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Ess Dub Eff Lockdown - May 3erd

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We go with a cold start to Lockdown, no pyros, no music, no introvideos or anything. Just a big redneck and the SWF’s answer to Larry King (Ben Hardy in case you’re wondering) out on the ramp under the giant SWF-Tron. Bruce doesn’t look much better than he did on Aftershock, his left arm is still taped up all the way, the cuts are still very visible although the welts and bruises are going away. Blank stands there and looks out over the crowd in the Kremlin and takes it all in as Ben Hardy gets his game face on.


“Welcome to Lockdown Ladies and Gentlemen, live from the Kremlin right here in Moscow, Russian” Hardy says giving the hometown a thumbs up for a cheap pop




Bless them, they don’t get out much.


“Yeah, yeah Benny get on with it” Bruce says impatiently.


“With me here tonight is the former” Blank turns and stares a hole through Hardy “And LONGEST reigning Ultraviolent champion, Mr. Bruce Blank!”




“Thank ye, thank ye it’s great to be here in Russje – land of Boris Zhukov and 8 million bald guys with goatees called Koloff” Bruce says with a nod “I’ve been sitting around on my can since Battleground and frankly I’m itching for some action” Bruce says and then underlines his point by discreetly scratching his crotch.


“They say they can’t keep a good man down Bruce, so how are you doing?” Hardy starts out, figuring Bruce was the kind of person who could take a joke like that.


“Well I guess Rickmen ain’t a good man then is he? Cause I ain’t seen him around these parts since the Pay Per View” Bruce replies curtly.


“Have you recovered from Pandemonium? I mean you hardly look like you’re fit for fight” Hardy says, then immediately regrets speaking up.


“I was probably more fit for fight 10 minutes after Pandemonium than you are right now Benny! But you see that’s why I’m here tonight – to find out if I am truly ready to return to the ring”


“So you’re going to see a doctor?” Hardy asks all confused.


“I don’t got much faith in doctors” Bruce says and shakes his head “Only *I* know if I’m ready, and I’m only ready if I pass the test.”


“The test?” Hardy says realizing where this may be going.


“Yup! The test – Now last week I done told ya’ll about the Jack Daniels test, but I figured since we’re in Russhje I should support the local economy” Bruce says and then pulls out a large bottle of Stolichnaya Vodka




“These people cheer Vodka?” Mak blurts out, surprised that the bottle got a reaction.


“They’re a nation built on drinking vodka – how else do you think they survive the winters?” King points out.


“Ya’ll ain’t getting any!” Bruce says as he grips the bottle tightly.




“I’m fixing to find out if I’m ready to return to the ring, if I can’t feel any of my injuries once I’ve emptied this bottle then I’m ready to return to the ring” Bruce explains as he twists the cap off the bottle.


“What right now?”


“Starting right now yes. I know a lot of people would rather see me stay out of the ring, they’re happier and safer without me around. A lot of people wish I’d just head on back to the trailer park and leave them alone.” Bruce says with a smirk “Well just like in the bedroom those people will leave here disappointed because I ain’t planning on just slinking away”


“So you’re basically out here so that we can watch you drink?” Hardy summarizes.


“Well it’s either that or yet another “Mystery Man” let down so I say “Bring out the redneck with the booze” instead of watching someone like Landon wear a pink mask to the ring and lose his way into a shot at the world title. . . again” Bruce says and then takes a long gulp of Vodka.




“So on with the show!” Bruce says as he walks backstage to continue the Vodka test.


*Cue Lockdown intro*

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The world tour rolls into Russia and straight into Moscow, and not even the Soviets can resist the power of the SWF as we take over the Kremlin for the next step on our world tour! I'd have something more witty here but save for the fact that the world tour rolls on and once more Janus - part time head of security, part time furry, all time nutjob - has the book, I have nothing else to say. Except for the fact that word limits are easily modifiable because I still have NO idea what people are comfortable with.

Main Event - Title vs Title
Hardcore Rules
Landon 'La Cucaracha' Maddix© vs Amy Stephens©

Description: Amy totally called out Landon on AftershoX. The Princess of Punk is not pleased at all with her partner's dilly-dallying ways with Megan Skye, and the Cockroach responded to her demands. WIth the power of his ego behind him, Landon asked for this match to be title-vs-title, because he wants to put Miss Stephens in her place. Can the Nottingham native prove her enemy wrong, or will the Cockroach be too hard to squash?

Rules: What rules? This is going to be violent.

Sub Main Event - International Title Match
JJ Johnson vs Wildchild©

Description: On the one side, we have JJ Johnson. Silent and deadly much like a poisonous fart, Mr Johnson has shown that he is capable of hanging with both the best (like Toxxic) and the worst (like Landon) the SWF has to offer. On the otherside we have the prestigious Wildchild, the living pinball and current International champion, ready to take on anything that's thrown his way. So Johnson threw himself.

Rules: Standard singles match.

Non-Title Match
Grendel© vs Zyon

Description: Zyon's a chip off the old block, and Grendel is a very nice up and comer following his surprise victory in the Air Raid match at the Pay-Per-View. So they're being tossed together in the ring to go at it mano-e-mano, and may a good match come out of it, so says I.

Rules: Straight singles match.

House Rules - Viktor's All You Can Drink Vodka
Sean Davis vs Bloodshed
Special Guest Referee: Viktor Tarakanov

Description: When in Russia, do as the Russians stereotypically do. Featuring former SJL talent and big ugly Russian git Viktor Tarakanov as the guest referee, these two clash together for no other real reason than the fact that the World Tour needs a House Rules match, and that I tried to think up something at least remotely funny and failed so very, very hard.

Rules: Standard singles match, with every near fall (2 count) or broken submission requiring both superstars to take a shot from the vodka bottle carried by the referee. It's a big bottle, folks. Get SMASHED.

Cruiserweight Spotfest
Wayne Blank vs "The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu

Description: We've got no Bruce Blank, but we sure as hell have a Wayne Blank, and because Janus is fairly poor when it comes to booking, he just threw Wayne in with another notable crusier to showcase their stuff. After tangling with Amy last show, can Wayne shoot higher in the SWF, or will he be blown off course by a divine wind?

Rules: Cruiserweight rules (no throwing over the top rope, 20 counts on the outside, etc.)

Austin Sly vs "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins

Description: Semi-triumphant returnee of the Sly variety apparently under Joseph Peters' thumb vs. psychotic new straight-edge sensation emokid of the Jenkins variety. FIGHT!

Rules: Standard singles match.

??? vs Manson

Description: Uh oh. It's the dreaded Question Mark Man, back to wreak havoc upon the SWF! And who better to meet our lovely mystery man than the Raging Bull himself, Manson? Will the power of Mansonosity prevail in this match, or will the Question Mark Man deliver swift justice upon the opposition?

Rules: Straight singles match. ???, sendee your stats to Manson.

Edited by realitycheck

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SWF Lockdown is on the air in three….








SWF Lockdown explodes into action in front of the crowd and the viewers at home, a fusillade of pyros and flame jets erupting all around the ring area. Cameras pan over the masses of SWF fans that jam packed themselves sardine style into the specially constructed arena on the very grounds of the Kremlin itself, the cameras take in the sea of faces and the various signs bobbing about within it. The camera view finally cuts back to the announcer’s table revealing Mak Francis and the Suicide King seated and arguing something rather heatedly until they notice the camera pointed at them. There's a brief pause as Mak composes himself before cheerfully launching into “greeting” mode.


“Hello everyone and welcome to SWF LOCKDOWN! Coming to you live for one night only from the Kremlin, right in the heart of Russia! I’m Mak Francis, here as ever with my partner the Suicide King!”


“Hi.” Is all that comes from the King’s mouth, his face the very picture of boredom as he waits for the first match of the show and for Mak to finish his spiel.


“Oh show some spirit King!” Mak says a little huffily as he glances at his lethargic companion on the broadcasting table. “We’ve got a host of great matches for you tonight folks including a House Rules All you can drink Vodka match, refereed by none other than the Red Rage himself Viktor Tarakanov!”


“Someone who still needs to be told the Cold War is over.” King adds snidely.


“The International Title will also be on the line tonight.” Mak continues, trying to ignore that comment. “But tonight’s main event will be title versus title! Both the SWF World Title and the Ultraviolent Title will be on the line in a Hardcore match! Its winner take all between Landon Maddix and Amy Stevens!”


“Maddix is going to whip Amy Stevens’ ass Mak. No question about it, he’s not the World Champion for nothing.”


“But he’s in Amy’s world tonight King, she took the Ultraviolent Title from the death grip of Bruce Blank!”


“And Maddix is no stranger to getting hardcore either Mak. He’s been in these kinds of matches before and he knows what to expect.”


“Lets hope so for his sake King. First up however we’ve got Manson against an as of yet unnamed opponent.”


”I hate these matches Mak, you never know who you’re going to see come out from those curtains. It could be Cutthroat for god’s sake!”


Before Mak can form a reply Mastodon’s “Crusher Destroyer” hits the speakers, the lights starting to strobe in time with the music and the wild cheers of the rabid Russian fan base turning to heated boos as the first man in the opening match makes himself known. Manson strides out from behind the curtain and the boos simply increase as the music pounds away, the Raging Bull spits mockingly at some of the more unfortunate fans that line the entrance ramp, taking no notice of the expletives hurled his way in English and Russian alike.


In the ring, standing ready as always is Funyon, the genial announcer raising his microphone to his lips as Manson reaches the ring and rolls his way inside under the bottom rope. “Ladies and Gentlemen! The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Now entering the ring, weighing in at 240lbs, and hailing from Denver, Colorado! He is the Raging Bull! MAAAAAAAAAANSOOOON!”


The boos filling the arena merely intensify as Manson mockingly throws up the horns before stalking across the ring to his corner and sitting down as his music fades away and he waits for his opponent.


“Who’s it going to be King? Who’s it going to be?”


“Maybe if you just shut up for two seconds you’ll find out.”


The arena lights suddenly go dark, plunging the crowd into darkness and raising a few confused cheers as the fans wait impatiently to see who will face Manson tonight. A graveyard bell begins to toll mournfully in the blackness, the fans stirring in the gloom as old memories are re-kindled and then brought back full force as a deep voice reverberates through the speakers.


"Are you scared?"


The voice echoes for a moment before several voices speak as one.


"He's here..........."


Amon Amarth’s “Death in Fire” roars from the arena speakers, matched only in volume by the sudden eruption of the fans as red lights begin to strobe across the entire arena as gouts of thick smoke boil up from the entranceway. A single blood red spotlight pierces the roiling smoke, illuminating a massive figure in its midst, and making the fans cheer even louder as he steps through the clouds and raises both huge arms into the air, a wide grin stamped firmly on his face on Funyon raises his voice to make himself heard.


“Annnnnnd his opponent! MAKING HIS RETURN TO THE SWF! Weighing in at 315lbs! From Shrewsbury, England! He is the Black Angel! AEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECAS!”


The fans explode yet again as Funyon quickly makes himself scarce from the ring, Aecas stands on the stage for a long moment, soaking in the atmosphere and the welcoming cheers of the fans before he strides down the entry way. The seven footer now focus’ solely on the man in the ring, that damnable grin still on his face as he finally arrives at ringside and makes his way up the stairs and steps slowly into the ring.


“Oh my god…” Is all the Suicide King can utter as Aecas moves to the centre of the ring, looking about him at the raving fans before he points to Manson and then makes a slow throat cutting gesture to the immediate approval of the crowd.


“Unbelievable! We haven’t seen this man for over a year since he left for Japan!”


“And that’s where he should have stayed! We were finally down to two nutcases and that was just Janus! We don’t need another one!” King blurts out, still shocked at the sight as Aecas, at referee Eddy Long’s insistence moves slowly back to a corner of his own.


“Well you go in there and tell him King! What a match this should be, these two men know one another very well. They were assaulting each other almost every night back in old days of the SJL before they moved up the ranks!”


“Maybe so, but he’s been out of this ring for over a year and Manson has picked up plenty of new tricks in that time.”


Back in the ring Aecas continues to stare directly at Manson as referee Eddy Long moves into the centre of the ring, he quickly checks the position of both wrestlers before stepping back and signalling to the Time Keeper to start the match.



DING! DING! DING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



Manson reaches up, grabbing the second rope with both hands and pulling himself up to his feet before slowly walking out towards Aecas, meeting his opponent in the centre of the ring. Aecas towers over his opponent but Manson shows no signs of intimidation, looking up at the Englishman for a long moment before reaching up high and slamming a hard punch into the face of his opponent. Aecas’ head jerks back slightly from the blow and he continues to stare down at Manson, as his opponent strikes him again…and again…to little discernable effect.


Manson finally kicks Aecas hard in the gut, and at last that seems to have some effect on his gigantic opponent as he doubles over slightly. Manson takes advantage of this small opening, and seeing that punches are having little effect launches straight into the elbows, launching a salvo into the right side of Aecas’ face, forcing the big man backwards. Manson quickly runs for the ropes at the other end of the ring, rebounding and launching himself upwards to strike Aecas high in the chest with a huge Running Knee, staggering the big man once more and taking him into the ropes.


“And this is exactly what I’m talking about Mak.” King says as Aecas lunges forwards off the ropes with a Decapitator attempt that Manson is quick to duck under, the Raging Bull spins about and stops the Black Angel dead with a solid thrust kick to the abdomen doubling him over once more. Manson hits the ropes once again and smashes his right foot into the side of Aecas’ head with a thunderous Yakuza Kick, finally taking the big man off of his feet and down to the mat.


“Well Manson is certainly starting off on the offensive, but he’ll need to pull out a lot more than this to put Aecas down.” Mak says as Manson moves up to Aecas’ head, stamping his foot down heel first on the giants forehead and spinning around with a bootscrape, the fans erupting into boos at the action, Manson mockingly spreading his arms as Aecas presses a hand to his forehead.


“Oh would you look at that! No respect from Manson!”


“Haha! Do it again!” The Suicide King exclaims gleefully as Manson goes to the ropes once again and drops a solid knee into the giants face before diving on top of him for the first pinfall of the match.


“Big knee drop and here we go! Manson looking to end it early!” Mak says as Long drops to his belly and makes the count.







Before Long’s hand can even smack the canvas Aecas’ arms grab a firm hold of Manson, wrapping around the head and right leg as the Black Angel simply sits up to break the count.


“Uh oh! Here comes a little lesson in respect King!”


“I told him to scrape the face again! But does anyone listen to me!?”


Manson struggles in the powerful grip of his opponent, slamming his elbow into the back of the giant as he slowly gets back up to his feet a grin appearing on his face once more before he drops down to one knee, slamming Manson ribs first into it and following it up with a huge Fall Away Slam that sends the Raging Bull flying across the ring.


“And that’s what you get for taking your opponent for granted King.” Mak quips as Aecas pushes himself to his feet and advances on the slowly rising Manson.


“Maybe.” King grudgingly agrees as Aecas grabs Manson by the hair and forcibly pulls him back to his feet and into a solid forearm shot that sends the Raging Bull reeling back against the ropes. The Black Angel grabs a trailing arm and shoots Manson across the ring into the ropes, roaring out to meet him in the middle of the ring but the Raging Bull again ducks the Lariat.


“Swing and a miss with the Lariat.”


“Manson’s just too quick for him Mak.”


Both men rebound from the ropes a second time, Aecas swings a leg out, trying for a Yakuza kick of his own but Manson slides under it, springing back to his feet and levelling the giant with a Gamengiri as he turns to face him once more.


“BAM! That’s how it’s done!” The Suicide King cackles as Manson covers his opponent once more, hooking one of those big legs for extra pressure.


















Aecas flings Manson off of him with a powerful kickout, both men quickly scrambling back up to their feet, Aecas clutching the back of his head from the kick as Manson tries to keep the ball in his court with a Rolling Elbow. This time however it’s the Raging Bull who finds nothing but air as Aecas ducks under the deadly strike, twisting about and finally nailing the Lariat, almost taking Manson’s head off in the process.


“Decapitator!” Mak cries out as Aecas grabs Manson by the hair once more and roughly drags him back up to his feet before grabbing a leg and hoisting the Raging Pull up into a Sidewalk Slam position. Aecas pauses for a moment before jumping up into the air, releasing Manson in mid air and hammering an elbow into his midriff as they land. Manson’s audibly “Ooofs” as the air is driven out of him from the impact of the slam and the hard elbow that followed it, he clutches his gut trying to draw air into his lungs as Aecas towers over him once more.


“Big elbow to the abdomen! Manson may be winded from that last shot King!”


Slowly pulling Manson up once again, Aecas steps behind his opponent, wrapping both arms around Manson’s middle with a tight waistlock


“He’s got more to worry about now than an Elbow!” The Suicide King yells before Aecas heaves his opponent off of his feet with a huge Release German Suplex. Manson sails through the air for a moment before landing HARD on his head and shoulders, the impact rolling him over until he slumps face down to the canvas. The fans let out another gleeful cheer as the Raging Bull gets dumped on the back of his skull and Aecas quickly crawls over to make his first pinfall of the match.


















Manson manages a powerful kickout himself but Aecas doesn’t give the Raging Bull a second to compose himself, hauling him back up to his feet once again and measuring his opponent with another solid forearm. A second forearm rattles Manson’s head but this time the Raging Bull fires back with a vicious knife edge chop that cracks against the Black Angel’s chest and draws an obligatory “Wooooo!” from the fans.


Not to be outdone Aecas lashes out again, a third solid forearm connecting and sending Manson staggering back towards the ropes, the Raging Bull comes off the cabling as quick as he can, launching himself into a quick Roundhouse kick only to have his foot smack solidly into the hands of the black Angel. Manson is quick to react however, his other leg leaving the mat and coming across to clout Aecas squarely in the back of the head sending the big man reeling once more, staggering back into a corner as the Raging Bull doggedly climbs back up to his feet.


“Beautiful Enzugiri by Manson! Quick thinking certainly pays off.”


“Against somebody this size Mak you have to make sure to be quick, and to hit hard. You know that just as well as I do.”


Aecas shakes his head slightly to try and clear the cobwebs away as the Raging Bull retreats to the far side of the ring, pausing for a moment before charging at Aecas as he holds fast in the corner. Aecas sees Manson coming though, and the cameras catch his face twisting from an impassive facade into an angry snarl as he charges out of the corner to meet the Raging Bull in the middle of the ring! Smashing into his smaller opponent with another devastating Lariat, turning Manson upside down and inside out like a rag doll as he practically gets his head taken off.


“Good god what a stiff clothesline!”


“And look at the expression on Aecas’ face King! I don’t think its all fun and games anymore!”


Aecas turns around slowly to face his fallen opponent , the cheers of the crowd loud in his ears, the expression on the giant’s face is of anger, as he stoops down and grabs Manson under the arms hauling his dazed opponent upright. The giant switches his grip, arms coming up to lock the Raging Bull’s arms in a Full Nelson before arching backwards and dropping the smaller man on the back his head with a hard Dragon Suplex, locking his body into a huge bridge for the pin.
















The fans explode into boos as Manson’s right shoulder shoots off of the canvas before Long’s hand can slap the mat for three, the Raging Bull not willing to give up yet, even as he flops back to the canvas after breaking the pin. Aecas gets up slowly, reaching down and lifting his dazed opponent back up to his feet once more. Aecas looks out at the fans for a moment, his left hand releasing Manson’s tights for a moment to draw a thumb across his throat before he heaves the Raging Bull up into the air. The Black Angel doesn’t waste any time, and drops Manson straight South, smashing the head of the Raging Bull into the canvas with a vicious Sheer Drop Brainbuster! The sheer force of the impact dragging the crowd to their feet ecstatic cheers mixing with shocked cries as Manson flops bonelessly down to the canvas.


