SWF Smarkdown 4-3-2006

[chirs3 0]

Ben Hardy is lonely and unfortunate, and the two tie into each other. Ben Hardy is unfortunate because he seemingly always, when looking to ambush SWF stars with aggravating questions and thick British accents before the show, picks the hallway that nobody walks down - or maybe they don’t walk down that hall to avoid aggravating questions and thick British accents. Either way, due to Ben’s poor hallway decisions, he is lonely.

 

But then! Footsteps! Ben turns towards the sound hopefully, hearing not one, not two, but THREE sets of feet coming down his hall, and he tidies up his suit with his microphone ready, grinning expectantly…

 

“Ben Jammin’!”

 

…and his face falls slightly as everyone’s favorite Doomtopians come striding down the hall, their Doomstroyer falling in line neatly behind him as Jimmy strides up to the beleaguered Brit with a grin that is slightly hidden by his handlebar moustache.

 

“Knocking of additionals knocked!” beams Jimmy, and Ben’s response to the statement is about what you’d expect from somebody who heard that.

 

“…what?”

 

“Knocking of additionals knocked!” repeats the Doomtopian, and Ben runs the apparent question through his mind a few times before it comes to him.

 

“Oh, OH!” shouts Ben in realization. “Who’s there?”

 

“Punchers,” states Jimmy, still grinning.

 

“Punchers who…?” asks Ben tentatively.

 

*BAM!*

 

And the Doomstroyer lashes out with his fist and slugs him clean in the jaw, the pudgy Englishman dropping like a stone, hearing “Joking of MANY goodlies that of being was, Unethicaled Lois!” before fading into unconsciousness…

[chirs3 0]

The Smartmark's Wrestling Federation Presents...

SWF SMARKDOWN

LIVE, MONDAY, APRIL 3rd, FROM THE SOLD OUT MOBILE CIVIC CENTER IN MOBILE, ALABAMA !

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

 

Guest Commentator: MAK FRANCIS~!

 

MOBILE, ALABAMA! The whitest, the trashiest, the downright dirtiest little patch of the South we could find! It's no wonder, then, that Hometown Hero and Ultraviolent Champion, gets the Main Event billing in a title defense against Amy Stephens!

 

PLUS! Ghost Machine 2.0 cashes in his shot against Akira Kaibatsu, the Cruiserweight Champion who has stumped all-comers so far! Has he got what it takes to put the poltergeist-prototype away?

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 

THE MAIN EVENT - SWF ULTRAVIOLENT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH

House Rules - Crimson Tide Match

Bruce Blank © vs. Amy Stephens

 

---> Drunk and Disorderly, certainly an odd pairing, made quite a showing in the Lethal Lottery. But once the LL was over, Bruce Blank abandoned his partner and hasn't looked back. Amy takes offense to this. She takes offense to a lot of things.

 

In any event, Bruce has welcomed all comers for his Beat the Champ challenge, and Amy is only too happy to accept. It's Drunk vs. Disorderly, for the UV Title, and it's House Rules!

 

Rules: The match begins on the deck of the USS Alabama. Once the match begins, it will leave port and head out to sea. The object of the match is to first bloody your opponent, then toss them over the side into the water. The entire ship is open for brawling, though I have no clue what these ships might contain. If you can't find a better description, just make stuff up, you won't be penalized.

 

-=-=-=-=-

 

SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH

"The Divine Wind" © Akira Kaibatsu vs. Ghost Machine 2.0

 

---> Akira beats Zyon. Akira beats Spike. Ghost beats Spike. Zyon beats Ghost. I'm getting confused. Alls I know is the Cruiserweight Title has become a hot item in recent weeks, with more than a few big names vying for a shot. Tonight, GM2.0 gets a crack at the champ - can you imagine the ramifications if a person... or... thing... like Ghost Machine were to pull out the win? Wildchild would spin in his grave!

 

If he was dead, I mean.

 

He's not.

 

Rules: Standard, with Cruiser addenda. Outside count to 20, no tossing over top ropes, etc.

 

-=-=-=-=-

 

Jay Hawke vs. Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix

 

---> Landon wants ring time? Landon gets ring time! Jay Hawke couldn't quite seal the deal on Lockdown, and I'm betting he's none too pleased about it! La Cucaracha gets a crack at the former #1 Contender - let's see if he can make good on it!

 

Rules: Standard singles match.

 

-=-=-=-=-

 

WACKY CONTENDERSHIP MATCH

Arch Griffon vs. JJ Johnson © vs. Michael Cross

 

---> This is what happens when you book at 3 AM. In chat. After drinking too much soda.

 

Besides, we've got lots of champs, and no one to challenge them! It's time we sorted out who's who, what's what, and... other stuff. Arch Griffon, former International Champion of some note. JJ Johnson, current tag champion and all around jolly fellow. Michael Cross, fresh-ex-champ. All worthy contenders, and that's good, because this match for a whole mess of contenderships.

 

Rules: First fall wins. Depending on who pins whom, different contenderships will be awarded.

 

JJ - Pin either Arch or Cross to win an INT title shot.

Arch - Pin Cross, get an INT shot. Pin JJ, get a tag shot w/ partner of your choice.

Cross - Pin Arch, get an INT shot. Pin JJ, get a tag shot w/ partner of your choice.

 

-=-=-=-=-

 

Sean Davis vs. Kevin Coyote

 

---> A plane ticket snafu kept Coyote from competing on Lockdown, and he's been chomping at the bit for some competition! Peters, always willing to please, has matched him against the eternally angry Sean Davis. FIGHT!

 

Rules: Standard singles match.

 

-=-=-=-=-

 

Christian Fury vs. Manson

 

---> Fury's had a rough show on Lockdown, getting beaten by a girl. Ha ha! A girl! That's hilarious!

 

Anyway, tonight he goes one on one with a man who has enjoyed quite a bit of tag success recently - let's see if he can still bring his singles game.

 

Rules: Standard singles match.

 

-=-=-=-=-

 

Opening Bout

David Cross vs. Stryke

 

---> Two crowd favorites, just wrestling to put on a good show. What's wrong with that? NOTHING.

 

Rules: Standard singles match.

 

-=-=-=-=-

[chirs3 0]

Ben’s eyes flutter open an hour later, realizing that he’s been sprawled on the floor quite awkwardly for quite some time. In a bit of irony, in his bout of unconsciousness he slept right through the moment when nearly every wrestler on the roster came by, stepping over his lifeless frame and chuckling before heading on to the locker room.

 

Grinning sheepishly as various production men come by, staring funnily at him, Ben dusts himself off before looking to his left…and seeing a wrestler making his way up the hall! Overjoyed, Hardy increases the furor of his off-dusting before preparing his microphone for the man in the black suit, black pants, black shirt, and black sunglasses with the black duffle bag over his shoulder comes closer.

 

“Mr. Johnson! JJ!” calls out Ben, and the figure stops, turning to look at him from behind his expensive sunglasses.

 

“Yes?” asks the tag champion, and it is then that Ben Hardy realizes his mistake: he doesn’t have any questions.

 

“Um…you’re…uh…you’re looking swank,” stutters Hardy, and the reporter swears he could see an eyebrow shoot up behind the sunglasses before the Canadian realizes that the question means well, and grins a surprisingly dazzling grin.

 

“Well, of course, Ben,” smirks the Canadian. “Is this not attire befitting a World Champion?”

 

“Well, it is,” admits Ben. “…but, you’re not World Champion.”

 

The Ultimate Fighter laughs; a harsher sound might not exist. “I will be soon, Ben. I will be soon.”

 

“But,” questions Hardy again, and now the Canadian is starting to grow aggravated, “you’re tag team champion, and you’re in line for International contendership later tonight.”

 

“Baby steps,” responds the Canadian before turning his back on the pudgy Englishman and walking away, disappearing down the hall before the interview man can get a word in edgewise. Ben sighs, then hears Lois the Unethical’s voice as well as rapidly approaching footsteps.

 

“No, Doomstroyer, jokes are never funny the second time you-“

 

 

*BAM!*

 

 

 

FADE OUT

[chirs3 0]

Fade out from the commercial for Battleground to the sold out Mobile Civic Center and a jacked up crowd as we hear the booming voice of one Mak Francis coming over your television.

 

“Welcome back to SWF Smarkdown! We got our opening match of the evening as two fan favorites meet up to see who will move up the ladder here in the SWF,” Francis says as the camera continues to sweep the crowd. “Both men have had their struggles in the SWF, but could move into title contention with a win here tonight.”

 

King responds with a snicker, “C'mon Mak. It's Stryke and Cross. Even your old, retired ass could defeat them despite the multitude of injuries and venereal diseases that ya' have.”

“Very funny, King,” responds Franchise as Funyon comes to the ring. “Unlike you, I don't have to avoid most of the Southwest due to paternity suits.”

“Hey, the DNA tests were -”

“Let's go to the ring.”

 

Funyon comes to the ring and begins to speak as the crowd pops for the opening match of the evening. “The following match is set for one fall with a twenty minute time limit. Introducing first...”

 

Cypress Hill’s “How I Could Just Kill A Man” hits, a wall of blue & white pyrotechnics triggering the cheers of the crowd as Stryke steps through the smoke and sparks onto the stage.

 

“...at a weight of two hundred and thirty pounds, from Sydney, Australia. This is STRYYYYYYKE!”

 

Stryke quickly heads down the ramp, slapping a few hands on the way before climbing onto the apron, looking out into the stands for a moment to absorb the adoration of the fans before climbing in and getting straight to business, preparing for the match at hand.

 

“His opponent...”

 

The lights go dim and a slight strobe effect begins as the crowd buzzes a bit.

 

“...he stands six foot five inches tall and weighs in at 269 pounds! Originally from Oil City, Pennsylvania, he now resides in Salem, Oregon, DAAAAAAVID CROSS~!”

 

#DESTROY#

 

'S*kt It Up' by (hed) PE screams over the PA as the crowd cheers for the former 'Fallen Angel.' As the song continues, Cross walks out on an SWF ramp to a pop as he raises his black-gloved fist to the air as he comes to the ring. Cross looks much the same as he did when he last came was in the SWF. Same leather jacket, same black hair, same five o'clock shadow, and the same cross around his neck. He slaps a few hands as he comes down to the ring and rolls in the ring and raises his arms to another loud pop as he begins his pre-match ritual.

 

DING! DING!

 

The two wrestlers circle around each other for a moment, before locking up collar and elbow. Cross gains the early advantage and drops Stryke into a headlock, but Stryke pushes him off into the ropes and does the duck-down. He then attempts a leap frog and the arm drags Cross down to the mat. The native Australian goes for a quick cradle, but Cross kicks out even before the referee can go down to count and takes Stryke down with a drop toe hold. The former Fallen Angel goes for another headlock, but Stryke rolls out of it quickly and slows Cross down with a quick kick to the sternum and takes the Pennsylvanian native down to the mat by hooking into a hammerlock and takes him quickly down to the mat with a slightly modified slam slash hammerlock takedown to a pop from the Mobil crowd!

 

“A bit of a technical back and forth to begin with,” Mak says. “A bit of a surprise from two men who aren't exactly known for their scientific wrestling background.”

“They rolled around and managed to accidently do a couple of wrestling moves,” replies King. “Don't call them the second coming of Jay Hawke quite yet.”

 

After a moment, Cross quickly gets to the ropes causing Stryke to break the hammerlock cleanly. Both men get to their feet and nod at each other for a second before starting on each other. Cross begins first with an elbow to the head, but Stryke responds with a strike right back. The two men then trade elbows at each other for a second, then Stryke actually gains a bit of an advantage with another quick elbow, then side kick to the mush, and a knee to the head knocking Cross silly for a moment. The Sydney native then follows it up with a European uppercut, then another as the crowd goes wild. One more big upper cut and Stryke sends Cross falling down to the mat!

 

“Stryke is really getting a surprising advantage over David Cross here via brawling of all things,” Mak says while Stryke plays to the crowd. “After all, the big man does outweigh Stryke by forty pounds.”

“Stryke does have some talent though,” King replies. “Cross is just an overgrown football player who managed to get dragged to a tag title reign when the tag scene was worse than even it is now.”

 

With Cross on the mat, the Australia native rushes David and nails him right into the chin with a basement dropkick! Stryke then comes off the near rope and goes for a senton on Cross, but the big man gets his knees up as the crowd cheers. David uses the ropes to get back to his feet and immediately drives a quick kick to the gut. He then follows up it was a vicious little knee to the head that sends Stryke's head back and as the crowd pops, he follows it up with a huge CRESCENT KICK sending Stryke flying back to the mat with a crash!

 

“David Cross has just made a huge comeback here in just a few moments,” Franchise says as David now plays to the crowd, raising his fist while the crowd gets mad. “It seems that David was able to capitalize on the small mistake made by Stryke.”

“Hey, I've never claimed Stryke is a world-class talent either,” King says. “This is the opening match after all. Remember that, Mak.”

“Do you even care who wins this match, King? Remember, at one time you were in the opening match.”

“Lies, lies, lies. I don't know what you're talking about Mak.”

 

Cross gets up and stalks Stryke as the Australian manages to get back to his feet, but immediately gets drilled by a jumping bulldog as Cross explodes from behind Stryke. Cross then immediately follows it up by pulling Stryke up, and drilling him with a huge lariat sending Stryke end over end and the smaller man falls flat on his face as the crowd comes alive.

 

“Huge lariat by Cross here,” Mak says. “Stryke has to rethink his strategy here or he will get defeated very quickly here tonight live on Smarkdown.”

“Well, Stryke has to go back to what was working a few minutes ago,” King replies. “Quick hits, and stop getting killed by the guy.”

 

 

While the fans goes nuts, Cross kicks Stryke in the gut and pulls him up into the fireman's carry position as the crowd buzzes. Stryke attempts to block it as Cross tries to keep him in position, but Stryke shifts his weight and falls to the mat and drills Cross with a big DDT as the crowd pops like mad!

 

“What a chance here for Stryke to reverse the momentum by Cross,” Mak says as both men are out on their feet.

 

The current Oregonian gets to his feet, a bit woozy as he rises to his feet. As he does so, Stryke runs and drives his boot into David's skull with a massive jumping enziguri. Cross is out on the mat, dead to the world and Stryke begins to climb to the top as the crowd begins to buzz again. Stryke signals to the crowd and then dives to the mat and lands on Cross with the...

 

“...ALL TIME HIGH!” Francis yells as the crowd goes mad with a big round of cheers for the SWF veteran. Stryke hooks the leg as the referee falls to count the pinfall...

 

 

...ONE...

 

 

...TWO...

 

 

...TH – KICKOUT!

 

“Stryke thought he had the match won,” Mak says as both men lie on the mat for a moment. “However, the former Fallen Angel has showed his spirit tonight in kicking out of several big moves from Stryke.”

“It's not like he kicked out of the Demonstar,” King replies as both men rise to their feet. “It was a frog splash.”

 

Stryke shakes his head for a moment, then bounces off the near rope and gets an audible 'ooh' from the crowd with a double stomp as Cross rolls over on his stomach holding his gut. Stryke pulls up former 'Fallen Angel' and knees him in the gut doubling him over once again and with an impressive display of strength manages to get the nearly two hundred and seventy pound Cross over and on to his back with a gutwrench suplex as the crowd goes nuts. Stryke hooks the leg as the referee goes to count once again...

 

...ONE...

 

 

...TWO...

 

 

...THRE – SHOULDER UP!

 

“What a show of strength from Stryke,” Mak says as Stryke gets back to his feet, catching his breath as he does so. “I bet ya' didn't see that coming from Stryke, did you King”

“Yeah, it was impressive,” replies King. “But he's almost passed out standing up Mak. That's not the right move to be doing at this point in the match. Stick and move. Stick and move.”

 

Stryke then backs into the corner and rushes into the middle of the ring and nails Cross with a big dropkick to the chest sending him into the mat once again! David scrambles back to his feet as quick as he can, but the quicker Stryke leaps up and catches Cross with a big hurricanrana while the crowd shows it approval. As a slightly discombobulated Cross gets to his feet, Stryke grabs in a waistlock from behind and attempts to lift him up, but the larger Cross 'sandbags' the move and Stryke is unable to pick him up! Stryke delivers an elbow to the side of David's head and attempts the move again, but the big man from Oil City blocks it once more. Then, Cross stuns Stryke with an elbow of his own and reversed into a waistlock of his own and then proceded to drop Stryke directly on his head with a huge release German suplex as the crowd goes nuts! Cross hooks the leg and goes for the pinfall...

 

 

...ONE...

 

 

...TWO...

 

 

...THRE – SHOULDER UP!

 

“David Cross just absolutely demolished Stryke with that suplex,” Mak says as Cross rises back to his feet while the crowd continues to go nuts.

“That's what happens when you don't follow my advice,” replies King. “Stryke just got drilled and he's out on dream street somewhere.”

 

The former tag team champion gets back to his feet, a bit shocked but just shrugs his shoulders as he picks Stryke back to his feet and drills him with a big elbow, then hooks him and brings Stryke down to the mat with a big DDT! Stryke struggles back to his feet, only to get nailed as he finally returns to a vertical base with a big boot which sends Stryke into the ropes. The smaller Australian stumbles into a huge snap powerslam that sends the ring and crowd shaking!

 

Cross immediately goes to the top rope as the crowd gets louder and louder as the big man gets to the top rope. Stryke slowly gets to his feet, using the ropes to get back to a full standing but turns around right into a huge top rope clothesline! As the fans buzz again, Cross crouches in the corner and as Stryke gets back to his feet again, a bit punch-drunk. Stryke finally turns around and gets nailed as Cross explodes out of the corner with...

 

“...ROARING ELBOW BY CROSS!” Mak cries as the crowd comes to the feet, applauding the move.

“Well, David Cross is just a huge guy. So, that sort of elbow strike will be impressive from a guy like say, Hawke but Cross just runs him over with that sort of move. Now that I actually believe Cross is any good. A roaring elbow from a gorilla would hurt too, doesn't mean the monkey has any skill.”

 

The former Fallen Angel locks Stryke around his waist and as the crowd continues his cheer, Cross sends him up and over with a big overhead belly-to-belly suplex that sends the 230 pounder crashing to the mat. The big man then hooks him up in a gutwrench and pulls him up and drops him in a big gutwrench suplex that sends both men sending him to the mat with a crash. Cross then raises a fist to the crowd, kicks Stryke in the mush and pulled him up in the fireman's carry position and drops into a huge brainbuster, otherwise known as the...

