SWF Lockdown - Whatever Day It Is!

[the.weej 0]

And we are live in five…

 

Four…

 

Three…

 

Two…

 

One…

 

 

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THIS!

 

IS!

 

STOOOOOOOORRMMM!!

 

*BAM! BOOM! BAP-BAP-BADADABAP-BAM-BOOOOOOOMMM!!*

 

goes the pyro as SWF Storm hits the air, the mass of pyrotechnics lighting up the Taj Mahal that lies behind the Smarktron, the reflecting pool currently occupied by rabid fans on floats looking for far more comfortable seating than those forced to reside in folding chairs around the little courtyard just under the steps currently occupied by a ring.

 

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

 

*bum**ba-da-dap**chug*

 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH

 

HHHH!!!!

 

And lo, thus spake Lord Worm, Cryptopsy’s “Crown of Horns” hitting the speakers set up around the most holy place in all of India as smoke flares up in front of the doors of the temple…before they fly open, International Champion JJ Johnson striding through the fog and down the stairs of the Taj, glancing around before sliding into the ring and beckoning for a microphone.

 

“Well, it seems we’re going to open our show with JJ Johnson talking,” notes King. “Maybe this will be a show of firsts! Johnson speaks! Spike wins a match! Mak stays quiet!”

 

“I’m also curious what he has to say, King,” nods Mak.

 

“Damn!” swears King as Gus strides over from his timekeeper’s position and hands a microphone through the ropes to the Canadian, who nods in thanks before stepping back into the center of the ring, International Title and Tag Title held together in his left before he brings the amplification device to his mouth.

 

“Alright, listen up,” rasps Johnson, “because I’ve got something to say.”

 

“INNI-“

 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” snarls the Canadian, and the crowd falls silent.

 

“That’s rather blunt,” frowns King. “Good thing we’ll be able to censor it through the magic of tape delay.”

 

“This is live, King,” says the Franchise, and the Gambling Man blanches.

 

“Now,” begins Johnson, “here I stand, International Champion. A few weeks ago, at Battleground, I had the opportunity to later stand here and say ‘here I stand, World Heavyweight Champion’. I lost, though. But I’d like to think I’ve rebounded well, because here I stand, International Champion. I said that, but I’m repeating it, because I like being International Champion, and I like informing people of my status as such. And besides, if you think about it, International Champion implies that I am, in fact, the champion of every nation; indeed, I am the champion of the world. The difference between my belt and Landon’s is that Landon’s belt includes the ocean, and we all know that nobody important lives in the ocean.

 

“Especially not in New Zealand.”

 

The crowd oohs a little with realization, a reaction that brings a grin to the Canadian’s face before he continues.

 

“Yes, you people know what I’m talking about,” smiles the International Champion. “’Hey, New Zealand, that’s where that guy that beat Danny Williams was from. That guy that had to set his arm on fire to beat Danny Williams. That guy that had to bust out a move he’d used all of twice to beat Danny Williams, because nothing else in his moveset could put the man away. The guy with a mouth bigger than his gut - an impressive accomplishment indeed.’ Yes, people, I’m talking about Va’aiga, and I’m not talking about him in a very positive light. This is because I don’t see him in a very positive light.”

 

The crowd is getting interested now, and Johnson takes a moment to clear his throat before soldiering on with his diatribe.

 

“Va’aiga loses the belt to Charlie ‘Grappler’ Matthews, who goes on to lose it to perennial SJL doormat John Duran, and leaves,” says the Canadian, chuckling slightly. “Before this, Va’aiga chickens out of a deathmatch with Dace Night because of his cheekbone. I’m sure he had countless other reasons, maybe even GOOD reasons, for not fighting Dace inside that contraption, but the reason he used was his CHEEKBONE. I’ve broken more bones in my face than he has promises, a daunting feat since he breaks a promise every time he promises the crowd he doesn’t suck, and he does that often, but I’ve fought on. He comes back, waltzes in with what is essentially a Jakks-Pacific toy title with a PAW sticker slapped on it, and extends an open challenge to anybody in the SWF. Says he can take anybody, says he can take me – mentions me specifically – and then walks out.

 

“Well, Mr. Tui’polotu, I accept your challenge.”

 

“YEEAAAHH!!”

 

“Hell!” says Johnson, raising his International Title up beside his face. “If I weren’t so sure that I would beat you so badly you’d wish I’d limited my breaking to your cheekbone and you would thus be forced to turn tail and run back to Australia Jr.” – the crowd oohs at this – “I’d put this on the line. But yes, if you want a match, I’ll give it to you. So if you want me, waddle your fat ass out here and come get me. And bring your glorified clothesline with you.”

 

“YEEAAAHH!”

 

“Because this title,” growls the International Champion, gesturing at that very belt as he begins to get more excited, “is about respect! Challenge me, and I’ll fight you. I’ll fight you in a ring, I’ll fight you in a cage, I’ll fight you on a scaffold, I’ll fight you wherever you want, because if you want this belt, you obviously respect it, and that means you respect me. And if you don’t, I’ll have to beat respect into you. Jay Hawke, cheating and scheming and lying his way to an impossibly long reign that everybody was wishing would be over back in September? None of that.”

 

“YYEEEAAHH!!”

 

“Wildchild, flipping and jumping and looking more like a Superball than a pro wrestler?” continues Johnson, and the crowd grows slightly apprehensive. “None of that.”

 

“BOOOOOO!!”

 

“Oh, right,” remembers Johnson. “You like Wildchild. Regardless of your poor taste, I will fight anyone, and I have the utmost confidence that I will win. If Akira Kaibatsu should step up, I’ll beat him so badly his mask will be tattooed on his face. If Wildchild should decide he wants a rematch, I’ll knock the accent out of him. When I face Spike Jenkins tonight, I will beat the suck out of him – a daunting task indeed.”

 

“YYYEAAAAHH!”

 

“Because this belt is about wrestling, this belt is about respect, and you might call it the International Title, but it’s essentially a World Title, and a World Title by any other name still gets anybody who tries to take it from me sent home in a box!” bellows Johnson. “So Spike, tonight, if you were wise, you wouldn’t step into that ring. Sure, you’re my tag team partner, but if I can carry Manson to the tag titles, I can drag you around for however many weeks it takes you to regain consciousness.”

 

And with that, the Canadian unceremoniously dumps the microphone on the canvas, droping down and rolling out of the ring before making his way back up the steps of the Taj as the crowd cheers, whipped into a frenzy by Johnson’s speaking.

 

“Well,” says Mak, “quite the interesting speech by JJ Johnson there, and the key point to focus on: JJ has accepted Va’aiga’s challenge! What could become of this new development?”

 

“If I had to guess,” sighs King, “I would say a match between Va’aiga and JJ Johnson. Just a hunch.”

 

“I hate you,” pouts the Franchise.

 

“Bummer,” says King, looking for all the world like he doesn’t care in the slightest as we…

 

 

FADE OUT

[the.weej 0]

Card:

 

Main Event - Three-Way Dance For The Cruiserweight Title

Grendel© vs Zyon vs "The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu

 

Description: Team Tecnicos win match. WC wants a match for the International title later, so he opted out. Three men do battle!

 

Rules: Three Way, and because I like it that way, elimination style.

Word Limit: 6500

Marker: realitycheck

 

Sub-Main Event - International Title Match

JJ Johnson© vs "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins

 

Description: International battle for the gold, and I have no idea if Spike holds the other tag strap or not.

 

Rules: Straight singles match

Word Limit: 7000

Marker: janusd

 

Singles Match

"The Superior One" Tom Flesher vs Wildchild

 

Description: Tom wants cruiserweight preferences, Tom gets the best cruiser we have.

 

Rules: Cruiserweight rules

Word Limit: 5000

Marker: chirs3

 

Hardcore Match

Insane Luchadore vs Jay Hawke

 

Description: And then, there was violence.

 

Rules: VIOLENCE!

Word Limit: 5000

Marker: The Superstar

 

Singles Match

Michael Stephens vs Sean Davis

 

Description: Random battle of doom starring everyone's favourite former Straight-Edge Sensation Toxxic.

 

Rules: Singles match

Word Limit: 4000

Marker: Evolution

Edited May 18, 2006 by realitycheck

[the.weej 0]

“Well fans, after those strong opening words from JJ Johnson, we kick off Lockdown with his former stablemate,” Mak Francis greets the viewers as we come back from commercials, “yes; Toxxic, now going under his real name of Michael Stephens, returned in extraordinary fashion on Storm, not only answering the challenge of Landon Maddix but turning him down!”

 

“Says you,” the Suicide King interjects.

 

“Says the tape!” Francis snaps, “Stephens told Landon he wasn’t interested in another match between them and walked away from him!”

 

“Yeah, that’s just what he wants you to believe,” King snorts. “Mak, I don’t trust Michael Stephens as far as I can throw him, and nor should you.”

 

“…”

 

“What?”

 

“…HELLO!? IN A WHEELCHAIR HERE!” Francis yells, “I’m hardly likely to be throwing anyone!!”

 

“Ah… yeah. Um… sucks, huh?”

 

Before Mak Francis can think of something suitably vitriolic to say in response to his commentary partner’s thoughtlessness they are both cut off by a rolling chant that booms out across the Agra parkland:

 

“COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!”

 

“COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!”

 

It resolves into the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire and the huge portable Smarktron first whites out, then quickly fades towards blackness. As it does so jagged white letters begin to flash up a familiar phrase, one word at a time:

 

 

“PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…”

 

 

The Smarktron is now flashing up images of various different matches, but one thing stands out - in each clip, the man shown doing the moves (or, on certain occasions, taking insane bumps through announce tables and the like) has a very distinctive look - spiky black hair, eyeliner, etc. The last clip shows Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the move known as the Toxxic Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with an explosion of red pyro-

 

*BOOOM!!*

 

-that signifies the arrival of the man himself! Striding through the smoke in the Indian evening comes a man who looks very different to the images of his former self being flashed up on the Smarktron; the spiky hair has been replaced with floppy curtains that reach to his chin, and the eyeliner is gone. However, wearing a black shirt with ‘COME AND HAVE A GO…’ on the front and ‘…IF YOU THINK YOU’RE HARD ENOUGH’ on the back, the man formerly known as Toxxic is still making a statement of intent.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, our opening contest tonight is scheduled for one fall,” Funyon booms. “Introducing first, from Nottingham, England; he weighs in tonight at 218lbs… MIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!”

 

“No Straight-Edge Sensation?” King queries.

 

“Apparently not,” Francis replies, a hint of sulk still audible in the Franchise’s voice, “Michael Stephens wants to be distanced from his former persona with the company. However, it appears that Joe Peters isn’t letting him forget his history just yet, because his opponent tonight was one the founders of Revolution Zero with him!”

 

Stephens is making his way to the ring, slapping a few hands with the Indian fans before taking a deep breath and rolling under the bottom rope. He removes his shirt and hurls it into the crowd, then jumps up and down a couple of times and cracks his neck from side to side.

 

“Does he look… nervous, to you?” Mak asks uncertainly.

 

“He hasn’t wrestled since Ground Zero last year,” King reminds the Franchise, “and if it wasn’t for Landon God-damn Maddix he wouldn’t be here now. I can’t work out if that’s a reason to dislike Landon more or not. But anyway,” the Gambling Man continues, “Peters has thrown him in with a 300-pounder off the bat. That’d make anyone nervous.”

 

‘I never thought this could be me

I guess you never do until it’s happening to you

Like all the fun turned into shame

And all the “could-have-beens” rearrange…’

 

Moments later ‘Rookie’ cuts out and is replaced by rumbles of thunder, then a warning siren. After a couple of seconds the crashing guitars of ‘Battle Ready’ by Otep come in, accompanied by a red-and-gold pyro blast in the entranceway that dies down to reveal the powerful shape of Sean Davis. The big man walks down towards the ring without any of the positive reaction that Mike got from the crowd, but it doesn’t look like it bothers him.

 

“And his opponent!” Funyon booms, “from Jacksonville, Florida, he weighs in tonight at 285lbs; this is ‘The Perfect Storm’, SEEEAAAAANNNNNNN… DAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-VIS!!”

 

“You know King, this must be the first time that Stephens has been in the ring and heard that entrance music without it relating to him,” Francis notes, referencing the fact that Sean Davis uses Revolution Zero’s old theme now, “it must be odd for him.”

 

Davis stamps up the ring steps before swinging one leg over the top rope, deciding to enter the ring without bending. The big man pays no attention to Funyon or Brian Warner the referee and instead advances on Michael Stephens, who holds his ground… and Davis extends his hand.

 

“Huh?” King says, nonplussed.