“And he just dropped him on his head! Did you see that Mak?! RIGHT ON HIS HEAD!”


“I think that could be the end of it King! The end is nigh for Manson!”


The fans seem to agree with Mak as the cheers of the fans simple grow and grown as Aecas quickly pins the Dangerous One with a Lateral Press, hooking a leg tightly to be sure.














TWO AND A HALF!!!!!!!!!!!!












The boos of the fans shake the temporary arena as Manson manages to get the shoulder up at the last moment, breaking the count and making Aecas rise up to his knees, looking down at his opponent for a long moment before starting to pull him up once more.


“And Manson refuses to die!”


“He’s not just going to roll over and let Aecas through Mak!”


Back in the ring Aecas moves up behind Manson once more, staggering the Raging Bull with another swift forearm to the back of the head before he bends down and shoves his head between the legs of his opponent.


“Looks like Aecas is trying for that Electric Chair Driver he liked to use.” Mak observes as Aecas grabs Manson’s legs and prepares to lift him up and onto his shoulders, Manson however has other plans. As soon as he feels those arms grabbing at his legs he jumps up into the air and lands on his knees, smashing Aecas face first into the canvas!


“Brilliant counter by Manson!” The Suicide King crows. “Almost an inverted Pedigree, see Mak? That’s what I mean about quick thinking!”


“I see it King, but Manson had better be quick to capitalise on this.”


Manson seems intent on doing just that, heaving Aecas over onto his back before pushing himself to his feet and making his way over towards the nearest corner, the Raging Bull slowly begins to ascend the turnbuckles as the cheers of the fans get louder. Manson reaches the top turnbuckle turning himself around and straightening up….


….before he gets crotched on the top as Aecas hammers the ropes!


Manson cries out in pain as he lands hard on the top buckle, and the male members of the audience let out a universal sound of sympathetic pain, as the Raging Bull perches uncomfortably on the top rope.


“I think Aecas just pruned the Manson family tree!”


“Oh laugh it up Mak, he should be disqualified for that! That was a blatant low blow!”


“Says our resident expert on below the belt action.” Mak says smugly.




Aecas pushes Manson back to an upright position on the corner the look on the Raging Bull’s face tells it all as Aecas rocks him with another solid forearm before he slowly begins to climb up after his opponent. The higher the Black Angel gets the more the fans begin to respond, rousing themselves from their reverie as Aecas wraps his huge right arm around the head of the Raging Bull, slowly pulling Manson up the buckles with him.


“What on earth is Aecas planning now?!”


“I don’t know King but after a shot like that I don’t think there’s anything Manson can do about it!”


Aecas finally reaches the top, planting his feet firmly on the ropes he reaches down and grabs a handful of Manson’s tights before he slowly heaves his opponent into a vertical position above his head. The two men create a tower for the briefest of seconds before Aecas topples back into the ring dropping MANSON straight down and CRATERING HIS HEAD INTO THE CANVAS WITH A BRAINBUSTER ALL THE WAY FROM THE TOP!




“Avalanche Brainbuster! I think I just saw Manson’s head BOUNCE off the canvas! That’s gotta be it!”


The fans explode once more at the impact of Manson’s head against the canvas as Aecas crawls on top of his downed opponent, his right arm hooking a leg once again as Eddy long rushes over to count the pinfall.














TWO AND A HALF!!!!!!!!!!!!














Amon Amarth’s “Death in Fire” explodes from the arena speakers once more, warring for domination with the rising cheers of the fans as Funyon raises the microphone to his lips, having to shout to make himself heard over the wall of sound.


“The winner of the match! THE BLACK ANGEL! AEEEEEEECAAAAAAAAAAAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”


“And what a way to make a return that is King! With a victory over one of your oldest and most persistent foes!”


“Aecas should have been disqualified Mak, you know it and I know it, a blatant low blow to Manson that set him up for the Brainbuster! Long should be investigated for that!”


In the ring Aecas gets to his feet one last time, throwing his arms up into the air to the appreciation of the fans, that grin back on his face as he savours not just victory but a final return to the federation. He steps through the ropes and jumps down to the floor, the giant walking around the ringside area to start his journey up the ramp. The Black Angel grins at the fans as he walks by, feeling palms slap his back and thousands of voices chanting his name; he walks up the ramp slowly before stopping just before the entranceway and turning around.


He lifts his arms one last time for the fans before he points down at Manson in the ring as the Raging Bull forces himself up to his knees, both hands clutching at the top of his head but his eyes focused solely on his old enemy before the giant finally disappears backstage.


“It looks like these two have picked up right where there left off King.”


“Aecas had better celebrate while he can, a year is a long time to be away Mak and there’s plenty of new talent in the SWF ready to put one over on a returnee.”


“Indeed there is, and I have to wonder where his Scythe is at. We saw it make a surprise appearance at Battleground in the hands of Bruce Blank. Where is it now?”


“I’ve got no idea Mak, but if Bruce is sensible he’s put as much distance between himself and that thing as he can.”


“Well I’m sure the answer won’t be long in coming. In the meantime folks stay tuned because the night is young and we’ve only just got started! Still to come tonight is Amy Stephens and Landon “La Cucaracha” Maddix in our hardcore main event for both the World and the Ultraviolent titles! Not to mention an International Title match and our House Rules Vodka match!”


“That’s assuming they can keep Tarakanov off the bottle Mak.”


“Well that goes without saying King. Stay tuned fans because Austin Sly Vs. Spike Jenkins is up next!"

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*Backstage: the Blank locker room*


We see Bruce sitting by a table in his dressing room, open bottle of vodka and a half filled glass in front of him, a stupid smirk on his face and a big burly guy in a furry hat and a long dark grey trenchcoat in the background keeping an eye on Bruce.


“The Russian authorities insisted that Bruce was kept under constant supervision while in Russian” Mak says as he tries to explain what the big man is doing in Bruce’s locker room.


“Damn Russkies, just cause he’s a good old American Capitalist they’ve got to watch him – that’s profiling!” King complains.


Anyway back to the locker room where Bruce is starting to get a little festive as he takes another drink of Vodka.


“You know Igor”


“My name is Mikhail” the big man says sounding like he’s corrected him 10 times already.


“Yeah, yeah sure” Bruce says dismissing the comment before rambling on “I’ve always liked Russians, they’re tough sons of bitches! Hell I dressed up as Boris Zhukov one year for Halloween.”


The big man looks a little doubtful


“I did! I was 10 years old and I had on a bald skin cap and then we shaved my mom’s beard off and glued it to my chin. It was hilarious to see their reaction when we showed up and I started to sign the Soviet national anthem” Bruce explains while grinning.


“Do you mind if I turn the TV on?” the big guy asks after looking at his watch “I want to keep up with the show”


“Hey it’s a free country. . . right?”




The TV is turned on and Mikhail changes between the only two cable channels there are and switches to Lockdown. To Lockdown as it’s being broadcast live, right this second, from Bruce’s locker room.


Mikhail looks at the TV screen, then he turns around and looks at the camera, a movement that’s mirrored on the TV screen. Then he turns back and looks at the TV and slowly raises his right arm in the air


“What the?”


Bruce coughs and then whispers “We tend to ignore that Igor, just go on like there cameras aren’t here”


“They’re. . . they’re always there? Always watching?” Mikhail asks.


“Yup” Is all the reply Bruce bothers with as he pours himself another glass of vodka.


“It’s like being back with the KG. . . Erm KG-King, Russia’s number one fast food chain” Mikhail quickly says to cover up his slip up. “So we can see EVERYTHING that’s going on right now?”




“How about the Austin Sly, Spike Jenkins match?”


“If you’d like yeah – although I’m not sure why you’d want to see the little engine that couldn’t and some little skinny guy that’s still rusty from all that time off.” Bruce says offhandedly “Although I hear that that Sly guy has a killer handshake, hopefully little Spikey won’t fall into that trap”




“It’s not important” Bruce says and then adds “just like Jenkins” before emptying the glass of Vodka in one go.



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The lights in the arena go dark. Pitch black, to be exact. A hush falls over the fans at ringside, as a single spotlight shines down onto the stage at the beginning of the entrance ramp.




Pyros explode from each side of the stage, launching a mix of red and gold stars towards the ceiling and cueing a change in the very atmosphere of the building. Zach de la Rocha's voice floods the building, performing a cover of "Street Fighting Man". The arena lights pulse along to the beat. Fans at ringside beging to cheer wildly for Austin Sly as he steps out of the curtain and onto the stage.


"Everywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet boooooy..."


"'Cause summers here and the time is right for fighting in the streeeet boooooy..."


“Introducing first,” chimes in Funyon’s voice, “making his way to the ring from St. Louis. Missouri, weighing in at two hundred and twenty pounds, he is… Auuusstinnnn SSllyyyyy!!!”


With a smile on his face, Austin slowly makes his way down the entrance ramp, the parted sea of humanity lashing out looking for a high five him on either side of him. He slaps a few hands on his approach before casually rolling underneath the bottom rope and into the ring, the end of his trench coat trailing his every moment with an extra flare. He quickly paces the ring before making his way to a corner of the ring and removing his coat before hanging it on the ringpost. He stands in anxious anticipation, waiting for his opponent.


“You’ve got to give Austin at least a little praise, King,” Mak says with authority. “Even after being out for nearly a year, he’s still in great physical condition and doesn’t seem to have lost a step in the ring!”


“It’s hard to lose a step if you’ve been standing still your entire life, Mak,” King bites back. “Now Spike, on the other hand… there’s a man we should all be idolizing. He beat Zyon within an inch of his life at Battlegrond..”


“Yet still lost the match,” Mak injects.


The two would continue to bicker, but every light in the arena goes to full power as the Smarktron whites out, signaling the arrival of The New Straight Edge Sensation. For a moment the only sound is that of a needle scratching over vinyl...




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




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


“And his opponent,” booms Funyon, “making his way to the ring from Hollywood, California, weighing in at two hundred and twenty pounds, he is ‘The New Straight Edge Sensation’… ‘Hollywooood’ Spiiiike Jeeeenkiiiinsss!!!”


Spike makes his way completely around the ring and rolls underneath the bottom rope. He continues rolling until he hits dead center in the middle of the ring. Spike rises to one knee and resumes the position he was in at the top of the entranceway. One arm hanging to the ground, the other placed on his knee. Finally, Spike rises to his feet. He quickly peels off the hood, revealing that his blonde, dyed hair is wrapped in a lose layer of bandages, undoubtedly caused by the trauma that he endured almost two weeks prior. He puts his arms together, forming an “X” across his chest, again promoting his Straight Edge life style.


“Showboating at it’s finest..” groans the disgruntled Mak Francis.


“For once we agree,” smiles King.


Spike stands almost in the exact middle of the ring, but is quickly joined by Austin. Referee Sexton Hardcastle comes in to explain the rules, but seeing that no one is interested in hearing them just simply calls for the bell instead.


*Ding ding!*


“Spike looks like he’s wearing a turban with all of those bandages wrapped around his head,” Mak notes. “He could be mistaken for a militant by these angry, undoubtedly drunk, Russians.”


“Maybe they’ll just confuse it for a Cossack and give him a hometown pop instead,” King says with a hint of hope.


“I don’t anticipate it. Then they’ll expect dancing.”


“And you don’t have the heart, or legs, for dancing anymore, right?”


Spike is weary of locking up with Austin, who seems more than a little anxious to get his hands on the Straight Edge Sensation. Austin stalks him around the ring, not putting up a hard chase but not letting Spike just go free either.







The fans start to show their support while showing that they know a little English. Austin turns to acknowledge the chant and try and get it to build… and Spike pounces!




Spike sends a hard elbow to the back of the head of Austin, causing him to stumble. He turns and… bam! Spike sends another elbow soaring into his temple! Austin staggers back and into the corner of the ring, followed closely by his adversary. Spike sends a swift kick in Sly’s midsection, knocking him down in the corner of the ring. Jenkins grasps the top ropes and begins to stomp away at Austin’s midsection. Referee Sexton Hardcastle wont allow this to go on for long though, and comes in to warn of disqualification. Spike just keeps stomping away, though, and forces Hardcastle to start his count.


“One! Two! Three! Four! Let him out of there Spike, let him out!”


Spike turns and shoots a glare at the gutsy referee, but he does indeed stop. He pulls Austin up by his hand and goes to whip him across the ring… Austin reverses! Spike gets control before he hits the corner and stops himself. Sly doesn’t realize this though and comes charging in after him, receiving the and elbow to the chin for his troubles. He staggers back holding his face in pain, and once again letting his guard down. Spike comes charging out of the corner and hit’s Austin with a devastating lariat that almost turns him inside out.


“LARRRIATTOOOOO~!” screams King.


Spike drops down to his knees and simply puts both of his hands on Austin’s chest, making for a very cocky pin. Referee Hardcastle slides down and counts the pin.






Two! Kick out after two!


Spike sneers angrily, possibly thinking he had just about won the easiest match of his life. Spike goes for the pin again, but this time he uses his arm to turn Austin’s head to the side and apply extra pressure.






Two! Kick out after two again!


“Spike is keeping the pressure on early in this match,” Mak sighs. “A couple of pin attempts to try and wear Austin down.”


“Good mat work indeed, Mak.” King says concurringly.


“I didn’t say that.”


Jenkins grabs a chunk of Austin’s hair and pulls him back up to his feet. Spike pulls his arm back, and the lays into Austin with an uppercut that sends the rock star reeling. Clutching at his throat, Austin stumbles around for a few seconds while Spike stalks his every move. Sly turns around, and Spike once again grabs him by the head and meets it with a high knee, dimming Sly’s lights and turning him around. Noticing that Austin is near the ropes, Jenkins kicks the back of Austin’s legs causing him to fall to his knees. He collapses into the ropes, leaning on the middle one for support. This proves to be a mistake though, as Spike sits across Austin’s back and pulls back against the rope to choke him! Hardcastle has to come in and administer a count.


“One! Two! Three! Four! Get off of him, Spike! Let him go!”


Spike stands up as the fans start to rain boos and other, less-than-appropriate complaints down from the stands. The Straight Edge Sensation doesn’t care, though. He’s not out here tonight to win approval. He’s out here to make an example out of Austin Sly. As if his gruesome match at Battleground wasn’t enough. Spike simply shakes off Referee Hardcastle and goes back to the ropes, once again sitting across Austin’s back.


“One! Two! Three! Four! One more time and you‘re out of here, Jenkins!”


Hardcastle once again has to warn Spike of his actions, but he’s almost afraid that he’s wasting his breath. Jenkins walks over to the ropes, climbs onto the first one and leans out towards the crowd -



“This ones for you, Zyon! And for you, Davis! Fuck you!”



- before turning his attention back towards Sly. He casually walks over and grabs Austin by the hair… but he fights back with a hard right hand! Spike is shocked, and is greeted with another right hand! The crowd erupts as Sly begins to fight back.







Austin swings again! But Spike blocks it with his left arm and then sends a thumb to the eye with his right, silencing the crowd and throwing Austin off balance. With Austin’s back turned, Spike runs and bounces off the nearest ropes, then comes charging back in and wraps his arm around Austin’s neck and takes him down with a Phantom Neckbreaker! Spike quickly hooks the leg and goes for the pin attempt.











THREEEEENOOOO! Austin gets the shoulder up before Sexton’s hand slaps the mat for a third time.


“That was a slow count!” King yells.


“Spike almost picks up the win after a Phantom Neckbreaker,” Mak notes. “Wow… wouldn’t that have been a disappointment?”


Spike’s frustration shows a little more than usual as he climbs back to his feet. This time, he leaves Austin laying on the mat and simply perches out of sight. The crowd once again starts to boo, sensing that this wont be the best of moments for Austin Sly. He slowly pushes himself back to his feet. He wobbles a little, trying to shake off any damage that might’ve occurred. As he turns back to Spike…




… goes over his head as Austin ducks and tackles Spike’s planted leg out from under him! Spike hits the mat with a thud, only barely guarding against his surprise fall. Before he has a chance to know what’s going on, Sly has grabbed his leg up and applied an Ankle Lock! Jenkins cries out in pain, much to the delight of one announcer.


“Brake his ankle, Austin!” The Franchise yells. “Snap it in two!”


Spike pushes his body up and off the mat, trying to find the closest rope around. The pain from his ankle being twisted and contorted is almost too much to bear, especially as the crowd starts to get behind Austin.



“Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap!”



Jenkins doesn’t give in this easily, though. He inches himself closer and closer… almost reaching the rope… before finally using his free leg to push off and grab the bottom rung of freedom. Referee Hardcastle forces Austin to release the hold, to both his dismay and the dismay of the audience. Sly goes back to grab Spike, but he quickly pulls himself out of the ring. The Straight Edge Sensation’s mind is no longer on winning this match at the moment, but instead on walking off the pain that’s shooting through his leg. He rounds the corner of the ring, and as he does…





… Austin Sly comes flying over the top rope with a crossbody! Right into the retaining wall! He cries out in pain when he lands… crashes… whatever.


“A costly miscalculation by Austin Sly,” Mak winces a little, “and a painful one at that.”


“Don’t forget stupid, as well.” King chimes in. “Hopefully Spike can take advantage of this.”


Spike, as if channeling the spirit of The Suicide King himself, immediately seeks to take advantage of this. In the ring, Hardcastle has just now started his ten count, giving Spike plenty of time to enforce his will on the outside of the ring. He quickly grabs a chunk of Austin’s hair and pulls him back to his feet, then grabs his hand and whips him into the ring steps. Austin is lucky enough to take the brunt force of the blow to his back, but it still sends pain coursing through his body. With him down, Spike once again works at the midsection of his opponent with a few quick kicks. By this time, the count has reached seven, and Spike pulls Austin back to his feet before rolling him into the ring. He follows shortly thereafter. Jenkins crawls on top for another pin attempt.










Kick out~! Austin once again shows how much stamina you can have after taking almost a year off from the ring, kicking out fairly easy before the three count.


“Why wont he just stay down?” King cries out.


“Sly doesn’t give in very easily, King.” Mak says with confidence.


Spike pulls Austin to his feet once more, but this time he sets him up in a standing headscissor. The entire crowd knows what’s coming now. Spike is trying to set up for The Ratings Crash. Spike lifts Austin off his feet, but he rolls up out of it and onto Spike’s shoulders, then flings his body back down to drag Spike over in an awkward looking Hurricarana! Spike lays on the mat in shock, while Austin lays a slight ways away from him trying to catch his breath.


“What a reversal by Austin, fighting his way out of The Ratings Crash!”


“A bit of luck if I’ve ever seen one!” King mops. “He wont get so lucky next time!”


Hardcastle checks on both men to make sure they’re okay before he starts to count them out. The crowd dies down, but there is a steady chant for Austin going.




















Both men stir, with Spike looking like he’s going to make it to his feet first. He staggers for a second, and then regains his balance.




Now Austin is back up to his feet, and Spike comes charging in at him! Austin latches his arms around Spikes waist and then sends him flying overhead with a belly to belly suplex!







Spike bounces off the mat, then tries to get back up too quick and is noticeably dizzy. Austin walks up behind him, wraps his arms around his waist again, and then lifts him up and over with a German Suplex! He doesn’t release his hold though! Both men climb back to their feet before Austin hits another German Suplex!


“Two quick German Suplex’s, and now Spike isn’t so quick to get back to his feet.” Mak cheers him on.


Spike struggles to get up this time, but Austin’s hands are still locked together. This can mean only one thing. A third German Suplex! This time, Austin holds on for a bridge, and Referee Hardcastle slides in for the count.











THREEENOOOO! Spike rolls over and breaks the pin.


“That was almost a repeat of the first Cruiserweight title match these two had together in which Spike won with a German Suplex,” Mak reminds the audience at home.