 

“...CROSS TO BEAR!” Mak cries as the crowd comes alive. The big man doesn't even bother going for the pinfall, picking Stryke right back up. He signals to the crowd once more and as Stryke stumbles around before walking into the double choke as the crowd rises to its feet as one once again as Cross pulls Stryke up, raising him to the sky. Then after a moment, he comes crashing down into the...

 

“...INFINITE JUSTICE!” Mak screams as Cross immediately falls to the mat and hooks the leg while the crowd counts along...

 

 

...ONE...

 

 

...TWO...

 

 

...THREE!

 

DING! DING!

 

“The winner of the match by pinfall....DAAAAAAVID CROSS~!” Funyon says as Cross goes to the corner, raising his fists to the crowd. Then, the big man helps Stryke to his feet and shakes his hand as the crowd applauds the manuever.

 

“David Cross with the impressive victory tonight,” Mak says. “We'll be right back right after these words from our sponsors.”

[chirs3 0]

“Hollywood” Spike Jenkins steps over the fallen body of Ben Hardy and makes his way down the hallway. Supporting an EVIL smirk and a black “7 Angels 7 Plagues” hooded sweatshirt, the Hollywood Superstar continues on his way…before stumbling into Michael Isawa!

 

“SAWWIE! SO SAWWIE!”

 

“Who the hell are you?”

 

“MAH NAME IZ MICHAAL ISAWA! FROM FLORIDAH!”

 

“What the hell are you doing here?”

 

“I DON’T KNO! THEY JUST GIVE YOU MICRAHPHONE A TELLS MICHAAL ISAWA TO INTERVIAHH!”

 

“I guess you’re here to interview me,” questions the Straight Edger.

 

“NO! HERE TO INTERVIAHH MICHAAL ISAWA!”

 

“……..”

 

“…….FLORIDAHH!”

 

“Let me guess,” the New Straight Edge Sensation starts off, “You, like the rest of the world, want to know why I attacked Zyon? Why I picked up that pipe and bashed his skull in? Is that it?”

 

“LETS GO AMERICAN BASEBALLAH!”

 

“Well, I’ll tell you why. It is really simple, you see. Zyon was trying to leech off of my name to give his career the boost it needed. Without Spike Jenkins, Zyon would still be in the under card, opening shows up in Ash’s backyard.”

 

“YES!”

 

“And when Zyon said he had a huge announcement, something that was bigger than me entering myself as Number One into the Clusterfuck? I knew he was planning on doing something to try and upstage me once again. Only he can be so selfish and try and steal the spotlight away from me.”

 

“SPOT LIGHTAHHH!”

 

“Let’s get one thing straight. Spike Jenkins isn’t selfish like Zyon is. Spike Jenkins doesn’t need the spotlight. The spotlight needs Spike Jenkins. When I saw Zyon was going to try and make me look like a fool once again, after he lost us the Tag Team Titles, after he eliminated me from out of nowhere at the Clusterfuck, from all the title matches I lost with him on my side, I knew I had to do something. I knew it was time for a change…and that change came with a steel pipe to the side of the head. Was it brutal? Yes. Was it deserved? YES!”

 

“YOU HIT YOUR FRIEND WIT A PIPPPPAH? EVVVVVVVIL~!”

 

“What are you trying to say,” Spike asks, he begins to ask nervously, “Are you trying to say that after the attack on Zyon, you think he is going to come back for vengeance? You think he is going to come back to do the same, if not more to me? You think that, don’t you? Everyone does!”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Yeah, I understand now. I know what I have to do. I have to send a message to Zyon. To stay out of my way. Tonight, I will send that message. Tonight, everyone will know not to get in my way. And if they do…if Zyon does…I’ll kill them…I’ll kill him before he kills me…”

 

Jenkins quietly storms off, leaving Michael Isawa standing alone, looking down at Ben Hardy.

 

“OUCH HA HA HA HA!”

[chirs3 0]

Smarkdown returns to the Mobile Civic Center, as the lights flare up and Mastodon’s “Crusher Destroyer” blasts from the speakers. Accompanying strobes flashing in time with the music and the immediate boos of the fans herald Manson, who walks out with his newly won Tag Team Title around his waist.

 

“Storm is back and we’re ready for Christian Fury versus Manson, who can now add tag champion to his resume as of Lockdown after he and Johnson defeated the Asian Underground,” states Mak Francis.

 

“It was a great victory for JJ and Manson, who made good on his title shot after being unable do the same with Jimmy the Doom. He’s been on a roll and I don’t see the outcome being any different here.”

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” booms Funyon, “the following is scheduled for one fall! First, hailing from Denver, Colorado, weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds, he is one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions...MMAAANNNSONNN!!”

 

Approaching the ring, Manson slides in and stands, unhooking the belt from his waist and holding it up for the crowd to see. As the jeers from the ravenous fans subside, he heads to his corner and lays it on the apron. Kivell goes through his pre-match routine with Manson, when the house lights dim and "Remember The Name" by Fort Minor hits. Fury walks out, kendo stick in hand, white pyro firing off on either side of the stage, and he begins down the ramp.

 

“And from Cleveland, Ohio, weighing in at two hundred and twenty-two pounds... CHRISTIAAAN FUUUUURY!”

 

Fury props up the kendo stick against the stairs and post and slides in, keeping a close eye on Manson as he does so. Kivell then checks him for hidden weaponry and satisfied, he calls for the bell.

 

::DING DING!

 

Manson crookedly grins as he moves against Fury, the two circling the ring before engaging in a customary lock-up. Suddenly, Fury backs away, frightened for his very life, as Manson’s eyes begin to glow red. He backs into a corner, pleading to be spared, but Manson has none of it, as he begins collecting energy into the palms of his hands. Fury tries scrambling out of the ring, but it’s too late, as he fires a blast...

 

“HAAAA-DOOO-KENNNNN!“

 

And burns a hole straight through him, Fury’s charred corpse falling to the ground, as Kivell calls for the bell!

 

“MANSONOSITY STRIKES AGAIN!” King shouts.

 

::DING DING!

 

“Your winner, by Mansonality... MMMAAAANNNSOONNN!”

 

“Wait, Mansonosity?!” questions Mak. “I'm unfamiliar. When did he gain these awesome, fear inducing powers? I don’t get it.”

 

“Yeah... Neither do I, but you better celebrate before the killing intent consumes us all.”

 

Manson stands in the middle of the ring, in awe of himself, as Fury’s lifeless body is carried away and we go to commercial.

Edited April 5, 2006 by chirs3

[chirs3 0]

"Welcome back to Smarkdown!" hollers the SWF's play by play announcer du jour, sitting with Suicide King at the commentary table. "We're here live at the sold out Mobile Civic Center in Mobile, Alabama! I am joined by the Suicide King, ladies and gentlemen, and in case you missed it, I am the Franchise! MAK FRANCIS!"

 

"Good God," mutters Suicide King. "How long do I have to deal with this rotating announcer nonsense? Mak Francis, Annie, CIA... who's next? Stone Froze Jack Houston? Rane? God forbid, Chris Raynor?" King thinks on it a moment. "Come to think about it, Raynor wouldn't be a bad choice..."

 

"Anyway, we've got a great show tonight," says Mak, "and we've only just begun! Coming up next, Kevin Coyote takes on Sean Davis in singles action."

 

"Both these guys have struggled in recent weeks," says King, "and a win tonight should help to turn things around for one of them."

 

"I'm Alive" by Disturbed begins playing over the sound system and a series of white flashing lights illuminate the stage. Kevin Coyote emerges onto the stage with his manager and girlfriend, Avery Duciel. Kevin wears a blue jean jacket over a black SWF T-shirt that reads "Turn Up the Volume." Avery is dressed in a red business suit with a short skirt, a black inner top and fishnets, and red heels. The pair get a negative reaction from the Mobile audience, though Avery does get a few whistles from the male fans.

 

Inside the ring, Funyon is ready to announce the competitors. "The following contest is scheduled for ONE fall! Introducing first, being accompanied to the ring by Avery Duciel, from Brunswick, Georiga, weighing in at 225 pounds... KEVIN COYOTE!"

 

"Here comes Kevin Coyote," says Mak Francis, "who defeated his father and ended his career at From the Fire, with help from his new manager Avery Duciel. However, he has been winless since that show."

 

Coyote and Avery head down the ramp, and Coyote takes off his jacket and hands it to Avery before entering the ring. Avery blows Coyote a kiss as he watches the stage, intently awaiting his opponent.

 

A warning siren echoes through the arena, accompanied by rumbling thunder. "Battle Ready" by Otep hits the speakers as a white pyrotechnic display streaks down from the ceiling, followed by red and gold blasts coming up from the stage. Sean Davis, clad in dark blue wrestling tights with a lightning design on the leg, steps onto the stage and begins walking down the ramp, ignoring the booing from the audience.

 

"And his opponent," says Funyon, "from Jacksonville, Florida, weighing in at 285 pounds... he is the Perfect Storm... SEAN DAVIS!"

 

"Sean Davis," explains Mak, "returned last month as a last-minute replacement for Mistress Sarah in the Lethal Lottery tournament. Sarah had just returned herself, but was knocked out of the tournament due to injury."

 

Sean Davis very quickly gets down the ramp, not willing to interact with the audience at all. He climbs into the ring and prepares to face his opponent.

 

"King, neither of these guys are what you would call fan favorites," says Mak. "Who do you like in this match, and who do you see the audience getting behind?"

 

"I see the audience getting behind an announcer with a little more experience," deadpans King. "And you aren't it."

 

Davis and Coyote square off as Funyon signals for the bell to start the match, then quickly exits the ring, leaving the two grapplers alone with referee Sexton Hardcastle.

 

DING DING DING!

 

"In all seriousness," King continues. "I think Coyote is going to get the audience behind him for two reasons: first, he has more charisma than Davis by far; and second, he's got Avery Duciel in his corner, and the fans can't help cheering on a diva."

 

In the ring, the match gets underway, as Davis strikes hard, with a pair of stiff punches to Coyote's upper body. Coyote backs away to get his bearings. At ringside, Avery claps her hands a few times, trying to boost Coyote's morale.

 

"From your tone, I'm going to assume that you disagree with the fans?" asks Mak.

 

"I'm going with Sean Davis," assures King. "Based on sheer physical size and strength, I don't think Coyote has a chance."

 

Davis grabs Coyote by the wrists, and using his superior strength, lifts Coyote over his head, dropping him to the mat in a release German suplex. Coyote quickly gets to his feet, but Davis rams him with a headbutt, knocking Coyote to the side, where he fortunately maintains his balance.

 

"Davis does have the physical advantage, no doubt," says Mak, "and Coyote cannot rely on a power-based offense if he is to have any chance of winning this match."

 

Coyote charges at Davis, striking across Davis's side with an elbow smash. Trying to pick up the match's tempo, Coyote leaps into the air, attacking Davis with a dropkick that shakes Davis off balance, but not by much. Coyote lands on his feet and immediately leaps again, using his momentum to follow up with a spinning wheel kick across Davis's midsection. This time Coyote manages to knock Davis over, but Coyote tumbles to the mat as well, turning his fall into a roll and hopping back up.

 

"Looks like Coyote is trying to outpace his opponent," says Mak, "hoping to tire Davis out."

 

"That may work for awhile," replies King, "but one lucky punch from Davis could halt Coyote's speed - permanently."

 

Coyote waits just a moment as his opponent rises, then charges Davis, toppling the larger man with a spear. Coyote doesn't hesitate in rolling Davis back onto his shoulders for a cover, the first pinfall attempt of the match. Referee Sexton Hardcastle gets down on the mat to make the count.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

It is a quick two count, fitting given the pacing Coyote has given the match, but just as quickly, Davis is able to power out of the cover, shoving Coyote out of his way as he gets to his feet. Coyote is quickly up as well, and he pours it on, trying to keep up his quickened pace to tire Davis. Coyote goes after Davis with a left hand upper body punch, but Davis catches Coyote's left wrist, forces it into a wristlock, then shoves Coyote's arm downward by the shoulder, locking in a reverse armbar submission. Coyote cries out in pain as his high octane attack is quickly reversed into a sinister submission maneuver.

 

"I take it back," says King. "Maybe an unlucky punch from Coyote is what will halt Coyote's speed!"

 

Davis keeps the pressure on Coyote's wrist as Coyote stomps his feet on the mat, trying to work up some sort of momentum to get an advantage and get out of the submission. Davis increases his pressure, exerting more of his impressive strength, and holding Coyote firmly in place under the armbar.

 

From outside the ring, Avery Duciel reaches her hand in underneath the bottom of the rope, snakes her fingers around the heel of Davis's boot, and shakes his foot as hard as she can. The effort doesn't throw off Davis's balance, but it is just enough to break his concentration long enough for Coyote to wriggle out of the submission hold. Davis glances back at Avery, a flash of anger readable in his expression for just a moment, but Avery quickly steps away from the ring. The damage is done as Coyote uses the distraction, charging at Davis and connecting with an elbow smash. Coyote immediately leaps into the air, getting his legs up high enough to wrap around Davis's upper body and pulling Davis down to the mat in a modified headscissor takedown that didn't quite reach Davis's head with the Perfect Storm's height differential. Coyote runs to the corner, quickly hopping up on the second rope, turning around, and jumping into the air, dropping a leg across Davis's body.

 

"Great second rope leg drop from Kevin Coyote," says Mak, "as he continues to use his speed as his most important advantage."

 

"Not to mention a little well timed interference from Avery Duciel," adds King.

 

Coyote hooks Davis's leg for a cover attempt, and Sexton Hardcastle is ready with the count.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

NO! Davis kicks out in time, and Coyote gets back up, frustrated but again ready to take to the air.

 

"What can you tell us about Avery, King?" asks Mak. "Have you heard any kind of scouting report on her?"

 

"Surprisingly little, actually," answers King, "though she spent a little time on the indy circuit in Georgia, presumably where she met Kevin Coyote. There are also rumors that she may actually be able to hold her own in the SWF as an active wrestler should she decide to go that route."

 

Coyote runs toward Davis, trying to catch him off guard before he can get to his feet, diving down into a Rolling Thunder that ends badly as Davis knees Coyote in the gut, causing Coyote to spill over onto the mat, the wind knocked out of him. Davis returns to his feet as Coyote struggles to catch his breath.

 

"So we could have another Mistress Sarah or Annie Eclectic on our hands?" asks Mak.

 

"Perhaps," answers King, "though I would only call either of them moderately successful at best."

 

Coyote starts to get up but Davis is ready for him this time. Davis, in a stunning show of force, grabs Coyote by the neck, placing his other hand on Coyote's back, and lifts him off the mat, hitting a quick yet devastating chokeslam that shakes the canvas.

 

"I really like her entrance, though," says Mak, "where she lit her own pyro? Inspired genius, I think. What do you think?"

 

"You know something, Francis?" says King. "You talk way too damn much."

 

Coyote is stunned on the mat, and Davis is ready with a cover attempt.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

TH-- NO! Coyote just manages to kick out from Davis's chokeslam, rolling out of the way as Davis gets to his feet to inflict more damage. Coyote tries to fend Davis off, but to no avail as Davis wraps Coyote up in a full nelson hold and slams him to the mat in an atomic drop. Coyote appears insensate as Davis goes for another cover.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- NO! Coyote just manages to get his shoulders up, though he looks a little groggy in the ring. Davis lifts Coyote up off the canvas, then executes another stiff punch to Coyote's upper body, staggering Coyote back. Davis follows that up by picking Coyote clear up off the floor, lifting him over his head in a military press slam. Davis does a quick press in the air before slamming Coyote hard into the mat. Davis then follows up by dropping an elbow atop the fallen Coyote, then covering for a pinfall attempt.

 

"What a powerful combination of moves by Sean Davis!" hollers Mak Francis. "This could be it right here!"

 

Sexton Hardcastle quickly makes the count.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- NO! At the last instant, Avery Duciel reaches into the ring and grabs Coyote's legs, yanking hard and pulling him out of harm's way -- and clear out of the ring, as Coyote lands on his feet at Avery's side.

 

"The Firebug makes the save for Coyote again," says Mak.

 

"Firebug?" asks King as he rolls his eyes. "Where the hell did you get that nickname?"

 

"I heard it backstage somewhere," replies Mak.

 

Coyote staggers off away from the ring, toward the timekeeper's table. Sean Davis rolls out of the ring, intent on catching up to Coyote and getting him back inside the ring, but Sean quickly finds his route blocked by Avery, who stands in front of him, shaking her head. Davis tries to push past Avery, but she responds by slapping him hard across the face. Davis blinks in surprise, but does not react with violence.

 

"Sean Davis won't hit a woman," says Mak. "Ever!"

 

"How the hell do you know that?" asks King.

 

"Somebody just told me to say it over my earpiece... I mean, er, months of study and scouting, King!"

 

Davis solves his dilemma by calmly lifting Avery clear off the floor and setting her atop the ring apron, out of his way. Avery looks mortified, but Davis ignores her, again going after Coyote, who has retrieved his jean jacket and appears to be searching its pockets for something.

 

"Well, we've seen this before," says King. "Coyote is going for his brass knuckles."

 

"Unless... you don't suppose he's going for his phone?" asks Mak.

 

Sure enough, Coyote pulls the brass knuckles out of his jacket pocket, but doesn't get a chance to slip them on, as a sudden kick from Sean Davis knocks the weapon out of his hand, and Coyote watches helplessly as it skitters across the floor.

 

"Well, so much for that idea," says Mak.

 

Davis grabs Coyote by the shoulders and pulls him violently back toward the ring. This time, as they approach, Avery steers clear, hopping down off the ring apron and backing away from the two competitors. Davis tosses Coyote back into the ring underneath the bottom rope and then climbs into the ring himself. As both men get to their feet, Davis grabs Coyote again, whipping him off to the ropes for momentum. Coyote bounces off the ropes in the Irish whip, then runs back toward Davis, who lifts Coyote into the air for the beginnings of a high angle powerbomb. As Davis releases Coyote behind his head, Coyote manages to roll backward and land, albeit a bit awkwardly, on his feet. Now standing behind Davis, Coyote runs toward his opponent and leaps into the air, wrapping his arms around Davis's head and dragging Davis down to the mat with the RKO.