 

Michael Stephens immediately clasps the Perfect Storm’s hand and the two shake, then Stephens’ face splits into a grin; not the sinister, lopsided rictus of old but a genuine friendly smile at the man who still seems to be his friend. Davis smiles in return, white teeth contrasting sharply with his dark skin, then each man retreats to a corner and waits for Brian Warner. The referee shrugs, turns and calls for the bell…

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“And we’re underway, in Toxx- sorry, in Michael Stephens’ first match for ten months!” Francis says, his own past issues with Stephens and Revolution Zero not masking his interest in seeing what’s been happening with the former World Champion since then.

 

“Actually, I doubt that’s true,” King says as Stephens and Davis circle each other.

 

“What?” Mak asks, looking sideways at his commentary partner, “even you were saying that he hasn’t wrestled since Ground Zero!”

 

“Yeah, but… nah, I don’t believe it,” King shakes his head, “he’s just trying to get sympathy, I bet. Get people to underestimate him maybe, especially Landon.”

 

“Will you stop with that?”

 

“Hey, he’ll lose on purpose here, you just wait and see.”

 

While King and Francis debate on the outside, inside the ring Michael Stephens seems (understandably) reluctant to close with his hulking opponent, keeping well out of reach of Sean Davis. Finally, with continued glances around to make sure he knows exactly where he is in the ring, Mike allows Davis to close and both men raise their arms in preparation for a collar-and-elbow tie-up… but just before it can get locked in, Stephens twists behind Davis and takes the big man’s right arm with him into a hammerlock!

 

“Sensible move there by Stephens,” Mak notes, “he doesn’t want to get caught in a lock-up with Sean Davis and now he’s in control.”

 

Davis looks chagrined that he fell for something that simple, but despite his strength advantage Stephens has the limb tightly in place and Sean can’t exert enough musclepower to extract it from its painful position. The big man looks around for the ropes to make this easy, but Stephens was careful to lock up in the middle of the ring away from such escape routes, and even as Davis hesitates Mike kicks him in the back of the knee -not hard, but hard enough- and Davis suddenly finds himself down to one leg. Sean tries to surge up but now Stephens has the height advantage and can put more pressure on the limb, as well as standing on the back of Sean’s knee to keep him on the mat. Davis growls and reaches behind him with his left hand, but Mike leans out of the way and try as he might the Perfect Storm can’t catch hold of his former leader.

 

“He’s back five minutes and he’s already boring me,” King sighs.

 

Stephens wrenches up on Sean’s arm and leans forward to try and get the most leverage on it, but although the pressure is obviously painful for Davis the big man is able to now reach up with his left hand and grab Mike’s head, then perform a slightly clumsy snapmare to take Stephens over him and to the mat! Sean takes a moment to shake out his right arm, and in that moment Mike rolls away from his friend and back to his feet. However Sean doesn’t want to give Stephens a chance to set himself and lunges forward, trying to grab the smaller wrestler. Mike ducks under the Perfect Storm’s attempt and waits for his opponent to turn around again, then latches onto Davis’ right arm and jumps into the air, placing one foot on Sean’s chest before falling backwards and performing a move that’s half armdrag, half monkey flip. The combination sends Davis head-over-heels and brings him down to the mat whereupon Stephens, still with the right arm in his grasp, performs a forward roll across Sean’s chest to cross the Perfect Storm’s arm over his own torso and give him the leverage to turn the bigger man onto his front.

 

“Well, it doesn’t look like Michael Stephens has lost much in the way of sharpness,” Mak comments, “…look, he’s locked a Fujiwara armbar on and Sean Davis is in a compromised position already!”

 

Indeed, the former Straight-Edge Sensation has got Sean’s right arm extended out to one side of his body and is using as much of his weight as he can to put pressure on the elbow and shoulder. For his part Davis is gritting his teeth in pain but is already starting to lever himself up using his left arm.

 

“Stupid,” King comments, “granted a Fujiwara is normally a dangerous hold, but against someone as strong as Davis this early in the match it’s not going to do much except piss him off.”

 

Indeed, it looks like Davis is going to be able to fight through the pain as the Perfect Storm starts using his three free limbs to lever himself towards the ropes. Stephens tries to bring his opponent back down again but to no avail. However, as Davis gets his knees under him Mike changes tactics and scrambles back upright, Sean’s arm still held in his grasp, then quickly wraps it around his leg and dives over Sean’s shoulders for a La Magistral! It takes a second for Stephens to haul his much larger opponent over after him, but then Davis’s shoulders are down and Warner drops to make the count!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TW-

-but Sean Davis kicks out before the referee can even find two. Michael Stephens is the first to find his feet and he waits for Davis to rise as well, then grabs his opponent in a front facelock…

 

‘Huh?’

 

…but before he can roll backwards with a small package to follow one pinning combination up with another like he has done in so many previous matches, Sean Davis wraps both arms around Toxxic’s waist and hoists the cruiserweight off the ground, then charges across the ring to ram the former World Champion backfirst into the corner pads!

 

*WHAM!*

 

The breath explodes from Stephens’ lungs and Davis looks at him for a second as he backs up, his expression seeming to say ‘sorry, man’ even while he’s stretching his right arm out. However, despite the lack of bad blood between the two of them Sean’s style doesn’t really lend itself to a clinical, detached technical wrestling competition; he’s all about power, and while he doesn’t really want to hurt Mike there’s such a thing as being too considerate and thereby potentially losing the match. As a result, after a second he grabs Stephens out of the corner again and lifts him up before spinning around and driving him down to the mat with a spinebuster.

 

*BANG!*

 

Davis immediately goes for a cover, hooking the leg and putting as much of his weight as possible over his opponent’s shoulders…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Mike kicks out milliseconds after the second count, which actually causes the Perfect Storm to grin slightly; he should have known it’d take more than that to keep his old comrade-in-arms down. Bearing that in mind he grabs Michael under each arm and brings him up to his feet, then hoists him high into the air with a Military Press! On the basis that a little bit of showing off never hurt anyone Sean presses Stephens once, twice, three times… then throws him up in the air and walks casually forward, allowing Mike to plummet facefirst towards the mat where he lands with a resounding thump!

 

“I don’t know whether this is good or bad,” King mutters, “Michael Stephens is catching a beating, which is mildly amusing, but if he’s getting his ass handed to him by Sean Davis then he’s not going to be ready for Landon Maddix.”

 

“I thought Stephens was losing this one on purpose?” Francis says sarcastically.

 

“Good point,” King says quickly, “damn! He almost had me fooled!”

 

With Stephens facedown on the mat and clearly not enjoying his return to the squared circle Sean Davis jogs to the ropes, bounces off and then leaps into the air to bring an elbow down on his opponent. Unfortunately for him said opponent rolls aside at the last minute, Mike not needing to be able to see Davis’ feet to know when his thundering former stablemate is approaching, or work out that the cessation of footsteps means he must have left the ground. Sean’s right elbow connects with the mat in what must be a rather painful manner given the growl that emerges from his throat, and after a second to catch his breath after his high-impact trips around the ring Mike goes back on the offensive once more.

 

The former World Champion grabs Sean’s arm as the Perfect Storm lies on his back and curses all cruiserweights, then simply drops a leg on it. Needless to say Davis isn’t happy with that outcome but Mike doesn’t give him a chance to show it and instead does his surprising but effective trick of rolling across his opponent’s chest again, Sean not realising what’s going on until he finds himself being levered back over onto his front. It looks for a moment like Stephens is going for a Fujiwara once more, but instead he gets up to one knee with Sean’s wrist still in his grasp, then abruptly spins himself down through the air, wrenching Davis’ arm in its socket and having the happy(?) side effect of slamming the big man’s face into the mat.

 

“We haven’t really seen Michael Stephens take to the air yet,” Mak Francis notes, “which might be a mistake against someone with the sort of size and strength advantage that Sean Davis has; on the other hand, he seems to be doing OK so far…”

 

Stephens certainly seems to be on top of things; he still has hold of Sean’s right arm and the limb seems to be definitely hurting the Perfect Storm now. Even when Mike hauls on it to drag Sean upright the bigger man can’t seem to use his greater strength to haul Stephens towards him, and the Englishman twists it into an armwringer before advancing towards the turnbuckles. From there Mike runs straight up them and briefly along the top rope using Davis’ arm to balance, then leaps off and crushes Sean’s arm beneath a legdrop as he maintains his grip on the big man’s wrist!

 

*BANG!*

 

“Ouch, that’s gotta hurt,” King winces. However Michael Stephens still hasn’t let go of his friend’s arm, and rises back to his feet hauling Davis after him. The face of the Sensation shows nothing but concentration as he heads for the turnbuckles again, Sean Davis clearly trying to resist but unable to fight against the pain in his arm that forces him to follow. However, this time when Stephens runs up the turnbuckles he simply plummets down to the floor outside the ring and whiplashes Sean’s arm off the top rope on the way down!

 

“No, that’s gotta hurt,” Mak corrects his commentary partner as Davis reels away, clutching his arm to his chest, “Stephens appears to be working on the theory that if you take Davis’ arm away from him he can’t hit the power moves - a reasonable theory, but given the big man’s strength and the fact that Stephens is one of the smaller wrestlers in the federation, I’d wager that Sean can still throw him around even with a bum wing!”

 

Michael Stephens has hopped back up to the ring apron and seems to be waiting for the right moment to make his next move; Sean Davis, still holding his arm and cursing, turns back to where he last saw his opponent… and Mike moves, jumping to the top rope in one easy motion and then springboarding into the ring!

 

However, Sean Davis wrestled and travelled with Michael Stephens, and he knows how he thinks. As a result he was expecting this sort of aerial attack, and he turns to catch the surprised former World Champion on his shoulders in a Fireman’s Carry position!

 

*thump*

 

The TV cameras show Michael Stephens’ face in an expression of astonishment for a moment, but then Davis flexes his impressive muscles and hurls Mike upwards before dropping him down over one knee into a devastating gutbuster!

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The crowd have been gradually getting behind Mike, and now his momentum has been cut off they let the Perfect Storm know how they feel. Davis ignores them as usual, taking a moment to rub at his sore arm before dropping down to make the cover on his former leader.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but Mike still kicks out, and the Perfect Storm will have to work a bit harder for his win! Davis grimaces and picks Stephens up off the mat, then hooks him up as if for a vertical suplex. However, at the apex of the lift Davis turns Mike so that the two men are chest to chest before sitting out while slamming Stephens down into a Falcon Arrow!

 

*BANG!*

 

Once more Sean Davis makes the cover, making sure to hook the leg…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR-

-but Michael Stephens kicks out again!

 

“YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

The Indian crowd (rabid SWF fans one and all of course, we’re on TV everywhere don’t you know) let out a cheer as Stephens gets his shoulder off the mat, but Sean Davis doesn’t pay any attention to them; he’s on a roll now, and he wants to put his opponent away before the notoriously resourceful Englishman finds a way to get back into the match. Accordingly he grabs Michael Stephens and hoists him up to his feet, then spins Stephens around and tries to latch on a Full Nelson!

 

“Sean Davis could go a lot of places from this position,” Mak Francis says, tension edging his voice, “but I think he might be going for the Avalanche!”

 

Sure enough Davis seems to be trying to twist Mike around so he can sit down on his opponent’s back with the feared submission move…

 

“Why didn’t he just apply it on the ground?” Suicide King asks, a good question you might think…

 

…and suddenly Davis shifts his efforts, hoisting Mike into the air! However, even in mid-air Stephens shows that he’s still got his instinctive ability to counter out of moves as he drives his right arm down as hard as he can onto Sean’s injured one, breaking the bigger man’s grip and causing him to be dropped back to his feet before Davis can complete the Full Nelson Bomb, Slam or whatever else he might have been going for. Sean isn’t giving up this easily and tries to lock the Full Nelson on again, but this time Mike is ready for him and slams his right elbow into Sean’s arm again and again, then stamps on the big man’s foot!

 

‘Aargh!’

 

The combination forces Davis to release his hold and Mike takes the opportunity to twist out of the remaining Half Nelson, spinning behind his opponent until he’s back to back with the Perfect Storm before reaching up as if to snare the big man for a neckbreaker. However, from there Stephens twists around again, bringing Davis with him so that when he sits out Sean ends up being driven face-first into the mat!

 

*BANG!*

 

“…and according to my notes, Michael Stephens calls that the Pressure Drop!” Mak Francis informs viewers at home. Meanwhile, Stephens is pushing himself to his feet and holding his ribs as he sucks in air. Sean Davis is as tough as old boots and is already starting to get back up, but as he does so Mike runs past him and snares him in a ¾ facelock on the way, heading for the turnbuckles…

 

*whump*

 

…but Sean Davis pushes him off, and the Sensation arrives faster than he expected and hits chest-first into the corner pads!

 

“It looked like Michael Stephens was going for the Sunny In England there, the move he used to call the Intoxxication,” Mak Francis says glancing at his notes again, “but Sean Davis knew it was coming!”

 

“He telegraphed it,” King nods, then adds, “deliberately.”