“Both men have come a long way since then, though.”


Both men climb back to their feet, but Austin sends a quick boot to Spike’s gut, bending him over. Sly grabs him and hits a quick Evenflow DDT! Spike’s bandaged head bounces off the mat, much to the delight of the fans. Austin, now firmly in control, points to Mak, then to the audience before dragging his finger across his neck.


“Finish him off, Sly!” Mak screams.


“Try to be professional,” King tells his announcing partner. “COME ON SPIKE! GET UP!”


Austin grabs Spike by the head and pulls him up before thrusting his head down again to put him into position for a powerbomb. A powerbomb isn’t on Austin’s mind though, tonight. He has other plans as he reaches down to try and double underhook Spike’s arms. Sly is looking to repay a man who took away another man’s right to wrestle… or even to walk.






The crowd chants start up once again, maybe not knowing the sincerity and danger of the situation inside the ring. Spike senses he’s in trouble though and tries to fight his way out anyway he knows how. He knows that this move could put his life and his career on the line, so he fights with all of his might to free himself. Austin goes to lift him, but Jenkins becomes a dead weight and drops down to his knees. He tries to lift him again, but Spike somehow manages to shove himself free. Sly isn’t about to let him free all together though, and quickly lays into him with a right hand or three before sending him sailing across the ring and into the corner turnbuckles with an Irish whip. Austin follows him in, and as Spike bounces out of the corner from the force of impact, Austin launches himself onto the second rope, and the springs off of it, connecting his calf with the back of Spike’s head…


“Springboard Ego Trip!” Mak squeels, “I don’t know where Austin dug that out of, but it almost hurt just to watch! Yet, somehow, it was beautiful.”


“I hope he gets sued for defiling one of Tom Flesher’s most brilliant moves!”


… and riding him all the way down to the mat! Spike’s head bounces off of the mat before he rolls over onto his back, looking about like it’s lights out to the world. Austin crawls over on top of him as Hardcastle slides over to make the count.













*Ding ding ding!*


“Austin has done it!” Mak says with excitement. “He’s defeated the rampaging Straight-Edger and gained a measure of revenge for his lose of the Cruiserweight Title so many moons ago. But not only that, Austin may have just notched his first real victory in a long time!”


“He’s also just put a damper on my night,” King groans.


Inside the ring, Referee Hardcastle raises Austin’s hand in victory. He doesn’t have time to dawdle in the ring, though. Spike is already stirring from what he must imagine was just a bad dream. Sly rolls out of the ring and starts to make his way up the ramp and towards the back as we fade out to commercial break.

Edited by realitycheck

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*Backstage: the Blank locker room*


The bottle is about half empty and Bruce’s mood seems a lot lighter than it has been in forever. Mikhail is in the background keeping a close eye on Bruce as the Trailerpark Messiah talks to his little brother.


“You know what Ikea’s weakness is bro?” Bruce says slurring the word “weakness” a little.


“Akira” Wayne corrects him without even thinking about it.


“Are you sh-sure? I mean the guy is about as intelligible as an Ikea build instruction and once you’re done with him you always have a few parts of it left over” Bruce says and then moments later adds “Bwa, ha, ha, ha, ha”


Wayne doesn’t look very entertained, in fact he looks a little shitty.


“Hey, hey, hey what’s eating you bro? You look like they forced you to sit through another Landon melodrama or something”


“I’m okay!” Wayne snaps, obviously lying.


“You nervous about the match? Come on it’s just Ai-kea Kaba. . . Kari. . Hari. . Ai-Kea! It’s not that hard to beat him, I know his weakness” Bruce says and bends over all conspiratory like while he waves Wayne in closer.


“So what’s his weakness?”


“He’s totally allergic to C4 explosives” Bruce says and grins.


“Oh gee thanks that’ll come in really handy!”


“What’s the big deal? You beat Amy easily enough. . . hell you beat the person challenging for the world title tonight, Akira shouldn’t be a problem.”


“Yeah and you beat Landon yet it’s not done either of us any good has it?” Wayne fires back “Besides Amy is just a slugger, she’s a cow in the ring. Akira. . . He’s not going to be as easy, he’s used to the Cruiserweight style” Wayne says


“Oh is that all?”


“All? Isn’t that enough? He actually knows what he’s doing in the ring!”


“Come on now, yes he’s a former Cruiserweight champion, yes he can fly and blah-di-blah, but you’ve got one advantage he doesn’t” Bruce says with a grin.




“He’s not guided by wit and intelligence” Bruce says and winks.


Not a comment that really instills Wayne with a lot of confidence apparently, but it’s the best Bruce can do right now in the way of a pep talk, well except


“I’m rootin’ for ya kid!”


Wayne grabs his mask off the table and then heads out the door. For Wayne it’s match time, for Bruce it’s vodka time.



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“Protect Ya Neck” by Wu-Tang Clan can be heard all around the arena, as The Divine Wind, Akira Kaibatsu makes his way out of the curtain. Once again without his manager, Mr. Kobe, Akira goes into this match alone.





Kaibatsu walks down the ramp, with visibly less pride than he normally does. Now without his belt, and losing a shot at the International Belt, Kaibatsu tries not to fall face first off the ladder he worked so hard to climb.


“Introducing first, from Sendai Japan: He weighs one hundred and ninety five pounds….THE DIVINNEEEEE WINDDD…AKIRRRAAAAAA KAAAIIIBAAATSUUUUUUUUU!!!”


Kaibatsu rolls into the ring, and steps up onto the turnbuckle, raising his arms up into the air, and the Russian crowd cheers like crazy for Akira.


He steps off the turnbuckle, and shakes his arms and legs out, getting mentally prepared for his upcoming match.


“Protect Ya Neck” is soon replaced by Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out”, and out comes Bruce Blank’s little brother, Wayne. To a chorus of boos, Wayne walks down the ramp, looking to high five the fans, but no one seems to want to touch Wayne’s hand…who knows where that thing has been…


“Weighing one hundred and seventy five pounds… from Mobile Alabama he is….”DRUNKEN DRAGON”….WAAYNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!”


Wayne gives Funyon a nod as he rolls into the ring, and stands in his corner, ready to start the match.




Wayne Blank starts the match off quickly, running towards Akira and hitting him with a forearm, before throwing clubbing blows to the back of the neck.


“Well, Wayne’s got the right idea here, Mak,” King says.


“Lose your breath early?”


King sighs, “Akira likes to play the match slowly…only speed it up when he needs to, and/i] Akira’s neck has gotta be killin’ him after taking that Super ADF II last week.”


Wayne switches the clubs to forearms, and eventually shoves his opponent right into the turnbuckle, and starts to gut Akira with shoulder smashes. After several quick blows with the shoulder, referee Jacob Stecker shoves Wayne outta there, and Akira takes this opportunity to catch his breath.


Wayne then comes right back at Akira, and puts him in a front facelock. Wayne flips Akira’s arm over his neck, and flips Kaibatsu backwards, dropping Akira on his back, for a vertical suplex. Wayne continues his quick paced attack with side kicks to Akira’s chest, once The Divine Wind is at his knees. Akira nails an elbow at Wayne’s abdomen, but Little Blank does his best to ignore the strike, and grabs Akira in a cravate. He flips Akira forward, landing on his ass for a snap mare. Wayne then takes a step backwards, before taking a half step forward, and a kick to the back of Kaibatsu’s neck completes the combination.


Wayne then stomps on Akira’s neck cockily, getting ahead of himself. “Best Protect Ya Neck” Little Blank mocks Akira’s entrance music, and stomps more on his neck. Wayne picks Akira up, and throws another forearm at his cheek. Wayne then whips Akira into the ropes, and Akira comes bouncing back. Wayne jumps, getting high elevation to leapfrog over Akira. Kaibatsu hits the opposite ropes, and Wayne drops down to the mat, so Akira skips over Wayne. The Divine Wind hits the ropes one more time. He wont hit it a 3rd time though, because Little Blank just nailed him with a missile dropkick!


Wayne picks up Akira, and strikes Akira with a knife edged chop, but Akira comes right back at Blank with a European uppercut. He hits Blank so hard with it, Wayne is knocked backwards onto his ass, scrambling to get back to his feet. Akira stays put though, slowing the match down.


Wayne screams at Akira tauntingly, “couldn’t beat Bruce in 5 matches, and you think you can beat me now?!”. This lights a fire under Akira’s ass, and he comes running at Wayne with a fury. He hits him with another European uppercut that nearly sends him to the ground, but Akira hits him with a kick to the midsection before than can happen. Just before Wayne is about to fall from the kick though, Akira hits him with a European Uppercut that sends Little Blank flat on his back.






“What a SHOT!” Mak says in awe.


“I think a match with JJ taught Akira he needs to establish his OWN kickass strike move.”


“European uppercuts are totally cooler than elbows anyway.”


“Mak, this isn’t junior high school. Speak like a normal person.”


Still running on that adrenaline and intensity from Wayne’s mocking comments, Akira throws kicks at Wayne on the ground. Wayne tries to ignore the kicks and get to his feet, but Akira keeps throwing the strikes at Wayne. Little Blank manages to sit up against the rope, so he can use his hands to protect his face, as opposed to balance. Akira sees an opportunity here, and runs at the ropes behind him. He bounces back, and nails Wayne with a Yakuza kick that sends him through the ropes and to the outside.


Akira slowly steps outside the ring, taking his time while Wayne recovers. Blank is at his feet about the same time Akira gets to the outside of the ring. Wayne starts to pull back for a knife edged chop, but Akira has quicker hands, and blows Wayne back with another European Uppercut that knocks him backwards into the guard rail!


“My GOD, Akira’s really been working on those Uppercuts I guess.” Mak says.


“Nah…Akira’s always been pretty good with those,” King says. “I think he’s just picked now to really bust ass with it.”


Akira slides Wayne back into the ring, and once again takes his time getting into the ring. Akira steps up onto the apron, and picks up Wayne over it. Kaibatsu grabs Wayne’s head, and tucks it under his arm pit over the ropes. Akira tries to lift Little Blank over the ropes for a suplex, but Wayne struggles and stays in the ring. The Divine Wind tries to lift Wayne again, but Blank flails his legs and gives it his best effort to stay inside the ring. Akira gives it one more try to lift him over the ropes…and is almost there….


…but Blank spins around halfway up, grabs Akira in a cravate, and guillotines him over the ropes with a modified Unkucky 13!! Kaibatsu drops off of the apron, and hits his head on the edge of the ring going down, and ends up falling backwards into the guard rail.


“Very, very impressive reversal from Wayne Blank,” King compliments.


“Yeah, it’s rather unusual for either[/i Blank to make any sort of move that technically sound. Wayne’s been working hard, you can tell,” Francis adds.


Wayne grabs the top rope, and begins to hurl himself over it, for a vaulting body press, but Akira is poised in…er..outside the ring, and swiftly moves out of the way. Wayne knows what he’s doing though, and keeps a hold of the rope, and lands on the ring apron. Wayne turns to the side, to face Akira, but The Divine Wind is already setting a plan in motion. He nails Little Blank’s foot with a European Uppercut, that results in Wayne falling over on his face on the apron!


“Alright, maybe he’s a bit better with those than I thought he was,” The Franchise laughs.


“A bit better?”


“Just a bit.”


Kaibatsu then grabs Wayne’s legs, somewhat like a powerbomb, and swings them to the outside of the ring. He keeps swinging for as long as he can hold, and eventually swings him right into the guard rail!





“The crowd’s starting to really get into this one, King…REALLY getting into it”


“I should hope so. A large Japanese man just whipped a redneck into a piece of metal. One would think that attracts viewers.”


“Yeah, well we also though Candace would attract viewers.”


“…we were exploring a new market.”



Referee Stecker continues his 20 count on the outside, though no one really seems to notices it’s there. Akira picks up Wayne, and whips him across the ring area, and into the guard rail again! Wayne very, very slowly starts to get up, and Kaibatsu stalks him from across the outside. Akira twiddles his fingers, waiting impatiently for him to finally reach his feet. Moments before Little Blank finally does, Akira charges at him, and when Wayne finally is at his feet, he’s brought back down with a Yakuza Kick!







“…that’s all you have to say? 3 weeks ago the fans vote on you to replace Pete, and that’s your insight? Wow?”


The count on the outside gets to 10, and Akira knows that it’s time to get back in the ring. He whips Blank back into the ring. Akira picks up Wayne by the hair, and locks in a cravate. He flips Little Blank forward for a snapmare, and chops him in the back of the neck right afterwards. Wayne grabs at the back of his neck in pain, while Akira runs at the ropes in front of him. He bounces back, and steps up from Wayne’s knee, and nails him in the face!


“SHINING GAMENGIRI!!!” The Franchise yells.





“That’s better, I suppose.”


Akira doesn’t stop the offense there, though. He runs at the ropes beside Little Blank, bounces off, and jumps up into the air. He tilts backwards, and lands right on Wayne’s gut, for a standing Senton bomb!


Akira picks up Wayne, and nails him with a brutal European uppercut that sends The Drunken Dragon falling backwards into the turnbuckle. Wayne tries to come back from the shot, with a knife edged chop, but Akira’s frustrated now, and sends Blank on his back with a European Uppercut.


Akira picks up Blank by the mask again, and tries to whip him into the ropes, but Wayne reverses. Kaibatsu bounces back, and Wayne jumps up into the air for a flying forearm, but Akira catches him with an elbow in mid-air, knocking him right back to the ground.


“Never thought I’d see the day when Akira using an elbow came as a surprise, haha” Mak says.


“Well, Akira’s a bit of an optomist. He saw his match with JJ as a …learning experience.”


“And what did he learn?”


“That he’s not as good at elbows as he thought he was.”


Akira once again runs to the ropes and bounces off. He jumps up into the air, and tilts back again, for ANOTHER standing senton bomb. Kaibatsu makes a cover, hooking the leg nearest the ropes.









































“King, strangely enough, I think that may have been the first cover of this entire matchup.”


“Hmm…you might be right…well, it suits Akira’s methodical pace, though you’d expect Wayne to try a flash pin or something by now.”


“I don’t think Wayne’s in the mood to flash anything right now, King.”


“What? That doesn’t even make sense”


Akira, shaking his head at the referee, grabs Wayne’s face, and puts his knee up against Blank’s back. He bends his head backwards, wrenching as hard as he can.


“Hey, there’s something else he learned from JJ.”


“…what’d he learn this time”


“Face locks hurt like a bitch.”


“Simple lesson.”


Wayne slowly makes his way to his feet in the hold, and through a process of wrestling evolution, the hold gradually spins into a side headlock. Wayne throws elbows at his side trying to fight off the headlock. He finally manages to fight himself free, and then attempts to whip Akira into the turnbuckle. Kaibatsu however reverses the whip, and comes up running to Little Blank, and hits him square in the chin with another European Uppercut! Blank falls straight to his ass, and then falls right over from the pain of the uppercut. Akira picks him up though, and props him right back up into a sitting position. Blank’s head flails from side to side, showing his motionless-ness. Akira bounces off the ropes adjacent to Blank, and comes back flying with his left foot extended as far as it can go. Akira hits more than he can handle though, as Little Blank catches Akira’s foor coming at him, and takes it to his feet with him. Blank finally gets his offense in, throwing right forearms at Akira at a blindingly fast pace.


Wayne spins around, holding his shoulder out for the whole world to see that he’s about to complete a discus clothesline, but as soon as he’s facing Akira gain, Akira nails him with a European uppercut, sending Blank into the turnbuckle, where he falls to his ass. Kaibatsu then runs at Blank really quickly, and nails him in the face with that running face wash!





“…went for it earlier and couldn’t get it…managed to hit it nicely right there.”




Kaibatsu picks up Blank, and sets him in the corner, standing up. He pulls his arm back, and whips it forward right at Blank’s chest.






Blank rubs his chest with his arms, screaming in pain. He’s soon screaming louder though, because Kaibatsu just hurled his arm a second time.






Kaibatsu then takes Blank’s arm, and whips him into the ropes. Little Blank slows down upon getting to the ropes, and takes a step outside to the apron, to catch his breath. Akira lets out a sigh, and walks over to Blank, who has his hands on his knees from tiredness. Akira is about to elbow Blank off the apron, but Wayne spins around, and lifts his leg up over the rope, nailing Kaibatsu with a roundhouse kick!


“If Wayne’s going to turn this match around he’s gotta do it now, Mak,” King says.


“Little Blank’s known for some off the wall stuff…you never know with him.”


Wayne seizes this moment for him to hit an offensive maneuver, and springboards off the rope. He spreads his legs out to hit Akira with a hurricanarana, but Akira catches his legs, and slams him down with a Powerbomb pin!



































































Blank rolls his shoulder up!


…but Akira carries Wayne’s momentum from kicking out into an elevated Boston Crab!




“The Drunken Dragon can’t catch a break here, King!”


“Meh, it’s been that way for him since he’s been here.”


Wayne crawls his way towards the nearest ropes, whining in pain. Akira bends his back further with every second in the hold, and Wayne can only take so much. He scrapes the mat with his fingernails, scratching towards the ropes. After a minute of crawling in pain, Wayne finally grabs a hold of the rope, separating him from the former cruiserweight champion.


…But only for so long! Akira let’s go of the hold, and so does Wayne of the rope, but as soon as Little Blank lets go of the rope, Akira grabs his legs, and pulls him away from the rope, putting in another Boston Crab! Wayne doesn’t know what to do at this point…so he does all he can. Flail his legs in pain! And by chance, his left leg nails Akira square in the forehead, and he drops him from the hold!


“Well, goes to show ya, you don’t always need to be a technical mastermind to figure out submission wrestling,” King says.


Blank then picks up Akira, and throws a forearm at him. He tosses another forearm, before tossing Akira to the ropes, and outside the ring!


“Blank’s picking up some momentum in this match, King! Looks like Akira’s in a bit of trouble!” Mak says.


Tossing Akira outside the ring takes the starch out of Blank, and he falsl to the ground out of tiredness. Akira is taking his time getting to his feet. He has plenty of time left in that 20 count. Blank is hurrying to get to his feet, so he can capitalize on Akira being vulnerable.


Akira is finally at his feet, so Wayne rushes to get to his. Little Blank ignores his fatigue and runs at the ropes by Kaibatsu. He dives through the middle rope, and sticks an elbow out at Akira, hitting him square in the cheek!


“Tope Con Hilo! Tope Con Hilo!!!”


“The ball is back in Blank’s court, now, Francis!”




Blank is teaching himself a lesson in will power, once again forcing himself to stay moving in the match. He picks up Kaibatsu by the mask, and shoves him back in the ring.


“Why is Blank getting blown up so early? My god, Wayne, it’s called a tradmill,” Mak jokes.


“Actually,” King starts, “It’s the mask.”


“The mask?”


“Wayne Blank doesn’t wear his mask all the time, like Akira does. Kaibatsu is used to his mask, he can breathe in it easily. Wayne only wears his for matches, which isn’t often. At first, a mask can feel like a plastic bag draped over your head. Wayne’s having a tough time breathing in it.”


“Well, he’s not going to let that mask lose the match for him…”


As Mak says that, Wayne goes up to the apron, and grabs the top rope. He stalks Akira, who is slowly starting to get up. When the Divine Wind finally does reach his feet, Blank jumps, right off the ropes, and leaps towards the back of Akira’s head, hitting him with a springboard forearm!


“See, Mak, if Blank would wear the mask on a regular basis, or just not wear it at all, he’d have a much easier time executing moves like that.”


Wayne rolls over to Akira, who is completely laid out on his back. He makes a cover, hooking the left leg.

























































“Akira kicked out!” Mak screams.


