir Clipton the third.”


“Really?” Annie asks.


“Uh . . . yeah, of course. He later became, um, champion of, uh—“


“PEDGHYER” GM interrupts. “Clipton won the PEDGHYER title on April 23rd 1245”


King grumbles something illegible.


Spike and Akira are both quickly back to their feet, and Spike tries to be the quicker guy, but Akira is poised to use Spike’s momentum to throw him with a powerslam! He holds for the cover!
































“So close there!” Annie shouts.


King stays quiet for a moment.


Akira picks up Spike by the hair, and lifts him up onto his shoulders, for a fireman’s carry. Spike slips through though, and attempts to whip Akira into the ropes. Kaibatsu reverses it though, and whips Spike. Spike bounces off the ropes, and upon greeting Akira, swings behind him, and locks in a sleeper. Akira thinks on his feet though, and drops down to his ass, and hits Spike with a modified Kaibatsu Drop!


“Very interesting sequence,” 2.0 says


“Taking mental notes, eh?” Annie asks.


“Quite literally”


King takes this as an opportunity to speak “Well, Akira has to capitilze after that reversal, he’s only got so many chances.”


Spike is groggy, sitting on one knee, while Akira tries to get to his feet. He eventually does, and throws a European uppercut at Spike from his knees. He throws Spike into the ropes, and Spike bounces back. Akira catches spike, and spins him, going for a tilt-a-whirl, but Spike continues to spin, and comes down with a Satelite Crossface! He moves the arm up though, and changes it to a Strong Island Stretch.


“Woah! I’ve never seen anyone pull of a Satelite Strong Island Stretch. That’s unbelieveable!” Annie shouts.


Spike stretches Akira’s arm and neck back. Akira screams in pain, he may have to use a rope break. Spike continues to pull back, straining the arm and neck muscles. Akira doesn’t want to . . .


But what else can he do?


“Tough decision for Akira here . . .”


“It’s right there, Akira. You’ve got to reach for it . . .” King says.


Spike shifts around, so Akira is facing the closest rope. It’s so tantalizingly close . . . but does Akira want to waste it . . .


Akira gives in, and reaches his free hand out, to grab the rope. Upon grabbing at it, Spike lets go.


“Mission Accomplished with that submission,” GM says.


Spike picks up Akira by the mask, and throws an elbow at him before whipping him into the ropes. Spike tries a short arm clothesline, but Akira ducks under it, and gets behind Spike. He locks a rear waist lock in, and puts his head to the side. He flips Spike back for a back suplex, and Spike hits the mat hard.


“Brdiges for a pin with it!” Annie shouts.













































“Mm hmm,” Ghost Machine nods as he watches this. He makes more beeping noises.


“So very close for Akira!” King says.


Akira picks up Spike by the hair. He tucks Spike’s head under his arm, and flips Spike’s arm over his head, attempting a vertical suplex. Spike reaches his free arm out in front of him. He can’t take another suplex. He needs to block this anyway he can, and it’s worth losing a rope break.


“Ya see, Annie and GM, this is why Spike has never WON any of the Pure Rules matches he’s been in. He makes sacrifices that he just shouldn’t be making.” King informs his announcers.


“Well, whether he should have or shouldn’t have, both men are now down to one rope break a piece.”


Spike then punches Akira’s gut to get free of the front facelock. He runs away from Akira, and bounces off the ropes. He comes charging at Akira with as much velocity as he can pack, and before Akira can even realize what’s happening, Spike is nailing him with a roaring elbow!


Ghost Machine says to himself, “Spike should make the cover . . .”


But Spike doesn’t make the cover. He picks up Akira by the mask. He wraps his arm around Akira’s neck, as if he were going for an STO. But Spike isn’t going for an STO.


Annie remembers the move well, from her JL commentary, “Spike’s busting out the Highlighter!”


King gets excited, “If he hits it, it’s over!”