 

Coyote gets back up and surveys his opponent. Davis appears to be down for the count, but Coyote doesn't want to underestimate Davis. Instead of going for a pinfall, Coyote runs for the ropes, leaping into the air, planting his feet on the second rope, and then somersaulting backward to complete a lionsault, landing perfectly atop Davis!

 

"Full Moon Assault!" hollers Mak. "Beautifully performed by Kevin Coyote."

 

Coyote hooks Davis's leg for a cover, and Sexton is once again ready with the count.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

Funyon announces the end result of the match. "Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, KEVIN COYOTE!"

 

"I'm Alive" begins playing again as Sexton Hardcastle raises Coyote's arm in victory. Avery Duciel quickly joins Coyote in the center of the ring, quickly planting a kiss before raising Coyote's other arm.

 

"Well, Coyote picks up a surprise win tonight against Sean Davis," says Suicide King. "Coming up next, we've got--"

 

"Wait a minute," says Mak. "What the hell is Avery doing now?"

 

Avery suddenly stands over Davis, reaching into her cleavage and pulling out a Zippo lighter. Without any warning, she flicks the lighter on, holding it over Davis's form with a maniacal grin across her face.

 

"Good Lord!" cries Mak. "She's psychotic! She's going to light Sean Davis on fire!"

 

Sean Davis starts to come around, just in time to see the lighter coming toward him. He very quickly rolls out of the ring before Avery has a chance to do any damage, but Avery doesn't seem to mind. She instead holds the lighter over her head, cackling as she stares at its small flame.

 

"O-kaaay," says King. "So we have something of a pyromaniac on our hands. Could be good for business."

 

"Well, despite his... unusual manager, Kevin Coyote picks up the big win here tonight on Smarkdown against Sean Davis." Mak pauses to catch his breath. "Coming up next, a big triple threat match featuring Arch Griffon, JJ Johnson, and Michael Cross!"

 

"And later," says King, "the Cruiserweight Championship will be on the line, as well as the Ultraviolent Championship in our main event! Don't go away, we'll be right back!"

 

The camera fades out as Smarkdown goes to break.

Edited April 4, 2006 by Justice

[chirs3 0]

“Whoever appeals to the law against his fellow man is either a fool or a coward. Whoever cannot take care of themselves without that law is both. For a wounded man shall say to his assailant, ‘If I live, I will kill you. If I die, you are forgiven.’

 

“Such is the rule of honour.”

 

 

And with that, Lamb of God’s “Omerta” begins chugging it’s way out of the speakers, the Mobile crowd rising to it’s feet to welcome Suicide Machine’ Michael Cross into the arena, going insane as the former tag champ strides into view!

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a TRIPLE THREAT MATCH!” booms Funyon gleefully over the screeching of Randy Blythe, “AND IT IS FOR NUMBER ONE CONTENDERSHIP TO EITHER THE INTERNATIONAL OF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS! Here are the rules: should JJ Johnson gain the deciding fall, be it on Arch Griffon or Michael Cross, he receives International Title contendership. If Cross or Arch pin each other, they will receive International Title contendership; should either pin JJ, they will receive tag contendership with the partner of their choosing. With that explained, introducing FIRST, from Detroit, Michigan, weighing in at 223 pounds…MICHAEL! CRROOOOSSS!!”

 

Cross rolls into the ring before warming up in the corner, steeling himself for his chance to win more gold, as well as preparing himself for the man who took his previous gold away.

 

“We don’t pay Funyon enough, King,” notes Mak, drawing an under-his-breath-but-still-noticeable “damn straight” from the stylish salted snack treat in the ring…but that’s all he gets time for, as Unearth’s “Bloodlust of the Human Condition” plays around the arena, sending the fans into a frenzy of mixed reactions. Some boo, some cheer.

 

“And his opponent!” bellows Funyon. “From Des Moines, Iowa, weighing 310 pounds…ARCH! GRRRRIIIIIFFOONN!!!”

 

The arena goes dark as the song starts up. It slowly fades to black, but right before it goes to black, the song kicks into gear, sending out some white pyro, that temporarily blinds the fans. Out of the pyro comes Arch, power walking out to the ring.

 

“And here’s Arch Griffon,” notes the Franchise, “who is notable for being the first man to beat Jay Hawke for the International Title, cutting his reign short at around 30 days. Jay would win it back a few weeks later at 13th Hour, and that would set off the monstrous reign we saw end at From the Fire.

 

Arch doesn’t acknowledge the fans, only the job that must be done. Once he gets to the ring, he does some stretches to warm up for his upcoming match, hardly acknowledging the Suicide Machine…and then the lights drop out.

 

Ding…

 

The lights begin flashing red and white as Mastodon’s “Blood & Thunder” begins it’s initial groove out of the speakers, the stretching riffs and slick fretwork almost a calm…

 

*BANG!*

 

 

…before the storm that is the seizure-inducing lights and crunching distortion as the song kicks into full gear, smoke billowing out of the entranceway as Johnson breaks the surface of the fog, tag team championship belt slung over his shoulder.

 

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

 

As the chorus to the song rings out over the Mobile Civic Center, Johnson continues his steady march to the ring, hardly paying any of the jeering fans he passes any mind; in the ring, Cross scowls.

 

“And their opponent,” says Funyon, “from Windsor, Ontario, Canada, weighing 223 pounds…he is ONE HALF of the SWF Tag Team Champions…J! J! JOHNSON!”

 

What remorseless emperor commands me

I no longer govern my soul

 

Johnson jogs up the steps as he locks eyes with the Suicide Machine, already discarding his jacket and belt to the outside with remarkably little care before stepping into the ring, wisely passing on his second rope theatrics in the event of an assault from the Detroit native.

 

I am completely immersed in darkness

As I turn my body away from the sun

 

 

DING DING DI-*CRACK!*

 

And before the opening bell even finishes, Cross has charged across the ring, throwing a flurry of punches that catches Johnson at various points on his upper body, the tag champion trying feebly to cover up! It is no use, however, as the Suicide Machine already has a sufficient rhythm going, rocking the Canadian with lefts and rights and rights and lefts and hooks and crosses and every other punch you can think of, Arch Griffon almost bemused as he watches the unexpected massacre. Desperate for an opening, the Ultimate Fighter acts on instinct and does what he does best, sending an elbow slashing upward through the hail of pugilism that connects-

 

*CRACK!*

 

-knocking Cross off his rhythm only momentarily, which is still enough for Johnson to take advantage of the Michigander’s bad legs with a snapping kick to the hamstring!

 

*SMACK!*

 

Cross’ right leg almost buckles behind the force of the blow, but the Suicide Machine stays on his feet.

 

*SMACK!*

 

…Which prompts another snapping kick, Cross almost wishing he’d gone down the first time as the muscles in his leg begin to tighten up involuntarily, both causing a dreadful ache and applying pressure to his knee.

 

*SMACK!*

 

…Not that Johnson cares, simply burying his shin into the crook of Cross’ leg yet another time, almost causing the Suicide Machine to collapse; it is not to be, however, as Cross still stands.

 

*SMACK!*

 

…An inconvenience that is soon remedied as Johnson draws back his leg extra far and brings it forward with unheard-of force, not just delivering a brutal kick to the leg but taking the former tag champion clean off his feet, Cross landing flat on his back before bouncing up to a seated position!

 

*CRACK!!*

 

…And it is that position that Johnson takes even further advantage of by burying the toe of his boot into the spine of the Suicide Machine with a brutal cowboy kick! The Michigander lets out a low moan, almost at the same pitch of the boos from the crowd as Johnson finishes off the combo with a quick kick to the chest that puts Cross on his back once more.

 

“Impressive!” admits Mak. “I was only in the fed with Johnson for about two months, but I can see he can still cut you down to size with those brutal strikes, especially if you have an in jury or a weakness that he can take advantage of. Truly the picture of effici-AND HERE COMES ARCH GRIFFON!!”

 

Here he comes indeed, the 300-pounder charging across the ring before slamming his shoulder into the Canadian, the massive shoulder block sending the Ultimate Fighter careening backwards and into the corner, his head whiplashing off of the turnbuckles and causing even the indomitable Johnson to pause for a moment. Knowing his window of opportunity is closing, Arch takes a few steps back before charging back into the corner, lashing out his leg for a Yakuza Kick!

 

*THWOCK!*

*CRACK!*

 

Unfortunately for Griffon, by the time he gets to Johnson his window of opportunity has already closed, and the Canadian merely catches the Yakuza Kick over his shoulder before burying the point of his elbow into the jaw of the Iowan! Arch would stagger, but Johnson has him caught rather well, and the Canadian wastes no time in hooking Griffon to attempt a capture Exploder!

 

“This is a dangerous move for both men, Mak,” notes King, “because Arch is so heavy that Johnson could hurt his back trying to lift him, but if he DOES lift him, Arch is going to come down very high on his head.”

 

Turns out it’s a moot point regardless, as Cross slides in and hooks Arch up before rolling him over with a school boy, the momentum taking Johnson over Griffon’s stacked body, the Canadian using the situation to his advantage as he bridges up to cover the Iowan with a jackknife pin! Referee Nick Soapdish drops to count…and then stops.

 

“Hey!” shouts Soapdish, drawing the attention of both Cross and Johnson as Arch flails helplessly under the combined weight of two men. “No, none of this! Only one of you can win!”

 

It takes a moment for both to register the words, but upon doing so Johnson swings his leg up, driving it right into Cross’ face and knocking him off of the pin! With that done, Soapdish merely shrugs his shoulders before dropping to the mat and counting

 

 

ONE!

 

 

But Cross bounces right back, crushing Johnson’s sternum with a powerful forearm that is more than enough to break up the pin.

 

Unfortunately for Cross, Johnson releasing his hold on Arch’s leg means that it goes slinging back from its former position, which means that for the second time in as many seconds, a boot flies quite heavily into the face of the Suicide Machine, sending the Michigander rolling out onto the apron to recuperate! Johnson, on the other hand, kips to his feet to a good amount of jeers before turning and slinging his arm around…

 

 

*CRACK!!*

 

…and crushing his elbow into Arch’s skull with a bionic elbow smash, sending Griffon into convulsions!

 

“Brutal elbow!” shouts King.

 

“That could fracture your skull, King,” agrees Mak.

 

Springing back to his feet with ease, Johnson pauses a moment before taking a page out of his tag partner’s book, planting a thumb on a nostril before exhaling hard, the snot rocket sailing directly to it’s point of impact – Arch’s face. That done, the Canadian brushes aside the jeers as he strides to the adjacent corner.

 

“Pure disrespect!” cries Mak. “Not only is the snot rocket a disrespectful taunt in general, but that’s a signature taunt of Manson, Arch’s former tag team partner! I think Johnson might be rubbing in that he won the tag titles with Manson when Arch couldn’t!”

 

“I have to agree, and I think I’m a mighty fine judge on what is and isn’t disrespectful,” notes the Gambling Man. “However, this could be entertaining, as we’re seeing something very rare indeed out of Johnson: It appears he’s going for his diving headbutt!”

 

And indeed the Canadian is, stepping through the ropes and planting a foot on the middle strand before climbing up, looking out over the crowd and taking flight, sailing quite a distance across the ring towards his target…

 

*CRACK!!*

 

“YYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!”

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

“HOLY SHIT!”

 

…AS CROSS, ON THE APRON, SPRINGS TO THE TOP ROPE BEFORE TAKING FLIGHT AND PLANTING A MISSILE DROPKICK STRAIGHT INTO THE RIBS OF JOHNSON, SENDING THE ULTIMATE FIGHTER SAILING ACROSS THE RING AS CROSS TWISTS IN MID-AIR, LOOKING FOR A SPLASH ON THE FALLEN GRIFFON, WHO HAS THE WHEREWITHAL TO GET HIS KNEES UP AND BLOCK!!!

 

“OH MY GOD!” screams Mak as Johnson lands in a crumpled heap, Cross bouncing up to his feet from his rib trauma before he collapses, clutching at his sides and moaning! “DIVING HEADBUTT BLOCKED BY A SPACE STATION DROPKICK INTO A SPLASH, THAT IS SUBSEQUENTLY BLOCKED BY KNEES!! WE HAVE GOT TO SEE THAT AGAIN!!”

 

“I don’t even know what the hell just happened!” shouts King as the fans reach unheard-of decibel levels, and we go TO…

 

 

=-=-=SWF ACTION REPLAY ACTION…REPLAY=-=-=

 

Cross reaches a standing position on the apron after resting for a few moments, then hides behind the ropes as he sees Johnson surveying the area for possible obstacles for his flight. Seeing none, the Ultimate Fighter leaps, and the Suicide Machine springs into action, waiting for the perfect moment before pulling himself to the top rope and springing towards a very surprised Johnson, who barely has time to swear before Cross plunges a dropkick right into the unfortunate Canadian’s midsection, sending Johnson sailing!

 

Realizing that he had best make the best of what will likely be an uncomfortable landing, Cross realizes in an instant that Arch Griffon is right under him, and so rolls onto his stomach, spreading his arms and legs as if he were some sort of superman – or Superfly. However, the massive Iowan that is to involuntarily serve as his landing pad sees him coming and is quick to curl himself into a ball, his knees happening to line up perfectly with the ribs of the Suicide Machine, who impacts them at high speed with a sickening crunch before bouncing and rolling away, in considerably more pain than he was milliseconds ago!

 

=-=-=SWF ACTION REPLAY ACTION…REPLAY=-=-=

 

Arch makes his way to his feet rather easily, having spent more time this match resting than actually feeling pain. The massive Iowan is stuck for which opponent deserves his attention more, but makes his decision quickly as he realizes that the Suicide Machine is far closer, and far more wounded – Johnson is already making his way to his feet. And so Griffon tugs Cross up before sticking him between his legs and doubling over, wrapping his arms around his waist!

 

“Powerbomb!” cries Francis. With Cross’ ribs in their condition, combined with Arch’s scary strength, I wouldn’t be surprised if this move put Cross away and sent Arch to fight the Wildchild!”

 

Johnson would, though, as he makes it to his feet before sprinting off the ropes, bouncing right towards Arch and catching him mid-lift with a ROAAAAAARRRING ELBOW!!

 

*CA-RACCK!!*

 

*CRUNCH!!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

Fortunately for Griffon, his move is not for naught; while his powerbomb was reversed, the force of the roaring elbow is enough to put him on his ass, which means a piledriver for the Suicide Machine! Arch falls backwards mere moments after pulverizing Cross’ neck, and the Suicide Machine ends up sliding off of Griffon and through the ropes to the outside, where he slumps into a rather pitiful heap as Johnson tugs Arch away from the ropes before dropping down and tugging Griffon to a seated position!

 

“You know what this means, Mak,” chides King, as if Mak has forgotten the general distresss brought upon by the choke hold.

 

“I sure do, King,” nods Mak. “Buffalo Sleeper for Mr. Griffon, and let me tell you, it is NOT easy to breathe in that hold, and getting out’s harder if the applicant knows what he’s doing.”

 

Johnson certainly does, through quite a bit of practice, know what he’s doing with the Buffalo Sleeper; however, Arch knows him a little wrestling himself, and is pretty damn strong regardless, and uses his raw strength to tug Johnson over to a seated position in front of him, at which point Griffon wraps him in a body scissors before shooting his arms around Johnson’s, locking in a modified version of the full nelson Arch calls…

 

“The Gridlock!” cries the Franchise. “Arch busts out one of his few submissions, and does so in a way Johnson can’t have been expecting! Genius!”

 

“Where?!” asks the King of Hearts, alarmed. “…oh, Arch. Ha! You kidder, you.”

 

Mak probably wasn’t kidding, but Arch definitely isn’t, his powerful arms serving well to trap the feisty Ultimate Fighter in his clutches! Johnson is a tad desperate for a way out already, as the ropes are nowhere to be found without some dragging, which isn’t going to happen with a 300+ pound man hanging off of your back. Out of desperation, Johnson plants his feet before bridiging back, attempting to stack Griffon on his shoulders…and achieving said feat, Soapdish sliding in to count!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THR-NO! Arch sits up, overpowering the Canadian rather easily as the hold continue to saps at the tag team champion’s energy.

 

“CROSS CAN’T DIE!”

 

“CROSS CAN’T DIE!”

 

“CROSS CAN’T DIE!”

 

is certainly an odd chant considering the situation, and it serves well to confuse the mammoth Griffon. That is, until he looks up and sees the 223-pound frame of Michael Cross, recovered far too early from his piledriver, leaping into the air to double stomp his face with Avalanche Head Trauma!

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

All of Griffon’s grasps slacken momentarily, and Johnson gets out of his grip in the seconds before Arch curls up into a ball and rolls onto his stomach, trying his hardest to shove the pain out of his recently-smashed face. It’s not working too well, but neither Johnson nor Cross care, the former rising up swiftly and driving a boot into the stomach of the latter, doubling Cross over and readying himself for a run off the ropes from Johnson, followed by a leap, a tuck…

 

 

*CA-RAAAAAACCKKK!!!!*

 

 

…and a Busaiku Knee Kick, nearly taking the Suicide Machine’s head off with the vicious strike! Headless or not, Cross still stands as Johnson bounces to his feet, which prompts the Canadian to shoot in and tuck the Michigander’s head into a standing headscissors!

 

“And now JOHNSON is going to go for a powerbomb!” shouts Mak as Johnson does just that, doubling over and wrapping his arms around Cross before bending deep, and with a “Daah!” of exertion, lifts Cross HIGH…AND FLATTENS HIM WITH A FOLDING POWERBOMB!

 

*BA-BOOOM!!*

 

Cross, the second Cross to fall victim to the powerbomb, has a rather unpleasant experience as his head bounces off of the mat, but he’s soon stuck like a bug to a display case as Johnson slides in, his feet off the ground, glaring over at Soapdish and demanding the ref count for the

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

THRE-And then the massively powerful Arch Griffon secures a waistlock and tugs the Canadian off of his prey, letting the Ultimate Fighter feebly grapple for footing for a moment before dropping backwards, lawn-darting Johnson into the mat several feet away with a LOOOOOOONG German suplex!