“Wayne’s only starting to get his offense in…don’t expect him to go down to a move like that at this point in the match.”




Wayne picks up Akira by the mask, and throws a clothesline at him, but Kaibatsu ducks, and puts Blank in a rear waistlock. He flips Wayne backwards for a German Suplex, but Wayne manages to flip a little extra in mid air, and lands on his feet!




Wayne turns around quickly to capitalize on his key reversal, and jumps onto the middle rope. He springboards for a back flip, and catches Akira’s head in a front facelock, and tries to drag him down for a DDT, for “what the hell was that” but Akira plants his feet, and wont go anywhere! Blank and Akira struggle in the front facelock, Blank trying for the DDT, but Akira refusing to go down. Eventually, Blank throws a knee at Akira’s gut, and then slams him down for the DDT.





“He may have hit the DDT, but it wont have anywhere near as much impact as it would have if he had hit it with the “What the hell is that” as he had tried,” Mak says, as Blank makes a cover on Akira.



































































“Akira’s hanging in there, just like Wayne was only minutes ago,” King says.


“Wrestling’s an odd sport, ladies and gentleman. One minute your dishing out European Uppercuts, the next you’re fighting for your life to keep the match going.”


“You never know when the tide of the match may turn…”


Wayne picks up Akira by the mask, and throws a lazy forearm his way. Wayne groggily runs at the ropes, and bounces back. What happens next is far from lazy though, as Akira snaps his arms at Wayne, and scoops him sideways with a powerslam!


“JUST like that,” Mak says.


“Just like that,” King agrees.


Akira rolls on top of Wayne, hooking a leg with what little energy he has left.































































































“Blank kicks out!” Francis screams.



Akira and Wayne lay on the mat, so lifeless and tired, Stecker begins the count out.














“Hate to see a match like this end with a count out…”


By the count of five, Akira is at his knees, and Wayne is rolling over, preparing to get to his feet. The count stops, but the two are by no means back up to their feet.


Finally, Akira reaches his feet, and begins to throw kicks at his opponent. Wayne takes the kicks, but refuses to go back down to the mat. He takes the kicks as he rises to his feet, and once he is there, Akira begins throwing chops wildly. Wayne finds the poise to duck the arm strikes, but Kaibatsu keeps throwing them blindly. Wayne does his best to doge them, shuffling left and right. But after a few seconds, Akira gets to him, knocking him into the turnbuckle. Once Akira has him where he wants him, he throws another knife edged chop, but Wayne ducks under it! He spins around, and knocks Kaibatsu upside the head with a roundhouse kick!


This sends Kaibatsu around the ring, barely standing, but not falling over. He keeps knocking into the ropes, which seem to be the only thing keeping him on his feet. Eventually Akira finds a nice spot to sit in the turnbuckle. Wayne then lifts Akira up, and sits him down on the top rope. He jumps up, and wraps his legs around Akira’s head, and tosses them backwards. Akira flips in the air, and lands on his back with impact you can hear throughout the entire arena!






























































































NOOO! Akira rolled the shoulder up!


“Ahhh! I thought Blank had him there!” Mak says.


“So did the rest of this sold out Russian crowd! My god, how did Akira kick out?!”


Wayne brushes his hands through where his hair would be if he didn’t have a mask on. He then gets up to his feet and throws a kick at Akira’s face. Akira’s knocked backwards a bit, but he doesn’t let Wayne knock him down. Little Blank tries another kick but Akira wont fall back over. Wayne then runs at the ropes, and bounces back. He starts to pick his foot up for a Yakuza kick, but Akira is quicker to the punch. The Divine Wind rises, and lifts his arm out for a lariat, that sends Little Blank flying, flipping in mid air!





“What impact on that lariat!” King says.


“Blank LITERALLY flipped in the air after that! My god, these two are giving it their all!”


“And no titles on the line…no contendership…Just fighting to prove they’re better than the other man.”


The Divine Wind is so tired, he can hardly move, he’s so slow to make a cover. And when he finally does, he doesn’t have the energy to hook a leg.




















“You’ve GOT to hook a leg, Akira!” King says.


“Easy for you to say that….you’re not tired from working your ass off.”


“Hey, Mak, grab me another water bottle?”


Akira picks up Wayne by the mask, and throws him a European Uppercut. Wayne stumbles backwards, and falls to his ass, but is right back up to face Akira. Kaibatsu starts to go for another Uppercut, but before he can do so, Blank has Akira’s head wrenched sideways, in a cravate.




“What, King?”




“Wayne? Brilliant?”


“Akira’s neck isn’t exactly roses after Super As Darkness Falls last week, Mak.”


“So…that cravate hurts way more than it normally should.”


“The match is over.”



Akira wails in pain from the cravate. At any moment he may have to give it up…and with every second that moment draws nearer and nearer. Wayne decides that he’s bored with the submission though, and leaps into the air with the cravate.



“What are you DOING, Wayne?!” Mak screams.


“What the hell?! He’s going for Unlucky 13?!”


Just as the announcers say, this isn’t the smartest move from Blank. He’s about to drop Akira with Unlucky 13…but Kaibatsu shoves Blank forward, knocking his hands off of the cravate, and Wayne ends up cutting a whole lotta’ nothing!


“Is Blank even MORE stupid than his big brother?!” Mak asks.


“That “stupid big brother” was smart enough to shove a referee in the way of an explosive in HIS match against Akira. Watch who you’re calling stupid, Francis.”


Wayne Blank is very quickly back up to his feet, but Akira is ready to let Wayne know what a great mistake he made. Akira runs at the ropes, and jumps onto the 2nd one. He springboards backwards, and nails Wayne in the face with a gamengiri!!





“Springboard Gamengiri!!” Mak says. “That’s Classic Kaibatsu, right there.”


“Enough to finish off Little Blank though?”


Akira puts Kings question to the test, and hooks a leg.

















































“Well, apparently not, King.”


Wayne may have kicked out, but barely, and he’s still on the ground. Akira looks up to the turnbuckle, and points to it, to which the crowd goes wild. He climbs up to the top, and takes a breath when he’s up there. He looks at the crowd. Russia’s biggest wrestling fans break out their cameras, as Kaibatsu takes a kamikaze leap off the turnbuckle. They flash as he turns back in mid air, and by the time he drives his back into Wayne’s stomach, they’ve already put their camera’s away.








“SENTON BOMMMBBBBBBBB!!!!!” Mak screams.


“…and that’s it.”


















































































“Oh my god, this is getting RIDICULOUS. Put him away, Kaibatsu!”


“It’s going to be a lot harder than he thought…”


Kaibatsu lifts up Wayne by the mask again, and puts him in a front facelock. Akira lifts him up into the air, getting the Dragon completely vertical. The Divine Wind then drops Little Blank down, and extends his knee out. Akira spins Blank flat, and plants his back onto Kaibatsu’s outstretched leg.


“The Divine Backbreaker! Excellent move from Akira!”


Akira doesn’t go for a cover though, as the crowd thought he would. Instead, he picks up Wayne, and throws more European Uppercuts. He then whips Blank into the ropes. The Dragon comes bouncing back, and baseball slides under Akira’s legs. Akira turns around to face Wayne, and is met with a huge flying forearm!


Wayne picks up Akira right away, and throws a knife edged chop at him. Blank then whips The Divine Wind into the ropes, and he bounces back quickly. Wayne catches him, and brings him up high. He twists around, and then drops Akira over the knee of Wayne, for a tilt a whirl backbreaker!


“tilt a whirl! That could do it for Wayne!” Mak shouts.


“You bet it could…just needs a finishing touch…”


Wayne has that finishing touch in mind. He runs at the ropes, and bounces back with the most momentum he can get. When he approaches Akira, he leaps forward, but tilts himself backwards. He completes the mid air backflip by landing on Akira’s stomach, and hooking a leg for a pin.


“Standing Shooting Star Press! Akira’s got nothing left in the tank!”


“It’s over!”


















































































Akira just rolled backwards with Blank! Akira rolled the pin into a small package!















































































“Oh my god, did you see that pin?”


“How…How the…How did Akira do that…”


Just as King says the last bit, slow motion replay reveals that after the two count, Akira tucked Wayne’s head into his body, and rolled backwards. Mid roll he tangled legs, and had a small package in out of no where.


“Well…that answers your question I suppose, King.”


“You can’t argue with video footage.”


As Akira rolls out of the ring, Funyon booms into the microphone. “Here is your winner….The Divine Wind….AKIRAAAAAAAAAAAAA KAAAIIIIBATSUUUUUUUUUU!”

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“And welcome back to SWF Lockdown!” greets Mak Francis! The Lockdown theme plays over the speakers in the Kremlin. The Russian mob starts cheering for more action.


“We’ve had three ‘great’ matches so far, and now the SWF looks to rock the house with an ‘All you can drink Vodka’ match.. “ King trails off..


Francis sighs. “Viktor Tarakanov guest referees tonight, and here he is, making his way to the ring!”


The camera watches the entrance ramp as Viktor heads toward the ring, all buff and bursting out of his referee jersey. He waves at the wild Russian crowd as Funyon announces him.


“Laaaaadies and gentlemen! The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is a House Rules match! Now making his way to the ring, the guest referee.. none other than VIKTOOOOR TARAKANOV!!”




Viktor enters the ring and takes the microphone away from Funyon. He waves and turns a circle as the Russian crowd refuses to quit cheering for their SWF hero. Tarakanov finally gets them to settle down and begins to explain the rules of the match.


“Правила Дома - следующим образом! Противники возьмут выстрел самой чистой Водки России в начале состязания! После того, в каждых двух счете оба противника возьмут выстрел. При каждой сломанной подаче, противники возьмут выстрел. Если я буду чувствовать себя подобно этому, то противники возьмут выстрел! Давайте пить этих американцев и отмахиваться смеясь от наших задниц!”


The crowd begins cheering wildly as the camera focuses on the announce table. Suicide King and Mak Francis just look at each other, then back at the camera. “If only I knew Russian.. “


Funyon leans into Viktor and whispers something to him. Viktor laughs and nods. “So sorry, my American friends.” He looks at the camera and explains again, in English.. “The House Rules are as follows! Opponents will take a shot of Russia's purest Vodka at the beginning of the match! Thereafter, at each two count both opponents will take a shot. At each broken submission, the opponents will take a shot. If I feel like it, the opponents will take a shot! Let’s get this thing going!”


Viktor hands the mic back to Funyon, who begins to announce as “Battle Ready” by Otep hits the speakers and the crowd boos. Lightning-like pyro hits the stage just before Sean Davis steps out.


“Introducing first! From Jacksonville, Florida! Weighing in at two hundred and eighty-five pounds.. now entering the ring! ‘THE PERFECT STORM’!! SEEEEAAAANN DAAAAAVIIIIIIS!!”




“Sean Davis looks rather uncomfortable out here, King. Any ideas?”


King responds, “I know he’s not worried about Bloodshed.. it’s a known fact that Sean Davis has been dry for quite some time, however.”


As Sean’s theme fades from the speakers, the crowd settles down and the lights go out. Several moments pass. A red spotlight illuminates the center of the ring.. on no one. The house lights immediately return to normalcy, and Bloodshed leans against the ropes, shouting out at Sean Davis, who stands near the barricade, pulling away a bloody fingertip from his lip. Viktor pulls Bloodshed back, reminding him that the match hasn’t started yet.


“Bloodshed’s getting a little bit of a head start.. he forgot about the rules, though.”


Davis rolls back into the ring, wary as he stands. Viktor waves at the timekeeper, who offers a large bottle of vodka to the referee. Tarakanov pulls out the cork and takes a swig, to the cheer of the crowd. He raises the bottle in approval, then hands it off to Bloodshed. He wipes the rim, and then takes a swig, smiling as the liquor tickles his throat. Bloodshed turns the bottle back over to Tarakanov, who passes it to Davis. The former footballer takes the bottle, but hesitates.




The fans chant at Sean, pushing him to just do it. Davis furrows his brows and makes a small cross over his chest. He then takes the bottle in both hands and takes a shot. He immediately coughs and sputters as the liquor burns down his gullet. Tarakanov grabs the bottle of vodka before Sean drops it.




The Russians cheer and laugh as Davis has trouble with the alcohol. He clears his throat and straightens up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Tarakanov stoppers the bottle and signals to the timekeeper. The timekeeper grins giddily and grabs the backup bottle of vodka, pulls the cork and takes a swig. Viktor scolds the man, “No, the BELL, you DOLT!”


The timekeeper gives a sheepish look and puts the cork back, then rings the bell.


** DING ** DING ** DING **


Bloodshed lunges at Davis with a high strike, but Sean maneuvers to lock up in a collar-and-elbow. Sean easily outpowers Bloodshed and grabs him in a headlock, then begins pounding away with big fists. Bloodshed squirms and attempts to wriggle away, but only finds himself in a tighter grip. Davis throws a knee and then adjusts Bloodshed, lifting him up for a simple suplex. It’s way too early in the game for this to work, as Bloodshed twist in midair, sliding behind Davis, and using his momentum to pull the bigger man down with a neckbreaker. Both wrestlers are up quickly, Sean a bit slower. Bloodshed charges for a clothesline, an off-balance Davis offers little resistance, and goes down. Bloodshed makes a cover for the hell of it..




Davis throws his shoulder up and stares in disbelief at Viktor. “What the fuck was that?!”


“Two count,” grins Tarakanov. He pulls out the cork and hands the bottle to Bloodshed as he gets to his feet. He takes a quick swig and hands the bottle back, twisting his head a bit as the alcohol burns. Davis gets to his feet and takes the bottle from Viktor. With obvious displeasure, Davis swallows his shot and shoves the bottle back at Tarakanov. The ref quickly cuddles the bottle, then takes a swig himself.


“Viktor Tarakanov is out to make this an interesting match.. “ notes Francis.


King shoots back, “How are two falling-down-drunk wrestlers going to have an interesting anything?”


“The Russians will like it. That’s all that matters right now.. “


Sean and Bloodshed circle in the middle of the ring. Davis attempts a clothesline, Bloodshed ducks and runs to the ropes, bouncing off and coming at Sean for a.. kick to the stomach! Bloodshed doubles over and is quickly lifted up for a powerbomb.. but holds off the moment with some punches to the top of Sean’s head. Davis keeps his grip on his opponent, shakes off the blows and mightily powerbombs Bloodshed to the canvas! The force of the ringshaker nearly causes Bloodshed to go head over heels as he lies in the middle of the ring. Sean kneels down and picks up a leg.





Kickout. Viktor grins gleefully and gets up to offer the bottle of vodka to Sean Davis. Davis refuses the bottle, shouting at the ref! “That should have been a three count! Going by your count rate when he tried it,” Sean points down at Bloodshed, “THREE COUNTS!”


Tarakanov just smirks and forces the bottle into Sean’s hands. “Two count, drink.”


Davis glares at the ref, then at Bloodshed as he stands. Sean swings the bottle and smashes it over Bloodshed’s head!






“Sean Davis has enraged this crowd by smashing the bottle of vodka over Bloodshed!” shouts Mak!


King squeals as he hides under the table! “The Russians are coming! The Russians are coming!”


Indeed, some of the Russian spectators jump the barrier, infuriated that their best vodka is wasted! SWF road agents quickly surround the ring, quelling the situation before it gets too out of hand. Viktor begins telling Davis he’s damn lucky there’s another bottle and he’ll get disqualified if he tries it again. The timekeeper hands over the second bottle and Viktor again shoves it into Sean’s hands. Davis glares and takes a swig. He coughs again and gives the bottle back to Tarakanov. Viktor helps Bloodshed to his feet, who has small streams of blood running down his face. He tastes of his own vitality and smiles. Bloodshed takes the bottle of vodka and drinks, swallowing his shot and taking more.. then mists Sean Davis!


“Bloodmist!” shouts Mak Francis as he kicks at King to get out from underneath the table.


Sean turns away, wiping at his eyes. Bloodshed attacks with a bulldog, then climbs the turnbuckle. He leaps off and hits.. the canvas! Davis batters Bloodshed with stomps and kicks to the gut. Sean leans down and picks up Bloodshed, ties him up in a Full Nelson and picks him up.. then jars his spine with an Atomic drop! Sean hooks the leg..






Kickout! Again, Davis glares at Tarakanov, who just smiles like a madman and offers the bottle of vodka. Sean takes the bottle and swigs from it, then offers it back. He backs off and waits for Bloodshed to take his turn. It takes a moment for Bloodshed to slowly get to his feet. He takes the bottle of vodka and drinks. Now, he coughs and squeezes his eyes, trying to fight off the effects..


“As can be expected.. Bloodshed appears to be succumbing to the alcohol before Davis,” comments Mak. King has finally retaken his seat, but still warily watches the Russians behind the announce table.


Davis advances and starts pummeling Bloodshed with big rights, pushing him back into the ropes. Sean grabs Bloodshed’s arm and whips him across the ring. On the return, Davis picks up Bloodshed and quickly plants him with a Samoan drop! Viktor anticipates the count and drops to his knees, but Sean denies him! Davis picks up Bloodshed into a military press, then shifts and drops Bloodshed with a DVD! Now Sean covers..
























Tired of waiting to drop the third count, Tarakanov sits back and takes a swig of vodka.


“COME ON!!” shouts Davis!!




The Russians cheer for the ref as he refuses to end the match.


Davis bargains, “I’ll drink with you after the match! We’ll have a contest! C’mon!!”


“Sean’s trying to bribe the referee!”


King slyly comes back, “You know what they say.. when in Russia.. “


Viktor debates in his head, then nods.




Shoulder up!


“NO!” Furious, Sean mounts Bloodshed and begins punching the ever-loving shit outta him. Tarakanov tries to pull Davis back, but to no avail. With some effort, Viktor separates them, and Sean hastily takes his shot. He shakes his head at the tickle in his throat, but jogs in place, urging Bloodshed to hurry up and take his shot. But Bloodshed won’t wake up.. Viktor pours some of the Russian liquor into Bloodshed’s mouth and he spits, coughing as he stirs. Bloodshed shakes his head and falls back to the mat. Viktor motions at Davis, who then covers Bloodshed again!




Viktor shouts for the bell and raises Sean’s hand as the winner!


** DING ** DING ** DING **


“Battle Ready” by Otep hits the speakers as the crowd boos.


“And your winner, SEAAAAN DAAAVIS!!”


Davis rolls out of the ring, then points at Tarakanov, indicating he’ll meet him backstage..


“And up next.. ” a commercial cuts off Mak Francis.

Edited by realitycheck

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* Backstage*


Ben Hardy is backstage with Bruce Blank who’s holding an almost empty bottle of vodka in his hand, brandishing it around as he sways. In the background we see Mikhail passed out while clutching a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels.


“YOOOOOOOOOOOOO BENNY!!” Bruce says and laughs like it was the greatest joke ever told “Have I ever told you that you’re a miserable bastard?”


Ben Hardy wisely says nothing.


“You come in here and say stupid stuff, and do stupid stuff. . . bwa, ha, ha, ha!”


“I’m here because we need an update on the Vodka test, I see the bottle is almost empty – how do you feel?” Hardy asks trying to sound all “Geraldo Serious”


Bruce stares at Hardy like he was grown a third eye and then says “I take my hand and go like this” while clutching at the air.


“I could have been interviewing Wildchild or Johnson instead of this” Hardy mumbles, annoyed that he once again has landed a shitty assignment.


“Whuzzat? Huh?? You saying that interviewing some little runts is more important than me?” Bruce says as he starts to get belligerent and red faced.


But before Hardy can even respond Bruce tumbles backwards onto his ass, grabbing the table as he falls so that he ends up knocking the glasses on the table over spilling them all over himself.


“Hey who threw their drink at me?”