Spike knows that, so he lifts Akira up in the air with the STO, and slams Akira to the mat with more impact than we’ve seen all match. Akira bounces in the air upon impact, and lies down. Motionless.






“Oh my god,” King says.















































































































































“YESS! THAT’S IT! Spike wins!” King shouts.



“NO!” Annie screams. “Look at Ced!”


Ced Ordonez is screaming at the time keeper. It’s not over!


Ghost Machine beeps and bloops again, “Akira had his foot under the rope.”


“The match may not be over, but Akira is out of rope breaks, which puts Spike at a SERIOUS advantage.” King says.


“This is definitely true, King,” Annie says, “Spike can use the ropes ANY way he wants now. Who knows what Spike could break out!”


Spike is in absolute shock. He’s digging his hands through his hair, screaming at Ced. Spike thought it was over, and so did everyone in Baton Rouge. A frustrated Spike Jenkins lifts Akira by the mask, and throws elbows at him. Each strike stiffer than the last. Akira’s mask now has a gaping hole in it. That hole then changes from the olive color of Akira’s skin, to a crimson red.


“Spike is going absolutely insane with these elbows,” Annie comments.


Spike throws a punch right at Akira’s gash. Ced warns him not to do it again, but Spike just screams and punches more. Spike then throws Spike off of Akira, and points at the time keeper. Spike lost a rope break on the closed fist rule.


“Well, he just can’t do that,” King says.


“Keeping control of yourself is an important part of the Pure Rules match,” Ghost Machine adds.


“This is a great example of that, I think” Annie adds.


After losing his final rope break, Spike finally got the picture to back off, and cool off. He takes a giant breath, and then runs after Akira. He catches Akira’s head while running, and twists in mid air, hitting a giant swinging tornado DDT! Spike picks Akira up right after that, and tries to execute more offense, instead of going for a cover. Spike whips Akira into the ropes. Akira hits the ropes, and bounces back. Spike tries to hit a back drop, but Akira finds the adrenaline to nail Spike in the face with a Yakuza kick!


“That kick just cut Spike’s forehead open like crazy!” Annie yells!


“Spike is bleeding profusely” Ghost Machine says.



The blood from Spike’s forehead is running down his face, and getting everywhere. He catches some drops of blood with his lip, and then licks it off. Spike takes the blood as a spark, and he gets right back up, and stares Akira down.


“My god, who’d of thought a pure title match would have had blood spilling like this? It’s like Bruce’s Ultraviolent challenge!” King screams.


Akira runs at Spike, and knocks him down with a short armed Lariat. Spike gets up right away, and comes back for more. Akira tries a toe kick, but Spike catches Akira’s foot before it hits his gut. Spike spins him around, and Akira tries to use the momentum to hit another big lariat, but Spike ducks under it. Akira turns back around to face Spike, and is met violently with The Last Dance!


Spike decides once again that he shouldn’t go for a cover however. He lifts Akira by his now purple mask, and whips him into the ropes. Akira seems to be acting just on instinct now, and before bouncing off the ropes, takes a small hop, and jumps onto the 2nd rope. He spins in mid-air and nails Spike in the face with the heel of his boot.



“Akira comes right back with a springboard gamenguri!” King screams.


“Man, I hope I get this job. They’re going to pay me to watch this?!” Annie shouts.


Ghost Machine says “Springboard Gamenguri” aloud, and then some beeping noises follow.


Akira doesn’t go for the cover though. Instead he approaches the turnbuckle, and climbs to the top. He takes a deep breath before launching. It’s been an exhausting night.


“Akira’s gonna fly!” Annie shouts.


“This stuff make or breaks matches!” King says.


Akira leaps into the air. At the pinnacle of his flight, the arena becomes a white blur of flashes, filling Kodak rolls with pictures of the Asian cannonball about to land on Spike Jenkins. And when he does land, he lands with impact. Spike’s head and feet both come up off the math, and he lets out a loud scream. Akira has to make the cover!












































































































































“Oh my god, it was so close!” Annie shouts. “Kaibatsu was no more than an inch away from retaining his gold!”