 

“Oh, please…”

 

Stephens turns around, still wheezing, just in time to see Davis hurtling at him with his shoulder lowered ready for a football tackle! The Perfect Storm thunders forwards…

 

…Stephens gulps and hurls himself out through the ropes, snagging the middle cable with one hand to land ungracefully on the apron…

 

…and with his target moving at the last moment, Sean Davis drives his shoulder hard into the steel ringpost.

 

*CRACK!*

 

His right shoulder, mind you.

 

“Michael Stephens has been working over that arm and shoulder all match,” Mak Francis cries as Davis bellows in agony and extracts himself from the corner, “and now Sean’s rammed it right into the ringpost! Can Stephens capitalise?”

 

That’s the plan, Mak. Stephens uses the top rope to pull himself upright on the apron and quickly assesses the situation. Sean Davis is hunched over, lost in his own private world of pain as his shoulder overloads his nervous system. All in all, he’s probably not going to be able to react until it’s too late.

 

Bearing that in mind, Mike hauls back on the top rope and slingshots himself into the ring, hooking Sean Davis by both shoulders and rolling to take the big man over into a pin!

 

“Slingshot Oklahoma Roll,” Mak calls as Brian Warner dives to make the count, “Davis wouldn’t be the first to be caught by this!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

Sean Davis kicks out, but it’s a bare millisecond too late!

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner,” Funyon booms as ‘Rookie’ crashes out of the speakers again, “MIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!”

 

“Well, I’d say he’s monumentally failed to lose this match, King,” Francis declares in scathing tones.

 

“I should have predicted this. Toxxic’s ego wouldn’t let him lose to someone he used to boss around. He’ll start losing soon enough Mak, you mark my words!”

 

“I’ll mark them, and then ignore them,” the Franchise replies wearily as Michael Stephens goes over to where Sean Davis is holding his right shoulder and offers the bigger man a handshake. With his left hand. Davis accepts it ruefully, then claps his former leader on the back. Possibly a bit harder than strictly necessary given that it nearly floors the Englishman, but Stephens seems to take it in good faith - after all, Sean’s a competitive man and losing a match, even to a friend, is going to sting a bit. However, instead of leaving the ring, Michael Stephens stays where he is and calls for a microphone.

Edited May 18, 2006 by realitycheck

[the.weej 0]

“Believe it or not, some people are surprised by the fact that I don’t want to fight Landon Maddix.”

 

Michael Stephens stands in the middle of the ring, sounding slightly breathless and with a wry grin on his face as he speaks. Sean Davis is leaning against the turnbuckles in the corner, still in some pain from their match but hanging around to keep his friend company.

 

“I never really got a chance to explain myself last week,” Stephens continues, “because I got about as far as ‘no’ before Maddix jumped me, and I wasn’t in a very talkative mood after that. So I thought I’d clue everyone in a little bit.

 

“The first part’s fairly simple. How many of you” here he gestures around at the crowd “would want to step into the ring with someone intent on crippling you? When that person has been competing non-stop, whereas you’re rusty? Sure, I might not be carrying any niggling injuries that Landon’s picked up, but he’s on the top of his game at the moment. Hell, he’s World Champion again, and believe me you don’t get there without a lot of focus.” The Englishman grimaces. “So yeah, part of it’s due to simple self-preservation. I’m not a coward, but I’ve got no intention of throwing myself in the way of trouble. It’s entirely possible that I’d beat Landon… but it’s also entirely possible that I wouldn’t.

 

“The other part is that even if I did beat him, I don’t see what the point would be. Yes, he’s carrying the World Title at the moment and I’d like to win it again, but hell, I’m 23. I’ve got time. On a more personal level, I don’t feel the need to beat Landon,” he continues. “Yes, Landon acted like the little shit he is towards my sister, but you know what? Amy got involved with him in the first place knowing that he wanted nothing more than to entice me back here. My own sister conspired with a man wanting to cripple me. Hey, I still love her, and we still get on, but I’m not going to jump to her defence because the slimeball she decided to shag turned on her. Amy could have stepped back at any time. Instead she first wanted a piece of Megan, then of Landon himself. That was her decision, and I’m not going to play the vengeful brother here.” He pauses and casts a glance over at Sean Davis; the big man looks troubled, but says nothing.

 

“As for what Landon’s been saying about me, it doesn’t bother me. I know all he’s doing is trying to start a fight, and I’m not going to fall for it.” The man formerly known as Toxxic looks around at the crowd, staring out at them between curtains of hair. “I don’t even feel the need to prove that I’m better than him. See, it really doesn’t matter to me anymore. You hear that Landon?” he calls, raising his voice. “I don’t care which of us is better! Forget the tag matches, forget the fact that Revolution Zero kicked Martial Law’s arses in pretty much any confrontation you care to name - when it comes down to one-on-one, me versus you, and that is what you want it come down to after all…”

 

Stephens pauses for a second and takes a breath.

 

“…when it comes down to that, we’re even. One-all. You won one, when you took the World Title from me. I won one, when I stopped you from taking it for a second time. You won the first match. Hell, you even took the first fall in our second match, and it was only the fact that you’d demanded such a complicated stipulation that you didn’t take the World Title from me a second time right there and then. As it stands, we’re even, and I’m not interested enough in who’s better to want the third round. Think about it Landon,” he urges, “that’s not a bad record. Tom Flesher’s never beaten me; you have. Dace Night tried three times and couldn’t beat me; you have.

 

“I’m not interested in hatred, in injury, in revenge,” he tells the crowd, looking around at them, “all I’m interested in is coming back to do what I do best, which is wrestle. Maybe not all my matches can be contested in a spirit of such goodwill as this one,” he admits, bumping Sean Davis’ knuckles with his own as he approaches his former stablemate, “but I’m not looking for hostility. Sometimes people are going to have an issue with me, and I can deal with that. But I’m not looking for trouble, especially not the sort of trouble Landon will bring with him.”

 

The man formerly known as Toxxic stops and looks down at the mat. He says nothing for a moment or two.

 

“Landon,” he murmurs, “if you think you can bully, entice or persuade me into getting in the ring with you again, you’re wasting your time sunshine. Prepare to be proved wrong.”

 

With that he hands the microphone back to the SWF flunkey from whence it came, and he and Sean Davis step through the ring ropes before starting to head towards the back.

 

“Do you believe him?” Suicide King asks Mak Francis.

 

“I don’t see any reason why not to,” the Franchise answers.

 

“Duh! He’s Toxxic! He lies like OJ Simpson at a murder trial!” the Gambling Man exclaims in frustration.

 

“Whatever,” Francis sighs, “we’ve got commercials now, and maybe when we come back King will have regained some grip on reality.”

 

“Hey, I heard tha-”

 

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

[the.weej 0]

-JOINED IN PROGRESS~!-

 

“We are back on Lockdown and witnessing an interesting clash of styles,” Mak says.

 

He wraps his arms around Jay Hawke in a front facelock before grabbing a handful of tights in a predictable suplex set-up. Jay Hawke responds by tangling his leg in a grapevine with Luchador's leg to prevent from being lifted off the canvas. Insane Luchador uses his height to his advantage as he puts pressure down onto the front facelock. He then brings up a sharp right knee to Hawke’s ribs and then sends a quick left knee to keep him dazed. He then reaches down and grabs a handful of Hawke’s black tights, then attempts to hoist him into the air but Jay plants his weight. He grunts and tenses up, ready for a big lift but immediately Hawke’s leg grapevines with his. The Ill One loses his patience as he again forces Hawke’s upper body to bend over while he draws back his right knee. He unleashes a hard right knee and even twists his body into the strike that connects with Hawke straight into the face. He nearly crumbles against Luchador’s body from the force of the blow and is open for the lift. Insane Luchador quickly lifts him high into the air and seems to boost as he lets Hawke hang upside down to the fans’ delight. He then drops down to the canvas and guides Hawke’s skull to smack against the canvas, then lets him go to crumble to the canvas. He rolls on top of him and hooks the leg-

 

ONE!

 

Hawke gets his shoulder off the mat and IL isn't fazed. He stands up and steps over his downed opponent to exit to the outside.

 

-WEATHER ANNOUNCEMENT FOR STRONG WINDS… Be careful because shit’s been blowing over.-

 

 

Insane Luchador rebounds against the ropes and comes charging back with his arm thrown out for a clothesline. But Hawke ducks underneath and IL continues on into the other ropes for another attempt. He rapidly approaches Jay Hawke and catches him off guard by leaping out with a flying forearm. He smacks Hawke down onto the canvas as the two scramble up to their feet. Hawke is a second behind Insane Luchador getting back up and is able to halt IL’s charge by throwing a kick into the air. The tip of his black and purple boot catches him against the chin, which stops him dead in his tracks. Hawke swoops down and swiftly steps behind IL to apply a waistlock. He doesn’t hesitate as he arches back to heave Insane Luchador into the air with a release German suplex. Insane Luchador hits his head against the canvas and folds into an accordion to a sympathetic groan from the fans. Jay Hawke pauses and sweeps the back of his hand against his forehead in an attempt to remove the dripping blood. He glances down at the crimson streak on his hand, IL’s ill-fated stack of light tube bundles by his side, and Insane Luchador on all fours in recovery from the vicious German suplex. He slowly bends down and grabs a stray light tube, rubbing it against his palms, and finally slowly lifting it into the air just as Insane Luchador cranks his head back to see the situation.

 

“Insane Luchador better hope Hawke hesitates like he did earlier or doesn’t enjoy it,” Mak says.

 

“How can you not enjoy it? I can understand he’s a technical worker but, well, it’s Insane Luchador,” King groans.

 

Hawke brings down the light tube right against his back and Luchador is sent crawling on his knees in a retreat from the pain. He pauses and looks at the small remain of the light tube still clutched in his hands. An amused smile comes across his face as he bends over to grab a bundle of the light tubes. He aims while taking a step forward and heaves the light tube bundle in a direct path towards Luchador’s back. It connects and seems to vaporize in a white powder lingering in the air with little specks of glass sent flying. IL falls back onto all fours with a loud grunt as Hawke grabs another think light tube bundle.

 

“He likes it, he really likes it!” King facetiously exclaims at Hawke’s new founded sadistic streak.

 

He holds it up like a bat as he twirls the tip in circles as Insane Luchador gets to one knee before forcing himself up in a spin to face Hawke-

 

“Christ! He just broke that entire bundle against Luchador’s chest!” Mak has to yell over the ravenous crowd.

 

Insane Luchador’s arms circle in the air while he stumbles backwards, bombarded by the ricocheting glass shards, and finds salvation against the ropes. He ties up his arms to save himself from flipping over the ropes and appears visibly shaken. Jay Hawke, almost memorized by this violence, grabs the final light tube bundle in the air as if he were hypothesized. He charges forward with the light tube held high in the air but Insane Luchador leans against the ropes to throw a mule kick to his opponent. Jay takes a step back and Insane Luchador attempts to dive to safety but instead sees his opponent take side swing. The blur of white connects across his chest as he blurts out an obscenity and momentum sends him flipping over the ropes to crash onto the outside in a heap.

 

“Hawke has practically lost it,” Mak says, “Insane Luchador really needs to regroup or this may be over.”

 

“IL needs to throw in the towel,” King corrects.

 

Jay Hawke shamelessly looks down at the scattered shards as he swipes his boot against the glass over to the side so he can step onto the apron. He seems ready to step to the outside but sees Insane Luchador stumbling onto his feet in a daze. The Dean of Professional Wrestling finds a guilty pleasure in his unorthodox as he remains on the ring apron to face Insane Luchador. He takes a step back and charges while Insane Luchador shoves himself off the guard for an extra boost. Hawke seems ready to leap off the apron as IL bursts into action with a dropkick straight into Jay Hawke’s knee. Immediately Jay falls forward, smacking against the ring apron, and flopping off onto the cement floor.

 

“Brilliant counter by Luchador,” Mak says. “Like I said earlier, people may understand Hawke’s speed but they certainly shouldn’t underestimate Luchador’s either.”

 

“Even Thugg could time a dropkick,” King bitterly spits back.

 

“Pre neck break or post neck break… or post-post neck break?” Mak skeptically asks.

 

“Hell, there was a difference?”

 

“Well you don’t see me tap dancing!” Mak blurts in response.

 

“But you’re Thugg-lite with mat skills.”

 

Insane Luchador rolls back to his feet and leans against the guardrail in a mixture of pain and shock with a bewildered face. Jay Hawke slowly rolls up onto one knee and notices an opening as he dives for the ring apron, snatching out the first weapon that comes into his reach. He exposes it to the crowd as they buzz in approval as he brings out Insane Luchador’s signature weapon, Excalibur. Insane Luchador sees his pride and joy being stolen and immediately…

 

-Untimely star wipe to informercial for complete season of Star Trek-

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“Good Lord, it doesn’t get much more exciting than that,” King says with a heavy sigh. “Who would have thought that these two would have, by far, the match of the year?”