*sigh* “Can we just move on to the International title match please?” Hardy asks the camera.


“Man I hope Johnson winssssh” Bruce says, still on the floor “It’d be another champion I’ve already beaten”


And with those words we



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*phone rings*


Secretary: Hello, Joseph Peters’ office? No, I’m afraid Mr. Peters is busy at the moment.




Secretary: Yes, OK, he’s with a hooker.




Secretary: Well I don’t know exactly how long he’s going to be, but she’s been in there ten minutes so he should be finished-


*The door to Peters’ private office opens and a scantily- and saucily-clad woman struts out on a pair of eight-inch stilettos, tucking a wad of notes into her garter*


Secretary: …I’ll put you through.


* * *


Joe Peters has hardly had time to rearrange his clothing (not that a vest top and a pair of tracksuit bottoms need much rearranging, there’s no dress code in the SWF after all) when the phone rings. Gritting his teeth in annoyance, the Generalissimo of the world’s biggest wrestling organization picks up the phone.


Peters: Hello?


???: Hi Joe. Long time no see.


Peters’ face registers a quick cavalcade of emotions - surprise, relief, and then anger. He quickly crosses to the door of his office and shuts it, then heads back to the swivelling leather chair that he stole from Tom Flesher and sits back down.


Peters: Where the hell have you been? I was expecting you to call me weeks ago!


???: Now now Joe, is that any way to greet an old business colleague?


Peters: Business colleague? That’s-


???: Shush, don’t get angry. As a matter of fact, I was phoning you about a job.


Peters: Huh. Well, if you’d called me a month or so back, I might have been interested. As it is, things have settled down somewhat and we’re back on track. I certainly don’t see any reason to bring you-


???: Let me just shut you down there, Joe. You think things are settled? I don’t think so. Your World Champion just blew you off for Hollywood; that’s not a great sign. Also, out of the two guys the fans don’t like that the title could have gone to, it went to the one the fans don’t like or respect. Looked at the internet lately, Joe? People may hate Johnson, but they recognise his talent. They just hate Maddix.


Peters: You might be right, but-


???: Battleground didn’t do that well, did it? Oh, it pulled half-decent buyrates, but not what you’d want. I seem to notice that ratings are down on the TV shows too. I think you really need my input here.


Peters: Come off it, you were never that much of a draw. There were some big numbers flying around, but only on some pretty stacked cards. I’ve got far bigger stars waiting in the wings for a chance to come back to Joe Peters’ SWF.


???: Such as?


There is a pause, while Joe Peters looks uncomfortable. He opens his mouth and seems about to say something, looks like he’s changing his mind, goes to say something else… and closes his mouth again.


???: Yeah, that’s what I thought. Look Joe, it’s not like I’m asking for much. My old pay deal, expenses, that sort of thing, and don’t try and tell me I’m not worth that much because we both know I am. I’ve got some unfinished business to take care of in the SWF, and I intend to deal with it. Oh, and one more thing…


Peters: …yes?


???: No-one is to be told about when or where I’m going to show up. No-one.


Peters: Well, I’ll obviously have to inform Security-


???: I wouldn’t if I were you. A little bird told me that you’ve got Janus running Security now. I don’t trust that psycho one bit, any more than I do that Hojo character I’ve heard is kicking around. If I get wind that they hear one whisper about me before I set foot in the building, I’ll be turning around and heading back to where I came from. Just give me the backstage pass and whatever else I need to make sure Janus can’t try and throw me out, and it won’t matter if he knows I’m coming or not.


Peters: You think Janus would try and throw you out?


???: Let’s just say I’ve considered the possibility.


Peters: Well… I think that can probably be arranged. But you need to remember one thing; we’ve had a few incidents lately with unprovoked attacks… if you were considering anything similar, you or anyone else you may have hanging around, then Janus will get involved, and the rest of security with him, capiche?


???: Subtle as ever. Yes Joe, consider me capiche’d. I’d ask you where you’re off to next so I could meet up with someone to sign the paperwork, but since you probably don’t know one country from another I’ll just look on the SWF website to find out. See you on the road, Peters.




Joe Peters takes the phone away from his ear for a moment and stares at it, clearly annoyed that his caller hung up on him. Then, however, a slow grin spreads across his face as he replaces the handset on the charging base, and it widens as he sits back in his chair and crosses his feet on his desk.


Peters:…got him.

Edited by realitycheck

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The camera fades back into Lockdown with high-energy being a fitting adjective to describe the crowd; it’s pandemonium at the Kremlin, a situation usually reserved for when they have to make an important decision and the direct line to the White House doesn’t work. Or maybe it’s pandemonium when it does work.


Political comments aside, the atmosphere is indeed pulsing with mass amounts of energy, the camera swooping over the roaring crowd that has gathered in one of the grander ballrooms and picking up signs such as “J3 IS MY PREFERRED BRAND OF SPOT REMOVER,” “LET ME HAVE YOUR WILDCHILDREN,” and “IN SOVIET RUSSIA, ELBOW GETS THE FUCK WILDCHILDED OUT OF HIM!” before coming to a rest at the announce table, occupied by none other than Mak Francis and the Suicide King!


“Zdravstvuite!” says the Franchise with a grin. “Welcome back to SWF Lockdown! I am the Franchise, Mak Francis, joined as always by the Suicide King, and what an interesting match-up we have for you tonight!”


“That we do, Mak,” agrees King, although with a bit of a scowl. “Shame you had to ruin my mood with your Commie-talk.”


“Whatever,” sighs the Franchise, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, for those of you just tuning in, what we have next is JJ Johnson vs. Wildchild, for Wildchild’s International Championship. These two have never met in any sort of competition, barring the Cold Front Classic battle royal in November, and even then they didn’t interact in the slightest; a clash of styles like this is sure to produce a match for the ag-“


I do that rather well…don’t you think?


Match for the ages or not, it’s obvious to see, considering the intro to “Crown of Horns” is now blasting throughout the hastily set-up loudspeakers within the Kremlin, that at least one of the competitors doesn’t want to wait. The smoke that accompanies this music barely has time to billow up across the entranceway before Johnson barrels through it, tag belt over his shoulder as he makes a quicker pace to the usual ring than usual.


“As I was saying, this is sure to produce a match for the ages,” notes Mak, “and I’m not sure what JJ Johnson’s hurry is.”


“Well, obviously he wants to get in the ring, wipe circus-boy out as fast as possible, and leave and enjoy some fine Russian women,” says King plainly, as if this were an obvious solution.


“If he’s looking for a fine Russian woman,” notes Mak, “he might want to walk a little faster, and get a little more time to search. He’s going to need as much time as he can get.”


“Oh, please,” scoffs King. “Like if a Russian woman came up to you, you wouldn’t bend that shit over and load it up like a shotgun.”


“…what?!” asks an incredulous Franchise. “Can you even say that on television?”


“Like a SHOTGUN,” stresses the Heartbreaker as Johnson jogs up the steps before swinging his leg between the ropes and jogging over to the second rope, where he hops up before throwing his arms wide, glaring out over the Russians that would be mobbing the ring if not for the somewhat impromptu guardrail; in fact, it’s not even a rail. It’s roadblocks, the Russian government obviously strapped for time to put an actual rail within the most glorious ballroom in the President’s house.






The Kremlin EXPLODES – fortunately for the government, not literally – as the opening tones of Mystikal’s “Bouncin’ Back” come bumping out of the speakers, followed closely by Melissa Fasaki, and closer still, the Wildchild himself!







As Johnson looks on, still hopping about like he just chugged four cans of Jolt, Wildchild calmly bounces down to the ring, his head bobbing slightly to the music as Melissa Fasaki slows her pace to fall behind him, smiling at the various Russians that are now mobbing the guardrails – with the term used very loosely – to get at the popular International Champion.


“And Wildchild has to know, here, that while he has the experience advantage by a very large margin,” begins Mak Francis, “he has had experience advantages before, in feuds with Scott Pretzler and Jay Hawke. Jay, the slower of the two, never managed to defeat him. Pretzler, a bit more fast-paced, although not by much, took him to the test in Ladder, Submission, and Last Man Standing environments, and barely came out on top.”


“What are you getting at?” asks the Heartbreaker, looking very bored.


“What I’m getting at is that Johnson is far more explosive than either of those two,” finishes Mak flatly. “Johnson is stronger than Wildchild – Wildchild has faced this before, and triumphed – but Johnson is deceptively fast, and if the champion can’t keep that in his mind, then we’ll see a new champion tonight.”


“Right,” says King, still sounding bored. “Boy, I’d like to bend Fasaki over and load her up like a shotgun.”


“Stop saying that!” snaps Mak as King looks on with a leery look in his eye, Wildchild diving between the middle and bottom ropes and rolling to his feet. This is enough to get a cheer from the crowd, and Wildchild basks in his glory a little before grinning, removing his shin pads, and handing them to Melissa. That done, he sits back in his corner with that grin still on his face and his title still around his waist, and waits for Funyon to begin his announcement. In the opposite corner, JJ still can’t seem to be still.


“Zdravstvuite!” booms Funyon.


“Commie-talk!” gasps King again, a look of loathing on his face.


“Hush!” hisses Mak.


“The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the International Championship!” continues the ring announcer, eliciting another cheer from the audience. “Introducing first, to my right, the challenger. In the red trunks with the white trim, he stands six feet, one inch tall, and weighs in tonight at 223 pounds! From Windsor, Ontario, Canada…J! J! JOHNSON!”


Johnson throws his fist up in MMA fashion as the fans get a tad negative, the Canadian completely ignoring them as he nearly spasms, leering across the ring in his newfound hyper fashion at the champion; more specifically, at the belt around his waist.


“And his opponent!” begins Funyon again, and that’s all it takes to get the fans roaring again in their support for the Bahama Bomber. “In the black trunks, with the aquamarine and yellow stripes, he stands five feet, eleven inches tall, and weighs in at 214 pounds! From Morgan’s Bluff in Andros, in the Commonwealth of the Bahamas, being accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki! He is YOUR SWF International Champion…the WIIIIIIIIILD-CHIIIIIIILDD!!!”






“Bell’s gone,” notes Mak, “and we’re underway!”


The two men waste no time in bounding to the center of the ring, Johnson still twitching with previously unseen energy, looking Wildchild straight in the eyes the entire time. The Bahama Bomber watches him carefully, but decides that it’s safe – for now – and the two lock up in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, jockeying for position!


“And this is an interesting tie-up,” says Mak.


“No, it’s not,” sighs King. “It’s a collar-and-elbow tie-up. It’s not interesting.”


“It IS interesting,” insists the Franchise, “because you’d think Johnson would have a definite advantage due to his size, and his strength. Not the case, though, because while Johnson is bigger and stronger, Wildchild, being shorter, has leverage on his side, and you know those leg muscles of his are insanely powerful. If WC can get his weight low enough, he could take Johnson down with the greatest of ease.”


It looks to be that way, as the Human Hurricane gets lower and lower, pushing with his legs the entire time against the stronger Canadian…who smoothly transitions behind the Caribbean Cruiser with a hammerlock, and goes near limp, his formerly excited face now completely flat, almost as if bored. The only real movement he’s making is holding the hammerlock, which Wildchild struggles against…and Johnson grins, and the fans catch on rather quickly.




“Brilliant!” says the Heartbreaker, completely ignoring the jeers of the fans and officials packing the Kremlin. “Johnson comes out excited. Walks to the ring quickly. Can’t stop jumping around, moving somehow. Why? To lure Clown-Boy into a false sense of security, and then snap on this hammerlock out of nowhere and control the match at his pace from the beginning. Now JJ has every advantage.”


Wildchild slaps at his shoulder, attempting to numb it to the pain shooting through it…but then he abandons his plan, and smoothly ducks backwards and under the arm of the Canadian before cinching on a hammerlock of his own!


“Or does he?” notes Mak with a grin on his face as the Canadian goes from grinning to grimacing, and he, too, slaps at his shoulder, lowering his center of gravity as well in an attempt to lower his center of pain. “Seems he got a tad too cocky, and now WILDCHILD holds every advantage!”


But this isn’t the case; with little hesitation, Johnson abandons his “ow, this hurts” act and reaches back, seizing a handful of the Bahama Bomber’s braids before leaping high, coming down on his knees and flipping the Caribbean Cruiser with a snapmare…before shooting in and latching on a Buffalo Sleeper hold!




“Buffalo Sleeper!” cheers King. “One of Johnson’s most punishing holds, the match might very well be over right now! See, Wildchild can hardly wrestle; he does what he does with those silly flips. You can’t flip if you don’t have oxygen, Mak, and in all my years at the announce table, few things deprive you of oxygen faster than that hold!”


And indeed, the Wildchild looks to be turning purple already, precious O2 being blocked from his lungs by the burly arm wrapped tight around his throat. However, he still has plenty of oxygen left; enough, at least, to reach out with one leg and drape that foot over the bottom rope, prompting referee Blaine Kalem to call for a rope break! Johnson immediately dances back to the center of the ring, waiting for the Bahama Bomber to get to his feet. Wildchild does so, and Johnson immediately offers his hand out, looking for a knuckle lock. Knowing that this is the realm of the quick, the Human Hurricane is eager to take the hold, and he locks one hand with the Canadian before going for the other…as Johnson, as swiftly and elegantly as a wrestling ballerina, spins under the arm, pinning it back with a top wristlock before sweeping the Andros Aeronaut’s legs out from under him and dropping down, wrapping his arm around his throat for a second Buffalo Sleeper!




“Second Buffalo Sleeper!” grins the Heartbreaker as Wildchild finds himself in an uncomfortable position for the second time in what is practically seconds. “Johnson can lock that hold on from anywhere, which is a frightening thought when you consider the potency of the hold!”


“And this is what I was talking about,” says Francis. “If I know Wildchild, and I’d like to think I know him pretty well, he wasn’t apprehensive at all about that hold. Sure, Johnson got him from the collar-and-elbow, but he knows as well as everyone else does – including Johnson, but I’m getting to that – that the knuckle lock has always been the medium with which cruiserweight artisans work their finest. Johnson knew this, lulled WC in, and then used that explosiveness I talked about to get a dangerous hold locked on almost instantly. Smart strategy from Johnson, and I hope Wildchild catches on soon, or this match will be shorter than anyone expected.”


However, this Buffalo Sleeper is almost as ineffectual as the last one; the ropes are near still, and with a little stretching – an easy task for someone as limber as one Dominic LeCroix – the Bahama Bomber is able to free himself from the choke once more. Again, Johnson smoothly slides back to the center of the ring, and Wildchild takes a moment getting up as he bangs his fist on the mat, Melissa Fasaki looking on worried.


“What are you doing, Johnson?” asks the Heartbreaker, a tad incredulous. “Stop letting him up!”


“No, King, see, that’s strategy in itself,” corrects the Franchise. “It may be good sportsmanship – and I know how you are about sportsmanship – but it’s also an insult. Wildchild’s too proud to be simply let out of a hold, especially by someone with the veracity of Johnson; Johnson is essentially saying ‘You’re not good enough for me to bother with getting you back to your feet’. It might come back to bite Johnson, but if he can make Wildchild angry enough, the Bahama Bomber’s going to make mistakes, and Johnson has made a career out of capitalizing on mistakes.”


Johnson, seeing that the Human Hurricane has reached his feet, shoots in for a grapple, but Wildchild is no longer having any of that, and he plants a boot firmly in the Canadian’s gut…that Johnson recovers swiftly from, planting the Wildchild with a double-leg takedown! Johnson attempts to capitalize, shooting in, but WC is quick to wrap his legs around the torso of the Canadian, forming an ironic MMA guard that is sufficient for keeping the Ultimate Fighter at bay. What it is not sufficient for, however, is keeping Johnson from raining blows on him, and Johnson proceeds to rise to his feet – as best he can with Wildchild weighing him down – before lashing out with a series of elbows, pounding the Bahama Bomber into dust to polite applause from the crowd!


“I’m not sure why the fans are applauding,” sighs King. “It’s their ‘homeboy’ that’s getting pummeled mercilessly.”


“Two reasons, King,” begins Mak, a veritable wrestling professor. “One, Russia is very big on mixed martial arts; elbows out of the guard is difficult to do, and this applause is out of respect. Two, Russia is home to perhaps the most unstoppable man in MMA in Fedor Emilianenko, and again, those guarded elbows are one of Fedor’s signature moves. The Russians see this as a shout-out to their big man in the Ultimate Fighting world, even if that’s absolutely not the ca-HOLY SHIT!”


That swearing on tape-delay television is well justified, as WC, deciding that no, being elbowed in the face incessantly is NOT fun, catches one of the blows and, with a quick moment to think up something and to twist his arms into that position, locks on what is essentially a front cobra clutch! Johnson tugs, and the grip comes loose a little, and so the Bahama Bomber abandons his now-moot guard to wrap those legs around Johnson’s neck, pinning him quite well with a cobra clutch/triangle choke combo, the Canadian in dire straits!




“Is that?” begins King.


“It is!” answers Mak. “Aecas’ Wings of Fire! The Black Angel returned earlier tonight, although I doubt that’s what WC had in mind. Regardless, making stuff up has landed Johnson in a very effective choke, ironic considering the Canadian’s strategy thus far.”


Fortunately for Johnson, he has two things going for him. One, Wildchild is very, very bad at this hold, and so his breathing is not nearly as constricted as if it were applied by everyone’s favorite Shrewsbury native. Two, he’s on his feet; Johnson has been placed in triangle chokes before, and his response has always been the same: lift with his knees, and slam the choker to free himself. He’s done it with Zyon, he’s done it with KOJI, he’s done it with Spike, and…yep, there he goes, doing it with Wildchild.”


Indeed he is, although it’s a lot tougher for the Ontario native with only one arm. Still, with strain, he hoists the Bahama Bomber up, up, and up more, into the powerbomb position…but before Wildchild can be broken in half by the ensuing impact, the champion abandons his hold and hops over the Canadian’s head before sprinting off the opposite ropes, bouncing back, and nailing a turning Johnson flat in the chest with a dropsault!




Johnson goes crashing hard to his back as, with a picture-perfect backflip, Wildchild lands on his feet and immediately charges in, taking advantage of a stunned Canadian by taking a leg and spinning around it, looking for his submission finisher!


“Wildchild going for his figure-four leglock!” shouts Francis. “He beat Johnny Dangerous with this at Ramadomination, and it’s certainly one of the more effective holds in his arsenal!”


“Please,” scoffs the Gambling Man. “It’s one of the more effective holds because it’s one of maybe two holds he uses, and besides, it’s not going to be of any effect this early in the match.”


This proves accurate, as once the Human Hurricane has his back to the Ultimate Fighter, Johnson wastes no time in planting his foot on the rear of the Wildchild and shoving, sending him stumbling into the ropes. As is his instinct (and his entrance music), the International Champion bounces back towards the prone Johnson…who, with a flex of his abdominal muscles, kips up and becomes a standing Johnson…and then a spinning Johnson…




…and the International Champion becomes a dazed International Champion as Johnson shatters his jaw with a ferocious rolling elbow! Wildchild stumbles back into the ropes, but this time, he doesn’t bounce back; Johnson isn’t letting him wait around this time, though, and he immediately takes a firm hold of the Caribbean Cruiser’s braids before tugging him into a standing headscissors, taking a firm hold of his waist, and flipping him up into the air as a worried Melissa Fasaki looks on…



…and has her fears assuaged, as Wildchild once again avoids powerbomb death by hopping over the head of the Canadian!






Johnson whirls towards the pesky champion, looking to fire another elbow…




…and he pays for his momentum as he has just enough time to see the Wildchild leap high before his vision is blocked by the boot of the Caribbean Cruiser via gamengiri!