Kaibatsu is not discouraged at his failure to put Spike away. Just driven to do it with another move. So Akira lifts Spike by his hair, dyed maroon courtesy of Akira, and throws a forearm. Akira whips Spike into the turnbuckle. Akira comes running at Spike, and throws his elbow right at Spike face. Jenkins’ face rotates 90º, and spit comes flying out, with a vicious roaring elbow. If Spike didn’t notice Akira’s tattoo before, he knows it’s there now.


“That was absolutely brutal!” King shouts. “Akira packs such a punch behind that elbow!”


“Hey, Spike hit one earlier that nearly knocked the teeth out of Akira! We’ve seen some devastating ones all around in this match!” Annie argues.


“King, you can not pack a punch behind an elbow. Punches are illegal in Pure Rules matches,” Ghost Machine corrects.


Akira climbs over Spike’s head, onto the turnbuckle once again. He grabs Spike’s arms and butterflies them, over his back. Akira screams something in Japanese, so everyone could hear it. He then leaps off the turnbuckle, twisting, and plants Spike on his face, for a Tornado It Came From Sendai!


“My god! Akira hits another huge move! How Spike can continue is beyond me!” Annie shouts.


Akira doesn’t have the strength to make a cover. Both men are lying on the ground, while Ced makes another count out.



















“Oh, god, someone get up! We need a winner!”


Both men, very slowly, make their way to their feet. Akira is on all fours. Spike has one leg up, but is pretty much still on the ground












“Come on, get up!” Annie says.


“Getting a little impatient?” Ghost Machine asks.





Finally, both men are up to their feet. Akira slowly tries to throw a forearm at Spike, but Spike seems to be better prepared for this striking battle, and blocks it with his arm. He then locks Akira under his armpit, and lifts him up in the air. Spike stalls for a moment, taking a breath. He then drops Akira down forward, extending a knee out, dropping Akira’s back right onto it, sending a cracking sound all over the arena in Baton Rouge.


“Oh my god, King! That’s Akira’s move!” Annie shouts.


“The Divine Backbreaker. Well, it’s a really cool movie, I can’t blame Spike for liking it.” King adds.


Akira manages to get back to his ass after taking his own move, but not much after that. He’s just sitting down, groggy and lifeless, taking a beating. Spike sees this as an opportunity though. Spike takes a quick step towards Akira’s back, and throws a kick right there. Akira screams in pain from the shot, and before he can react, there’s another one coming his way again. After another squeal of pain, Akira tries to somehow defend himself, but Spike mixes up his kicks with a huge kick to Akira’s head, sending him back down to the mat.


“Spike has used that combination of kicks in every match I see him, it seems like,” Annie says.


“It’s trademark Spike. He knows his kicks pretty well, and he uses them to the best of his ability,” King says.


Spike sits behind Akira, stalking him, waiting for him to get up. Akira shakes off that last strike to the head that sent him to the ground, and tries to get up. He slowly manages to get to his feet. He isn’t there long though. Spike comes running from behind him. He locks his arms around The Divine Wind’s head, and drops down with a crushing neckbreaker.


“Oh my god, it’s the Phantom Neckbreaker! It’s gotta be over!” Annie says.


“I can’t recall that move ever ending a match, Annie,” Ghost Machine informs.


King sighs. But while King is sighing, Spike is pinning, trying to end this match and become Cruiserweight champion!







































“ahh! It was so close! I don’t know how Spike and Akira can stay in here!” Annie is amazed.


“They’re well conditioned athletes. Spike is now Straight Edge, so he’s got loads more stamina, and Akira’s always been able to take a lot of punishment.” King says.


“Just ask Bruce Blank,” Ghost Machine adds.