 

“Not I,” Mak says with a hearty laugh. “But it certainly was a good one. Buy the ‘Best Of’ DVD folks, because that’s something that you can’t miss.”

 

-Star Wipe-

[the.weej 0]

FADE IN

 

“With me at this time,” says Ben Hardy, “are Melissa Fasaki and the Wildchild! Wildchild, after losing the International Championship to JJ Johnson, you had declined to exercise your rematch clause, expressing instead a desire to return to the Cruiserweight Division.”

 

“Oui, monsieur Hardy,” replies WC. “I’ve always been more comfortable wresslin’ in de cruiserweight style; I found de more ‘conventional’ style of de International Division t’be a handicap. It’s like wresslin’ wit my feet in a bucket of mud.”

 

“So,” asks Ben, a confused look on his face, “what has caused you to apparently change your mind? You opted out of an opportunity to compete against Grendel in a fatal four-way for the World Cruiserweight Championship. What happened?”

 

“Pride happened,” replies WC bluntly. “I wasn’ ever all dat attached to de International Title, to be perfectly honest wit you, but dere’s always been people around here dat have been on my case, sayin’ dat I’m not a real wressler… Sayin’ dat I didn’ deserve de International Title because keylocks an’ stepover Weaverlocks an’ Granby Rolls aren’ my style. After losing de International Title t’ JJ Johnson, I started t’hear people sayin’ dat it was some kind of proof dat I never shoulda had it in de first place; dat I didn’ even have any business being in de ring wit’ JJ Johnson.

 

His irritation visibly increasing, Wildchild composes himself before continuing. “I’ve been here in de SWF for almos’ four years now, monsieur, an’ I’ve beaten some of de bes’ wresslers dat have ever come t’rew here: I’ve beaten Ejiro Fasaki, I’ve beaten Scott Prezz’ler, I’ve beaten Mak Francis, I’ve beaten Jay Hawke… By God, I’ve even beaten de Man Tom Flesher himself… so you can imagine dat it’s a slap in de face t’me t’hear people sayin’ dat I don’ belong in de ring against JJ Johnson… dat dey EXPECT him t’beat me when we wressle… Y’know, maybe I jus’ have an over-inflated opinion of myself, but I happen t’ t’ink dat I’m good enough t’beat JJ Johnson… An’ so I decided to come back t’ de International Division an’ prove it! I wan’ JJ in de wors’ way, an I’m not goin’ t’be able t’relax until I beat him.”

 

Hardy blinks in astonishment. “So, this is all about getting back at JJ Johnson.”

 

“Not all of it,” replies WC. “After I lost to Johnson, I realized dat I had allowed myself t’become satisfied wit being where I was at.”

 

“I’m not sure I understand,” says Hardy. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean dat I had accomplished everyt’ing dat I set out to accomplish here in de SWF. I was content t’jus’ go out and put on a show for de fans; I never really gave it my best effort, because I didn’ want t’be Heavyweight Champion, an’ I felt dat goin’ at half-speed was good enough t’beat most of de guys dat I was wresslin’ against… Well, losin’ t’ JJ Johnson was a real wake up call for me.”

 

WC pauses to face the camera. “You got my attention, JJ Johnson… an’ you’re gon’ find out what it’s like t’ have my full attention!” With that, he and Melissa exit the interview area stage left.

 

“Well, there you have it,” says Hardy. “WC is returning to the International Division because he wants to beat JJ Johnson. King, Mak, back to you!”

[the.weej 0]

FADE IN

 

“Coming up next, ladies and gentlemen, is Tom Flesher, making his ‘official’ return to action, after a brief stint as Ghost Machine Version 2.0. And what better opponent is there for him to make his return against than the Wildchild?” asks an excited Mak Francis. “King, this is a match that could easily be tonight’s main event!”

 

“Absolutely!” agrees King. “Tom Flesher has sold out around the world, and Wildchild, as much as I loathe admitting it, is no slouch himself; Flesher should have no problem carrying him to a great match tonight!”

 

“And Flesher has vowed to return to a more technical, submission-based style,” adds Mak. “He’s definitely going to be looking to control the pace in this Cruiserweight Rules match!”

 

“That’s a good strategy at any time,” says King, “but it’s especially true against Wildchild; there may not be another wrestler in the SWF that’s more susceptible to being limited by the pace of the match than Wildchild is!”

 

“And you have to wonder about how focused Wildchild will even be here tonight,” says Francis. “We just heard from Wildchild backstage, speaking on how bad he wants to get his hands on JJ Johnson; he may not be concentrating fully *ON* Flesher!”

 

“Well, I’ll tell you what,” replies King, “Tom Flesher is definitely not a guy to wrestle without giving him your undivided attention; if Wildchild is going through the motions tonight, Tom’s going to bend him up like a pretzel!”

 

“And I’ll bet that’d just make your day, huh?”

 

“You’re damned right!” snaps King. “I’ve had to watch this punk get wins over guys that he’s got no business even being in the ring with in the first place… and it’s made me sick! I was dancing down the streets of Moscow when JJ Johnson finally put him in his place! You heard what he said backstage during that interview: he got complacent after becoming the International Champion!”

 

“So?” challenges Mak. “Lots of wrestlers lose a little of that fire after winning a champion; the wolf trying to climb the mountain is always hungrier than the one who’s on top, you know.”

 

“Where does he get off being complacent?” barks King. “The guy’s not that good! He had to wrestle Jay Hawke six times, before he finally won on a fluke! He’s got no business *ever* being complacent! He doesn’t even deserve the success that he’s enjoyed!”

 

“King, this guy has been a champion many times over,” replies Mak. “How can you say that he’s undeserving of his success?”

 

“Who’s he ever beat, huh?” demands King. “Who? Besides that fluke win over Jay Hawke in a steel cage, who has he ever beaten in a big match?”

 

“Well, he did beat Tom Flesher…”

 

“…”

 

“And while King tries to think up a snappy comeback,” says Mak humorously, “let’s take you to Funyon in the ring!”

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

“The following Cruiserweight Rules match is scheduled for one fall!” booms Funyon. At than moment, the park begins rocking as the majestic overture of Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” begins to play. The Superior One steps out from behind the curtain in a blue track suit, jogging in place briefly before making his way down the aisle.

 

“Introducing first,” continues Funyon, “from Buffalo, New York, and weighing two hundred twenty-nine and nine-tenths pounds, the Superior One: Tom FLESHER!”

 

“There he is!” gushes King. “The Hall of Famer; headliner of the class of 2004, and my former protégé!”

 

“Protégé?” quips Mak. “That would imply that he learned something from you!”

 

“What? Listen you charity case,” snaps King, as Tom arrives at the ringside area, “I don’t have to put up with your lip! One more word out of you, and you’ll be back to coaching that Murderball team where we found you!”

 

As King and Mak continue to exchange barbs, Flesher walks up the steel stairs and steps between the ropes to enter the ring. He quickly removes his jumpsuit and tosses it casually over the rope, the jacket landing on the head of the unflappable ring attendant. Tom walks towards a corner and leans back against the turnbuckles, rolling his neck around as “Kashmir” fades out. It is quickly replaced by the neo-jazz hook which means that, either we’ve all been magically transported to the French Quarter in New Orleans, or Mystikal’s “Bouncin’ Back” is about to bring Wildchild down to the ring!

 

“And his opponent!” shouts Funyon. “Introducing first, the manager: Melissa Fasaki! She represents, from the Bahamas, and weighing in at two hundred fourteen pounds… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Fans reach across the barricade hoping for a high-five from Wildchild, but the Bahama Bomber keeps his eyes fixed forward, as if he’s not even looking at the ring, but at some point in the distance beyond.

 

“Look at him!” barks King. “His mind is elsewhere; he’s looking past Tom Flesher at his rematch against Johnson, and that’s going to get him hurt tonight!”

 

“Unfortunately, I’m going to have to agree with you, King,” warns Mak. “Flesher is too good for you to not give him your undivided attention!” Wildchild removes his shin guards and hands them to Melissa, before somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes to enter the ring. WC rolls nimbly to his feet and runs to the edge of the ring, leaping onto the middle rope and holding his hands overhead as the fans cheer:

 

 

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

 

 

“These fans definitely seem to be pro-Wildchild,” notes Francis.

 

“Let’s not be hasty,” replies King. “We don’t know that; for all we know, these people might be like those idiots that are just anti-American, and cheer for the foreigners for no reason!” Wildchild hops down from the ropes and turns back towards the center of the ring as his music fades out. Referee Ronald “Red” Herrington signals to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match:

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“That’s the bell!” shouts Mak. “Let’s get going!” Tom and Wildchild circle the ring before Flesher takes WC off-guard by extending his hand. Wildchild, having had a friendly relationship with Flesher in the past, moves to return the handshake, only to watch as the Superior One withdraws his hand and runs it through his hair, a cocky smirk on his face.

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“Yeah!” chimes King. “That’s how you ought to treat a punk like Wildchild!” Flesher enjoys the fun that he’s having at the expense of his opponent. But, after the humiliation of losing by submission for the International Championship, and the ensuing weeks of frustration over that loss, WC is in no mood to be trifled with!

 

BAP!

 

“And that,” replies Mak, as Flesher turns around into a hard right jab, “is how you deal with cocky jerks like Flesher!”

 

 

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

 

 

After a battery of right hands backs Tom against the ropes, WC grabs him by the wrist and whips him across the ring. Flesher reverses easily, but the Bahama Bomber dives headfirst towards the edge of the ring, planting his hands on the canvas and keeping his legs straight as his back springs off the ropes like a board, and raises his arm as he bounces back into the ring, knocking Tom off his feet with a handspring elbow! WC beats Flesher to his feet and runs to the ropes, leaping into the air as he rebounds and blasting the Superior One in the face with a running dropkick that sends him rolling out of the ring! Wildchild runs across the ring, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes, and leaps over the top rope to crash into Tom with a tope con hilo!

 

… But the Human Hurricane stops his progression at the last split-second, grabbing onto the top rope and swinging safely to the ring apron, as Flesher pulls Melissa Fasaki in front of him!

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

“Quick thinking by Flesher!” praises King, as Red Herrington begins to deliver a count to the Superior One. “That was a brilliant tactic to use Melissa Fasaki as a shield, forcing Wildchild to either stop his attack, or crash into his girlfriend!”

 

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

“Kind of cowardly, if you ask me!” replies Mak.

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

“Nobody asked you!” WC begins shouting obscenities at Flesher in Creole, and dares him to be man enough to return to the ring, but the Superior One remains on the arena floor, flashing that same cocky smirk. He releases Melissa, but wanders around the ringside area, taunting the fans.

 

 

TWELVE!

 

 

THIRTEEN!

 

 

FOURTEEN!

 

 

“And this, once again, is brilliant strategy on the part of Tom Flesher,” explains King. “If you’ve got an opponent that gets off to a hot start like Wildchild has, take his momentum away from him! Go outside that ring, and make him wait; eventually, he’ll get frustrated and start to make mistakes!”

 

 

EIGHTEEN!

 

 

NINETEEN!

 

 

Only after using every bit of his nineteen-count does Flesher reluctantly climb back onto the apron. WC heads over to the edge of the ring to greet Tom, but Flesher waves him away threatening to the referee that he’ll return to the floor and leave the arena if Wildchild doesn’t back off. Even then, only after jawing at both Wildchild and the referee, does he deign to step back inside the squared circle. Flesher locks up with the increasingly more irritated Wildchild in the center of the ring in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, and WC’s lack of concentration enables Tom to easily take control, shifting to a side headlock before slamming Wildchild to the canvas roughly with a snapping side headlock takeover. Tom reaches across with his left hand and clutches a handful of WC’s hair, trying to yank it out in full view of Red Herrington, who begins to issue a verbal warning. Tom releases just short of the five count, and then gives Herrington his best faux-innocent smile, looking up as if to say, “Hair pull? Me?”

 

“That’s smart wrestling by Flesher,” praises King. “That’s how you control the pace against a guy like Wildchild!” Flesher’s overconfidence leaves him open to a counter, however, as WC locks both hands around Tom’s waist and rolls him backwards onto his shoulders in a pinning combination!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

Flesher kicks out effortlessly at one, but the shift in momentum as he rolls off his shoulders helps Wildchild to move his feet underneath him. He forces his way back to his feet, smacking Tom roughly in the belly to try and get loose, and then backs him against the ropes before pushing him across the ring. Flesher knocks him down with a shoulderblock as he rebounds, and then runs back to the ropes. WC scrambles to his feet and then leapfrogs Flesher as he bounces off the ropes, hooking his arm as he rebounds a second time, and taking the Superior One over with an armdrag! Tom pops back to his feet and charges WC, only to be sent across the ring with a second armdrag! Wildchild beats Flesher to his feet and takes him over with a hiptoss, before running towards the edge of the ring off the canvas and exploding off the canvas as he rebounds, whipping his leg sharply through the air and blasting Flesher with a leg lariat that sends him rolling out of the ring!