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

 

“FILTHY GERMAN!” shouts Mak, a bit of nostalgia rushing back as Arch has himself a bit of a chuckle before placing a hand on the still-stacked remains of the Suicide Machine for the

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THRE-AND THEN JOHNSON TUGS ARCH OFF OF THE PIN, BRACING HIMSELF DEEPLY FOR THE LIFT BEFORE SURGING UPWARDS…AND TAKING GRIFFON OVER AND ONTO HIS NECK WITH A DANGEROUS GERMAAANN!!!

 

*CA-RUUUNNCH!!!*

 

 

“I take that back!” shouts Mak as Arch comes to a stuttering halt on his hands and knees, looking rather worse for wear as he stares at the mat with a blank look in his eyes. “THAT was a filthy German!”

 

“YYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

 

“CROSS CAN’T DIE!!”

 

Johnson whirls on the spot to meet what he knows those chants mean, lashing out with an elbow…but the Suicide Machine is already a step ahead of him, ducking behind him and hooking him in a Dragon Sleeper before hoisting him up…and twisting on the spot, bringing him down hard on his face with Silent Rage Syndrome!

 

*BANG!*

 

“SILENT RAGE SYNDROME!” shouts Mak. “Now Cross can get another shot at the tag titles!”

 

And as Johnson lays there, likely easy pickings for a pin, Cross stands…before sprinting and diving clean over Arch Griffon with an Oklahoma Roll, standing with the hold in order to stack the Iowan as high as possible for the

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!

 

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

“HERE IS YOUR WINNER,” shouts Funyon, “and the number one contender to the SWF International Championship…MICHAEL! CROSS!!”

 

 

“YEEAAHH!!”

 

The cheers are slightly less strong, mostly out of confusion, but they’re still there as Cross rolls out of the ring and begins making his way to the back, leaving both Arch and Johnson to recuperate, both already on their way up as the Suicide Machine makes his way to the back.

 

“Huh,” notes Mak. “I figured he’d go for the tag titles. Odd.”

 

“Indeed,” agrees King. “Oh well. Landon Maddix! Jay Hawke! Cucaracha Internacional faces off…NEXT!”

 

FADE OUT

[chirs3 0]

“So, you’re going to be World Champion soon, huh.”

 

There’s more than a little spite in Joseph Peters’ tone as JJ Johnson stands in front of him, grappling shirt thrown on hastily and still sweaty from his match.

 

“Because as I remember it, the last two times I gave you title shots, you choked. Choked HARD,” smirks the Commissioner, “and then you left.”

 

Johnson scowls; apparently, it’s required that he bring this up every time Johnson wants something.

 

“And then,” continues Peters, “and THEN, you LOSE tonight. You come into the arena, you tell Ben Hardy you’re going to become World Champion, and then you LOSE.”

 

“Actually,” corrects Johnson, “Griffon took the fa-“

 

“I don’t want to hear it!” snaps Peters, and the scowl on Johnson’s face becomes fury so swiftly that the commish decides it’s probably a good idea to change his tone just a little. “However, I am a man of fairness. You can have your title shot.”

 

“Fuckin’ A right, I can,” snarls Johnson, getting just a little ahead of himself.

 

“I wasn’t finished,” snaps Peters again. “You can have your title shot, but you’re going to have a match on Storm – an Iron Australian Knockout Challenge. Win it? The shot’s yours.”

 

“Fine,” says Johnson. “That’s absolutely fine. Who am I facing?”

 

“Why, your opponent is in this very room,” chuckles Peters, drawing some confusion from the Ultimate Fighter…until a massive hand rests on his shoulders, a second laugh – louder - fills the room, and he realizes who he’s going to have to face on Storm.

 

 

And despite the laughter, they aren’t happy with him.

 

 

 

FADE OUT

[chirs3 0]

King: "And now we come to the match that I've been looking the most forward to. Landon Maddix is about to get stretched and forced to scream like a baby against Jay Hawke. This is going to be fun."

 

Francis: "Now now, King, I wouldn't be so quick to assume that. Jay Hawke has been on the losing end lately since losing the International Title to Wildchild, so he could be in a slump that will prevent him from defeating Landon tonight."

 

King: "Well, I look at it this way. It was Maddix who wanted to be trained by Hawke on how best to be a technical wrestler, right?"

 

Francis: "Right."

 

King: "And he's the one who wasn't listening to his training. And there's another factor. As much as Hawke was trying to teach him -- and maybe Maddix got lucky and retained some of it -- Hawke didn't teach Maddix everything he knows about technical wrestling. I stand by my prediction that Hawke makes Landon squeal like a little bitch. And I'm going to love every second of it."

 

Francis: "I know it's been said quite a bit, but you're truly one of a kind."

 

King: "Thank you."

 

Francis: "With that, let's go to Funyon for our opening introductions."

 

Funyon: "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty-minute time limit. Your referee for this contest is Scott Ryder."

 

The familiar opening strains of Pink Floyd's "Learning to Fly" begin to play over the PA system as the lights dim, and Jay Hawke emerges through the curtain with a spotlight shining on him to illuminate his beautiful purple and black sequined robe.

 

Funyon: "Introducing first … from the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio … he weighs in tonight at 215 pounds … 'The Dean of Professional Wrestling' … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!"

 

As Hawke begins to make his way to the ring, the crowd begins its familiar chant:

 

 

"JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!"

 

 

Hawke ignores the chants, his eyes focused on the ring. When he enters the ring, he raises his arms over his head, inciting a fresh round of boos from the Tokyo faithful. As Hawke removes his robe, the music fades out, and is replaced by three simple words:

 

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

 

...WAAAAAHHHHH...

 

*DUM DUM*

 

The post-opening part of "Megalomaniac" by Incubus hits, as from behind the curtain steps Landon Maddix, stopping at the top of the ramp and thrusting his hands out to his side to boos. Landon then drops his arms and simply walks down the ramp on the way to the ring.

 

Funyon: "And his opponent … from Huron, South Dakota by way of Madrid, Spain … weighing in tonight at 224 pounds … LANDON … 'LA CUCARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRACHA" … MAAAAAAAAAAAAADIIIIIIIIIIIIX!"

 

Landon leaps to the apron, looking out at the crowd. Again, serious and stuff, he'll enter the ring and dispose of his ring jacket before going through pre-match warm-ups.

 

Francis: "Have we figured out if these two guys are still partners? Former tag team champions together, but they really haven't been seen together much lately."

 

King: "Right now, that doesn't matter. Here and now, they're opponents. Adversaries. And the goal is to win. Throw friendship aside and let the good times roll."

 

DING DING DING!

 

With the match now officially underway, the two (former?) members of Cucaracha Internacional make their way to the center of the ring. Without saying a word, each man extends a hand for a handshake.

 

King: "Sportsmanship? Ugh."

 

They shake hands, then each man simultaneously kicks their opponent in the midsection before they begin exchanging right handed punches in the center of the ring.

 

Francis: "Forget sportsmanship, King! These two men are going after each other tooth and nail."

 

King: "Which could be to Landon's advantage if it stays that way! Dammit!"

 

Maddix quickly grabs a wrist out of nowhere and twists Hawke's arm, but Hawke reverses the arm wringer and locks in a side headlock. Hawke quickly takes Maddix to the mat with the headlock, and Landon's shoulders quickly fall to the canvas:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Landon gets the shoulder up, but Hawke quickly tightens his grip on the headlock.

 

Francis: "Now it's Jay Hawke with the side headlock, immediately trying to slow the pace down here."

 

King: "Which is to Hawke's advantage. That's how I want to see the rest of this one go!"

 

Landon tries to remember what Hawke taught him about escaping a side headlock and begins using his hands to push Hawke's face backwards. With that technique not working, Landon tries a different one: "Get to your feet." He is successful at getting to his knees, which lessens Hawke's grip on the hold, then he is quickly successful at regaining a vertical base. La Cucaracha drives a series of weak forearms into Hawke's midsection, then shoves him into the corner. Landon charges into the corner, and sensing it, Hawke quickly moves out of the way. Too quickly, as it turns out, as Landon is able to slow down quickly enough to avoid smacking the turnbuckle with full velocity.

 

Francis: "Smart move by Maddix to avoid hitting the turnbuckle."

 

King: "More like a lucky move."

 

Maddix tries to fire back with a clothesline, but Hawke ducks it and once again locks in a side headlock, taking Maddix over. Maddix's shoulders again fall to the canvas:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Maddix lifts a shoulder, and Hawke once again tightens his grip on the headlock and maneuvers his body to gain more leverage.

 

Francis: "And right back to the side headlock."

 

King: "And you'll see that a lot from Jay Hawke. He likes to work a body part, be it the neck, the back, the arm, whatever, in order to weaken his opponent and set up the Wing Span."

 

Francis: "How much pain does this actually put on the neck though?"

 

King: "You could snap the neck with the right amount of pressure on the right point of the neck, that's how much pain this could put you in. It won't give Landon a headache though."

 

Francis: "Why not?"

 

King: "To get a headache, you have to have a brain."

 

Once again, Landon tries to think of a counter that Hawke taught him. He decides to grab a hold of Hawke's purple and black wrestling tights and roll him over onto his shoulders:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Hawke regains his position on the headlock, but it's enough to weaken Hawke's grasp so Landon can begin returning to his feet. Landon fires another series of forearms into the ribs of the Dean of Professional Wrestling, then backs into the ropes, using them to push Hawke off the headlock into the opposite side of the ring. Hawke rebounds off the ropes and takes Landon down with a shoulder tackle. Hawke runs into the ropes on his own volition this time. Maddix sees him coming and drops down, allowing Hawke to run over him. Maddix stands as Hawke's rebounds off the other side and goes for a hiptoss. Hawke blocks and attempts to reverse, but Maddix blocks and goes for a clothesline. Hawke ducks, and as his former championship partner turns around, Hawke levels him with three solid European uppercuts that back Maddix into the ropes. Hawke attempts to whip Maddix into the ropes on the opposite side of the ring, but Maddix reverses and cocks his arm for a clothesline. Hawke hooks the top rope with his arms to stop the momentum, and Maddix charges, only for Hawke to side step and use his momentum to send his opponent over the top rope to the arena floor.

 

King: "Now there's how I like to see Landon Maddix! Down and nearly out on the arena floor!"

 

Francis: "But you have to be impressed with both men so far. An even match in the early going here."

 

King: "Exactly. In the early going. But do you really think it's going to stay evenly matched when Jay Hawke's involved?"

 

At the referee's count of two, Hawke moves toward the ropes, only for Maddix to trip him up and pull him to the outside by his foot. The referee restarts his count as Landon levels Hawke with a series of forearm smashes, then leans in with his shoulder and drives the small of his opponent's back into the ring apron.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

And again.

 

THREE!

 

Landon Maddix quickly rolls Hawke back inside the ring, then slides into the ring himself and goes for the pin.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

Francis: "A near fall for Landon Maddix, and it looks like Landon might have picked out a part of the body that he wants to work over tonight."

 

King: "Maybe he learned something from training with Hawke after all!"

 

Landon then begins stomping at the arm and chest of Jay Hawke.

 

King: "Then again, maybe not."

 

Maddix pulls Hawke to his feet and whips him into the turnbuckle. The blow hurts Hawke's back as he instinctively bends backwards to straighten it out, only for Maddix to run in and dropkick the Dean's exposed midsection.

 

Francis: "Whoa. That'll knock the wind right out of you."

 

Landon slowly moves in, then grabs Hawke and whips him not into the ropes, but into a knee that doubles him over. Landon then dropkicks Hawke in the face, backflipping on contact as Hawke nearly flies out of the ring from the force.

 

 

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

King: "Um…ouch?"

 

Landon Maddix crawls over into the cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

Francis: "Only the count of two, but what a kick by Maddix there. I thought for a minute that he was going to break Hawke's nose."

 

King: "Don't be surprised if he actually did."

 

Maddix pulls Hawke back to his feet, just to knock him back to his knees with one solid right hand. Unsure of what to do from here, Maddix tries an oldie but goodie…

 

King: "Not the cravaté!"

 

Yes, the cravaté.

 

King: "Curse Hawke for teaching him this stupid damn hold!"

 

Francis: "Stupid hold? This move works the neck and cuts the flow off to the brain, just like those headlocks you were praising earlier! And it's smart strategy considering the Land of Nod mostly focuses on the neck."

 

King: "Yes, stupid hold. You're giving Landon too much credit that he has a reason to use this hold. The only way I'll ever be impressed with this hold is if Landon actually turns this into a suplex or something cool like that."

 

Jay Hawke reaches up and grabs a hold of Landon Maddix's hands, reaching up in an attempt to separate his hands and break the hold. Hawke does so, but Landon quickly drives a knee into Jay's midsection to double him back over. Maddix then spins Hawke around and drops to the mat, snapping Hawke's neck with a neck breaker. Maddix goes into the cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Hawke kicks out, and Maddix turns and argues with Scott Ryder about the cadence of his count.

 

King: "And here's why Hawke's going to beat Maddix every time they wrestle. Landon is out here arguing about a referee's count instead of actually following up on the advantage."

 

Hawke makes it to his feet, only for Landon to knock him back down with a series of forearms to the face. Maddix waits for Hawke to return to his feet and goes for a clothesline, but Hawke ducks underneath it and ends up behind Maddix. Hawke locks Landon into a waistlock, then lifts Landon into the air, falling backwards into a German suplex but unable to hold the bridge.

 

Francis: "Fatigue might be setting in at this point. Hawke would normally hold onto the bridge and try to get the pin there, but he was unable to."

 

King: "But it could turn things back around to his favor, as he has to have knocked the wind out of Maddix with that one."

 

Referee Scott Ryder begins counting both wrestlers out as they lie on the mat. As he gets to three, Maddix, despite being the one to get taken down with the move, is the first one to get to his feet, and he kicks Jay Hawke in the ribs as the Dean reaches his knees. Maddix immediately covers, hooking the leg for additional leverage:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

King: "He's joking right? You're not going to beat Jay Hawke with a simple kick to the ribs."

 

Francis: "Hey, it was worth a shot, King. Maybe you can catch your opponent napping."

 

King: "It's Landon Maddix. The guy's having delusions of being able to beat Toxxic when he isn't even under contract with the company."

 

Francis: "OK, you've got me on that one."

 

Landon waits for Hawke to return to his feet, then he levels his former championship partner with a forearm to the side of the head. With Jay staggering, Maddix quickly whips him hard into the corner. The force of the whip knocks Jay straight down to the mat, and Hawke clutches at the back that was briefly worked on by La Cucaracha earlier in the night.

 

Francis: "What velocity on that Irish whip!"

 

King: "And that will affect the lower back, but I still think the strategy should be on the neck if Maddix actually wants to win this match."

 

Hawke pulls himself into a sitting position in the corner, and Maddix kicks away at the ribs of his opponent. Hawke fires back, getting a few shots to the ribs to back Maddix off before finally making his way to his feet. Maddix stops it with a knee to the midsection, then whips Hawke into the opposite turnbuckle with such force that Hawke once again drops to the canvas like a shot, clutching at the lower back.

 

Francis: "You might be questioning the strategy, King, but it's working. He's been able to keep Hawke grounded by focusing on the back."

 

King: "OK. But watch him be surprised if he uses the Land of Nod and can't get a submission out of it."

 

La Cucaracha waits for Hawke to get his feet, then Irish whips Hawke again. This time, Hawke uses the momentum from the whip to bounce off the turnbuckle and take Maddix down with a lariat.

 

Francis: "And Hawke comes back seemingly out of nowhere with a clothesline, and now both men are down!"

 

King: "And Hawke needs to follow up on that move now! Weaken the neck and the shoulder and make this loser tap out!"

 

Both men are down again, and once again the referee begins to count both men down.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

Both men begin to stir.

 

FOUR!

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

SIX!

 

 

SEVEN!

 

Both men make it to their knees.

 

EIGHT!

 

 

NINE!

 

Both men reach their feet at the same time. Maddix is the first to act, rocking Jay Hawke with a hard forearm strike. Hawke comes right back, leveling Landon with a European uppercut. Maddix staggers Hawke with another forearm, and Hawke comes right back with a closed fist punch. Each man then turns to punches, exchanging blows as the crowd erupts.

 

Francis: "This is turning into a boxing match out here, and listen to this crowd!"

 

King: "They're just happy two people they don't like are beating each other up!"

 

Jay Hawke actually begins getting the best of the punch exchange, then levels Landon with a series of European uppercuts that back La Cucaracha up against the ropes. Hawke moves in, only for Landon to rake the eyes. With Hawke temporarily blinded, Landon moves in, seemingly ready for a clothesline, but Hawke kicks Landon in the midsection to double him over before locking Maddix into a front facelock.

 

Francis: "Front chancery applied, and look at the way Hawke is twisting Landon's neck with that move."

 

King: "Yeah, I know. It looks like he's trying to snap it clean off his shoulders, and I'd like to see that."

 

Hawke tightens his grip, and Landon gets a couple of feeble forearm shots that do nothing of note. Landon then reaches forward and grabs Hawke's tights and lifts him into the air. Hawke begins kicking his feet to throw off Landon's timing, and the Dean of Professional Wrestling uses his newly found momentum to drop down and drop Maddix almost vertically onto his head.

 

 

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

Maddix's body slumps to the mat in a heap, and Hawke clutches at his back due to the damage caused earlier in the match. As a result, Hawke is slow to crawl into the pinning attempt:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

Francis: "And there was the near fall there, and now what do you think of Maddix targetting the back, King?"

 

King: "It saved him temporarily, Mak, but only temporarily."

 

Sensing he needs to do more damage to his opponent before he can put him away, Hawke decides to wear Maddix down with a reverse chinlock, leaning his weight onto the back of Landon's neck while twisting the neck at the same time.

 

King: "And this is vintage Jay Hawke right here, Mak. He's focused his attack on the neck. The Wing Span focuses on two parts of the body, the neck and the shoulder. And we all know Hawke likes to soften the neck first, then go for the shoulders."

 

Francis: "Smart strategy to work over the weakened body part, but do you honestly think Maddix is in trouble when he's had the edge most of the match?"

 

King: "Who's on the offense? Jay Hawke! I rest my case."