Johnson stumbles, and nearly falls, and Wildchild pops him with a forearm shot before sending him into the far corner, following him in as he no doubt looks for his Blue Crush…


…but a Blue Crush is not to be, as Johnson leaps and plants a foot on each of the upper two turnbuckles before flipping backwards, taking himself quite acrobatically over the SWF’s greatest acrobat, who goes charging back-first into the turnbuckle. Taking advantage, Johnson rushes in and lashes out with a Yakuza Kick…


…but the Human Hurricane is not as dazed as the Canadian may have thought, and he leaps up to the middle rope before flipping forward over Johnson! Sternum and steel collide, much to the jubilation of the crowd, and Wildchild spins one finger in the air in a 360 to call for the Blue Crush before charging in, leaping , spinning…


…and Johnson drops to his hands and knees before rolling sideways, taking him clean under the massive vertical leap of the International Champion! Wildchild narrowly avoids hitting the buckles, planting his arms out to stop his descent into the poorly-padded steel, but he’s powerless to stop the brutal elbow that catches him right in the back of the head!




The focus fades just a little from the Bahama Bomber’s eyes, but he snaps back to attention quickly…unfortunately for him, it’s not quickly enough to stop Johnson from ducking his head under his arm and lifting backwards…




…before dropping him right on his neck with a backdrop driver!


“BACKDROPDRIVEEEEEERRR!!” bellows the Heartbreaker as the International Champion is bent in half, and slumps quite uselessly over onto his stomach, where Johnson is quick to roll him onto his back and hook his leg for a cover!
















But even despite the freakishly high angle at which the Caribbean Cruiser landed, it is too early in the match for a move to put the Wildchild down, and he kicks out with force as to sit right up…and Johnson slips around him before pinioning an arm and locking on a Buffalo Sleeper!




“And AGAIN Johnson goes to the Buffalo Sleeper!” says Mak, almost amazed. “I mean, it’s an effective hold and everything, but while he’s successfully locked it on twice, maybe three times, this means it has also failed that amount of times. Every time he’s locked it on, he’s been too close to the ropes.”


This doesn’t look to change; Wildchild has to slump in the hold – risking increasing the pressure – and stretch further than most human beings could only hope to, but he can just get a toe over it. Johnson tugs him away, but Blaine Kalem hath spoken: a toe is sufficient, and Johnson relinquishes the hold again, and once again, he steps back, almost taking special care not to touch the Caribbean Cruiser. Another slap to the face, no doubt, and one Wildchild doesn’t take kindly to…as he springs to his feet before charging off the ropes with blinding speed, bouncing back, and leaping high…



…to take Johnson off of his feet with a leg lariat! No reversals, no muss, no fuss; Johnson goes down, and at least for the moment, he stays there, a position solidified by the Bahama Bomber sprinting off the ropes once more before coming back, leaping HIGH…and coming crashing down on the Canadian with a back senton!








Johnson rolls to his stomach, clutching said body part with a good bit of enthusiasm considering the power of the blow. This proves unwise, as Wildchild immediately dashes up to the Canadian before taking an arm, wrapping it around his leg, and diving over with La Majistral!




















THR-NO! Off-guard pins on unweakened opponents are rarely effective, and Johnson proves this by kicking out quite forcibly; not to say he isn’t rattled, which he shows by immediately rolling outside to the Kremlin’s magnificently carpeted floors to recover.


“Ha! I knew it!” laughs the Franchise, clapping his hands with a look of delight on his face. “Wildchild knew Johnson was holding back, so he held back! Sure, he took some lumps, but now he’s got Johnson judged, and he’s going all out like the Bahama Bomber we all know and love!”


“That would imply people love him,” grumbles King, but there’s no denying the positive reaction for the Caribbean Cruiser…especially when he charges to the ropes before hurtling himself through and onto the Canadian with a suicide dive!


But Johnson ducks!


But Wildchild wasn’t going for a dive in the first place, instead lowering his head more and flipping over the ropes onto the apron before casting himself off with a flying reverse elbow that catches the back-to-standing Ultimate Fighter clean on the point of his jaw, sending his sweaty body tumbling to the ornate carpet!




Somewhere, the Kremlin’s custodian gets a shiver through his body.


Johnson sits up to realize that the fans are laughing at him, prompting him to get to his feet with a back roll and charge the Bahama Bomber, looking for a lariat!


That Wildchild grabs the wrist of before spinning under, doubling Johnson over with a kick to the gut, and draping his foot over the back of the Canadian’s neck…


“Caribbean Cutter!” shouts Francis.


“Not on the outside!” moans King.


…and indeed, it’s not on the outside, as Johnson quickly stands, forcing a backflip out of the Wildchild before taking his wrung arm and tugging the Bahama Bomber close, then launching him back towards the ring with a railgun suplex!


“Brilliant!” lauds King in direct contrast to what he said not moments ago, but the brilliance of Johnson’s suplex wears off some when the Wildchild simply flips through, landing on the apron and shooting his arms out to grab on to the second rope before he tumbles back to the floor. Knowing he has to act fast, it is the work of a moment for the former acrobat to shift his grip from the middle to the top rope, and tug himself up to the very top before flipping backwards and achieving chest-to-chest contact with the challenger, driving him back-first into the rail as the Bahaman goes tumbling into a now-exuberant crowd!


“Sky-High Asai Moonsault!” cries the Franchise elatedly as Johnson stumbles off of the rail now clutching at his spine, Kalem’s ring-out count reaching four. The Canadian turns to face where the Caribbean Cruiser vanished into the crowd…just in time to watch Wildchild leap to the top of the rail before casting himself with a seated senton right into Johnson’s chest, taking the challenger stumbling back…




…and into the ring post, eliciting groans from even the most adamantly anti-Johnson in the crowd. Wildchild hops off of the Canadian unharmed as the Ultimate Fighter slumps to the ground, holding the back of his head, and that slumping time is about all he gets before the Bahama Bomber has hoisted him back to his feet and is rolling him into the ring before hopping to the apron, casting himself up into a one-handed handstand – the crowd oohs at this – before whipping his body around and down with a slingshot powerdrive elbow!








The Kremlin is getting very, very loud as Wildchild covers Johnson, barely giving the Ultimate Fighter an opportunity to rub his aching chest as Kalem slides in to count!
















THRE-NO! NO! Johnson shoots his shoulder up before two, but this doesn’t stop Wildchild from continuing his comeback, tugging the Ultimate Fighter to his feet to try for another high-risk attack.




However, Johnson makes pulling him to his feet a high-risk attack in and of itself with an elbow smash! WC shakes it off and fires back with a forearm!


That’s blocked, and Johnson returns fire with an elbow!




And another!




And with the champion sufficiently dazed as Fasaki looks on worriedly, Johnson whirls on the spot, looking for a second rolling elbow!






That doesn’t connect, Wildchild leaping sky-high upon the completion of Johnson’s spin and blasting him in the face with a second gamengiri! The force of the kick is enough to take Johnson off of his feet, and Wildchild acrobatically lands on his feet before lifting up a leg of the Canadian and trying for his figure-four once more!



…And once again, Johnson plants a foot on his ass before shoving him quite forcefully away. There is a key difference between this time and last time, however.


As last time, there wasn’t a steel pole in Wildchild’s way.






“Ha! That’s what JJ thinks of your momentum, Clown-Boy!” laughs King, completely ignoring in typical fashion the few minutes in which JJ got no offense in whatsoever, and that Wildchild is, in fact, a victim of poor positioning. None of this matters to Wildchild, who pulls himself out of the corner holding with a grimace his surgically-repaired left shoulder, or Johnson, who immediately hops to his feet before wrapping an arm around the wounded limb of Wildchild before bending him sideways and draping a leg over his, latching on…an abdominal stretch?


“Bizarre,” says Mak. “I’ve never, ever seen Johnson do an abdominal stretch.”


“But does it not make sense here, Mak?” asks the Heartbreaker. “You see, he’s not working the body of Wildchild with this, although that is an added motive; he’s working that arm, torquing that arm that’s already been torqued to hell and back by those Buffalo Sleepers, and setting him up for his bigger, badder abdominal stretch in the Frostbite III.”


But before any real damage to either limb can be done, Johnson reaches under the Wildchild’s leg, hooking him before scooping him up into an inverted powerslam position, and the Bahama Bomber looks at the lights before Johnson sends him down with a Canadian Hammer!


Onto the ropes!


That causes the International Champion to slingshot off and over, Johnson securing a firm facelock before dropping straight back and nailing the champion with a slingshot snap brainbuster!






Wildchild’s momentum carries him up to a seated position, but this is only temporary before he collapses onto his back, Johnson drawing the near arm up into a top wristlock as he covers him for what could be the final pin of the match!
























NO! Wildchild kicks out, although it takes some effort…and it only takes a moment for Johnson to take advantage of that wristlock he applied earlier by dragging the Caribbean Cruiser up to a seated position and latching on a Buffalo Sleeper!


“AGAIN,” snaps Mak. “I mean, it was cute at first, but just stop! These aren’t going anywhere! Look, you set him up near the ropes again!”


And the Franchise is correct; Wildchild is so close to the ropes he could walk up them.



He could walk up them.



A grin forms on the face of the Caribbean Cruiser.



He could walk up them.


And so he does, reaching a leg out and beginning his ascension by planting a foot on the bottom rope. A moment later, his other foot joins him, and Blaine Kalem, in typical Cutthroat fashion, is too astounded to demand a break. Johnson seems too astounded to do anything as the Bahama Bomber makes his way up to the middle rope, his abdominal muscles straining greatly with the effort of piloting 200+ pounds of muscle against gravity, against the Canadian holding him down. Almost as if helping him, even though he’s trying to maintain pressure, Johnson rises with him, up to one knee as he still continues to wrench on the hold. Wildchild is holding his breath to avoid dropping to the hold; if this fails, he’s finished, because he’s not going to be able to suck in more air. Top rope now, and Johnson is on his feet, bearing down with all of his might, crushing what little oxygen remains out of the Human Hurricane…but it’s too late. Wildchild has reached the top, and with a flex of his mighty leg muscles, he casts himself backwards, taking Johnson down to the mat with a modified Pinball!!




“HE DID IT! HE WALKED THE ROPES AND GOT FREE!” cries Mak excitedly, as King buries his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking, obviously from tears.


And then everyone that isn’t King, Johnson or Wildchild becomes painfully aware of the actual situation. Johnson maintained the hold. And now he’s got a body scissors on with it, meaning nowhere to run for the Wildchild. Melissa bangs her hands on the apron, looking intensely, trying to find an escape. Wildchild does as well, bridging up and attempting to pin Johnson…











And then Johnson rolls onto his side, increases leg pressure, and all the enthusiasm whooshes out of Wildchild’s manager.


All the remaining air whooshes out of Wildchild’s lungs.






And the title whooshes right off of Wildchild’s waist.







“Crown of Horns” kicks into full blast death gear as Johnson immediately abandons the hold, rolling to his feet and waiting for Kalem to bring his newly won title his way, Wildchild rolling over to the ropes to take huge, gasping breaths.


“Well, I don’t like the result,” sighs Francis. “But that was a hell of a contest. Both men gave their all, but while Wildchild caught onto Johnson’s plan, by then, the damage was a little too extensive for a true comeback to be made. It didn’t help that Johnson did his best pit-bull impersonation with those Buffalo Sleepers, and finished it off with that doushime Buffalo Sleeper. I’d love to see a rematch, but for now, Johnson was just too much for WC to overcome.”


“Oh, cheer up,” scoffs the Heartbreaker as Kalem hands Johnson his belts, old and new, the Canadian promptly draping them over his shoulders before striding over to where Wildchild has made it up to one knee…



…and offers out his hand. The Bahama Bomber eyes it suspiciously, but looks up at the face of the man offering it and sees a grin. Not his usual malicious grin, like when he applies Buffalo Sleepers to win championships. A real grin. Grinning back, Wildchild seizes a hold of the hand and gives it a firm pump before getting to his feet and raising Johnson’s hand, the crowd applauding the display of mutual sportsmanship.


“Here is your winner, and the NEW International Champion…J! J! JOHNSON!” booms Funyon to less boos than before as Wildchild drops the arm of the former challenger, now champion, mouthing “I’ll get ya next time”, prompting a chuckle from the Canadian. Johnson leaves the ring, and the camera pans back to the announce table.


“Again, that was a great match, and it was made all the better by that show of sportsmanship from the usually cold-hearted Johnson. Speaking of cold-hearted, we’ve got Landon Maddix vs. Amy Stephens, title for title, and we’ve got that next,” grins the Franchise. Don’t go away.”


“Oh, sure,” says King flatly. “Ignore Melissa Fasaki and other Russian women, but bend sportsmanship over and load it up like a sho-“




Edited by realitycheck

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“Welcome back to SWF LOCKDOWN!” Suicide King excitedly shouts as we return from commercials. In the background you can see the nightlight Kremlin in all of its glory and streets lined with anxious fans. “We are coming at you live from Russia…with love.”


“Oh, God,” Francis cringes. “Have you been saving that all night or something?”


“Forget about all night, that baby has been waiting for years!”


“Anyway,” Francis says, shaking his head. “Moving right along, we have a spectacular match lined up next. It’s the newly crowed Cruiserweight Champion Grendel verses Zyon, two men hit of victories at Battleground, and this one is sure to be a barn burner!”


“Feh! I think you’re setting the bar just a little bit too high for these two guys,” King grumbles, “and nobody even cares about these two featherweights to begin with!”


“They’re called ‘Cruiserweights’, King,” The Franchise corrects his announcing cohort. “One of them just so happens to be the champion of said division while the other is a former champion. I don’t think we could ask for a better match up than one that pits two of the newest and hottest commodities in the SWF against each other.”


“How about one that pits the World Champion and International Champion against each other?”


“While that is certainly an interesting proposition that isn’t on our plate for tonight,” says Mak. “This match is.”


“Well I say it’s time to get these two clowns out here then,” the Gambling Man adds. “Lets turn this one over to our ring announcer Funyon, who is standing by!”




Funyon steps through the ropes, into the ring, with his microphone in hand. A short pop rings out from the Russian crowd. Obviously, these people are so excited to see some SWF action that a simple ring announcer gets their juices flowing. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, “the following match will be conducted under standard one fall rules with disqualifications in effect. Introducing to you first, from Elkhart, Indiana…”


Even before Funyon can spit out the first syllables of the word ‘Indiana’ the Russian fans ignite! “I’m Born”, “I’m Alive”, and “I Breathe” alternate on the Smarktron while “Vitamin” by Incubus kicks in. After a moment of build the young Zyon emerges through the curtain and pauses at the top of the ramp. Zyon scans the excited audience before busting out an innocent grin as he sprints down the ramp. Zyon leaps on to the ring apron before flipping into the ring with a simple leap and twist of the wrist. Once in the ring, Zyon energetically runs up to the ropes and climbs to the second rope, throwing the "X" above his head and then breaks the "X" apart as he spreads his arms out over his head with his elbow bent upward.


“Who the hell does he think he is,” mutters King. “Randy Orton?”


“He weighs in at a dead even 200lbs; he is ‘The Unique Youth’ ZZZZZZZZZZYOOOOON!”


“I mentioned a few minutes ago that Zyon was victorious at Battleground, but did you get a chance to witness that match, King?”


The Gambling Man shoots Francis a dumbfounded look.


“Right, you were at the table with me,” Mak continues, and King nods his head mockingly. “The way Zyon just completely went to town on Spike Jenkins with that chair was brutally shocking…but at the same time it was *emotionally* satisfying.” he says, rubbing his neck. “I hope for Grendel’s sake that Zyon got it out of his system at Battleground.”


“Well if he didn’t than he’ll just be disqualified,” King adds.


“And his opponent…” Funyon booms as the lights begin to slowly dim, coinciding with the opening line to Evanescence’s “Bring Me to Life”. The crowd roars their approval to the arrival of the new Champion, giving the rookie his biggest pop to date! Lights that are lined up alongside the stage being a slow strobe - it’s reflection off the back walls are reminiscent of a lighting storm in the distance that is slowly approaching, and it moves in perfect harmony with the music. Finally, the song pauses for a single beat and…






…an entire row of pyros erupt alongside the stage as the songs chorus kicks in, summoning Grendel from backstage!


“Hailing from Manhattan, New York, and weighing in at 220lbs; he is your current and reigning SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION, ‘The Spirit of Aggression’ GGGGRRRRRRENDEEEEEEL!”


“While Grendel or Hunter Rose, as they’re calling him in the more intellectual circles, has never been much for the spoken word, he does seem to be one for the written,” Francis reports. He carefully pulls out a plain piece of paper from his pocket and unfolds it. “This was delivered to me just prior to the start of the show.”


“Well what the hell does it say?” Suicide King asks while trying to lean over to his right and read the note for himself, but the Franchise shoos him off.


“It says…” he begins. “Wow, I must say this guy’s penmanship is definitely immaculate-”


“Read the damn note!”


“Alright, alright!” Francis hollers. He clears his throat and then reads the letter out loud. “It says ‘Dear kind sirs at the announce table. I must apologize for using such uncommon and ancient means of sending word your way, but Joseph Peter’s says Cruiserweight Champions don’t get time in front of the camera unless they’re taking a swan dive off the side of a cage...”


“You’re God damn right about that,” adds King, nodding his head. Mak rolls his eyes then continues.


“…so I must make contact with you this way. Tonight my quest for redemption continues as I take on the ‘Unique Youth’ Zyon. While I think he is quite the upstanding young citizen of Indiana, his loss is required for me to fulfill destiny…and he will be put down for three after I hit him with the Redeemer.’ Grendel.”


“The Redeemer?” King repeats with a confused look about him. “Is that supposed to be some kind of new, hard-hitting death move.”


“I guess so,” Francis replies. Obviously he isn’t too sure for himself. “I think it’ll be interesting to see what Grendel has in store for us on his quest for redemption and if it’s a new move called the ‘Redeemer’ that he has planned then I anxiously await its debut.”


Stabbing his fork into the outside mats, Grendel then slides into the ring. He’s ready for his next quest…but not before saluting the fans. Rose climbs the corner post, unfastens the Cruiserweight Championship belt from his waist and hangs it aloft for the crowd. After a few flashbulbs pop he hops down from the post and hands the title off to the referee, but only for safe keeping as the belt is not on the line tonight. Finally, the referee calls for the bell!




“And this one is on!” exclaims Mak Francis, “except it looks like Zyon wants to shake first.”


Zyon, with his hand extended, steps towards Hunter Rose. He has no quarrel with the Cruiserweight Champion even if he does possess a belt that he once held with pride. Unfortunately, the gesture doesn’t sit too well with the eager fans…




“This certainly comes as a surprise,” says Francis.


“Well it shouldn’t!” snaps Suicide King. “However, I don’t think they’re booing the competitors as much as the notion itself. These fans came here to see some bone crunching action not brotherly love. Let’s get it on!”