 

“Well, Tom Flesher appeared to have this match under control,” remarks Francis, “but he let himself fall victim to Wildchild’s pace, and now he’s out regrouping a second time!” WC waves his hands above his head to motivate the crowd as Flesher walks deliberately around the ring.

 

“You don’t need to worry about Flesher,” warns King, as Tom heads towards the aisle. “He’s been doing this for long enough to not let a few lucky shots bother him!”

 

“Don’t be so sure,” replies Mak, as Flesher begins to walk up the aisle, oblivious to the referee’s count. “It looks to me like he’s leaving!” Flesher waves his hand dismissively, as if to say, “I don’t need this crap,” and begins walking away from the ring, leaving an irritated WC standing in the middle of the ring.

 

“Tom’s not the sort of guy who would walk away from a match,” says King. “He’s got a plan, just wait and see!” Sure enough, the crowd cheers as Wildchild leaves the ring in a fit of frustration just as Herrington reaches a count of nineteen, forcing him to start all over. WC storms up the aisle to get his hands on Tom, but the Superior One senses him coming and quickly spins around to plant a boot into his midsection!

 

“I told you!” crows King, as Flesher hammers WC with a fierce Shotei to the chest. “I knew he had something up his sleeve!”

 

“But how did he know that Wildchild was after him?”

 

“I know it’s hard for you,” replies King, “but try and use some common sense; Flesher knew how long he had been out of the ring, and he knew that, when he hadn’t been counted out, something had to be up!” Tom leads WC by the head towards the edge of barricade and tries to slam his face into it, but the Bahama Bomber counters, blocking with his hands and responding with an elbow to Tom’s midsection!

 

WHAM!

 

 

Wildchild grabs Tom by the back of the head and slams him face-first into the barricade! Flesher staggers backwards, seeing spots in front of his eyes as he trips over his own feet. WC pulls Tom to his feet and leads him back down the aisle, dumping him on his BUTT in front of the ring with a snapmare. Wildchild then quickly runs back to the ring, sliding underneath the bottom rope, and scrambles to his feet before darting to the other side. Herrington ignores him and continues counting Flesher out of the ring, but as he gets to fifteen the Human Hurricane comes charging back across the ring, leaping over Herrington’s body and somersaulting as he plummets to the arena floor…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Crashing into the still-sitting Tom Flesher with a spectacular tope con hilo!

 

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

“That’s was amazing!” cheers Mak, as Herrington is yet again forced to restart his count. “This kid is a risk taker, there’s no doubt about that!”

 

“An unnecessary risk taker, you mean!” grumbles King, as Wildchild pulls Flesher to his feet and leads him back to the ring.

 

“King, the only kind of unnecessary risk is the kind that doesn’t pay off,” retorts Mak, as WC rolls Tom underneath the ring. The Superior One surprises everyone with his resiliency, however, popping to his feet as WC climbs up onto the apron and charges towards the edge of the ring as he enters, kicking the top rope and slamming it into WC’s crotch!

 

WHACK!

 

Wildchild slumps to the canvas as Tom blasts him in the side of the face with a ferocious bitch slap!

 

“Damn!” cries King, as the blow causes even him to cringe. “Tom got all his weight behind that one!”

 

“Wildchild made the mistake of taking his eyes off of Tom Flesher, and it burns him!” Tom scowls as he shakes some feeling back into his hand; apparently, he slapped WC so hard that he even hurt his OWN hand!

 

“He burned him alright!” jokes King, as he points at Tom’s hand. “Look at that! Look at his hand… Flesher even slapped some of the black off of him!”

 

“For the love of og,” mutters Francis, rolling his eyes. “That’s Wildchild’s facepaint, you idiot!” Wildchild attempts to crawl away from Flesher, only for the Superior One to plant a running punt kick into his side! Tom pulls Wildchild to his feet, grabbing him by the wrist with one hand and pulling the young Bahaman towards him…

 

 

WHACK!

 

 

… Only to nail him in the face with another tremendous bitch slap! Flesher sneers cockily as a groggy WC falls back to the canvas.

 

“Tom Flesher is going to work on Wildchild,” says Mak, as Tom pulls WC back to his feet, “with… I guess you could call them a series of short-arm slaps to the face!”

 

“Get it right, Francis,” mocks King, as Tom continues his assault. “Those aren’t just slaps: they’re bitch slaps! Tom Flesher is showing Wildchild no respect in that ring; that’s the former International Champion, and Flesher is treating him like some ham-and-egger just out of wrestling school!” Tom pulls WC to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, pulling him in for a fourth shot…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But the Caribbean Cruiser ducks behind him and grabs him by the waist, popping by the hips as he takes Flesher over with a German suplex! WC bridges to hold him down for a pin as Herrington rushes over to count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

“Two count only!” shouts Mak, as Flesher barely rolls his shoulder up.

 

“That came out of nowhere!” exclaims King, as Flesher looks up with an astonished expression. “I didn’t know that Wildchild had a move like that in his arsenal!”

 

“I don’t think Flesher did, either!” replies Mak. “Look at the look on his face!” With the Superior One still in a state of shock, WC rushes to a nearby corner, leaping up onto the top turnbuckle and turning back to face the ring as Tom gets to his feet. The Tropical Tumbler flies from the top turnbuckle, twisting in midair and raising his arm as he smashes into Tom with a flying back elbow! Wildchild immediately scrambles to his feet, running across the ring and stepping out onto the apron. He leaps onto the top turnbuckle and waits for Flesher to get back to his feet before leaping into the ring, tucking his feet into his chest and flipping in a backwards motion as his body travels forward…

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Extending his legs just before he gets close to Flesher and blasting him in the face with a tremendous shooting star dropkick! The fans go crazy as WC pops back to his feet, waving his arms overhead to elicit a cheer:

 

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

 

“Cripes!” exclaims Mak. “Wildchild just threw it into another gear right there!”

 

“It’s just like I said earlier, you’ve got to control the pace when you’re in the ring with this guy,” says King. “You can’t let him get off and running!”

 

“Well, I suppose that I can understand why you might be worried about the other guy’s speed, when he’s capable of doing THAT!” exclaims Mak. WC pulls Flesher to his feet and leads him by the head towards the edge of the ring, pushing his head underneath the bottom rope and bending his body back, and then hooks Tom’s arms over the top rope so that the Superior in stuck facing the crowd, his body between the top and middle ropes.

 

“What do you suppose he has in mind here?” wonder Mak, as the fans taunt Flesher mercilessly.

 

“I don’t know, replies King, “but I’m sure that it’s not going to be any good!” WC begins hammering Tom in the back of his head with clubbing forearm blows, prompting Red Herrington to head over and order him to stop.

 

“This is despicable!” spits King, as WC ignores Herrington’s directions. “First he ties Flesher up in the ropes so he can’t fight back, and then he hits him from BEHIND? What a coward!” Wildchild finally stops his assault on Flesher just short of the five count, only to dash across the ring, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes, and leaping off the canvas as he once again approaches the edge of the ring, twisting around in midair…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And crashing into Flesher with a Blue Crush splash! Flesher slumps forward as his arms finally come loose, and he hangs half lifelessly over the middle rope, his body half-out of the ring.

 

“Man!” shouts Mak, as WC grabs Flesher by the back of his singlet and pulls him back into the ring. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Wildchild this aggressive before!” Wildchild traps Flesher in a front facelock and then reaches down to grab his far leg, lifting him up into the air and spinning around in a three-quarter circle before falling back down to the canvas, dropping Flesher with a corkscrew vertical suplex!

 

“There’s the corkscrew!” shouts Mak, as WC heads out to the ring apron. “And that’s usually followed up with the Andros Drop!” Flesher lifts his head feebly and motions for the referee, gasping for help as Wildchild climbs to the top turnbuckle.

 

“What’s the big idea?”

 

“Well, obviously Tom’s injured!” snaps King. “Why else would he ask for assistance from that idiot Herrington?” WC, forced to idle on the top turnbuckle, barks at Herrington to move so that he can attack.

 

“To stop Wildchild from coming off the top rope,” spits Mak, “which is exactly what he’s doing!” Sure enough, the Superior One suddenly sits up and pushes Herrington towards the corner, knocking WC from his perch and crotches him on the top turnbuckle! Flesher gets to his feet and heads over to the corner, shoving Herrington out of the way as he bends WC over and grabs him by the waist, pulling him off the turnbuckle and into an Argentine backbreaker!

 

“I knew he was faking it!” says Mak. “Crippled my ass!”

 

“Hey, now that you mention it, your ass IS pretty crippled, isn’t it?”

 

“…”

 

Flesher charges towards the corner with WC hanging upside-down on his shoulder, and slams the Bahaman stomach-first into the top turnbuckle! He hangs Wildchild back over the turnbuckle and takes a few steps away before charging back into the corner…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… Blasting the Caribbean Cruiser in the back of the head with a Yakuza Kick that knocks him off of the turnbuckles!

 

“That was beautiful!” cheers King, as Tom taunts the fans by wiping the sweat from his brow and flicking it into the crowd. “It was like shooting fish in a barrel!” Flesher drags WC forcefully off the top turnbuckle and dumps him unceremoniously on the canvas. He rolls WC over and applies a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

WC kicks out at two, but Flesher steps behind him as he sits up and locks in a reverse chinlock.

 

“Tom Flesher has finally managed to slow down Wildchild to a manageable pace,” says Mak. “And now, he’s going to try and wear him down with a reverse chinlock.”

 

“Definitely,” agrees King. “This probably won’t finish him off, but it’s a great way to set up that King Cobra hold; this is going to wear Wildchild down, especially with the way Flesher is leaning on his back, and he’s not going to have the energy to fight the King Cobra!” Herrington drops down to his knees and looks into Wildchild’s eyes to check his alertness, and Tom takes advantage of the distraction to lift his feet onto the middle rope, adding to his leverage!

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

“What is the purpose of that?” demands Mak. “He’s already got the hold locked in!”

 

“What do you mean, what’s the purpose?” replies King. “It should seem pretty self-explanatory!” Flesher drops his feet from the rope an instant before Herrington lifts his head; the referee notices the ropes swinging up and down, but chooses not to say anything at the moment.

 

“He didn’t need to do that, King!”

 

“So?” counters King. “The great ones never cheat because they NEED to!”

 

“Then why bother doing it?” asks Mak, as Flesher puts his feet back on the ropes.

 

“Why?” repeats King.

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“Because,” replies King with a smirk, “to hell with your opponent, that’s why!” Herrington notices WC’s eyes start to glass over and sits up raise his arm when he catches Flesher in the act of hanging off the ropes. Immediately abandoning his intention to count WC down, he stands up and demands that Tom take his feet off the ropes, beginning his count when the Superior One appears to ignore him:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

FIV—

 

 

At four and three-quarters, Flesher gets to his feet and begins barking at the referee. “What’s the big idea?” he barks. “I’m trying to win a match here!”

 

“Can you believe the balls on this guy?” asks Mak. “Red Herrington caught him red-handed and he’s STILL trying to deny it!” Tom turns his attention back to Wildchild, bending down to pick him up, but the Bahama Bomber catches him off-guard, pulling him down and into an inside cradle!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Flesher kicks out at two and beats Wildchild to his feet, kicking him angrily in the face! He pulls WC roughly to his feet and stands behind him, reaching forward to grab him by the arms and pulling them cross-wise across his body. Tom pops his hips as he snatches WC off the canvas and drops him backwards onto his shoulder with a straightjacket suplex! Herrington drops down to count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREENO!

 

 

 

 

Wildchild just gets the shoulder up! Flesher pulls WC to his feet and stuns him with a Shotei to the chest, before trapping him in a front facelock. He reaches down to grab WC’s far leg and then lifts him up for a vertical suplex, holding him in the air as he reaches his apex.

 

“Looks like we could be seeing the Superiority Complex!” cheers King. But, as Flesher begins to turn WC, the Bahama Bomber slips out of his grasp, landing on his feet behind him. Tom quickly glances to his left and to his right looking for Wildchild, and then instinctively squats, lowering his center of gravity to prevent a possible suplex or cradle attempt…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Only for the Human Hurricane to leapfrog him, snaring him by the head as he flips forward and driving him face-first into the canvas with a flipping neck snap! WC scrambles desperately to his feet and runs to the ropes, hopping towards Flesher as he starts to get to a knee…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… And blasting him in the face with a Shining Wizard! Both men collapse to the canvas and Red Herrington begins to deliver a ten-count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

“I don’t know whether or not Wildchild has anything left to try and retake the momentum in this match,” says Mak, “but I tell you what, King: you can never count him out of a match, just because he can get going so quickly!”