 

Landon Maddix reaches up and grabs Jay Hawke's hands, trying to separate them so he can break the hold. Hawke clamps down further on it though, and Maddix gives up on that attempt and tries another approach. Maddix maneuvers up to his feet, driving a series of elbows into Hawke's midsection to alleviate the pressure. He then drives a couple of forearms into the ribs, causing Hawke to release the hold. With the hold broken and Hawke temporarily off-balance, Maddix whips Hawke into the ropes. He ducks his head for a backdrop as Hawke rebounds, but Hawke wastes no time stopping short, hooking Landon's head and neck, and spinning him down to the canvas with a neckbreaker.

 

King: "Maddix telegraphing the move worse than David Arquette's role in Ready to Rumble!"

 

Hawke immediately moves into a cover, hooking the far leg for leverage:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

Francis: "And only the count of two. There is no quit in either of these two men!"

 

King: "Oh, there will be quit in Maddix should he get caught in the Wing Span. You just watch."

 

Hawke favors the back slightly as he makes his way back to his feet. He quickly drops a leg across Landon's head and neck, then rolls over into a pinning position:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout. Becoming frustrated, Hawke moves in and wraps both hands around Maddix's throat, attempting to choke the life out of him:

 

 

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

 

Hawke releases the choke and begins to argue with referee Scott Ryder, doing so with a knee across Landon's throat.

 

King: "Brilliant!"

 

Francis: "Hawke's choking Landon Maddix, and the referee is too busy arguing with Hawke to notice!"

 

Ryder does notice the choke and counts again:

 

 

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

 

Hawke stands and begins to argue with Ryder again, this time standing on Landon's throat for yet another chokehold.

 

Francis: "And again! At this rate, Landon might not be able to breathe for the rest of the match!"

 

King: "What's the problem with that, exactly?"

 

Scott Ryder finally notices the choke and counts yet again:

 

 

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

 

Hawke stands and bows to the crowd, who showers him with boos.

 

King: "That was absolutely brilliant, Mak! He choked Landon for at least thirty or forty seconds straight, and it wasn't enough for a disqualification! That's why Hawke is the smartest wrestler in the company right now!"

 

Satisfied that Maddix is in trouble, Hawke begins to change his point of attack. He grabs Landon's arm and extends it along the mat, then drives a series of knees into the insertion of Landon's shoulder.

 

Francis: "Hawke beginning to work the shoulder here."

 

King: "It's only a matter of time now!"

 

Hawke stands up and stomps Landon's shoulder. Hawke bends down to pick his opponent up, but Maddix reaches up and rakes Hawke's eyes. Once again, Hawke is temporarily blinded, and La Cucaracha makes his way to his feet. He knocks Hawke down with a forearm smash, then drops to his knees and begins to choke Jay:

 

 

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

 

 

Francis: "I think we can throw the rulebook out the window! Landon's choking him again!"

 

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

 

King: "What a ridiculous call by that referee! There's another one!"

 

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

 

Francis: "And yet you praised Hawke when he did it!"

 

King: "Because he was sneaky about it! Landon's not even trying to get away with it!"

 

Now it's Landon Maddix becoming frustrated, this time at the referee for insisting he stop the illegal choking. Landon actually shoves the referee aside, just enough to knock him backwards. Landon turns back toward Jay Hawke and bends over to pull him to his feet….

 

 

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

 

…only for Hawke to uppercut Landon Maddix below the belt. Maddix grabs his crotch and falls to the canvas.

 

King: "I'd say that would affect Landon Maddix's social life, but I think we've established that he hasn't had much of one lately."

 

This time it's Jay Hawke bending down to pull Landon Maddix up to his feet. He picks up Landon Maddix, seemingly looking for a body slam. He turns Maddix upside down for a second, seemingly to make it a shoulder breaker instead, but Landon uses his momentum to hook Hawke's leg and roll it over into a small package:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

Francis: "Nice counter by Landon Maddix. These two men are really taking it to each other tonight! What an even contest!"

 

Both men get to their feet, and it's Landon Maddix leveling Hawke with a series of forearm smashes that put Hawke's back up against the ropes. Landon immediately runs into the ropes on the opposite side of the ring, and Jay Hawke steps forward, walking into a flying forearm that sends him tumbling to the outside of the ring. Maddix quickly slides out of the ring after him.

 

Francis: "These two men are taking it to the outside now, and referee Scott Ryder is imploring them to return to the inside of the ring."

 

King: "I'd like to see it return to the ring, just because Hawke's domain is between the ropes where it counts."

 

Landon Maddix once again leans in with a shoulder in an attempt to ram Hawke's back into the ringpost…

 

ONE!

 

…but Hawke rains down a series of forearms and elbows to the back of Landon's head to prevent it. Landon fires back with forearms of his own…

 

TWO!

 

...then connects with a dropkick that sends Hawke back into the ringpost. Maddix charges…

 

THREE!

 

SMACK!

 

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

…but Jay Hawke moves out of the way, sending Landon Maddix shoulder first into the ringpost.

 

King: "There's your turning point, Mak! That is going to do all the damage to the shoulder that Hawke needs to take control of this match!"

 

FOUR!

 

Hawke makes his way over to the opposite side of the ringpost, then grabs Landon's wrist and pulls toward him, once again sending Maddix's shoulder crashing into the steel post. Maddix reaches for his shoulder, attempting to rub circulation back into it, but Hawke is quick to roll Maddix into the ring.

 

Francis: "Jay Hawke appears ready to put Landon away here, but he's still favoring the back a bit. You can see him favoring it as he tries to climb back onto the ring apron."

 

Jay Hawke has indeed made his way back to the ring apron, and he waits for Landon Maddix to stand up. As Maddix stands up, Hawke leaps onto the top rope and springboards off of it, arm cocked out for a clothesline. However, Landon leaps himself out of instinct, catching Hawke underneath the chin with a dropsault.

 

Francis: "What a move!"

 

King: "Where the hell did he learn that one from?"

 

Francis: "He caught Hawke with that backflip dropkick, and now both men are down again."

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

Landon Maddix crawls over, draping an arm across Hawke and goes for the pin.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

T -- shoulder up.

 

Francis: "And only the count of two!"

 

King: "I can't believe this! Pin him already, Jay!"

 

Both men struggle to reach their feet, but it's Landon Maddix who is on his feet a hair before his opponent. Landon levels the Dean of Wrestling with a series of knifeedge chops, the last of which knocks Hawke down to the canvas. Landon instantaneously leaps onto Hawke with a double stomp and falls straight down into a senton splash, staying down on top of a prone Jay Hawke as Scott Ryder slides into position to count the pin:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- Jay Hawke hooks Landon Maddix's arms and counters it into a crucifix pin:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- Landon rolls backwards with Hawke still hooked onto his arms. He pulls himself to his feet, straining with all his might as it strains his already-weakened shoulder. As he stands upright, he screams and falls backwards into a Samoan drop, breaking Hawke's grip and conveniently landing on top of his opponent for another cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Jay Hawke rolls the left shoulder up.

 

Francis: "And now you're seeing exactly how well these two men know each other from their tag team title run. Counter after counter into a series of near falls."

 

King: "God, it's like Landon actually retained some of his training or something."

 

Once again, both men reach their feet. Landon Maddix goes for a forearm smash, which Hawke blocks. Hawke then drives a knee into the midsection to double Maddix over, then unleashes a roundhouse kick to the temple that sends Landon falling to the canvas face-first.

 

King: "It's over. He's knocked out after that one!"

 

Hawke covers and hooks the leg:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- Landon Maddix just barely lifts the left shoulder off the canvas.

 

Francis: "Only two! Like a cockroach after a nuclear explosion, Landon Maddix just won't die!"

 

King: "Please don't remind me!"

 

Jay Hawke wastes little to no time, rolling Landon Maddix onto his stomach and grabbing a hold of his arm, pulling back and leaning with the bulk of his weight on Landon Maddix's shoulder.

 

Francis: "Fujiwara armbar! Hawke is trying to get the submission right here, and with the pressure he's putting on the shoulder right there, he might just get it!"

 

King: "Either that, or he'll rip the arm right out of the socket and take it home with him! Either way, I'm going to have one hell of a good time!"

 

Hawke continues to pull back on the arm, and Maddix screams out in pain but leaves his free hand balled into a fist to resist the urge to tap out. But what else can he do? Jay Hawke never taught him how to break this hold. Wait, he didn't? That bastard! Using that as motivation, Maddix begins using his free arm to pull himself toward the ropes.

 

King: "Where the hell is he getting this from?"

 

Francis: "Landon Maddix is finding motivation from somewhere deep inside him, and it looks as though he's going to make it to the ropes!"

 

Maddix has continued his slow crawl and has found himself less than a foot away from the ropes. However, Jay Hawke realizes this. He relieves the pressure just long enough to drop a series of knees into the shoulder of his cockroach-like opponent, then pulls him to the center of the ring before reapplying the hold.

 

King: "And right back to the hold like a true champion! Jay Hawke's going to get the submission right here!"

 

Maddix grimaces as he screams in pain. What else can he do to get out of this one? Then he gets what even Jay Hawke will probably think is a brilliant idea once he calms down after the match. With his hand still balled into a fist, Maddix punches the canvas four times. Hawke, hearing this but not seeing it because he was focused on applying the hold, releases the hold and raises his arms into the air in victory.

 

King: "He did it! Maddix tapped out!"

 

But Scott Ryder is quick to pull Hawke's arms down and tell him that, in fact, he hasn't won anything yet.

 

King: "What? He tapped out!"

 

Francis: "Wrong. In order to tap out, you have to pound the mat four times with the palm of your hand! Maddix hit the mat four times with his fist!"

 

King: "What the hell are those, Tibetan rules? He just quit in the middle of the ring while screaming like a baby who had his pacifier taken away from him!"

 

Hawke makes a similar protest to referee Scott Ryder, but it falls on deaf ears. Angry, Jay Hawke turns around to go back after Maddix, unaware that Landon has already returned to his feet. In fact, the first thing he sees is Maddix's foot about half a second before it levels him right between the eyes and drops him to the canvas.

 

Francis: "Superkick out of nowhere, and Landon is falling right into the cover!"

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- Hawke lifts the right shoulder off the canvas with Ryder's hand literally three inches off the mat.

 

Francis: "Two count! Unbelievable that he only got two out of that!"

 

King: "Landon isn't the only one that won't die out there!"

 

Jay Hawke pulls himself to his knees while Landon Maddix argues about the count, but Landon is right there to grab Hawke by the hair and level him with a series of short kicks to the face. He releases his grip on Hawke's hair, then backs off into the ropes, rebounding and knocking Hawke down with a spinning front kick to the chin.

 

Francis: "Cucaracha Kick! And into the cover yet again!"

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- shoulder up!

 

King: "No! Only two again! Maddix simply cannot put Hawke away!"

 

Maddix slams the mat in frustration, but he slowly stands up, waiting for his fallen opponent to make his way to his feet. "Get up Toxxic," he yells, knowing full well he's not in there with Toxxic but wanting to get across the symbolism and all. Hawke makes his way to his feet, and Landon moves in to go for a modified Diamond Cutter, but Hawke instinctively pushes Maddix forward into the ropes. Maddix rebounds off, and neither man has a chance to do much of anything before they hit head to head and fall to the canvas, with Hawke landing on top of Maddix:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Maddix gets the shoulder up.

 

Francis: "I'm glad it didn't end that way."

 

King: "It would have been fine with me."

 

Both men begin to pull themselves to their feet. As they do…

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

Francis: "What? Why's the bell ringing?"

 

King: "Maybe Vince McMahon ordered it to. How the hell should I know?"

 

Funyon: "Ladies and gentlemen, this match has gone to the full extent of the twenty minute time limit. This match is a draw."

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

Francis: "What an even matchup. So even that neither man could get the win within the time limit."

 

King: "It was only a matter of time before Hawke won. He was just toying with him."

 

Francis: "Toying with him or not, we still have plenty of action to come, so don't go away."

[chirs3 0]

“Put me down.”

 

JJ Johnson is a menacing individual to be sure, and it’s very rare that he’s anything less than blunt with people when he does speak. Hold him 8 feet off of a concrete floor by his neck – with one arm – and he’s a little more polite, admittedly, but he still fires that sentence at the mammoth Antipodean in front of him with more venom than is probably necessary, or advised.

 

“Been a little lax on security, have we?” half-laughs/half-snarls (fitting, really) the Hell Machine, not looking like he’s going to release the Canadian any time soon. A look of confusion crosses the Ultimate Fighter’s face – a telling sign.

 

“Well, yeah,” says Johnson with a little too much condescension considering his situation, “I’ve been busy doing that whole wrestling thing. Heard of it?”

 

*BOOM!*

 

With swiftness that belies a man lifting 223 pounds with one arm, Janus tugs Johnson off the wall before ramming him back into it with terrifying power. There’s a mildly frightening crack, and Johnson blinks a few times before shaking his head.

 

“Now, stop running your mouth and I won’t do that again,” snarls the Australian. “YOU haven’t been pulling your weight around here, so consider yourself thrown off.”

 

Johnson decides against making an “oh no” face.

 

“Literally.”

 

And with still more freakish strength, the Australian turns clockwise before lobbing the Ultimate Fighter backhand across the hall, where he defines a rather ungraceful arc, twisting to attempt to soften his landing…which just so happens to be on a catering table.

 

 

*CRASSSHHH!!!*

 

 

Silverware, plates, and assorted eats go flying as the table splits under it’s own weight – as well as that of the Canadian – and Janus booms a hearty laugh as Johnson lays rather still following the landing.

 

“Have fun Friday,” the Hell Machine snickers mockingly, “because I know I will.”

 

With that, the titanic New South Welshman turns and walks into the depths of the Mobile Civic Center, still chuckling to himself…as behind him, Johnson stands, brushing some egg off of his face – rather ironically – before walking off in a different direction.

 

“Yeah, I think I will have fun Friday.”

 

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

[chirs3 0]

“Some weird robot song” blares over the Mobile Alabama PA system, and out of the curtain comes everyone’s favorite, er, robot/ghost/person/wrestler thing, being wheeled by Road Agent Chris Belcourt.

 

“I love this song” King says.

 

“This hit number one in Japan on the robot techno charts, as I recall.”

 

“Really?

 

Ghost Machine approaches Funyon, and spews an index card out of his mouth, which Funyon takes, and reads aloud in his booming voice. “Hailing from Parts Unknown, weighing in at two hundred twenty nine point nine pounds . . . GHOST MACHINE . . . TWO . . . POINT . . . OHHH!!

 

“Some weird robot song” stops, and a new song replaces it over the PA system.

 

“WATCH YA STEP KID!

WATCH YA STEP KID!

WATCH YA STEP KID!”

 

The Divine Wind Akira Kaibatsu, and his faithful manager Mr. Kobe enter through the curtain. Wu-Tang Clan’s “Protect Ya Neck” blares over the background in it’s usual bad ass way. Akira and Mr. Kobe walk down the aisle, discussing strategy against the tough opponent. Mr. Kobe reiterates something to Akira, as can be clearly seen in his facial expression. He’s pounding the back of his hand into the palm of his other hand.

 

“Being accompanied by Mr. Kobe…weighing in at one hundred and ninety five pounds from SENDAI JAPAN . . . He is YOUR…Cruiserweight champion of the world… the DIVINNEEEEEE WIND…AKIRAAAAA KAIBATSUUUUUU!”

 

“The following contest will be decided by one fall and will be for the ESS DOUBLE YOU EFF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!!!!”

 

“This is going to be an interesting cruiserweight title match, King” Mak starts. “Ghost Machine 2.0 weighs in a 10th of a pound below the cruiserweight limit. He’s got an enormous size advantage over Akira Kaibatsu.”

 

“Actually, you’re wrong.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“That’s not interesting at all.”

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

Akira and Ghost Machine circle each other to start the match. Akira eyes his opponent, and then dives in to put on a collar and elbow tie up. Akira is no match strength wise for GM though, and 2.0 powers Akira into the ropes. Referee Matthew Kivell tells GM to back off, and he does so. But right after he lets go of Akira, Akira is out firing, with toe kicks right to Ghost Machine’s gut! GM fires back at these kicks with a huge knife edged chop!

 

SMAACCKKK!

 

 

“Oh, that was stiff! Akira’s chest is going to be beet red by the time this match is over, I can tell.” Mak says.

 

GM throws another chop at Akira’s chest, but this one isn’t quite as hard. He then Irish Whips Akira into the ropes. Akira comes flying back, and tries to reverse GM’s plans, but throwing a Yakuza Kick at his face! Machine is on his toes though, and moves his head out of the way, causing Akira to miss, and fly behind GM. Akira turns around to face Machine, but is met with another huge Knife Edged chop!

 

 

 

 

SMAAACCCKKKK!

 

Akira winces in pain, but he wont fall down. Instead he runs at the ropes behind him. He bounces off, and once again tries for a Yakuza Kick bouncing off, but to a similar result. Akira misses, and is then hit with a huge Knife Edged chop! Akira wont give up though. He runs at the ropes, and GM sees the whole scenario coming again, and throws his hand out for a knife edged chop . . . but Akira ducks underneath it! He bounces off the other ropes, and comes flying back for a Yakuza Kick right at GM’s face that sends him to the floor!

 

“Akira’s Yakuza Kicks are looking sharp these days,” Mak compliments.

 

Ghost Machine gets up after being nailed in the head, and Akira is all fired up after the last exchange. Akira meets GM right away, and starts throwing side kicks at his chest. After two more side kicks, he throws a mean overhand chop at GM’s chest. He throws two knife edged chops, before backing away to run into the ropes. He bounces off, and gains tons of speed approaching GM. He sticks his arm up, and nails Ghost Machine in the forehead with a nasty roaring elbow!

 

“Akira is looking fantastic in the early going of this Cruiserweight title match!

 

Machine is reeling and rolls himself to the outside to take a breather. Akira is right outside to get on him, however. Akira throws a forearm at his GM’s face, and then whips him into the guard rail. Akira then runs right at GM, and nails him with ANOTHER Yakuza Kick that sends him up and over the guard rail!

 

 

“RAHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

 

Matthew Kivell begins the 20 count, as Akira climbs over the guard rail. Ghost Machine is groggy, and ends up sitting in a chair that was left empty by a scared fan. Akira takes this opportunity to throw side kicks at Ghost Machine’s chest again.

 

“Looks like Akira’s a tad frustrated,” Mak says.

 

“Yeah, losing the tag titles might have made him a bit angry. GM could be in for a long night.”