Spike lifts Akira by the mask, and throws a forearm his way. He whips Akira into the ropes, and Akira bounces back. Akira isn’t going to let Spike dish out anymore punishment though, and he throws the biggest elbow he can manage at Spike, for another nasty roaring elbow! Spike wont go down though. Not this time. So Spike runs backwards at the ropes, bounces off, and nails Akira with his version of the roaring elbow! Akira wont go down either though!


“Neither men will go down!” Annie is busting a lung here.


Akira bounces back into the ropes once again, and he comes flying at Spike with a lariat. Spike catches the lariat though, in position for an STO. An STO isn’t on Spike’s mind right now though. Spike has Akira right where he wants him for The Minor Threat!


“That could end the match! Spike could win it here!” Annie shouts again


Spike drops down to his knees, and drives Akira’s throat right into Spike’s shoulder. Akira gags in his thick Japanese accent, and upon opening his mouth, we see blood flowing out of there, covering his chin.


“My god! That has to end it!” King hollers.


“Ah! But wait! Spike is still holding on to Akira!”


Spike is still holding onto Akira, still in position for that STO! Spike thrusts forward, of course attempting it. But before Spike can slam Akira’s back into the mat, Akira slips under the grasp of Spike’s arm. Spike was not so fortunate, and he fell right into the ropes, throat first!


“This is an awkward position for Spike . . .” Annie warns. “His throat is hanging on the bottom rope.”


Akira sees the outstanding opportunity here. Spike has no rope breaks left. Akira goes down to Spike’s level, and locks in a ground chicken wing. He then flips over, locking in the Rising Sun, using the ropes as leverage, undoubtedly adding more pressure!


“Oh my god, that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever seen!” Annie shouts!


Akira stretches Spikes arms, pulling them nearly out of their sockets. Leaning off of the side of the ring adds more pressure than Spike can handle!



But he needs to bring the gold back to his team!






“Spike has got one hell of a decision to make here!” Annie shouts.


“There’s no decision. He’s stuck. No ropebreaks. No way out.” King says solemnly.





The flesh is ripping. Spike’s arms are like a shoe string in a game of Tug-o-War with Greek Gods.


It’s too much for him to handle.









Akira lets go of the hold, and slides to the outside of the ring. Spike rolls around in the middle of the ring, grasping at his arms, squealing in pain. Mr. Kobe brings him his titles.






Akira rolls into the ring, and helps Spike to his feet. To the image of Spike and Akira shaking hands, Storm



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Following the commercial break, Wes Davenport is seen walking back down the halls of the Tiger Stadium, dapping at his brow as it drips with sweat. Sure enough though, he soon hits a roadblock…


… In the form of Thomas Flesher.


“Nice little display out there,” Flesher says with a condescending attitude as he steps in front of the Champion. “You may have the fans fooled, believing you’re some champion of the people, or that you even have a shred of talent, but I know differently, and-“


Suddenly, a hand grips around Fleshers throat and throws him against a nearby wall. The chief SWF consultant looks at Wes, readjusting his clothes and brushing himself off, not entirely pleased. “Oh, did I happen to hit a sore spot?”


Davenport steps forward. His trademark smile and mild manner have all but gone as he stares at Flesher, gripping his title tightly. “How about you shut the fuck up?”


This has caught Flesher even further off-guard. “Do you honestly think I’m some helpless moron? Who the hell are you to get in my face?”


The Champion takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself as Flesher stares right back, not giving an inch. “Yeah, I have these fans fooled, and I’ve even had you fooled. Did you really think my coming to the SWF was an accident? If you did, then my performance has been nigh of perfect.”


Wes grins, turning from Flesher and starting down the hall. “Just look at where I am now, Tom. I’m the fucking champion. I knew coming here would help my career, and you helped me achieve this…”





Flesher watches Wes walk away, rubbing his throat with a frown. The consultant, barely wavered, walks away in the opposite direction…

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Hey, it's a show! Some good stuff going on here - I would've liked more promos, but the ones that are here should definitely be read, they're all important.


Card up asap.



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