Apparently Grendel got the hint. Instead of moving forward to accept the sportsmanlike handshake, he quickly fires off a stiff elbow to the side of Zyon’s skull and the crowd explodes! The Unique Youth’s head is rocked back by the surprising shot, but he keeps his balance enough to catch sight of a second elbow coming his way which is ducked…just barely. The momentum of swinging his elbow out and missing carries Grendel around and leaves him in quite the precarious position. Hunter Rose knows this, though, and so he spins back around towards his opponent-




-Turning right into a solid right hand from the Unique Youth that rocks Grendel’s head back and sends him reeling into the ropes as a hand instinctively shoots to his cloth-covered face! Zyon chases after him, pulling Hunter’s hand back while rearing *his* fist back, ready to sock the ‘Spirit of Aggression’ straight in the jaw once more-




-but Rose unexpectedly, at least unexpected by Zyon, swings his fist out and plows his knuckles deep into the side of Zyon’s head, momentarily stunning the ‘Unique Youth’! Zyon stumbles a step backwards and Grendel explodes off the ropes, slamming fist after fist after fist into Zyon and beating him clear across the ring into the opposite ropes! Finally, he grabs Zyon by the wrist and steps forward, whipping him across the ring-


“This could be the set up to the Redeemer!” Francis hollers in excitement, but if it were it isn’t now. Zyon digs his feet into the canvas and reverses, sending Hunter Rose for the ride across the ring instead! With Rose off to the races, Zyon charges two steps behind Grendel, looking to land a massive drop kick into Hunter Rose the second he comes rocketing back of the ropes, but it’s the Assassin who will make his mark. Grendel quickly leaps to the second rope and springs himself off, rotating himself in midair-




-and slamming a forearm into Zyon’s forehead and the Unique Youth is floored by the hit to a thunderous cheer! However, there is no time to acknowledge the Russian crowd. No sooner than he lands and Grendel rolls back to his feet and charges for the far ropes, just as Zyon dazedly returns to his feet! Grendel quickly bounces back towards his opponent then jumps up, and levels the Unique Youth with a diving lariat!


“Oh my God!” exclaims Francis, bursting at the seams with excitement. “This match was set to start as a friendly, competitive match and now, at the beckoning of the fans, this match has turned into one hell of a hard hitting event! And will you just listen to this crowd; they are loving every single second of this!”


“When you’re faced with a choice of this or watching the same thing that …Oh! Wait! We have a cover!”


The referee drops to his knees just as Suicide King notices, and begins to count…









TWO--NO! Zyon thrusts his shoulder off the canvas a second before two and rolls to his stomach, pushing off the canvas before Grendel helps him all the way up with a handful of hair, going right back to work on his opponent. He quickly spins Zyon around and locks his hands around the Unique Youth’s waist from behind then hauls him up and over, and slams Zyon back-first into the mat with a German suplex.”


“And a beautiful suplex by the Cruiserweight Champion,” marvels Francis. “Could he be setting up Zyon for the Redeemer is probably the question on everyone’s mind right now!”


“Somehow I doubt that,” King responds as once more Grendel pulls Zyon up to his feet and spins the man around, locking his hands around Zyon’s waist from behind! Rose hauls Zyon off the mat and drops backwards, slamming the Unique Youth back-first into the mat with another suplex, but the Assassin doesn’t release! He rolls on through, planting Zyon’s shoulders to the canvas as he pulls his legs up, bending him at the midsection with a roll up!












TH-NOO! Zyon quickly reaches up and grabs Hunter Rose by the waist, countering the roll up with another roll up, and pinning Grendel to the mat instead! The referee drops back down to count again, and as he does Zyon reaches up and grabs onto the top rope while holding the ‘Spirit of Agression’ by his belt loop generating a massive boo!
















TH-NOO! Grendel kicks out just a fraction of a second before three!


“That was a close call for Grendel there,” says Francis, wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead, “almost too close as Zyon almost stole one with some help from the ropes.”


“Oh, and why aren’t you calling him down for that then!?”


“Oh, quit already,” snaps Francis. “All rules and alignments are off for this match. For Zyon it’s all about doing whatever he has to do in order to avoid getting hit with this Redeemer. He certainly doesn’t want to be the first to fall victim to it!”


“Nobody has even seen it yet! How do you and Zyon know it isn’t something stupid like an elbow drop?”


“Well I wouldn’t want to wait for it and see that it’s not something stupid like a sheer drop piledriver!”


This time Zyon is the one left standing as Grendel scrambles to his feet and like Hunter Rose before him, Zyon pulls Grendel to his feet by the sides of his head. Zyon backs Grendel into the ropes, cocks his arm back and…




Cuts loose with a chop to Hunter Rose’s chest. Even though a shirt gives Hunter a little padding to offset the burning chop, it’s still none to pleasant. Zyon grabs Grendel by the wrist and steps forward, whipping Hunter across the ring.


“If you’ll notice here,” notes King. “Zyon learned from his last Irish whip exchange with Grendel; he isn’t chasing after him this time.”


Grendel hits the ropes, but before he springs back towards Zyon he latches onto the top rope with his arms as Zyon jumps up looking for a dropkick! The instant the Unique Youth lands on his feet is the instant Grendel rushes forward and swings his leg up for ANOTHER leg lariat-


“Nothing but air,” cheers King, as Grendel, simply dumbfounded, spins back around to face his opponent…and Ace rocks his toe into Hunter Rose’s ribcage, doubling him over! He latches onto the ‘Spirit of Aggression’s’ neck, twists around and-




“STUNNER,” exclaims King as Grendel’s jaw smashes into Zyon’s shoulder and Hunter Rose is propelled backwards through the air and crashes to the mat in a heap! “Zyon has obviously watched tapes on Grendel. Before He could get his Redeemer off Zyon nailed Grendel with his very own move; Grendel’s Curse!”


“Not exactly,” Francis corrects his announcing partner. “Grendel’s Curse is done with a flipping jump from the ropes before the stunner.”


“Details! Details!”


Zyon excitedly scrambles over toward Grendel and heaves himself on top as the referee drops down for the count amid a massive wave of cheering!






























THRE-NOO! To the surprise of every fan in the house, the referee stops the count just short of three, pointing towards the ropes where Grendel has his foot resting against the bottom!


“By God!” the Franchise shouts. “Grendel didn’t have the strength to kick out there, but his heart simply refuses to stop beating! It pushed Hunter Rose to do the only thing he could to save his redemption from Zyon!”


“How the hell can you make something as simple as sticking your foot on the ropes sound like the second coming of Christ! It didn’t take any ‘heart’ to pull that kind of crap off and he certainly wouldn’t have been redeemed by winning”


“Maybe so, but he wouldn’t have been able to hit his Redeemer!”


Zyon rises to his feet absolutely livid! He swoops over Hunter Rose and begins tearing into the ‘Spirit of Aggression’ like a madman, raining down into Grendel with a hail storm of feet!










“Zyon’s going to go insane again! He took out this same kind of aggression on Spike Jenkins at Battleground and he’s at it again!”


The referee finally spnngs into action with a count and reaches all the way to “FOUR” before Zyon ceases with his stomps! He grabs a handful of the cloth mask covering Grendel’s face and jerks him to his feet before slinging him around…and out of the ring, sailing Hunter straight through the middle rope, all the way down into thin thinly-padded concrete floor with a sickening thud!




“Look at that total disrespect for the Cruiserweight Champion,” hisses Francis. “Zyon has snapped!”


Once more the ref begins a count, only this time it’s the standard cruiserweight twenty-count for Grendel on the outside.


“ONE!” he shouts, as Zyon rolls out of the ring and strolls right up to Hunter, scraping his carcass off the floor.




He stands the wobbly Grendel, who is stunned out of his mind, up to his feet as he draws his arm back while shoving the ‘Spirit of Aggression’ against the ring-






-and slashes Grendel’s chest with a knife-edged chop, nearly ripping the fabric! Grendel clutches his chest, and slides down to his feet…at least almost.




Before he drops to far down Zyon pulls Hunter back up and leads him toward the steel steps-






-and Zyon ferociously slams Hunter Rose’s forehead into the steps and the crowd lets out an “OOOOH!” and Grendel’s head bounces off the steps, sending his body staggering back!




Zyon grabs the Cruiserweight Champion by his neck, finally tossing him under the bottom rope before following in after him.


“Man,” groans Francis, “Hunter Rose has gotten himself in a bad way. He inadvertently gave up an opening to Zyon, and the Unique Youth has completely capitalized with that one simple mistake!”


Zyon quickly rolls Grendel onto his back and drops down for the cover. The referee drops to count:















TH-NO! The crowd roars their approval as Grendel thrusts his shoulder off the mat, sparing himself the seemingly inevitable for a moment further! Zyon stands back up, takes a deep breath to remain calm, then moves to reacquire Hunter Rose. He pulls Hunter upright in a seated position then locks his fingers around the Cruiserweight Champions chin and pulls back while digging his knee into Grendel’s spine! Rose howls in pain; the beating coupled with the strain on his neck being simply unbearable, and the referee is forced to ask him if he submits. Grendel refuses – viciously shaking his head ‘no’ as much as he possibly can while grunting in agony and flailing his arms, hoping to loosen his opponent’s grip! Meanwhile the crowds stir up a chant for Grendel.


“This crowd is really starting to come alive for the Cruiserweight Champion,” notes Francis, “in a rather surprising turn of events, as these fans seemed to be in Zyon’s corner at the start of this match!”


“Yeah, but they wouldn’t know a good competitor if we slapped them in the face with the World Champion himself,” King says. “Russians...who needs ‘em!”


Zyon digs deeper into Grendel’s spine with his knee, trying wholeheartedly to gain a submission on him, but the crowd is undeterred – the chants just grow even louder…the chants that he has waited to hear forever! Suddenly, in a last ditch effort, Grendel reaches from behind, grabbing Zyon by his neck and flips him overhead to the mat with a lighting quick snapmare! Grendel slowly rises to his feet; his breaths are heavy and he clenches down on his knuckles. Zyon, on the other hand, pops back to his feet after sustaining no injury but the one to his ego! He rushes forward-






-and Grendel thrusts his open palm into Zyon’s face, right between the eyes, with a violent palmstrike as he cuts loose with a tremendous battle cry! Zyon staggers back, momentarily stunned from the blow and the crowd goes simply ballistic as Grendel rushes in and drills two more into Zyon’s cranium, sending him reeling into the ropes! He hits the ropes and unintentionally bounces back, walking straight into Rose as he pivots on one foot-




-Smashing Zyon’s skull all to hell with a spinning kick that sends the Unique Youth spinning in the opposite direction he came and dropping to his knees…and finally coming to a stop as his chest lands against the middle rope! Grendel races across the ring, hitting the far ropes and comes tearing back off them, charging back towards Zyon like a raging bull-




-and shatters the Unique Youth’s spine as he slams a mighty Yakuza Kick into Zyon’s back, eliciting a horrid cry of pain from his lips! Zyon grabs tightly to his now throbbing back, cringing as he slumps to the mat in sheer agony! Grendel swoops in and drops in for the cover and the referee makes the count!






















THR-NO! The crowd lets out a cheer as Zyon gets the shoulder up just a hair before three! Grendel jumps to his feet and pulls his opponent up then slams his knee into Zyon’s midsection, doubling him over! Hunter Rose drops under the Unique Youth pulling him over onto his shoulders with a fireman’s carry then stands up-


“It’s time for Vengeance!” Mak excitedly shouts as Grendel jumps up and dumps Zyon to the side, impacting his head into the ring with the Death Valley Driver! Grendel doesn’t go for the sure fire pin, instead he drags Zyon’s limp body up to his feet and then ducks his head under the Unique Youth’s arm, putting his head to Zyon’s back-


“This could be the Redeemer!” shouts Francis, and Grendel shoots Zyon’s near leg then swiftly scoops him off the mat, and spins him overhead and back into the ring, slamming Zyon chest-and-fact-first!


“That’s it! The Redeemer! Grendel just nailed Zyon with the Redeemer!”


Finally, Hunter Rose drops to his knees, and rolls Zyon onto his back before applying a lateral press for the pin.

































“He’s done it! Grendel said he would show us the Redeemer and he did on his way to victory!”


Grendel receives his belt back from the referee and he makes no hesitation before heading to the corner post to raise his title to the fans! He stands there, on the corner turnbuckle, the two strands of cloth that tie his mask in the back fluttering in the wind with the Cruiserweight Championship glistening from the flashbulbs!


“That’s a wrap for this match,” says King. “We’ll be right back as Lockdown continues with JJ Johnson taking on Wildchild for the International Championship!”

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“Ladies and gentlemen we’re only minutes away from the double title match” Mak says with great excitement.


“Yeah just kill me now, Amy or Landon as world champions. . . I don’t like those options” King replies never forgetting his distaste for everything Maddix.


Before Funyon can hit the ring to start the introductions Bruce Blank comes staggering out through the curtains with an empty vodka bottle in one hand and a microphone in the other.


“Oh brother” Mak mutters to himself.


“Hey, hey, hey we can’t have a world title match of such epic proportions of suckitude without singing the national anthem first” Bruce says with a snigger “So come on everyone!! ON YER FEET!! ON YER FEET!!”


No one stands up.


“Is this on? Hellooooooo” Bruce says and taps the microphone a couple of times. “I said STAND UP!!”


Again no one stands up, undeterred by the fact that no one seems to stand up Bruce places his right hand (and empty vodka bottle) over his heart and then starts to sing.


“Sooooooooooooyuz nerushimy respublik svobodnykh”




“What the hell is he singing?” Mak asks as Bruce tries his best to sign in Russian while drunk (being drunk probably makes it easier actually)


“That’s the national anthem of the Soviet Union Mak” King enlightens us all, having heard Nikolai Volkoff sing it so many times he recognizes it immediately.


”Splotila naveki velikaya Rus'!

Da zdravstvuyet sozdanny voley narodov

Yediny, moguchy Sovetsky Soyuz!”




“Oh he’s just making up words now” Mak says


“I dunno it sounds pretty Russian to me”


“And you’re an expert on Russian right?”


”Slaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaavsya, Otechestvo nashe svobodnoye,

Druzhby narodov nadyozhny oplot,

Partiya Lenina — sila narodnaya

Nas k torzhestvu KOMMUNIZMA!!”




”PLAY BALL!!” Bruce says and then stumbles backwards against the wall.


“Okay this is just embarrassing” Mak says wishing that someone would come out and take care off this.


As asked, so answered as Janus leads a security detail out from the back


“We want you out of here Bruce!” Janus says and then snaps his fingers to signal his team.


Bruce pushes away from the wall and staggers over towards Janus only to be stopped by some of the security team.


“We are ejecting you from the arena Bruce, we do not want you here for the main event causing problems for us! YOU ARE OUTTA HERE!!” Janus yells




“Can I say one thing before I leave?” Bruce says




Bruce smirks, then stumbles to one side as he’s having a hard time standing up straight. When one of the members of the security team steps up to grab Bruce the big man smashes the empty bottle over his head and then announced.




quickly followed by Bruce passing out in a drunken heap on the floor.


“He’s back? He didn’t look like he was in ANY shape to come back King”


“He passed the test, that’s good enough for me” King replies as we fade to a commercial break.

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Suddenly the arena lights drop, and the crowd hushes. A few flashbulbs fire off as the SmarkTron fires into life. Three words appear in a scrawled font…




The arena speakers blare out samples of assorted rap tracks








The noise dies again as the quiet background hum of the crowd grows, experienced SWF fans knowing what should be coming next. Smoke gushes through the entrance area as blue lights highlight the wrestler’s gate. An electronic sample plays rising chords, getting slowly faster as the booming bass thumps in…






A massive shot of pyro fills the entrance area with bright white sparks






As the pyro and smoke dies down, a figure in a recognizable black entrance robe, unusually (for him) tied at the waist, walks slowly down to the ringside. Barely visible beneath the hood is the wrestler’s mouth, mouthing along to the words of his new entrance music…


I move on debate to vacate the graveyard

Scatter yo’ limbs like the British did to Braveheart

Highway to hell, we trouble, that’s why we stay hard

Remain calm, drop tha beats like napalm

We ain’t goin’ out like dance single anthems

Drown ya in the depths of Atlantis, we can grant them

We like rock hard, bah-boo team expansions,

Stress ya out I hit you with my finger when I’m rappin

Hear ye, hear ye, check my proclamation

Ya playin’ yaself like you were a Playstation

Bring tha beef, I’m hungry, my belly’s achin’

You tha only problem in this rap equation (oh!)

Turn on wi’ the work reproducing the fillip

No way to stop it no way to forgit it

Hard to kill like the Chronicles of Riddick

Silence cynics! Stop yo’ gimmicks!


By the time the second chorus hits the hooded figure is in the ring, and members of the crowd are already calling his name out. As King Kapisi tells the boys to Raise up again, the wrestler obliges, leans back and throws back his hood revealing the tattooed face of…




The music dies down and a mic is thrown into the ring for the Maori Badass to address the crowd with!


Va’aiga: Your favourite Polynesian is back, pakeha! See I been gone a long time, but just so I can check, I got ta ask ya all a question…. WHAT’S MYYYYYYYY NAAAAAAAAAAAME???




Va’aiga: BOO-GOD-DAMN-YAH! See I been gone a couple of years, and I was worried y’all had forgetten who I be. Well just to remind all y’all who don’t know. I am The Career Ender, The Predator, The Headhunter, The God Damn Maori Badass… VA’AIGA! And people who don’t know what I been up to… as you can see I been putting a little extra weight around the puku…


Va’aiga taps his slightly fatter looking belly through the entrance robe, before throwing it away to reveal he’s in as crisp a shape as ever… and wearing the Pure American Wrestling World Heavyweight Title!!!!


Va’aiga: Oh yeah. The Maori been busy, and this is my reward. I ain’t lost a singles match in three years, I ain’t been pinned in 8 months, and I got myself a world title to show for it. Thing is I got one other thing out of the PAW… an open contract! That means I’m free to go pick fights elsewhere if I want. And being SWF! I! ORA! That meant I tapped on the board of directors’ door and said, “Boys, can I come beat some sucka up in ya federation?” Ya know what they said? They said “Yes, sir!” So let me throw this out old school… this Haere te ra is looking for a challenge, so whether it’s Dubya Cee still bearing a grudge from taking the Drop backstage, whether it’s Spike looking for some long lost revenge, whether it’s Jay Three wanting to prove his King’s Road stylings against someone 2-0 in All Japan Classics, whether it’s Bruce, Landon or anyone else… I’m laying down my spear boys. I expect come TV time next week somebody’s gonna have picked it up. I know this ain’t a fed for chickens, so come take the Maori up on his challenge. What’s the worst that can happen? Ya get lariatted by the best! So boys, holla at me, tell me ya wanna step up to the crease and feel the power of… BOOOOOO-YAAAAAH! Peace out.

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"Ladies and gentlemen...the following contest is your MAIN EVENT of the evening and it is for BOTH the SWF Hardcore Gamers Championship and the SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!"



Right on cue, "Blitzkrieg Bop" strikes up and the crowd rise to their feet for their favourite binge drinker!




Striding out through the curtains, head down, Amy Stephens is in no mood for niceties tonight. That's nothing new, obviously, but tonight she doesn't even have a beer in hand as she charges on down the aisle, turning right back to the entrance way and leaving the crowd to their own devices tonight.







"Introducing first...hailing from Nottingham in the United Kingdom and weighing one hundred, seventy one pounds. She is reigning and defending SWF Hardcore Gamers Champion... AAAMMMMYYYYYYYYY SSSSSSTTEEEEEEPPHHHHEEEEENNSSSSSSS!!!!"




"And what a big match this is for Amy tonight." enthuses Mak, finally able to get a word in. "Not only because of the opportunity to get her hands on Landon Maddix, but also the opportunity to become the first female World Champion in SWF history!"


"Ooh, shoot comment."


"Excuse me?"


"Nothing, nothing. What I meant to say was, I doubt Amy cares about being the first woman World Champion, the first woman to drink a beer on SWF TV, the first anything...except being the first woman to get a chance to kick Landon's ass since Battleground. After what he did to her, she's gonna be seething! And I can't wait to see them fall out!"


"Excuse me?"


"THE fallout, THE. Get your mind out of the gutter Francis!"


Amy limbers up in the ring, pacing around impatiently, waiting for the oh so familiar tune.



And gets something entirely different.



"Wait...this isn't Megalomaniac." mumbles Mak, suspecting a miscue in the truck. "What's going on guys?"