 

Akira then grabs Ghost Machine by the mask, and drags him over the guar rail. He then rolls GM back into the ring. GM lies down on his back, in perfect position for a springboard move, and Akira takes advantage of this. He gets up on the apron, and shoots up over the ropes. He twists in mid air, and drops an elbow down onto Ghost Machine!

 

“Very nice slingshot elbow!” Mak shouts. “Akira is in complete control!”

 

“Yeah well it’s not like he’s wrestling Tom Flesher or anything. It’s Ghost Machine!”

 

Akira lifts up Ghost Machine by the mask. He throws a high kick right at his face, but Ghost Machine holds his ground. Akira, stunned at Machines sudden resiliency, tries another kick at his face. Ghost Machines brushes it off. Akira tries a knife edged chop this time. GM then answers this back with a huge Knife Edged chop of his own!

 

 

 

 

THHHWWWWAAAAAACCCKKKK!

 

 

“OHHH THAT LOOKED PAINFUL!” Mak screams.

 

“Don’t underestimate him because he’s a robot but not only maybe, Mak.”

 

“That reminds me, King. Why the hell is he a ghost?”

 

Akira is sent straight to the floor after the last chop, and Ghost Machine puts his hands on his knees to take a breath. He then lifts Akira by the mask, and drags him over to the turnbuckle. Ghost Machine pulls his arm back, and shoots it forward for another huge knife edged chop!

 

 

 

 

WHOOOOOO!!!

 

 

 

 

 

WHOOOOOO!!!

 

 

Akira answers the chops right back with low kicks to the shin of Ghost Machine. After two more kicks to the shin, Akira tries to pick up GM for a scoop slam.

 

“Yeah, good luck with that. He’s got 35 pounds on you.”

 

Ghost Machine continues to hold his ground, not letting Akira pick him up. He then grabs a hold of Akira’s head in a front facelock. He lifts Akira up, and then brings him down the opposite way, so Akira is no longer facing him, He then grabs Akira’s head for Ping Timeout, but instead of holding on for the submission, the slams his free hand down onto Akira’s chest, sending him to the mat.

 

Ghost Machine lifts up Akira by the mask, but Akira isn’t on his feet for long. Ghost Machine rips Akira’s chest with another knife edged chop, sending Akira to the ground again.

 

Akira rolls out of the ring to regroup, but Ghost Machine is right after him. Akira foolishly rests against the guard rail. Ghost Machine approaches Akira quickly, and nails Akira with another huge knife edged chop, sending him over the guard rail!

 

“This seems oddly familiar . . .” Mak thinks aloud.

 

“That’s because it happened 5 minutes ago, but vice versa.” King answers.

 

THREEE!

 

 

 

 

FOOOUURRR!!!!

 

 

 

Ghost Machine turns around, to see Kivell counting. He then picks up Akira by the mask, and flips him over the rail. Akira slowly starts to get up, but GM finishes the job for him, dragging him by the mask. Machine then takes Akira’s arm, and whips him into the side guard rail!

 

FIVVEEE!

 

 

 

SIXX!!!

 

 

“The tides sure have turned. Ghost Machine is really getting the best of Akira right now.” Mak says.

 

 

Ghost Machine is done playing around on the outside, and hurls Akira back into the ring. He makes a cover right after, and Kivell makes the count.

 

 

 

ONE!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRNOSHOULDERUP!

 

“Ghost Machine’s gonna have to do a bit more work than THAT if he wants to pick up a pinfall!” Francis critiques.

 

“And more than just chops would be good.”

 

Ghost Machine picks up Akira by the mask, and throws another knife edged chop at him. He then whips Akira into the opposite ropes. Akira bounces back, and GM tries for a knife edged chop yet again, but Akira ducks, and hits the other ropes. He comes flying back, and is caught with a huge flapjack!

 

“Hey, a maneuver. Whodathunk, right?” King says,

 

GM picks up Akira by the mask, and wraps his arm around the back of his head, and bends his torso over his outstretched knee, for an Abdominal Stretch.

 

“Now here’s where those countless chops come in handy. Akira’s feeling them all now.” Mak says.

 

 

GM squeezes on Akira’s head tighter, putting pressure on two parts of the body making the hold even less bearable. He then unhooks his arm at an unexpected time, and rolls Akira over for a pinfall!

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOO!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREENOOOOSHOULDERSUP!!!!!

 

 

 

“Oh! Ghost Machine was so close to the title there!” King shouts.

 

“Caught Akira off guard with the surprise roll up.”

 

Ghost Machine follows the pinfall up by grabbing at both of Akira’s legs, and then turning him around, while still holding on. He then takes his legs, and bends them backwards, sitting on his back, applying pressure in the Boston Crab. Akira screams in pain, and scurries with his hands to get to the nearest rope. Luckily, Akira manages to get there after only a few seconds in the hold.

 

Ghost Machine picks up Akira by the mask, and places him in the turnbuckle nearest them. 2.0 cocks his arm back, and thrusts it forward for another huge knife edged chop!

 

 

 

WHOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

Akira’s chest is so beat from the chops, this one actually sends him on his ass, sitting down in the corner. Ghost Machine picks him up by the mask again, and wraps his arms around Akira’s waist, with his head to the side. He lifts him up into the air, and gets him completely vertical to his head. Ghost Machine waits up there.

 

And waits.

 

 

And waits.

 

 

And waits.

 

 

 

And then drops Akira down, bridging for a cover!

 

 

 

ONEEE!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEENOO!

 

 

“Close, with the stalling back suplex,” Mak says.

 

“Almost got ‘em, too.”

 

“Seems like a gameplan Ghost Machine might have had. He’s been chopping Akira to hell. Maybe he’s softening him up a lot so moves like that, moves that wouldn’t normally end it, could crown him new Cruiserweight champ.”

 

“Or maybe his hands are made of steel, and the chops probably hurt like a bitch.”

 

Ghost Machine picks up Akira by the mask, and wraps his arms around his head. Machine squeezes tightly on Akira’s head in the side headlock. Then for no reason other than to be a dick, Ghost Machine backs up into the ropes, and takes a seat on them, still clenching Akira’s head.

 

“Ah, c’mon. Show the champion some respect,” Mak scolds.

 

Kivell makes a count to get GM off, as the rules state you must do.

 

ONE

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

FI—Ghost Machine jumps off the ropes, still holding Akira’s head.

 

“Finally…” Mak mutters.

 

Ghost Machine smirks through his mask, and then decides he needs a rest. He jumps up backwards to sit on the ropes, but Akira is poised in the ring. He uses Ghost Machine’s momentum to backdrop him out of the ring!

 

“RAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

 

“Backdrop to the outside of the ring!” Mak shouts. “GM could be out for a while!”

 

“No, Belcourt’s helping him up.”

 

King is right. Chris Belcourt rushes over to his robot-friend, and helps him back to his feet, very slowly. Akira isn’t just sitting in the ring waiting for it though. He grabs the top rope, and leaps over it. He twists in mid air, and bounces his ass off the top rope, back flipping off it, landing on both GM and Belcourt!

 

“Arabian Moonsault!” King shouts. “I’m not a big fan of Akira, as you probably found out, but that was impressive.”

 

Akira gets right back up. If he felt any pain from his last high flying maneuver, he’s not showing it. He lifts GM up by the mask, and kicks Belcourt away simultaneously. He uses his free hand to grab GM by the tights, and hurl him back into the ring.

 

Ghost Machine rolls around on his stomach back and forth, as Akira stalks him. GM manages to get to one knee, and Akira takes action. He runs at the ropes Machine is facing, bounces back, and nails 2.0 with a Yakuza kick to the face!

 

“The ball is back in Akira’s court. He’s got to take advantage of this, King” Mak says.

 

“Akira’s not one to miss opportunities. He’ll follow up on this.”

 

Almost as if to prove King’s point, Akira climbs to the top of the turnbuckle. He stares down at Ghost Machine, before leaping off the turnbuckle, with deadly precision. For the KaibatsuMarks, Akira has more hang time than he’s ever had. Too much, GM will roll away. For the MachineHeads, Akira is moving too quickly, GM will get crushed.

 

Camera’s flash, and Akira lands back first, right into Ghost Machine’s stomach.

 

 

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

“Akira Kaibatsu hits a huge Senton bomb! This could be it!”

 

“That move would be a lot more effective if Akira weighed more than 3 and a half pounds, Mak.”

 

Three and a half, or a hundred and ninety five, Akira makes a cover, hooking a leg, counting along with the ref in a foreign language.

 

 

 

ONEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWWOOOOOOOOOOO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEENOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

“Shades of Dick Togo, just wasn’t enough to put Ghost Machine away!” Mak screams.

 

“As I said” King states, “Akira isn’t heavy enough for that move to work.”

 

Akira isn’t worried about his weight right now though. He walks over to the ropes opposite the ones GM is closest to. Akira steps outside the ring, and grabs the top rope again, waiting for Ghost Machine to get back to his feet. He finally does, and then the Divine Wind soars, springboarding off the ropes, and hitting a huge front dropkick to Ghost Machine, sending him into the turnbuckle, falling to his ass!

 

Akira sees another opportunity to use his feet as weapons, with Ghost Machine in the corner. He runs to the ropes, and bounces off, and comes flying at Ghost Machine, extending his left foot for a running facewash...but Ghost Machine finds the presence of mind to move his head out of the way, causing Akira to crotch himself.

 

“Ooh. Akira crotched himself a few times on Lockdown, too. That’s probably gonna sting twice as much.”

 

Ghost Machine then lifts up Akira by the mask, and then throws an elbow at Akira’s face. He grabs his arm, and whips Akira into the ropes. Kaibatsu bounces back, and Ghost Machine catches him by the torso, and flips him backwards for a raligun suplex!

 

“Railgun suplex!” Screams Mak. “A Ghost Machine trademark”

 

“This could end it here!” King sceams.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONEEEEEEE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRENOOO!

 

“Oh! So close with the railgun!”

 

Akira starts to get up quickly, but Ghost Machine runs into the ropes Akira is facing, bounces back, and thrusts his palm forward for a shotei to the chest. Akira is sent flying backwards into the ropes, and gets tangled into the 2nd one. Ghost Machine runs towards Akira once again, and hurls his boot out, for a Shining Black, sending Akira outside of the ring!

 

“Ghost Machine busting out his entire arsenal in this match, Mak!” Suicide King shouts. “Ghost Machine has regained control! He cannot lose this match!”

 

Ghost Machine steps to the outside, and picks up Akira by the mask. He throws an elbow at his face for good measure and then chucks him back beneath the bottom ropes. Ghost Machine slides in, and he attempts to pick up Akira by the tights, but Akira throws elbows at GM’s gut halfway up. Akira throws more elbows at Ghost Machine’s face, before running at the ropes behind him. He bounces off, and catches GM, headscissoring all over his body. When he comes back down though, he has a brilliant cavate placed on Ghost Machine. He uses his momentum from the head scissor to keep momentum enough to throw Ghost Machine onto his ass with a snapmare!

 

“A satellite cravate!” Mak shouts. “That’s a new one!”

 

“Very, very innovative move there, I will give credit.”

 

Akira runs at the ropes GM is facing. He bounces off, and runs towards Ghost Machine screaming something in Japanese. The Divine Wind steps up off of Ghost Machines fallen limb, and thrusts a boot into his face.

 

“GAAAAMMEEEENNGGIIIRIIIIIIIIIIII!” King screams

 

“Akira needs to make a cover! This could end the match!” Mak shouts.

 

Akira does so, hooking a leg, counting along with the referee via headbobbing.

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREAHGNOOO!

 

 

“AHHHH! Ghost Machine kicks out!” King rejoices.

 

“I don’t know how he kicked out, but he did! Akira kicked him square in the face!”

 

Akira, as usual, is his poised self in the ring. Ghost Machine rolls his arms over to break up the pin fall. Akira cradles GM’s rolling arm, and uses his momentum to set Machine up in a perfect butterfly position! Akira lifts Two Point Oh into the air, and swings him out. Akira sits down, planting Ghost Machine’s face into the canvas.

 

“It Came From Sendai! It Came From Sendai!” Mak shouts.

 

“It came from Sendai, and it may end in Arkansas!”

 

“We’re in Alabama, King.”

 

“What did I say?”

 

Amongst the geographical discussion, Akira once again hooks Ghost Machine’s leg, making a cover for a pin attempt.

 

 

 

 

ONEEEE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEE!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NOO!

 

“Nooo! Ghost Machine was this close to losing once again, but just didn’t die!” King screams. “He had the heart to stay in the match!”

 

Akira’s heart is hardly in this match anymore, after failing to put Ghost Machine away. He lifts up Machine by the mask, and throws an elbow to Ghost Machine’s nose. He then whips him across the ring, and Ghost Machine bounces back. Akira positions himself for some kind of throw, but Ghost Machine is ready, and hits a running shotei before Akira can do anything!

 

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

 

“Running palm strike! Palm Strike!” King screams. “Follow up, Tooey!”

 

“…Tooey”

 

 

Akira slowly makes his way to his feet. Ghost Machine slows the match down, and simply walks in circles around Akira. Kaibatsu offers a hand for a Greco-Roman knuckle lock. Ghost Machine accepts this exchange, and the two play a game of test of strength. Akira lets go of his left hand though, and spins Ghost Machine’s right behind his back, putting in a hammerlock. Akira squeezes tightly, before Ghost Machine spins around backwards, putting Akira in a hamemrlock of his own. Ghost Machine slides the hammerlock up Akira’s back, and then turns it into a side headlock.

 

 

Ghost Machine squeezes Akira’s head tightly, moving his head in a circular motion to show power over it, to all the fans. Akira then backs up into the ropes, and bounces off, pushing Machine off his head. GM hits the ropes, and bounces back. Akira jumps into the air, and catches Machine’s head with his legs, twisting and spinning backwards, for a hurricanrana.

 

Ghost Machine is quickly up from the roll, and Akira greets him by offering another Greco-Roman knuckle lock, this time only one handed. Ghost Machine grabs, and before he can even make a move, Akira wrenches it to the side. Ghost Machine rubs his elbow to ease the pain. Akira throws down a bionic elbow at the wrenched arm to add to the pain. Akira then eyes the turnbuckle, and his eyes glow. He runs up the turnbuckle with Ghost Machines’s hand, and comes back down, backflipping, for a modified arm drag. Ghost Machine gets right back up from the arm drag, showing that he can take Akira’s high flying mat work.

 

Akira wont just stop though. He sprints towards Ghost Machine, and baseball slides under him. He then trips up Ghost Machine by the feet, and rolls sideways up Machine’s body. He reaches his head, and puts him in a grounded side headlock. Ghost Machine fights to get out of it, and eventually rises to his feet. He backs up into the ropes, and tries to shove Akira off, but Akira holds on to Machine’s head.

 

Ghost Machine wiggles and waggles around in the headlock for minutes, before he essentially says “fuck mat wrestling.” He wraps his arms around Akira’s waist, and flip Akira backwards. Akira doesn’t land on his back, though, like a normal back suplex. Backdrop Drivers send you straight on your head.

 

 

“Backdrop Driver! Akira’s got to be done for! He was dropped right on his head!”

 

Ghost Machine makes a cover, hooking a leg.

 

 

 

 

ONEEE!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRENOSHOULDERUP!

 

“OH MY GOD, NO WAY!” Mak shouts. “What else can Akira take in this match! There isn’t much left!”

 

 

Ghost Machine shows no emotion after his last close call, and picks up Akira by the mask. He throws a light knife edged chop at Akira’s chest before whipping him into the ropes. Akira manages to find the presence of mind though, to jump up onto the 2nd rope, and bounce backwards, spin around, and hit a gamengiri on Ghost Machine!

 

 

“Another Gamengiri!” Mak screams. “Akira is getting these everyway he can!”

 

Ghost Machine slowly starts to get up, and Akira is once again right on top of him. Machine is halfway to his feet, so Akira runs right at him. He jumps, grabs a hold of Ghost Machine’s arm, floats over his back, and hurls Ghost Machine forward.

 

‘Float over arm drag!” Mak is getting excited now. “Akira is really making a comeback at winning this match and retaining his title!”

 

Akira makes a cover, lateral press without hooking either leg.

 

 

 

 

 

ONEE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRENOO!

 

 

“C’mon Akira, you’ve got to hook a leg every time. That little extra effort makes it so much harder for Ghost Machine to kick out.”

 

Akira lifts up Ghost Machine by the mask, and begins throwing elbows at his cheekbone. He then spins around for momentum, and attempts a roaring elbow, but Ghost Machine has it scouted, and ducks underneath it. He wraps his arms around Akira’s waist, and flip backwards. He bridges for the pin.

 

 

“GERMAN SUPLEX FROM GHOST MACHINE THIS WILL DO IT! NEW CHAMP!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONEEEEE!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NEW CHAMP!

 

 

 

 

NEW CHAMP!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NOOO! KICKOUT!

 

 

“RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

 

 

“Akira kicked out of that German Suplex, King! This match still isn’t over! Akira’s still got a chance to defend his title!”

 

“Ghost Machine is still in control though. He can take this match down in an instant if Akira messes up, and Akira is a rookie. He’ll mess up.”

 

Ghost Machine picks up Akira by the mask, and tucks him under his armpit. GM wraps his arm around Akira’s neck, and lifts him up in the sky. He waits.

 

 

And waits.

 

 

And waits.

 

And then drops him down to the ground with a brainbuster!

 

“Stalling brainbuster! Akira can’t kick out of this one! Not after the Backdrop Driver and the German Suplex! It’s too much! Gotta be over by now!” King shouts.

 

ONEEEE!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRENOOOOO!!

 

 

“Akira kicks out again, King! Akira kicks out again! There’s no beating this kid! He wont lose his title! He wont give up!”

 

“He gave up the tag titles, didn’t he?”

 

Ghost Machine once again picks up Akira by the mask, and out of pure lack of moves in his arsenal to use, begins throwing elbows at Akira’s cheek, just like Akira had been doing all match. Machine then goes back to earlier in the match, when he was chopping everything in sight, landing a huge knife edge on Akira’s chest, leaving a huge smacking sound.

 

Akira fights back though, hitting a knife edge chop of his own that sends Ghost Machine back a few feet. He hits another one that almost brings Ghost Machine down to his knees. He then spins around, gains momentum, and packs a whallop behind a powerful elbow, that sends Ghost Machine to the floor, motionless! Akira instinctively makes a cover, hooking both legs this time!