 

“He’s instant offense, there’s no question about that,” concedes King, “but Wildchild is just like one of those funny cars that can take off quick, but runs out of gas almost as quickly! That’s why I don’t think that he’ll be able to come back to win this match; that Shining Wizard probably took everything he had left!”

 

 

EIGHT!

 

 

NINE!

 

 

At the count of nine, Flesher sits up abruptly. Still a little groggy, he crawls over towards WC and collapses atop him for a cover. Herrington counts the shoulders:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

TH— KICKOUT!

 

 

 

 

Flesher pulls WC to his feet and grabs him by the wrist to whip him into the ropes, but the Bahama Bomber reverses, turning into Flesher’s body and lacing his leg with Tom’s as he reaches across for a side headlock, before falling back into a Side Russian Legsweep! The crowd begins to cheer as WC rolls atop Flesher to apply a lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Flesher kicks out at two! Wildchild pulls Flesher to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him into a neutral corner. He charges in after him, leaping off the canvas to deliver the Blue Crush, only for Tom to dive out of the way. Wildchild, however, lands safely on the second ropes, and climbs to the top turnbuckle as he waits for Flesher to get back to his feet. WC dives into the ring at Flesher…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But the Superior One snatches him out of the air and drives him into the canvas with a phenomenal Railgun suplex! He crawls over and makes a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE— NO!

 

 

 

 

“Holy smoke!” shouts Mak, as Flesher gets to his feet, positioning his arms as he sizes WC up. “Tom hit that Railgun suplex from out of nowhere! He just barely missed with that pin!”

 

“Yeah,” replies King, “but he’s not going to miss with this: here comes the King Cobra!” Tom waits for Wildchild to get back to his feet before swooping in behind him and reaching underneath WC’s arm and across his body to grab his wrist. He then swings his other arm up and presses against WC’s carotid artery. Flesher hops off the canvas to try and hook his legs around Wildchild to secure the body scissors but, for a split-second, he loses the leverage advantage…

 

 

… A split-second that’s all Wildchild needs…

 

 

The Bahama Bomber surges towards the corner for all he’s worth, planting his feet on the turnbuckles and pushing back into the ring, knocking both he and Flesher to the canvas! WC continues rolling backwards, pinning Tom’s shoulders to the canvas and holding him down with his full body weight as Herrington drops down to make the count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

Wildchild untangles himself from the Superior One and rolls out of the ring as “Bouncin’ Back” begins to play again. Herrington exits the ring and walks over to WC to raise his hand in victory, as Flesher sits stunned in the middle of the ring.

 

“Here is your winner,” proclaims Funyon, “the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

 

“What a tremendous win for the Wildchild!” shouts Mak. “He reached down deep and came up big, to beat Tom Flesher with an innovative move!”

 

“That was a fast count!” cries King. “His foot was on the ropes… the sun was in his eyes…”

 

“The sun was in his eyes? It’s ten-thirty at night!”

 

“The sun must have been out,” insists King. “That’s the only thing that could explain how Wildchild could have possibly beat Tom Flesher with a wrestling move!”

 

“A great match by two fine competitors,” says Mak, “and we’ve still got more tremendous action to go… stay with us!”

 

Flesher continues to sit in stunned silence, refusing to believe that he could have possibly been pinned…

 

 

As we:

FADE OUT

[the.weej 0]

And we are rockin’ and rollin’ into the semi-main of Lockdown as the camera pans around the fans that have gathered at the Taj Mahal to see some fine wrestling action. Signs such as “I’M SO HUNGRY I COULD WORSHIP A COW”, “SPIKE HAS NO BA’ALS”, and “TOM, GIVE US BACK KASHMIR” are apparent during the camera’s journey over the crowd, a journey that ends with a smooth transition to the announce table, and the smiling faces of the Gambling Man and the Franchise!

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” begins Francis with a grin, “welcome back to Lockdown! I am the Franchise, Mak Francis, joined as always by the Suicide King, and this matchup we have here is one of the more interesting we’ve had in the past few weeks: International Champion and one half of the Tag Team Champions, JJ Johnson, defends against the other half of the Tag Team Champions in ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins.”

 

“Which I don’t see the point in,” sighs the Gambling Man, “because Johnson has already beaten Spike twice. Once was with Tom Flesher’s help, although I’m not sure Johnson knows that, and once was perfectly clean in what some considered a **** match on the Storm before Johnson’s classic clash with TORU Takahara at Ramadomination.”

 

“Yes, but Spike picked up a win over Johnson on the show before the Canadian went on his record-breaking Cruiserweight Title run,” notes Mak, “and if Spike has done it once, then I’m almost positive that the asshole could do it again.”

 

And then the two announcers are interrupted as every light in the arena goes to full power, whiting out the Smarktron with only the sound of a needle on a record audible, the golden dome of the Taj looking out of place as it looms behind the video screen…

 

And then *BAM*

 

The heavy drumming of Norma Jean’s “Creating Something Out of Nothing, Only to Destroy It” blasts through the arena as the lyrics pierce the ears of everyone listening.

 

“Like bringing a knife to a gun fight…

 

Like Bringing A Knife To A Gun Fight…

 

 

LIKE BRINGING A KNIFE TO A GUN FIGHT!”

 

Bright white lights begin flashing at the entranceway. As the growls hit 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.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” booms Funyon, “the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a thirty-minute time limit, and it is for the SWF International Championship! Introducing first, the challenger. From Hollywood, California, weighing in at 220 pounds…he is one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions, HOLLYWOOD! SPIKE! JEEEEN-KIIIINNSS!!”

 

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

 

“Shmuck,” say King and Mak simultaneously, and the Hollywood Superstar sits back in the corner, waiting for his opponent – and his partner. And he doesn’t have to wait long…

 

…as the lights drop out.

 

 

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

 

With that, the blasting drum beats and shrieking voice of Lord Worm that make up Cryptopsy's "Crown of Horns" come surging out of the soundsystem, red-and-white lights flashing at a seizure-inducing pace as smoke begins to billow out from the entranceway. The lyrics kick in, and Johnson makes his way out, his freshly-shaved head and two titles shining in the bright lights as he strides down the ramp.

 

“And his opponent!” bellows the snack treat. “From Windsor, Ontario, Canada, he weighs 223 pounds, is one-half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions, and is your reigning and defending SWF International Champion…J! J! JOHNSON!”

 

Johnson jogs up the steps before striding swiftly through the ropes and over to the opposite corner, where he hops to the second rope before throwing his arms wide, the camera panning swiftly around him as he glares over the crowd momentarily before hopping down, handing his titles to referee Blaine Kalem, and shedding his track jacket. Deciding there’s no time to waste, Kalem holds the International strap high before tossing it to timekeeper David Blazenwing and calling for the bell!

 

DING DING DING!

 

“And here we go!” shouts Mak, and indeed the two do, Canadian and Californian locking up in a collar-and-elbow tie-up and jockeying for position for a moment before Spike quickly latches on a wristlock!

 

“And Spike has already set the tone for this match,” notes the Franchise. “Spike is, without a doubt, the best chain wrestler in the fed, and almost all chain wrestling stems from the wristlock.”

 

“Yeah,” agrees King, “but Spike gets cocky, and people who get cocky against Johnson usually pay with their boots that they get suplexed out of.”

 

As if to prove the Gambling Man’s point, the Canadian wastes little time in sticking his head under that of the Hollywood Superstar before hooking a leg and taking Spike up, over, and onto his back – and into a JJ Johnson wristlock – with a standing Northern Lights suplex! Slightly stunned by the fall, Spike is still undeterred, and he performs a swift back roll to his knees before moving his momentum forwards and hand-springing to his feet, which shocks the Canadian enough to let Jenkins twist him into a second wristlock of his own!

 

“And Johnson with a high-impact reversal, but Spike reverses the reversal with a bit of flair and catches JJ off his guard,” nods Mak. “In watching Johnson, it’s always unorthodox stuff that shuts him down; come at him with something textbook and he lights you up like a Christmas tree, but if you don’t go by the book, it admirably only takes him a few seconds to adapt, but those few seconds are precious, as we’ve seen most prominently in his matches with El Luchadore Magnifico and Landon Maddix. On both occasions, they used interesting roll-ups out of submission holds, and Johnson couldn’t react in time.”

 

But Mak is quickly disproved, as Johnson reacts like lightning with a roll to his left, relieving the pressure, followed by a one-handed cartwheel, a twist into a wristlock of Johnson’s, and an el-

 

*CRACK!*

 

-before Johnson can launch the elbow, the Hollywood Superstar cracks him clean in the jaw with a shotei, staggering the Ultimate Fighter and letting the New Straight-Edge Sensation twist him back into a wristlock before taking him by the hair and shoving him to the mat, twisting his arm with vicious intent!

 

“Well,” says the Franchise, very interested, “it seems that Spike has found a counter for the elbow in that brutal palm strike that we’ve seen used most effectively by my boy Tom Flesher.”

 

But again, more disproving is done by the Canadian, as he curls himself into a ball before kipping up…

 

*CRACK!*

 

…and cleaning Spike’s clock with an elbow smash that drops the New Straight-Edge Sensation like a stone, prompting the challenger to roll to the outside to regroup! Not bothering to celebrate the flash knockdown, Johnson instead glares at his tag-team partner, who returns the glare with a somewhat cheesy grin before rolling back into the ring and offering his hand out for a knuckle-lock.

 

“Surely, Spike doesn’t expect Johnson to fall for the chain-wrestling trick again?” queries the Franchise.

 

“Well, I dunno,” shrugs the Gambling Man. “Falling for the chain-wrestling trick worked out pretty well for him last time.”

 

And indeed, it looks like Johnson is ‘falling for it’ again, reaching his arm out a tad carefully, knowing Spike’s reputation, before grasping fingers with the straight-edger…and, even if the Hollywood Superstar were planning a cheap shot, he has no time, as Johnson spins under his arm faster than light like some sort of pugilistic ballerina before latching on a top wristlock, prompting a cheer from the fans!

 

“Top wristlock, and it could be a Buffalo Sleeper not soon after!” grins the Franchise. “As we saw against Wildchild, Johnson can lock that thing on at any time, from anywhere, and it’s hard as hell to get out of!”

 

However, the difficulty of escaping decreases exponentially – using, of course, negative exponents – if you escape before the sleeper can be applied, and that’s just what Spike does, throwing himself back under Johnson’s arm and tugging the Canadian up into a hammerlock, and what fans that were standing up slowly sit down, their Buffalo Sleeper hopes dashed for now. However, their hopes for a match without long, boring hammerlocks are rekindled as Johnson reaches between his legs with his free arm before taking a firm grip on the leg of the New Straight-Edge Sensation and pulling, dropping Spike down onto his back. Johnson immediately drops down and straddles Spike’s leg, latching on an Indian Deathlock, but in a burst of ingenuity and athleticism, Jenkins rolls his way under Johnson’s outside leg before seizing his arm, wrapping his legs around it, and applying a straddling armbar!

 

“Straddling armbar!” notes the Franchise. “Almost a juji-gatame, but you can’t get quite as much leverage on the hold; still, Johnson better get out of this hold fast if he expects this contest to be long.”

 

“It’s JJ Johnson vs. Spike Jenkins, Mak,” groans the Heartbreaker. “Nobody expects this to be long.”

 

Some people might expect this hold to be long, though; they are incorrect. Johnson groans, the burning sensation in his shoulder quite uncomfortable, but fighting through the pain, he tucks his knees up into his stomach before ducking his head and rolling forward, one of his feet landing on the bottom rope and prompting a break from referee Blaine Kalem! Spike immediately abandons the hold and rolls to his feet, bending over and looking at Johnson with the same goofy grin he had earlier, beckoning him up much as you would a small child taking their first steps.

 

“Spike, playing more games with the champion,” notes the Franchise. “Much as Johnson got into Wildchild’s head by letting him up, and thus disrespecting him, Jenkins is doing the very same thing; Johnson’s a lot easier to piss off than Wildchild, too.”

 

Johnson gets up very quickly, glaring at the Hollywood Superstar…who returns the glare with a goofy grin…that Johnson rushes in to wipe off of his face with a brutal running elbow!

 

*CRACK!*

 

That Spike counters with a shotei, Johnson’s head whiplashing back and allowing the New Straight-Edge Sensation to take a hold of his arm and pull him into a standing Fujiwara armbar! Johnson grunts, the same arm as before the one twisted, but the Canadian wastes no time in reaching across his body with his free arm and, with a combined pulling/kicking motion, taking Jenkins off of his feet and onto his back. Spike obviously lets go of the arm, and Johnson wraps his legs around the leg he still has a firm grip on before dropping down and latching on a hiza-juji-gatame!

 

“YYYEEAAAHH!!”

 

“Cross knee-breaker!” shouts Mak! “The juji-gatame’s nastier cousin, Johnson has won matches with this before! This could be over early!”