"Tell me exactly, what am I supposed to do

Now that I have allowed you, to beat me!

Do you think that we could play another game

Maybe I could win this ti-ime."


"I kinda like the misery you put me through

Darling you can trust me, completely!

If you even try to look the other way

I think that I could kill this ti-ime!"


"The Game" by Disturbed kicks into gear and sure enough, New Champion equals new entrance music as Landon Maddix bursts through the curtains and onto the entrance way! Amy's face contorts with rage as Maddix is followed out by Megan Skye, who smugly goes through a little shadow-boxing routine for Amy's benefit. At first, Landon's demeanour is deadly serious. But as he looks out into the crowd, a sly grin creeps across his face as the reaction to his raising of the SWF World Title sinks in. They hate him. They really hate him!


"And, her opponent!" booms Funyon, struggling to be heard over to pounding new theme music. "Being accompanied to the ring by his Perfect 10, Megan Skye! Hailing from Huron, South Dakota by way of Madrid, Spain...he weighs two hundred and twenty four pounds. He is the NEEEEEWW, current, reigning and defending SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION... LLLAANDOOON "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMMAAAAAAAAADDIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXXXXXXX!!!!!"




Reaching ringside, Maddix taunts the fans to his right with another raise of the title before backtracking and jogging up the steps. Referee Sexton Hardcastle keeps Amy at bay in the far corner as Megan holds the ropes open for Maddix, who waits for a suitably raucous part of the song before bounding through and into the ring with a theatrical spin into the centre.


"Ugh." groans...well, you can guess.


"Landon, soaking up this less than positive reaction from Mother Russia's natives."


The gleaming Maddix again poses with his new belt before climbing himself up to the middle rope and giving another section of the crowd a good look at the belt. Megan does her best 'Price Is Right' impression and shows off her man in all his glory...




...until suddenly, a hand on hair and pants wheels her around and sends her hurtling out through the ropes and to the floor with a thud!




"There's a little Battleground payback!" cheers Mak. "And I get the feeling that Amy's just getting started!"


Amy's eyes are now locked on Landon as he leaps from the ropes, mugging for the fans, oblivious to his manager's fate and the fact his opponent is standing mere feet behind him. Lumping the belt over his shoulder, Landon shrugs at the disrespect he's getting and turns around to engage in some pre-match discussion with Megan...only to find Amy Stephens glaring a hole through his chest. Doing what any good bad guy would, Landon drops to his knees and begs off from his former fling, tossing his SWF World Title belt away in an attempt to show he has no weapons and therefore comes in peace.



Too bad.









"What a boot to the face and we are underway!"


Rolled over by the force of the kick, Landon comes to his feet and again tries to coax Amy into showing a little mercy. Unfortunately for him Amy isn't that kind of person. And as Landon tries to back off, Amy strides in and strikes him across the jaw with a right hand! And another! A third! A fourth and Landon has had enough, attempting to bail from the ring. A handful of tights prevents him from escaping though, Amy dragging Maddix back into the centre of the ring and MOWING through him with a clothesline!


"Man, Amy is pissed!" delights King. "I don't know if that's pissed off or just plain pissed, but she's at least one of the two!"


"Ged'up ya poncey nonce!" yells Amy in the direction of the World Champion, who looks anything but as he stumbles to his feet and into another right hand from Stephens. Hardcastle can do nothing about the closed fists and as Landon falls back into a corner, he can only watch as Stephens scales the turnbuckles, fist clenched...


















On the eighth punch, Amy decides not to let Landon go just yet, as she leans down towards him and SINKS HER TEETH INTO HIS FOREHEAD!!!




"Oh, that's just gruesome! Amy is biting Landon!" grimaces Mak.


"There's a joke there somewhere, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna stoop that low."


Maddix writhes and flails in pain as Amy continues to bite away at the face until finally Megan Skye has recovered and looks to save her charge by jumping up to the apron. That doesn't prove to be the wisest of moves, as Amy simply jumps from the ropes and knocks Megan back down to the arena floor with a stiff clothesline, to another wild cheer from the sadistic Russian crowd. Back in the corner, Landon throws wild rights at thin air, pain clouding his judgement as blood begins to trickle from a teeth-mark shaped wound on his forehead. Backing into the opposite corner, the SWF's lager lass growls in anger as she charges across and avalanches Maddix in the corner, Big Van Vader style, causing The Next Generation to slump breathlessly against the bottom turnbuckle.


"Uh-oh...we've seen this before." Mak calls. "Could this be time for a Bronco Buster?"


"There's a joke there too. I just can't bring myself to say it. The thought of these two... together... uuggghhhh." shudders King.


If Landon were fully conscious, he'd probably be pretty happy with proceedings right now as Amy pats the base of her small but noticeable beer belly, signalling Bronco Buster time. The crowd cheer despite being deep down creeped out. And with those cheers behind her, Amy charges...





...bringing herself to a stop and deciding not to give Landon the satisfaction, instead kicking his FACE into the 3rd row!!




"Our new World Champion is being dominated! He looks to be completely out of his element against someone like Amy!"


"Well, to be fair, this is a totally different and more personal issue than he had with JJ at Battleground. Amy has much more reason to be out for blood." says King diplomatically. "On the other hand, he's getting his ass handed to him by a girl."


The Hardcore Gamers Champion reaches down and grabs Maddix by his scruffy hair in order to drag him back up. Desperation has already set in for The Next Generation and with his thoughts still not so much clouded as shaking around in his skull, Landon thrusts his arm upwards and into Amy's crotch with a lowblow. With there being nothing (well, not 'nothing, but ya know) downstairs, Amy is soon able to shake the effects of that off though, almost offended at Landon's attempts as she punishes him with a hard slap across the face! He could have at least kicked her like Wayne Blank. Maddix falls back on his ass and tries yet again to appeal to Amy's kinder side. Again, it fails...but this time he has a plan B, grabbing Amy by the waistband of her skater trousers and dragging her shoulder first into the middle turnbuckle!




While Megan writes out a royalty check to Tully Blanchard, Landon drags himself up using the ropes and tries to shake off the cobwebs.


"That's our World Champion ladies and gentlemen." sighs King. "Having to use the cheapest of cheap tactics against a girl.


"Mentions of Flesher and Annie kept solely to myself, could you imagine Landon Maddix as Hardcore Champion, King?" teases Mak.


"It'd be like an anorexic William Hearford with an inferiority complex. Hopefully it won't come to that."


As Landon checks his forehead and realises that Amy has drawn blood, finally a killer instinct seems to have been awaken within La Cucaracha...or at least as much as he possesses. Dragging his wounded opponent off of the turnbuckle, Landon grasps two handfuls of Stephens' hair in a scene that may or may not be right out of their most intimate moments and drills her with a cruel knee in the kidneys. Amy slumps to a kneeling position and Maddix quickly gives a signal to the outside, prompting Megan to throw in the towel. Luckily for Landon, Hardcastle doesn't interpretate this as surrender, allowing Landon to wrap the trusty towel around Amy's throat!




"And there's that damn towel again which Landon put to such adept use at Battleground!" Mak bemoans.


With Hardcore Rules, referee Hardcastle can do nothing besides position himself incase of a submission by Amy.







Amy begins to rally from the support of her like-minded fans as she pushes up to her feet, setting about sliding her hands underneath the towel and free her airways. As the Nottingham Lager Lass does just that, the panicky Landon starts to pull back on the towel intermitantly to complicate her task. Amy continues to struggle though and eventually finds an escape, putting herself into reverse and crushing Landon up in the corner! Winded, Maddix drops the towel and Amy stumbles out of the corner trying to get her own breath back. Landon is first to recover however and he charges out, looking to take his former love interest's head off with a clothesline. Swooping underneath the arm, the ropes are Stephens' next destination as she comes steaming in with her own clothesline attempt. Landon does as Amy did and ducks but Amy continues running. A little unused to all this speeding around, Amy takes no chances the second time around though, tackling Landon down with a Lou Thesz Press and raining down a flurry of punches on Landon's face!


"Amy mounting Landon and it looks like she's having the time of her life!"


"Would you stop tempting me with all these set-up lines damnit!" whines King.


Finishing up her flurry, Amy immediately brings Landon back up to his feet and steadies up the head before slamming her own skull into The Next Generation's! Already bloodied up, the dis-orientated Landon falls backwards and decides now is the time to take a powder. On the way out, Landon grabs his towel...but Amy sees that and lunges over, snatching the other end of the towel and sliding out the opposite end. Both have a hold of the towel and neither are giving it up, starting up a tug of war...





...which Megan attempts to end, clubbing Amy from behind with a forearm. Amy barely feels the shot and turns around, ready to tear Megan's head from her shoulders. But the distraction proves costly, as Maddix lunges back and drags Amy forward...








...slamming the side of her head HARD into the steel ringpost!




Amy slumps lifelessly against the ringpost, sliding unconsciously down the steel into an awkward propped position. Even Megan looks a little nauseated and the results of the move, but Landon being Landon he's more concerned with the bite wound on his forehead than a possibly seriously injured female.


"Oh God." groans Mak, sickened.


"That wasn't good."


"You're telling me King, Amy Stephens is still recovering from a concussion! She struck that post right on the temple and we could hear it all the way over here!"


Referee Hardcastle now leaves the ring and checks on Amy, clearly concerned at her lack of response. Before he can do anything about it though, Landon shoves him out of the way and grabs hold of Amy's hair, looking to drag her up. Amy is dead-weight...and to be fair, quite a bit of dead-weight...so Landon calls Megan over and together, the SWF's Power Couple haul Stephens up in order to dump her lifeless frame into the ring.


"Okay, enough is enough here. Amy doesn't look good and Hardcastle needs to think about stopping this before she suffers a serious injury."


Landon rolls back into the ring and labouriously lifts Amy off the mat, slumping her up against the turnbuckles with the ropes holding Ms. Stephens up. And Stephens has no way of defending herself, as Landon whimsically sets himself up before popping her in the jaw with a jab. Incoherently Amy tries to put up a guard, a sorry sight indeed as Landon cruelly jabs her again and sends her slumping with her head propped on the middle rope.







Not done yet, the smiling Landon drags Amy back up and despite the protests of Hardcastle he slams another jab across the jaw...







...and then chops her across her ample chest.







...and again!


Landon is enjoying himself, literally chuckling away to himself at this beating of a helpless woman, which is appalling pretty much everyone else. Probably re-concussed, Amy tries to will herself to fight back but simply can't as she stumbles out of the corner aimlessly. Still smirking, Maddix backs off and waits for Amy to find her way over.


"There's no barbed wire and no thumbtacks, but damn, this is still getting hard to watch." grimaces Mak.


"Don't worry, Landon'll find a way to screw it up. When you've been around as long as me, you come to realis...wait, what the..."







"What the fuck was that!?!" snaps King, as Amy is scooped and planted with a Rock Bottom by Landon! The back of Amy's head bounces off the canvas and leaves her looking up at the lights as Landon rolls back to his feet and smiles slyly, stopping at Amy's head and slowly pulling his black elbowpad from his right arm.


"You've got to be kidding."


"Oh, he's not taking this seriously at all. Defeat from the jaws of victory, what did I tell ya?"


Maddix sends his elbowpad soaring off deep into the 7th row and performs some weird hand motions before breaking off into the ropes. Up goes Landon, predictably coming back off the opposite side and dropping The People's Elbow! Some of the crowd even pop, but most boo as Landon frantically calls Hardcastle over and hooks the leg...


"THIS is how he's going to try and win the Hardcore Gamers Title!?!" King despairs.






























"I guess not."


"OH, NO!" moans Landon, mocking Hardcastle as he places his hands over his head and puts on his best fake despair face. "WHAT MORE DO I HAVE TO DO!?!"


Megan is slowly but surely being won over by all this now, now with no concern left for Amy's condition, as Landon stalks around the ring pretending to be disappointed. Scrambling to the apron, Megan now has a plan as she whispers something into Landon's ear. Something which The Next Generation is pleased by, patting Megan on the back before jogging back over to Amy. Hardcastle drops down expecting a cover...but for some reason, it's a cover by Amy, as Landon lays flat on his back and drapes Amy's arm over him...
























"Now what?"


Landon continues to shake...but Amy isn't getting up. So Landon quits his 'Cucarachaing Up' and calls Megan in, the trusty manager hauling up Amy and holding her on her feet as Landon points a big finger in Stephens' face.




"Okay, I quit."


Grabbing Amy's arm, Megan makes her throw a punch at Maddix, which he 'somehow' blocks and retaliates with a big punch of his own. Another block, another right hand. Another, two and a third connect before Landon now takes Amy and whips her off into the ropes. Unable to stop herself, Amy rebounds into a Big Boot to the face, putting her flat on her back, a position which Landon is probably used to. Chances are, his next plans weren't usually to hit the ropes and drop the Legdrop Of Doom™ across her chest.



Then again, who knows?



Tonight though, exactly that happens. Landon drops the leg and comes right back to his feet to go through a rather familiar posedown routine, Megan the only person who seems to be impressed as she applauds heartily in the background.


"This is embarrassing." Mak chastises. "Amy Stephens is the Hardcore Gamers Champion, she's a tough woman, she's beaten respected opponents and she simply can't defend herself with her concussion. And Landon is treating her with absolutely no respect at all. He's mocking her."


"That concussion must be serious if Amy's taking all this crap."


"Landon better get serious soon though, or else he might not walk out of here with that World Title he fought so hard for. Amy's clearly hurt but I'm sure she's not beaten yet."


Posing over, Maddix now turns to Amy and looks down at her with destain. The Nottingham Lager Lass is still out of it and probably easy picking for a pinfall, comedy routine and all, but yet Landon is clearly not satisifed. Kneeling down, a handful of hair is taken by Maddix and he begins to drag up Amy. Amy remains dead-weight however which makes his attempts much slower, getting his opponent to her knees before needing a break. This would be the perfect opportunity for any 'Amy on her knees in front of Landon' jokes right now.





You needn't bother though, as Landon saves you the trouble by thrusting his crotch into Amy's face, infuriating the crowd.




"Enough already!" protests Mak. "That's repulsive!"


"That's...pretty funny. Repulsive, no doubt...but still, pretty funny." King admits.


Landon turns Amy around and makes sure every side of the arena can get a good view of his public humiliation job, the look on his face one of vengeance as much as amusement.





His face soon changes though.




'Contorting in pain' change.







"Wow, now this is even funnier!" cheers King.


The Next Generation shrieks like a girl as Amy, despite still being noticeably out of it, growls with anger as she attempts to squeeze Landon's testicles into some sort of unrecognisable mush. Judging from the anguish on his face, Landon is close to submission so Hardcastle is right on the scene and ready to call for the bell. It won't get that far though, as once to her feet, Stephens grits her teeth and SLAMS her head into Landon's, headbutting him and letting him fall back to the canvas.





She doesn't release his junk mind you, but she does let the rest of him fall.




"She didn't let go." weeps Mak, feeling Landon's pain like every man in attendance. "She didn't let go."


If anyone is in more pain than Landon right now it's Megan who's eyes grow like saucers, her plans for tonight (and possibly far into the future) rapidly changing before her very eyes. Maddix is now back to begging off now as Amy, head throbbing, stalks slowly towards her former, now neutered beau.


"A - MY!"

"A - MY!"

"A - MY!"

"A - MY!"


Fearing the worst, Megan now dives into the ring and scrambles onto her Amy's back, trying to choke the Hardcore Gamers Champion out! Amy is still a little dis-orientated which allows Megan a few seconds to do her damage before she's finally able to fight back, throwing Megan off and turning back to her, looking for blood. This all allows Landon to roll out of the ring to safety though. Limping gingerly across ringside, Landon disposes of Funyon and snatches his steel chair before 'rushing' back to save his damsel in distress. And distress is right, as Amy grabs Megan by the throat and attempts to make her pay for her interjection. Before Amy can get to that though, the World Champion slides into the ring with chair in hand...






A hard chairshot drills into Amy's lower back and she promptly drops Megan who wisely scuttles to the outside, the Hardcore Gamers Champion favouring her back as she turns around...











...and Landon just DEMOLISHES the chair over Amy's head, the steel impliment folding over Amy's head like a makeshift necklace as she collapses lifelessly back to the canvas. Blood instantly begins to trickle and ooze from a large wound above Amy's eye as the chair falls from her head and lies mangled beside her. And Landon's reaction to this? A smile, of course.


"What a sick, sick bastard."


"That has to be one of the most sickening chairshots I've seen in my life." mumbles Mak uncomfortably.


Thick blood slowly begins to mask the left side of Amy's face as Landon steps over his former girlfriend, kneeling down and pulling her head off the canvas. A hard right hand drives right over the eye...and Landon then begins to rain down repeatedly across the open cut, sadistically beating away on the defenceless Stephens despite the pleading and protesting from referee Hardcastle.







Still Landon pounds away, seemingly with no end in sight until finally the disturbing beatdown is mercifully put to an end. Looking deep into Amy's eyes, one clouded with blood, Landon grabs another handful of hair and twists it violently, pulling Amy painfully up to met his face.


"GOOD NEWS AMY, I'M THROUGH WITH YOU AND I'M THROUGH WITH YOUR GOD-DAMN FAMILY!" The Next Generation yells, as Megan enters the ring with the World Heavyweight Championship in hand. "I'M THE CHAMPION AND NOTHING ELSE MATTERS ANYMORE! NOTHING, YAGETME?


Landon carelessly throws Amy's head down, doing no good to her state of concussion and stands back up. Megan hands her man the title belt and Landon stands over Amy, raising the belt over his head. Predictably, the crowd boo...at least, those who aren't disturbed by the sight of a young, 21 year old girl bleeding profusely from the head. But then confusion sets in as Landon turns away and exits the ring, Megan following close behind. Hardcastle leans over the ropes asking what's going on, but Maddix is already halfway gone and he blanks the referee, wrapping an arm around Megan and throwing his World Title over the other shoulder.




"Wait...is that it?" asks Mak, clearly confused. "Where's he going?"


"I guess he doesn't want the Hardcore Title. Maybe there is a God after all."


"Landon has come in, humiliated Amy Stephens, busted this poor girl wide open upside the head and now he's just walking off! I don't think I've ever seen this side of...of sadism out of Landon. He's showing no remorse for someone he apparantely cared about just weeks ago."


"I've got plenty of exes I'd love to do this to." begins King, before remembering he's on camera. "Uh...but of course...I never would."




Reaching the top of the stage, the World Champion affords himself just the briefest look back to the ring and as Amy tries to sit up but fails, Landon smiles. A sick, satisfied smile. With blood on his hands, Landon raises the World Title and slowly wipes Amy Stephens' blood across the big gold plate, smearing it with crimson.




Who's a joke now?

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* An hour or so after the show is over *


Joseph Peters is in his office packing the last few pieces of paper away before the SWF road show pulled up sticks and moved on to the next town, then lather, rinse repeat all year long. As he puts his paperwork away he reflects on tonight’s show – good show on many levels, bad on a few, especially Bruce declaring himself ready to get back in the ring when he’s quite clearly still not recovered from the Pandemonium match


Peters sighs then he quickly jots down a note for his secretary before he heads out to find his hotel room.


The note says


“Please have the legal department make out a full medical waiver for Mr. Blank and have him sign it before he’s allowed back in the ring again. I’m not having him putting any more of a strain on our medical insurance.


If the idiot wants to kill himself in the ring I won’t stand in his way, as long as I don’t have to pay for it.”


*fade out*

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Wheeeeeeeee. Not a bad show, I suppose. I'll edit in that one match whenever it is I get it. I'm aware I muffed the show order up towards the end, but I'm too lazy to fix it. You'll just have to deal. Card up soon. I need to rebook some of it, methinks... -Z

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