 

“RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

 

 

 

ONEEE!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“HE’LL KICK OUT!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“CHAMP RETAINS!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEE!!

 

 

“RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“That’s it! It’s over!” Mak shouts. “Akira wins!”

 

 

“No! No!” King says. “Look! Look look look look!” King points to referee Matthew Kivell. He’s waiving his arms sideways at Akira, telling him no. Ghost Machine had his foot under the rope when the pin was made. This match is still in progress!

 

 

 

“YESSSS!” King shouts.

 

 

“Akira had it! He had the match in his grasp, and he’s foiled by the rope! Akira deserves this match now! He earned this win!”

 

“Poppycock! This isn’t a pure rules match, Francis! Using the ropes is perfectly legal!”

 

Akira lifts up Ghost Machine. He’s had enough of the shenanigans, and close calls. He takes his left elbow, and nails Ghost Machine in the cheek, sending robot spit flying across the ring. The angle Ghost Machine’s head is after the elbow, is perfect for putting in a cravate, which Akira does. He takes the cravate, and runs up the turnbuckle, flips backwards, and drops Ghost Machine on his head.

 

 

“THE DIVINE WIND! DIVINE WIND!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEE!!

 

 

 

Mr. Kobe brings Akira his gold, as Matthew Kivell holds his hand up in victory.

 

 

FADE OUT.

[chirs3 0]

“Welcome back from the break fans,” the smooth tones of ‘The Franchise’ Mak Francis greet viewers as they are treated to an opening shot of the USS Alabama, “this is Mak Francis and the Suicide King getting ready to call the action on our main event; a Crimson Tide match featuring Amy Stephens and the Ultraviolent Champion, Bruce Blank.”

 

“Mak, I still don’t know how we got talked into this,” King says. “I mean OK, at least we’re on site. On the other hand, why the hell are we calling the match from up here!?”

 

The camera shot abruptly changes to one of the two announcers, still sitting at their desk (of course), but now in the hold of an Sea Rescue helicopter hovering above the USS Alabama. Mak looks completely at ease, but King appears to be doubting his own safety in the best manner of a cowardly heel confronted with an unusual situation.

 

“King, just be glad Howard and the crew got us here during the commercial break,” Francis chides his companion, flipping a quick salute to someone off-screen, presumably the pilot, “nice work, fellers. Anyway,” the Franchise continues, “we appear to be ready to start, so let’s take it to Funyon.”

 

The camera shot changes again, this time to the ship’s bridge where Funyon stands with an intercom in hand. The veteran ring announcer (wearing a United States Navy uniform with his bowtie pinned to his chest where most men would wear any medals they owned) raises it to his mouth and begins, his voice ringing out across the vessel.

 

“Now hear this, now hear this. The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is a Crimson Tide match for the SWF Ultraviolent Title. To win the match you must make your opponent bleed, then throw him or her overboard! Coming aboard first, from Nottingham, England; she weighs in at 171lbs, this is the Punk-Rock Princess, AMY STEPHENS!”

 

The screen now shows Amy Stephens making her way up the boarding ramp to the weatherdeck, past a line of saluting sailors as ‘Blitzkrieg Bop’ by the Ramones rings out from a sound system someone SWF-related has set up on the quayside. The Nottingham lager lass takes a final swig from her can of Stella Artois, belches, and throws the can back over her shoulder to strike a sailor in the head.

 

“And her opponent, from the Dirty Tornado Trailer Park in MOBILE, ALAMABA! He weighs in tonight at 295lbs; please welcome aboard the Ultraviolent Champion and ‘King of Pain’, BRUCE BLANK!”

 

Bruce comes stomping up the gangplank now with his cowboy hat still on his head and with ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams’ ringing out from the shore while a bored-looking Ted Polak holds up a large sign with ‘14 DREAMS BROKEN’ written on it in thick black marker. Bruce stops as he reaches the discarded lager can, picks it up and sniffs before loudly declaring:

 

‘FEE FIE FO FUM, I SMELL THE BEER OF AN ENGLISH GIRL…’

 

Bruce then looks around for his opponent and former tag team partner, but doesn’t see her anywhere. Until…

 

‘OI! UGLY! Time fer yer bath, ya get me!’

 

Bruce looks around in shock to find that Amy Stephens has already found one of the fire hoses (located on all decks) and before the Trailerpark Superstar can react she turns the pressure on full blast! The jet of water cannons into Bruce’s chest and the big man staggers, then gets knocked onto his ass from the sheer force of it!

 

“Well, it looks like we’re underway here,” Mak remarks, “and indeed the USS Alabama itself is getting underway for what must be the first time in forty years, as she’s about to pull out of the dock and head out to sea, leaving behind the memorial park of which she is the star attraction.”

 

“It’s amazing what the SWF can pull,” King says happily.

 

Bruce is still being pushed backwards by the blasting water until he ends up against the rails that surround the ship; meanwhile, the assembled sailors have scattered as they’re all evidently wusses and don’t want to get wet. Amy advances on Bruce, still holding the hose, as the relentless beating of the water is robbing her adversary of breath and given that he has nearly a foot and over 100lbs advantage over her, she needs all the help she can get. Bruce splutters and struggles but simply cannot rise back to his feet and instead starts to crawl away on all fours (probably fleeing that much water at once as much as anything else). With her opponent’s back to her Amy finally drops the hose and runs after him, then jumps onto his back before leaping off again to deliver a double stomp to the back of his head! Bruce’s head gets rammed into the weatherdeck and as Amy lands she pauses for a second to pose in the classic gymnastics ‘dismount’ position, just to show that hey, she could have gotten in the Commonwealth Games team if she’d wanted.

 

“Wow. Check out those jugs,” Suicide King says, avidly watching his monitor as Amy sticks her chest out.

 

“A sneak attack by Amy Stephens to gain the early advantage,” Mak notes, “shares a few traits with her brother, I see.”

 

“Her breasts not being one of them.”

 

“…I sincerely hope not.”

 

Amy leans down eagerly to see if she’s managed to split Bruce’s head open on the weatherdeck, but although mildly dazed the redneck isn’t bleeding yet. The Punk-Rock Princess seems disappointed and looks over at the fire hose as if considering using it to choke her opponent, but the pressure of water coursing through it is not only making it whip backwards and forwards like a spasming snake but also makes it far too rigid to use in that fashion, and Amy really can’t be bothered to go and shut the damn thing off first. As a result she resorts to good ol’ fashioned kicking and boots Bruce Blank in the head, driving his head into the metal guardrails as a convenient side effect. Yet another metallic blow to the skull would faze most people, but the Ultraviolent Champion is no normal man and although he winces in pain he then lashes out with his left arm, knocking Amy’s legs from under her! The lager lass lands on her arse and tries to get back to her feet but finds the deck slippery from all the water that’s spilling everywhere, and this gives Bruce a chance to start to haul himself up.

 

“Well Mak, would you care to pick a winner?” the Suicide King asks.

 

“Hmm,” Francis muses, “although Amy Stephens has showed herself to be a thoroughly capable competitor, I’d have to give Bruce Blank the edge; this isn’t even a match, it’s just a fight, and his size advantage will be too great to overcome. Yourself?”

 

“Bruce all the way,” King responds, “the only good idea Joseph Peters ever had was shoving Amy into a bikini instead of the ring.”

 

“I don’t recall that ever happening,” Mak says in mild surprise as Bruce aims an elbowdrop at the struggling Amy, but misses as Toxxic’s little sister manages to roll out of the way.

 

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a good idea,” King tells his co-commentator. “I mean, she won’t be modelling underwear anytime soon, but all the same…”

 

“King, I’ve just had confirmation over my headset; if you start talking about ‘puppies’, we will be sued. That is all.”

 

“Take that black Resistol hat off your head when you say that.”

 

Bruce’s arm is hurt from where he just dropped it into the metal of the deck but the big lug takes no notice and gets back to his feet - well he tries to, but the semi-slippery soles of his cowboy boots conspire against him and he ends up scrabbling around on all fours. Meanwhile Amy has managed to regain a vertical base herself and aims a kick at Bruce’s head but the big man catches her foot in one hand and then twists, causing the Punk-Rock Princess to sprawl onto the deck as well. Bruce tries to reach out and grab her to follow up but Amy knows better than to let her former tag partner get a hold of her in close quarters and scoots away over the deck of the ship before getting her feet under her again. With a frontal assault having failed Amy takes an unusual approach for a Stephens, and elects for a tactical withdrawal.

 

‘Yeah that’s right, you’d better run gal!’ Bruce is heard to bellow as he claws his way over the deck after her until he finally finds an area which the hose hasn’t soaked and he is able to stand up again. Amy simply turns around and sticks two fingers up at him before ducking under one of the big 16-inch guns and disappearing around a corner. Blank growls and follows her, but stops by one of the cannons and beckons cameraman Boz over.

 

“Now see here,” the Ultraviolent Champion says, pointing to the large weapon by his head, “you see this? This may be the pride of Alabama, but it ain’t a patch on the Blank 16-inch cannon, know what I mean? And I’m telling ya Boz, I ain’t shootin’ Blanks!” Having finished blowing his own trumpet (don’t take that one any further now) Bruce heads after his opponent and finds a hatchway open with a stairwell disappearing into the depths below.

 

“Alright Boz,” Bruce says, turning to the camera again with a conspiratorial whisper, “it looks like the little rat’s gone down there. Thing is, I know how she thinks and the gal can be tricksy, so I reckons she’s loosened the pins on this here ladder so it’ll come away when I climb down. Lemme jus’ check…”

 

With that Bruce leans down and grabs the ladder, then gives it an experimental shake. However, it remains as firm and stable as it would normally be when being shaken by an immensely strong 300lber, and Bruce seem momentarily taken aback before realisation dawns. “Well,” he says to the camera, “if she ain’t loosened the ladder then she must be waitin’ at the bottom ready to am-bush me. So I’ll just stick mah head through the hole and see where she’s at!”

 

Bruce leans down and peers down the stairwell, hoping to catch a sight of his opponent, but seems disappointed with the results. The reason soon becomes clear as Boz steps back hurriedly because the hatch door is swinging shut, and it closes on Bruce’s backside knocking the champion headfirst through the stairwell to the mess deck below!

 

‘YAAARRRGGGGHHHHHH!’

 

*THUMP!!*

 

Moments later Boz focuses on Amy Stephens who’d been waiting hidden behind the hatch door all the time, and the Nottingham lass winks at the camera. “That one always got Mike as well, innit!” Then she re-opens the hatch and simply jumps feet-first straight down the stairwell to land on her opponent with a BIG double stomp!

 

‘OOFFF!’

 

“Great,” Suicide King complains, “how are we going to see what’s going on now? Boz, get down there!”

 

“Calm down Brian,” Mak sighs, flipping open his RAZR. “Daniel? Yeah, switch to the ship’s CCTV feed now, will you?”

 

The next second the picture is replaced by a rather grainy and black-and-white picture from the USS Alabama’s CCTV system - it is however possible to recognise the mess deck and Amy entering the mess hall with Bruce Blank staggering after her, clutching his stomach.

 

“We can tap into US Navy security systems?” King asks in astonishment.

 

“We’re the world’s Number 1 pro-wrestling organisation,” Mak replies, “there’s very little we can’t do.”

 

“Then why do we still have to put up with Landon Maddix in the ring?”

 

The CCTV feed shows Amy grabbing a fire extinguisher from the wall (after all, it is the Damage Control deck as well) and firing it at Bruce, engulfing the Trailerpark Superstar in a cloud of white powder. The big man wades through, coughing and spluttering, and Amy simply hefts the canister and rams it into his stomach, then his head! Bruce is rammed back against the wall and Amy discards her weapon, but the small dark patch on Blank’s forehead indicates that Amy has achieved half the aim of the match.

 

“Blank is bleeding!” Mak confirms, “Boz, are you on the mess deck yet? Can you get in there and give us some good-quality visuals?”

 

As if in reply the figure of Boz appears in the doorway with his camera over his shoulder, and the SWF techs switch back to his shots which shows Blank now pushing himself away from the wall and advancing towards Amy, yelling threats. For her part Amy is beating a fighting retreat, hurling chairs, plates and anything she can lay her hands on at the advancing giant.

 

“That’s all well and good, but how is she going to throw him over the side of the ship when they’re below decks?” King asks. “I mean, even supposing she could incapacitate him, what’s she going to do; drag him up a ladder? I don’t think so!”

 

Suddenly Bruce snatches a chair out of the air as Amy hurls it at him, then throws it straight back! Unfortunately for the Ultraviolent Champion the USS Alabama chooses that exact moment to start lurching as she’s just cleared the harbour and is starting to head out to sea proper, and has now encountered proper tidal swell! The chair flies wide and crashes against the wall behind Amy and the Punk-Rock Princess wastes a valuable moment looking over her shoulder at it. This allows Bruce to lumber forwards and, despite the rolling floor beneath his feet, land a shoulderblock that sends Amy flying backwards and through the swing doors of the galley!

 

*WHAM!*

 

“Oh yeah, that’s the best place fer wimmin,” Bruce tells Boz over his shoulder, “in the kitchen!” With that the King of Pain squares his shoulders and marches through the door, no doubt ready to deal out some chastisement. However:

 

*CHUNK!*

 

“Wipe yer feet before yer come in my kitchen, ya get me!?”

 

*CHUNK!*

 

“An’ wash yer ‘ands too!”

 

*CHUNK!*

 

“An’ get yer mitts off’ve that, that’s fer dinner innit!”

 

*CHUNK!*

 

…and Bruce’s head and shoulders come out of serving hatch that separates galley from mess hall; beyond, Amy can be seen waving a frying pan which she has clearly been employing with devastating effect. The bleeding and battered Ultraviolent Champion lies there for a moment with his eyes slightly unfocused, then shakes his head and withdraws back into the galley. Boz seems to take this as his cue to enter the galley and peers cautiously around the door. Once there a terrible sight meets his eyes…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh God, they’re not!” King says.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…oh, but they are.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FOOD FIGHT!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amy and Bruce are hurling anything they can find at each other - hard, soft, animal, vegetable or mineral, it doesn’t matter. As Boz looks on Bruce picks up a carton of 24 eggs and starts a barrage, laying down covering fire as he tries to negotiate his way between the worktops. Amy hunkers down to try and avoid being pelted, then at the last moment she pops upright with a bag in hand and throws the contents in Bruce’s face!

 

‘ACK!’

 

Bruce recoils as a pound or two of flour hits him square in the face, but Amy only gets a second’s grace and as she tries to dart past her hulking opponent Bruce reaches out to grab her by the hair, then swings her into some nearby ovens!

 

*CLANG!*

 

Amy staggers sideways, but as Bruce tries to close the gap again she reaches up and opens the door of the top oven as hard as she can right into Bruce’s face!

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

Blank staggers back a step as the heavy steel door mashes him in the nose, but despite the pain and the involuntary tears he is able to field Amy as she tries to get past him again. This time the King of Pain grabs a nearby saucepan and slams it down upside down onto Amy’s head, causing the contents to spill down around her shoulders!

 

“She’s bleeding! She’s bleeding!” King calls excitedly as Bruce lifts the pan up to reveal Amy’s face and hair covered in a sticky red substance. Blank runs his finger through it and tastes it experimentally, then smiles.

 

“No, just spaghetti sauce,” Mak informs his co-commentator.

 

“Damn gal, you taste good,” Bruce informs his opponent, still holding her by the hair, “I guess it’s all the beer!”

 

“Needs some nuts, innit!”

 

“Huh?”

 

*CHING!*

 

Amy’s foot finds Bruce’s groin and the big man doubles over in pain, eyes almost popping from their sockets. Amy desperately gropes behind her to see what she can find for use as a weapon, and with nothing else available she aims the dishwashing hose at her opponent and squeezes the trigger. It doesn’t have the same power as the fire hose (obviously) but Bruce chokes and splutters as the water gets in his nose and mouth, then starts coughing violently. Amy grins, then has a brainwave and leans over the sink; within a few seconds most of the spaghetti sauce has been washed away as the Punk-Rock Princess takes an impromptu hair wash!

 

“Huh, women,” King mutters, “always thinking about their appearance!”

 

But vanity will be Amy’s downfall as Bruce has had time to overcome the throbbing pain in his testicular regions and the Ultraviolent Champion grabs Amy by the scruff of her neck and the waist of her pants, then hurls her bodily through the service hatch! Bruce's strength combined with Amy's relative lightness means that she hurtles straight through and lands on a service trolley which careers away with alarming speed before wobbling, tilting and finally dumping Amy into a pile of chairs from her earlier attempts to stop Blank with ballistic seating equipment.

 

"Whoo, yeah!" Burce yells, "home run!" The King of Pain pushes past Boz back out to the mess hall and heads towards his opponent with cameraman in tow, but Amy is up and limping towards the exit, back the way they originally came. Bruce lets out a whoop of delight and heads off in pursuit but even after the beating she's taken Amy is always going to be faster and more agile on her feet than the lumbering redneck, especially in a confined area such as a US battleship, the interiors of which are not generally designed with 6'7, near-300lbers in mind. As his prey disappears Bruce comes to a halt, looks around for a second and then picks up a chair.

 

"Now see here Boz," he begins, talking conspiratorially to the camera again, "ah reckon she's gone down that there passage and out the other side, an' ah reckon she's a-lying in wait for me behind that door! So what ah'm gonna do is take this here chair and use it to block any attack that sneaky bitch tries!" Suiting actions to words the Ultraviolent Champion hefts the chair and heads off down the narrow passage, past the stairwell the pair came down earlier, and then towards the door at the other end where it opens out into mess hall B. Blank takes up what he probably likes to think is a military aspect, crouching down low and raising a clenched fist, then doing something complicated with his fingers before advancing. Boz just shrugs and tags along behind. Bruce gets to the doorway and springs through, chair raised to catch the descending wrench, chair, wombat or whatever else Amy has found to assault him with...

 

'HYAARRRGGHHH!'

 

...and there is no-one there. No weapon-wielding, profanity-spouting Nottingham female appears to assault him. Cautiously Bruce looks around. Table, chairs, cutlery, giant cake...

 

...wait a minute. Giant cake?