 

*CRACK!*

 

Alternatively, Spike could pitch himself forward and blast Johnson clean in the forehead with a shotei, knocking the Canadian off of his leg quite quickly! The champion rolls to the outside to recover from the few recent punishing blows to the skull, and Spike hops to his feet, taking a brief moment to favor his already-stinging knee.

 

“Interesting here,” points the Franchise, “as for the first time in my memory, at least, Johnson has abandoned ship so to speak. Those shoteis must really be knocking him silly.”

 

“Why wouldn’t they?” asks the Gambling Man. “It’s a blow, with the heel of your palm, to the head of your opponent. It’s devastating stuff, even to a tough son of a bitch like JJ Johnson.”

 

That same tough son of a bitch shakes his head, finally getting the cobwebs out of it before turning back to the ring…just in time to see the Hollywood Superstar thread the needle through the ropes…Johnson ducks…and Spike’s bluff is successful, as he instead ducks his head further and rolls OVER the ropes onto the apron!

 

*CRACK!*

 

And then a certainly-not-fooled foot slams hard into his shin, and Jenkins doubles over in pain as Johnson hops up onto the apron and seizes him in a rear waistlock, the crowd hushing immediately, not even their hatred for Jenkins exciting them about the forthcoming action.

 

“I…oh my God, no,” gasps Mak. “I mean, I hate Spike with a passion, but this is just uncouth.”

 

“Hush,” scolds the Gambling Man. “No talking during insane vertical death.”

 

But there shall be no insane vertical death on this night, Spike reaching out and seizing a very firm grip with both arms on the top rope. The crowd is an odd mix of disappointed and relieved as Johnson loosens his grip slightly, and Spike reacts accordingly, releasing the ropes with one arm and throwing said limb back with a uraken backfist…that Johnson seizes BEFORE TAKING SPIKE OFF THE APRON WITH A HALF-NELSON SUPLEX!!

 

“SWEET PIMPIN’ CHRIST AND HIS FINE DISCIPLE HOES!” screeches Mak as challenger and champion go flying off the apron, Spike turning in mid-air…

 

 

…and turning, landing on his feet and stumbling backwards into the ring barrier as Johnson smacks hard into the thin mats on the outside, but pops up quickly and strides over to Spike before lashing out with a knife-edge chop!

 

*CRACK!*

 

Shotei! The devastating palm strike hits home once more, and the Canadian staggers, giving the Hollywood Superstar sufficient time to escape and roll back into the ring. Johnson follows soon after, hoisting himself over the ropes and turning in mid-air, so that his back is to Spike as he lands; seeing this, the New Straight-Edge Sensation takes advantage, rushing in and EATING A ROLLING ELBOW FROM THE STILL-TURNING ULTIMATE FIGHTER!!

 

*CA-RACK!!*

 

“Rolling elbow!” cries King as Spike stumbles, then falls, and the Canadian shoots in and takes the legs of his supine opponent. “I can’t help but feel disappointed at that half-nelson suplex not going through, but I’m sure the sponsors would rather that sort of spot not happen on television regardless.

 

With a firm grip on the legs of the Hollywood Superstar, Johnson steps through them with his outside leg, placing it to the side of Spike and lacing his legs together before turning him over into the Sharpshooter. Well, trying, anyway, as the challenger is unsurprisingly unwelcoming to such an idea, and responds by flexing his back and his abdominal muscles, struggling with all his might against the strength of the Canadian and the laws of momentum…but it is no use, and with a bit more struggle, he’s rolled onto his stomach and into the painful hold!

 

“YEAAAHH!”

 

…and right out of it, as he manages, with some flexing, to free a foot from Johnson’s leg lace and blast the Canadian in the face with it, freeing him…

 

 

25 MINUTES LATER

 

 

…”Ladies and gentlemen, this match is a TIME LIMIT DRAW!”

 

“BOOOOOOO!!”

 

“Gay,” says Mak.

 

“Match was good, though,” says King.

 

 

FADE OUT

[the.weej 0]

The camera fades into the energetic audience dressed in their casual garbs of torn shirts, poorly stitched pants, and soil-embodied sandals. A step above the peasants that surround the squared circle would be the snobby sultans wrapped in spectacular cloth that can only be found in Disney’s Aladdin. Grinning from ear to ear at the peak of the Taj Mahal the India elites hoist their drinks into the air in appreciation for the grand show SWF LOCKDOWN has put on.

 

“Up next we have tonight’s main event.” The Franchise starts, “On a night where Tom Flesher and Tox…Michael Stephens have made their returns to wrestling the Cruiserweight Title has found it’s way into the spotlight once again.”

 

“Well it’s either that or we can make the fatal mistake of giving our World Champion the spotlight. Speaking of fatal mistakes. The Bahama Dud made the retarded decision to not participate in this guaranteed title shot, for the title he helped put back in the spotlight. Wassupwitdat?”

 

“King, Wildchild has turned his focus to the International Title, or more importantly JJ Johnson. Triple J proved in their one on one encounter that he was the better man. I doubt the Caribbean Cruiser wishes to keep that on his conscience. Now for the three competitors tonight that you wouldn’t normally see in the main event.”

 

The Gambling Man looks at Mak like his body isn’t the only thing crippled, “Um, Zyon and Akira Kaibatsu was in the main event of Storm, which by the way pulled in the lowest rating in years. For the love of god, a Landon Maddix promo drew the highest rating. So the two spot monkeys need to prove to Joseph Peters that they can hang in the spotlight or it’s back to House Rules matches. Ha!”

 

“Storm’s main event didn’t have the factor of the Cruiserweight Champion, Grendel.”

 

“Yeah, that masked monotone avenger is going to draw. Yep.”

 

“King, I could careless about ratings. I’m not Joseph Peters. I’m Mak Francis…Bitch! I used to be a Zyon, an Akira Kaibatsu, and no I wasn’t as mysterious as Grendel, but damnit I was him too. We don’t care about numbers. We just want to perform. Give these guys a shot. Run your mouth about how their under pressure by the higher ups. And then be prepared to eat those words with these guys deliver. This is the SWF, not fucking sports entertainment.” Mak delivers a speech consisted of goosebumps and a variety of dramatic pitches.

 

“…Looks like Funyon is ready for the introductions.” And King turns a deaf ear to his crippled partner.

 

The main SWF camera swims around the park located outside the majestic Taj Mahal before focusing in on experienced referee Ken Masters. To the left of the referee would be the enormous shoulder of Funyon, which takes up an entire lens by itself. Zooming out, the camera is able to focus on the announcer.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen. The next match is a triple threat match for the SWF CRUISERWEIGHT TITLE and is tonight’s MAIN EVENT!”

 

The ace announcer booms before taking a step back as the lights in the arena dim.

 

“I’M BORN!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAHHHH!”

 

“I’M ALIVE!!”

 

“YEEEEAAAAHHHHHHH!”

 

“I BREATHE!!!”

 

The familiar statement flashes across a nearby billboard that was creatively modified into the Smarktron that we know and love. Screaming at the top of their lungs, the India crowd watches on as the lively youth sprints out into the open while “Vitamin” by Incubus plays. Acknowledging the recognizable noise that he hears at almost every show he attends, the former Cruiserweight Champion salutes the pleasant crowd. Bouncing down the entrance ramp that eclipses the sand below it, the youngster slaps the hands of many fans who would humbly deem themselves not worthy.

 

“First, hailing from Elkhart, Indiana and weighing in at a dead even 200 lbs. The UNIQUE YOUTH…ZyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyON!!”

 

Funyon stretches the adult adolescent’s name as Zyon rolls into the ring and ascends the middle rope. Soaking in the cheers that a curer of cancer would get, Zyon throws up the “X” symbol, which many dread due to the heinous Hollywood Spike Jenkins. Grinning, the youth separates the “X.” Bending his elbows to the point where his arms are parallel, the youth mimics a cool taunt that has been used repeatedly over time by other wrestlers (superstars?).

 

“You know, Mak? I actually like this kid’s arrogant approach to the end of his entrance. But that’s about all I like.”

 

Resting in a nearby corner, Zyon stares the entranceway down as “Protect Ya Neck” by the Wu-Tang Clan sends the crowd in a ruckus. Arriving first through the shadows is the chubby figure of the unathletic brilliance that is Mr. Kobe. Following the genius manager would of course be the uber talented Divine Wind. Receiving an awesome reaction as well, the pleasant peasants look on in slight disappointment when the foreign star refuses to acknowledge their respect.

 

“And his opponent, fighting from Sendai, Japan and weighing in tonight at 195 lbs. He is the DIVINE WIND…AKIRA Kaaaaaaaiiiiiiiibaaaaaaaatttttssssuuuuu!”

 

“Like Zyon, Akira has gained the fame that comes along with putting your body on the line. Folks, he doesn’t have “fearless” tattooed on his right forearm for nothing.”

 

“Fearless? I thought it was just some cool Japanese writing.”

 

The Divine Wind rests in his own turnbuckle keeping his attention on the wise words of his expert manager.

 

“WAKE ME UP!”

 

That would signal the beginning of Evanescence’s “Bring Me To Life” which signals the arrival of the reigning Cruiserweight Champion. Walking down the ramp, Grendel stares into the eyes of his opponents.

 

“And their opponent, hailing from Manhattan, New York and weighing in tonight at 220 lbs. He is the reigning SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION. He is the Spirit of Aggression. He…is…GRENDEL!!”

 

The unsure people that surround the ring cheer the mysterious wrestler on as he rolls under the bottom rope, handing referee Ken Masters the coveted Cruiserweight Title. Teasing the other two competitors with a glimpse of the gold, Ken Masters hands the belt off to Funyon who is currently attempting to exit the ring…muscles too big…grrrr.

 

“Well Mak. It’s put up or shut up for these spot monkeys.” The Gambling Man announces.

 

DING DING DING!

 

It sure is.

 

All three men wait a moment for the park full of adrenaline pumping humans to start the proceedings off the right way.

 

“YYYYYEEEEEAAHAHAHAHAHAAEEEEHH!”

 

There we go.

 

First out of the gates is the brisk Unique Youth who meets the Divine Wind in the middle of the ring for a collar and elbow lock up. Both men joust for position as the anomalous Grendel sneaks into the fray. Suddenly both Akira and Zyon release the stalemate they were wrapped in and charge at the Cruiserweight Champion! Unknown to the untrained eye on whether Grendel was caught off guard by the actions of his opponents or not, but he acts on instinct non the less. Crouching low to the mat, Grendel rolls forward, avoiding a double clothesline by both men. The look of shock is apparent on the youth’s face as both he and Akira spin around to see the Spirit of Aggression lunging at them with arms extended to the side. Lowering himself closer to the mat, Zyon avoids the clothesline attempt. Akira on the other hand wasn’t quite as quick as his American counterpart, which causes the young Japanese warrior to descend to the mat, a victim of a Grendel clothesline! Pushing himself off the mat, Zyon sneaks up on the Assassin undetected by the masked wrestlers senses. Experiencing a sense of pressure squeezing the air from out of his lungs, Hunter Rose struggles to break free of Zyon’s reverse waist lock. Using both hands in a desperate attempt to break the youth’s death grip, Grendel makes the uncanny mistake that involves the ignoring of the third man in the ring.

 

*CRACK!*

 

Lucky for him the Divine Wind was standing behind Zyon, who also made the unforgiving mistake to leave the third man undetected. The American youngster’s punishment for such an offense was a simple kick to the back of the head. Departing away from his earlier exit strategy, Hunter Rose reels back and blasts the stunned youth with an elbow to the face. Stammering away from the Cruiserweight Champion, Zyon spins around, shocking the Divine Wind with a clothesline…

 

…THAT MISSES! However, the third man in the match decides to disrupt the flow of things as Hunter Rose wallops the Divine Wind with a low spinning roundhouse kick to the side of the ducking Akira’s head. Draping his arm under the staggering Akira’s arm, Zyon tosses the Divine Wind to the side with a hip toss.

 

“As you can see King, all three men are having trouble adapting to the triangle stipulation. Usually, even with the cruiserweights, there is a second or so of downtime between attacks. However, now it’s WHAM WHAM WHAM! Just the way I like it.” Mak expresses his opinion of this particular multi man match.

 

King nods his head in agreement, “Yep. And unlike other triple threat matches, this one isn’t discriminatory to the champion. Under elimination rules two competitors must be eliminated to crown a new champion. So in the case of a new champion, the current champion must be eliminated at some point.”

 

Turning his attention toward the Cruiserweight Champion, Zyon takes off in a sprint giving the reigning champion little time to think of a strategy. Sticking true to his moniker, the Spirit of Aggression acts aggressively toward the charging youth. Tossing his leg upward the martial arts expert tries to catch the youth with a leg lariat, but Zyon easily ducks under the strike! Leaping on to the second rope the youth blindly springs off of it, stabbing the Cruiserweight Champion with a sharp elbow to the back! With his arms flailing due to the surprise attack, Grendel crashes to the canvas as Zyon arrogantly rolls backward to his feet…

 

…And into the waiting arms of the Divine Wind!