 

"Hmm. Now there's something ya don't see everyday," Blank muses, heading over to the enormous item of confectionary. The King of Pain stoops, sniffs, prods it experimentally with his finger, then kicks it. Abruptly the cake burst into light and sounds, as strobes start flashing on the base and sleazy stripper music begins to pound through the mess hall! Bruce takes half a step back in alarm, then grins... and the top of the 'cake' suddenly explodes upwards as a buxom female tears through the paper! However, this isn't Erika Eleniak in a scanty navy uniform, but Amy Stephens wearing what she always wears, and instead of gyrating for an audience's pleasure she launches herself at Bruce Blank!

 

'YARRRR-urk!'

 

Unfortunately for Amy, Bruce's hand clamps around her throat in mid-flight.

 

"Now," the Alabama native chides, "did yoo really think ah was gonna fall fer that, straight ouuta 'Under Seige'? Ah'm telling ya gal, I used ter LOVE Stephen Seagal before he got all wussy an' wanted to save marmots an' crap like that. Ah well..."

 

And with that the Ultraviolent Champion raises his struggling opponent even higher, before CHOKESLAMMING HER DOWN THROUGH THE CAKE BAH GAWD!

 

*WHAM!!*

 

"Cakeslam!" Suicide King yells in delight, "Bruce Blank just sent Amy Stephens to bakery hell!"

 

"I think she reached the biscuit layer, King," Mak confirms.

 

"What a sweet move!"

 

"It certainly puts the icing on this match."

 

With the commentators making confectionary-based puns for all they're worth Bruce starts posing, flexing his muscles for the benefit of Boz and his camera. However, even the egotistical Blank isn't going to show off without a crowd to at least jeer him for it, and the Ultraviolent Champion reaches down into the cake wreckage and grabs Amy Stephens' hair, then hauls the struggling Punk-Rock Princess out. Amy seems to be a little short of breath for some reason, so Blank courteously decides to help her... by ramming her headfirst into a nearby bulkhead!

 

*CLANG!*

 

Amy drops down to the floor, and as Boz zooms in it becomes clear that Bruce Blank has evened the score - Amy is definitely bleeding!

 

"Wow!" King says, looking on in awe, "I didn't know women could bleed!"

 

"Why not?" Mak queries curiously.

 

"Well, they don't in any of our video games!"

 

And with that telling remark it's back to the action! Bruce picks the dazed Amy Stephens up and throws her over his shoulder as if burping a child, then heads for the nearest stairwell and begins climbing. Boz gets underneath and shoots upwards, but since no-one really wants to see an enormous redneck's ass on their TV screens the SWF cuts to CCTV footage again, which shows Bruce climbing up...

 

 

...and up...

 

 

...and up...

 

"Where the hell is he going?" King asks.

 

"I think Blank has got confused," Mak answers, "not that I suspect that's all that uncommon... anyway, he's not heading for the weatherdeck, but is instead climbing the ladders on the way to the bridge!"

 

Boz is clambering after the Ultraviolent Champion as fast as he can, and his burden of a camera doesn't seem to be slowing him down much more than Bruce's burden of a semi-conscious opponent. However, the camera mic picks up a distinct "y'know, ah could've sworn ah didn't fall this far..." as Bruce passes yet another deck. But the persistent redneck keeps going until he finally emerges into the hubbub that is the command centre of the USS Alabama; the bridge! Funyon snaps to attention and raises his voice:

 

"REDNECK ON THE BRIDGE!"

 

As one, the crew of the USS Alabama stand ramrod-straight at their positions and snap off crisp salutes before giving the traditional greeting for such an important figure:

 

"YEE-HAW, HOW 'BOUT DEM DAWGS!?"

 

"Aw, shit," Bruce says, turning in a circle, "you mean I climbed all those goddamn steps fer nuthin'?" The Ultraviolent Champion turns around and looks to make for the stairwell again, only to find that Boz is emerging and blocking his way! "G'wan, scoot!" Blank barks, aiming a half-hearted kick at the cameraman, but before he can start to descend again Amy seems to come to life, grabs some headphones from off a console in front of her where she is laid over Bruce's shoulder and starts using the cable to choke her opponent!

 

'Urk!'

 

Bruce starts flailing around and Amy manages to slip off his shoulder, then plants one foot firmly in his back and tugs to tighten her instrument of strangulation even further! The headphones have now come away from the console and Amy has complete freedom of movement, allowing her to keep moving and always stay behind her opponent as he turns to seek her while rapidly turning purple! The sailors on duty have stopped their tasks to watch the combat with some cheering for the hometown hero while others cheer for the girl... but then one small, scrawny example steps up behind Amy and raises a wrench in the air-

 

*CHING!*

 

-but the Punk-Rock Princess lashes out with a mule kick without looking and catches him square in the nadgers! The wrench drops from his nerveless fingers and Amy headbutts him for good measure as she goes past, knocking his hat off and revealing the weaselly features and greasy hair of none other than Wayne Blank!

 

"You bloody Blanks need to wash more, could smell yer comin' innit!" Amy tells him as Wayne staggers back, misses a step and goes tumbling down the stairwell with a scream perfectly matching those of the unfortunates who fell into the Sarlac in Return of the Jedi! However his little brother has given Bruce a distraction to work with and the Ultraviolent Champion charges backwards, sandwiching Amy between himself and a convenient wall! Nearly 300lbs of sweating Alabaman is not a pleasant thing to be squashed by and it causes Amy to release her asphyxiating hold, allowing Blank to stagger away clawing at his neck. However, the rampaging redneck rounds on her moments later and swings a hard right… that Amy ducks!

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

“YAAARRGGGHHH!”

 

Bruce quickly finds out why it is in the US Navy’s code of practice to avoid punching walls whenever possible as his knuckles suffer in comparison to the steel, and Amy darts past him. The junior Stephens looks around for whatever might come to hand as a weapon and her eyes light upon a telescope! She grabs it and extends it, then turns towards her hulking opponent… only to find out that he has grabbed one of his own!

 

“So,” Bruce says, advancing towards her (and with his voice not only a bit deeper but also with an added breathy effect, presumably due to Amy’s recent attempt at strangling him), “you do not wish to join us?” Here he nods at his brother, as Wayne grimly climbs back up out of the stairwell.

 

“I’ll never join you!” Amy spits, circling her larger opponent.

 

“Well [*hnnn-haaahhh*], in that case [*hnnn-haaahhh*] perhaps we shall have to look elsewhere,” Bruce surmises sinisterly. “After all [*hnnn-haaahhh*], I believe you have a… brother? [*hnnn-haaahhh*] Yes, you have an older brother! [*hnnn-haaahhh*] He was wise to hide himself from me. [*hnnn-haaahhh*] If you will not turn to the Blank side [*hnnn-haaahhh*] then perhaps he will…”

 

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Amy yells a terrifying warcry and launches herself at the big man, beating down his defences with a fusillade of telescope attacks that finally culminate in Bruce on his ass in front of some railings, desperately holding his weapon up to protect himself…

 

…and Amy brings her ‘scope right down on his hand!

 

*CRACK!*

 

“OOWWWW!” Bruce wails, dropping his telescope and crying like a baby as his right hand takes another nasty knock. Amy stands over him triumphantly for a moment… before realising that she’s holding a 300lb man at the tip of a frickin’ telescope and cracks him in the head with it before turning round, delivering a Polish Hammer to Wayne and darting for the stairwell!

 

“Yew come back here,” Bruce bellows, hauling himself up with his good hand (and apparently regaining his old speech patterns and breathing ability), “ah ain’t done with yew yet, gal!”

 

But Amy is having none of it, skidding down the outside of the ladder sailor-fashion and darting away! Bruce grumbles under his breath and pursues her as best he can with his bad hand, but Amy is heading down and getting away from him!

 

“Fans, we need to go to some messages,” Mak Francis apologises.

 

 

 

 

--COMMERCIAL BREAK--

 

 

 

 

 

“Welcome back fans,” Mak Francis greets the returning viewers, “in the break we’ve had a lot of both competitors walking and running down corridors and so forth, but now our aerial camera crews have spotted Amy Stephens emerging onto the weatherdeck…”

 

With that the feed switches to a high-angle shot of Amy (sadly too far away for the main demographic to successfully see down her top) waiting outside a hatchway on the main deck of the USS Alabama as it plunges forward into the ocean. The Punk-Rock Princess struggles to keep her footing as the ship rolls with the swell, but seems to be lying in wait for her opponent… until the hatch door suddenly swings sharply open, sending her sprawling to the deck! Moments later Bruce Blank limps through, shaking his right wrist which is evidently still giving him trouble after pushing the heavy door.

 

“Well, I think Bruce learned about how Amy likes to wait behind doors,” King points out, “and he taught her; he taught her good!”

 

Indeed, the youngest member of the Stephens clan is now lying on the deck trying to gather her wits together as her opponent advances on her triumphantly. Meanwhile from behind him, Boz emerges with his trusty camera still on his shoulder.

 

“YEE-HAW!” Bruce yells, now with his adversary apparently at his mercy, “gal, you’re in fer a world o’ trouble now!” With that he picks Amy up by her hair and, with considerable balance considering the spray-soaked deck and the rolling ship, Irish whips Amy towards the guardrails that surround the deck!

 

*CLUNG!*

 

Amy hits them hard, but does not go over. With a frustrated noise Bruce lines himself up, slaps his meaty right thigh a couple of times and heads forwards at something between a walk and a run, then raises one massive boot to try and kick Amy in the head and send her over the rails to the sea below…

 

…but Amy moves, and Bruce only succeeds in crotching himself on steel!

 

“How predictable,” King sighs, “not to mention painful.”

 

“But King, this is a vital stage of the match,” Mak points out, “with both wrestlers having been busted open, the first one over the side loses!”

 

And they both realise it. Amy, despite the pain in her ribs, has got her sights set on the testicularly-traumatised Bruce Blank and grabs the leviathan’s leg, trying to heave him over the side! Sadly she lacks the muscle power for anything approaching that degree of heavy lifting, and Bruce grabs her by the head to shove her away, then tries to extricate himself from the mess he’s found himself in.

 

“Come on Blank, you can’t mess up now!” King urges, realising that victory or defeat could be just moments away, “I’ve got a lot of money riding on this!”

 

“Much as I’d enjoy seeing Bruce Blank be beaten by a girl,” Mak says, “I find it hard to believe that his weight advantage will allow Amy to tip him over the side. I have to say King, I think your money’s safe.”

 

“Are you a gambling man?”

 

Amy has herself lined up for another try, but just as she charges Bruce manages to swing his leg back over and gets both boots on the deck! Amy simply hits him in the midsection and Bruce reacts like an adult tackled by a twelve year-old - he gets driven back a step, but no more. This means Bruce ends up with his ass against the railings and Amy pushing as hard as she can, throwing everything into this in the hope that she can pull it off…

 

 

 

…and Bruce wobbles…

 

 

 

…and Amy pushes…

 

 

 

…and Bruce starts to totter…

 

 

 

…and grabs hold of Amy’s hair…

 

 

 

…and tips her over the side!

 

“YES!” Suicide King shouts joyfully as the few sailors on the deck cheer their hometown hero, “Bruce has done it! Chalk up another broken dream to the King of Pain, and someone fish Amy out… but take your time, we want her T-shirt to be nice and wet…”

 

Bruce heaves a sigh of relief and steps away from the rails, then raises both fists in the air in triumph, then starts saluting the sailors!

 

“Um, King,” Mak says slyly, “I think there’s something you should see…”

 

One of the SWF camera crews on board a circling helicopter is focusing in on something behind Bruce Blank. A few more adjustments and it suddenly leaps into focus…

 

…Amy Stephens, grimly holding onto the top rail as she dangles over the side!

 

“No!” King shouts, “no no NO! Bruce won! She went over the side! Bruce wins!”

 

“Technically, not until she hits the water,” Mak Francis reminds the Heartbreaker… and as he does so Amy tenses, then slowly skins the cat back onto the weatherdeck!!

 

“Bruce! Turn around! Turn around!” King wails, trying a form of semaphore in the desperate hope of attracting the Ultraviolent Champion’s attention, but to no avail. Amy looks around, grabs a stretcherboard from where it is affixed to the rails, then advances on her unsuspecting opponent from behind…

 

*CRACK!*

 

The first shot hits Bruce in the back.

 

*CRACK!*

 

The second in the right knee. And as he turns around, desperately trying to draw a bead on his attacker the third gets him-

 

*CRACK!*

 

-right on the skull. Bruce staggers and starts to wobble forwards… Amy steps out of the way like a bullfighter dodging a particularly arthritic bull and then swings once more for luck, catching her opponent in the back again and helping him on his way…

 

*CRACK!*

 

…over the rails.

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRrrrrrrggggghhhhhh…”

 

*SPLASH!!*

 

“Now hear this, now hear this,” the artificially-enhanced voice of Funyon booms over the PA system, “here is your winner and NEW~ SWF Ultraviolent Champion… the ‘Punk-Rock Princess’, AAAAAAA-MMMMMMYYYYYYYYY… STEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!”

 

“NO!” King bawls, “No, I don’t believe it! I won’t believe it! It’s not possible! After everything Bruce has been through - barbed wire, cages, Sendai Thumbtack matches, exploding rings, FAO Schwartz - this… this girl dumps him off the side of a ship and he loses the belt just like that!?”

 

“I’m having trouble believing it myself Brian,” Mak Francis says with a wide Franchise smile on his face, “but I’m welcoming it; I may have had my differences with her brother, it’s true, but Amy Stephens has shown heart and ingenuity here tonight to dispose of one of the SWF’s most dominant athletes in his own division. She’s good value for that belt… and she looks better with it, too.”

 

“A mutilated grizzly bear with halitosis would have looked better with it than Blank,” King snarls, “that’s not the point! How are we supposed to be taken seriously when we have a girl as Ultraviolent Champion?”

 

“…I was going to mention Annie and her time with the HGC Belt,” Mak admits, “but I’m guessing you wouldn’t count that as much of an argument-”

 

“Damn right!”

 

“-so I’ll have to inform Miss Stephens of your concerns and have you explain your reservations to her yourself,” Mak smoothly continues, then turns to address the camera as King chokes involuntarily at that thought. “Fans, this is ‘The Franchise’ Mak Francis bidding you farewell from SWF Smarkdown; I won’t see you for Storm, but my companion the Suicide King will… if Amy Stephens doesn’t get to him first!”

 

“Mak, I swear I’m gonna-”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

 

© & ® The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation 2006

‘Raising Workrate By Hiring Octopi’

[chirs3 0]

Another successful SWF Smarkdown is in the books, the Alabama crowd begins to rise to their feet after the main event and look towards the exits to file out of the arena. At the commentators booth, Suicide King and Mak Francis stand, ready to exit as well.

 

“Mak, I have to say. You did a decent job tonight.”

 

“Thanks, King. That has to be the nicest thing you’ve ever said…to anybody…ever…”

 

“Yeah, it is.”

 

Suddenly, a shriek is heard from behind the announcers as a young woman is pushed out of the way. Security rush over to the scene, where a young man with a black hooded sweatshirt jumps over the railing, shoving the guards out of the way. The crowd stops and turns to watch as some drunken fan charges the two retired SWFers. The Suicide King and Mak Francis both turn around at the same time…

 

 

 

…But Mak is immediately dropped by a left hook to the jaw! Stumbling back, The Franchise tries to grab the guard rail, but is soon grabbed by the back of his head, dragged towards and slammed into the steel steps! The Suicide King goes to save his colleague for the evening, but when the man attacking him gives him an evil glare, he simply steps back towards the announcers table, picks up his head set, and yells into the microphone…

 

 

“IT’S FUCKING SPIKE JENKINS!”

 

Spike grabs Mak and rolls him into the ring. Sliding in after him, Spike jumps to his feet and begins planting kicks to the back of the fallen Franchise’s head. The returning Alabama crowd begins booing at Jenkins, who takes a few moments away to cockily pose for them. Spike turns back around, ready to finish off Mak…

 

 

 

 

…Who jumps to his feet and fires off a forearm to the face! Spike stumbles back as Mak follows up with two more elbows! Spike falls back into the ropes; giving Mak the opportunity to Irish whip him…but Spike reverses it and sends Mak into the ropes! Mak hits the ropes and bounces off, leaping into the air and connecting with a flying elbow to the face of Spike Jenkins! Both men hit the mat, but Mak jumps up to his feet, getting the returning crowd behind him!

 

“MAK! MAK! MAK!”

 

Spike clutches his face as he crawls to his feet. He stumbles around, unsure of where he is, as he walks backwards...getting locked in a double chicken wing by Mak!

 

“MAK IS GOING FOR THE BITTERSWEET! MAK IS GOING FOR THE BITTERSWEET!”

 

Mak holds onto the chicken wing, trying to push Spike to the mat. Spike knows this move all too well and tries to fight out of it. He drags Francis around the ring, stopping dead center, leaning over and trying to break out of it…

 

 

 

 

 

…But it’s no use…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*SMASH*

 

 

 

 

 

 

…So Spike throws his leg back, mule kicking Mak Francis square in the testicles. Francis releases the hold and kneels over, turning blue from the shot. Spike shakes off the soreness, turns around, and pulls Mak into a standing headscissors. He double underhooks his former mentors’ arms and looks around the arena with a sick smile on his face…

 

 

“NO! SOMEONE GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!” shouts The Suicide King.

 

 

 

 

 

…But it’s too late.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spike lifts Mak up into the air for the Tiger Bomb…but instead turns his body sideways, catching Francis in mid-air over his shoulders. He holds the man considered to be one of the greatest technical wrestlers in the history of the company across his shoulders…

 

 

 

 

 

…The man that trained him…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…The man that taught him almost everything he knows…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…The man that was like a brother to him…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…The man that was his best friend…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…AND SPIKES HIM INTO THE MAT WITH THE BURNING HAMMER!!!!

 

“OH MY GOD!” cries The Suicide King.

 

The crowd sits in awe as Francis convulses in the middle of the ring. Spike stands on his knees, shifting his blue eyes across the arena, catching the expression of every fan in attendance. A grin over his face.

 

 

 

 

 

The grin that was made famous by another mentor of Spike’s. A man that no one wanted in the company. The man that caused so much damage and destroyed so many careers.

 

 

 

 

And now Spike has a grin on his face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The same grin…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As SWF Smarkdown fades to black…