 

“Zyon got cocky and now he could very well pay for his act of arrogance.” Mak reads into the future.

 

“I don’t care about that mumbo jumbo that you are spitting. Akira doesn’t need a reason to drop Zyon on his head. And I don’t need a reason to want to see that happen.”

 

No doubt that the youth was caught off guard by Akira’s persistence of the Cruiserweight Title, but that’s not going to stop Zyon in his own quest for the gold. Skipping the wasted theatrics of using brute power to snap out of the unfavorable position he finds himself in, Zyon traps his foot around Akira’s ankle disabling the acrobatic cruiser from destroying his opponent. Pushing on the ankle of his opponent, Zyon swings his body out before spinning behind Akira with a standing switch.

 

*CRACK!*

 

Akira immediately sends the Unique Youth staggering in a daze of bewilderment due to a harsh elbow to the face!

 

“Lately, Akira has improved his striking ability dramatically. Many believe his lose to JJ Johnson taught him more than any victory could have.” Mak is pleased with the Divine Wind’s substantial improvement.

 

Shaking his head from side to side in an attempt to forget about the cobwebs, Zyon’s eyes focus on the Divine Wind who lunges forward at the youth with a lariat of his own! Transitioning a simple squat into a full on roll to dodge the lariat, Zyon is pleased to know that his head remains a top of his shoulders. The Divine Wind on the other hand comes to a screeching halt due to Mr. Kobe barking orders from the sideline. Meeting mask to mask with the now standing Cruiserweight Champion, Akira performs a sharp kick to Hunter Rose’s sternum. Latching on to Grendel’s arm the Divine Wind shifts his weight, Irish whipping the Assassin across the ring…

 

…Toward the other competitor in the match. Twisting to his side, Hunter Rose elevates the point of his elbow so that it is aligned perfectly with its target. Listening to a few English speaking fans in the front row, Zyon quickly rotates around just in time to EAT AN ELBOW TO THE JAW!!!

 

*CRACK!*

 

Falling out of the ring and on to the ring apron via between the middle and top rope, Zyon moves his jaw around; checking to make sure it isn’t broken. The mysterious champion takes a moment to ponder at the Unique Youth before falling victim to a schoolboy roll up inside the ring!

 

ONE!

 

Kickout!

 

Pushing the Divine Wind away, Grendel rolls back to his feet in a shoot wrestling stance. Visually prepared for what the Japanese wrestler has to offer, Hunter Rose challenges the former Cruiserweight Champion to bring…it…on!

 

“Hunter Rose shows that he might be human after all. It brings a tear to my eye to see a full fledged adult show his first sign of emotion.” The Gambling Man sarcastically adds.

 

Pivoting his foot into the ground, Akira Kaibatsu arranges the correct amount of energy before springing off in a sprint! Charging down the battlefield the Divine Wind launches himself into the air, rocketing down with a double ax handle attempt. Peering into the mask of his young opponent, Grendel waits until the exact moment of impact…before cartwheeling to the side. Rotating on his foot the Spirit of Aggression lunges at the stationary Divine Wind, blasting him with a stretching forearm! The impact sends Akira spinning into the turnbuckle where Grendel hops on to the attack by ascending the middle rope; setting up the historic ten punch count.

 

“YEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHH!”

 

The crowd cheers as Hunter Rose strikes Akira with a closed fist, ignoring the warning of referee Ken Masters.

 

“ONE!”

 

The crowd counts along with each punch.

 

“TWO!”

 

“THREE!”

 

Reaching into the heavens for another ferocious right hand, Grendel’s mask remains the same, but his other motions reveal shock. Flailing arms and shaking legs put a halt to the crowd favored attack as Zyon springboards off the top rope on to Grendel, taking him to the mat with a springboard SEATED SENTON FROM THE MIDDLE ROPE!

 

“YEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHH!!”

 

The audience cheers for the maneuver as Zyon shoots off of Grendel’s body due to the impact. Rubbing his tailbone for a moment, the Unique Youth dives on to Grendel with a lateral press.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout!

 

“Grendel somehow finds the strength to shove the Unique Youth off of him. But man that was some maneuver by Zyon!”

 

“Mak you give that spot monkey far too much credit.”

 

“And…”

 

“Nothing. I’m just saying you give him too much credit.”

 

“Oh…well…NO I DON’T!” Mak jumps on the defensive.

 

Running over toward the prone body of Akira Kaibatsu, Zyon is forced backward due to the Divine Wind’s right foot stepping into his face! Stalking the youth, Akira twirls his body snapping Zyon backward with a harsh European uppercut! Dropping to one knee while the world around him spins, Zyon picks himself up only to feel the weight of another push down on him! Springing off the shoulders of the Unique Youth, Grendel leapfrogs over Zyon, transitioning both feet into the chest of the Divine Wind!

 

“Now that Mak was poetry in motion. To be able to twist your body like that and deliver a dropkick from that angle. Yeah that was cool.” King actually compliments the spotty strike.

 

Rolling backward, Grendel wraps both legs around Zyon’s waist, squeezing the life out of the youth. Referee Ken Masters asks the Unique Youth if he wants to submit, but all he gets out of the deal is a “Gah” and a “GHHH!” Grinding his teeth, Zyon slowly wraps his arm around the stationary body of the Assassin as his face morphs from that of color to a pale purple. Half the audience gets behind the youth while the other half cheers on the mysterious Hunter Rose and his powerful thighs. Stomping his foot, Zyon hoists the Sprit of Aggression off the ground and into the air. Regaining the precious oxygen into his lungs the youth drops backward, slamming Grendel into the mat with a harsh wheelbarrow suplex! Woozy from the previous submission, Zyon is unable to occupy a pin attempt, but the Divine Wind is more that happy to steal the spotlight!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout!

 

Grendel pops his shoulder off the mat as Akira leaps back to his feet. To the left of him is a now standing Zyon and to the right is the fallen Grendel.

 

Who to attack?

 

Stepping over the carcass of the Cruiserweight Champion, Akira leaps into the air sending his knee toward the face of an on guard Zyon. Throwing his hands up the youth deflects the knee away from his lady killing features. Unrelentless, Akira Kaibatsu listens to the voice of his experienced manager as he forces the youth back with a blitzkrieg of palm strikes. Thrusting the open handed attacks to the side, Zyon finds himself in a retreating back pedal until he reaches the corner. One would think that the Unique Youth would be in an immense amount of trouble, but he’s not. He knows the Divine Wind’s attack patterns more than the father figure manager on the outside….

 

…He’s a head hunter.

 

Plain and simple.

 

Noticing the elevated roundhouse before it’s even thrown, Zyon crouches under the attack, wrapping Akira in a reverse front face lock. Cutting one leg out from under himself the youth slams the Divine Wind neck first into his raised knee! Leaving Akira to sit in agony, Zyon bounces off the far ropes, which enables him to pick up a scary amount of speed before delivering a basement dropkick to the neck of his startled opponent! Smartly, Zyon follows the strike up with a lateral press.

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO

 

Kickout!

 

Forcing the youth off with a shove, Akira rises back to a sitting position, aligning himself for another basement dropkick. Measuring his opponent, Zyon notices on the corner of his eye the enigmatic Cruiserweight Champion diving in with a sweep! Leaping into the air, Zyon effectively dodges the sweep attempt as Grendel springs directly off the ground and into the air with a dropkick!

 

*CRACK!*

 

“Mak did you see that? Hunter Rose just shot Zyon out of the sky with a beautiful dropkick!” King applauds the mysterious man out for vengeance.

 

Rolling around on the canvas in obvious pain, Zyon perseveres through having two feet placed into his chest. Proudly, the Unique Youth stands on his feet, willing to take more punishment for the title the Spirit of Aggression won at Battleground…

 

…And Hunter Rose will certainly oblige to dishing out more punishment. Catching the youth with a SICK elbow to the sternum, Grendel leaps over the youth, once again aiming both feet at the stationary Divine Wind. Blowing to the side, Akira dodges the dropkick, sending Grendel crashing to the mat. Crouching down for a lateral press, the Divine Wind leaves himself open for a SWANK kick to the temple, which leaves Akira clutching his head in a daze. Tightening his arm around the Divine Wind, Zyon traps the former Cruiserweight Champion in a front face lock just in time to meet Grendel eye to white ovals. Reacting to the situation he finds himself in, Zyon jumps into the air, kicking off of the Cruiserweight Champion, using the momentum to SPIKE Akira into the mat with a SENSATIONAL TORNADO DDT!

 

“YEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!”

 

“Did you see Akira’s head? His neck could be in pieces?”

 

“Mak, calm down. His body is meant to go in angles that would make physicians cringe only for the Divine Wind to be perfectly fine.” King jokes with his co-commentator.

 

Falling on to the carcass of his opponent, Zyon hopes to eliminate the Divine Wind.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kickout!

 

“See Mak he’s fine.”

 

Not really. Sure Akira was able to pop his shoulder off the mat, but there isn’t a doubt that the kid under the mask is on the bottom of this triangular food chain that main events tonight’s Lockdown. Pushing himself back to his feet, Zyon turns his head in time to DUCK under Grendel’s signature jump up side kick! Yet the Spirit of Aggression catches the Unique Youth off guard once again as he drops to the ground, taking the young sprout down with your standard martial arts sweep! Quickening the pace, Grendel leaps into the air, driving his leg across the throat of his opponent with a corkscrew leg drop! Gagging on his temporarily crushed larynx, Zyon feels the rough texture of his opponent’s hands tug on his hair, forcing him to his feet. Jabbing the youth in the body with quick snap kicks, Grendel leaves the stunned youth dazed into the nether as he takes off toward the far ropes. Bouncing off the ropes, Hunter Roses lengthens his strides in a strategy to pick up speed as Zyon stumbles away from his attacker. The youth however, is unable to retreat in time with the Assassin leaping into the air for a cross body! Trapped against the ropes, Zyon’s means of escape is almost completely disabled…

 

…Until he pulls the rope down just in the knick of time!!

 

*SMACK!*

 

The Cruiserweight Champion’s body smacks the barely padded floor as Zyon takes a moment to regain his composure…

 

*CRRRRRACK!*

 

…And pays for it due to a Divine Wind European uppercut that elevates the Unique Youth over the top rope and to the floor.

 

“AK-IRA AK-IRA!!!”

 

The Divine Wind soaks in the respect produced from his fiery desire to compete. Mr. Kobe with a slight look of irritation orders his acrobatic client to stay on the attack, which signifies that the Divine Wind is set to take flight! Sprinting off the opposite ropes, Akira flies back, diving through the middle rope with a JJ Johnson-esque elbow suicida…

 

…Only without the elbow. And as both Grendel and Zyon roll out of the from the strong gust heading their way…

 

…Akira doesn’t receive the applause of toppling onto someone.

 

*CRRRASH!!*

 

“OOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The audience echoes as Akira collapses to the floor clutching his already bothered neck due to acting like a battering ram against the steel barricade! Lifting Akira back to his feet, Grendel rolls the wounded Divine Wind back into the ring so that he is coincidentally lying on his stomach. Stepping up on to the ring apron, Grendel slingshots himself back into the ring with a perfectly placed flipping leg drop to the back of his masked opponent’s neck! Murmuring through his mask, Akira cries out in pain as Grendel rolls him on to his back for a lateral press.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

“The neck work was too much for young Kaibatsu!” Mak believes.

 

 

 

 

 

THRKICKOUT!

 

“I’ve never felt so happy to be wrong!” Mak detracts his previous statement.

 

Popping his shoulder off the mat in a showing of absolute courage or a petty spasm, Akira visibly angers the emotionless Spirit of Aggression. Lifting the Divine Wind into a sitting position, Grendel uses his martial arts background to precisely pinpoint a HARSH kick to the neck of his ravaged opponent.

 

*CRRRRACK!*

 

The echo haunts the crowd along with the masked Japanese star who remains powerless due to the pain shooting through his neck. Winding up for another torturous stomp, Grendel is unable to complete this particular quest as the Unique Youth soars through the air, blasting Hunter Rose with a HIGH IMPACT springboard forearm smash…Superman style! Since he basically lands on the undefeated Cruiserweight Champion, Zyon latches on to his opponent’s leg for a hopeful lateral press.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THRRRKICKOUT!

 

“Dang that was close. Honestly I don’t have a favorite in this match, but I like this Grendel fella. He’s a simple man that just wants to hurt something.” King rubs his hands together at the idea of a cold and ruthless warrior.

 

Hopping back to his feet, Zyon stuns the Cruiserweight Champion with a quick stomp giving him enough time to bounce off the opposite rope as he gets BLINDSIDED by a YAKUZA KICK!

 

*SWISH!*

 

…Correct, a Yakuza kick attempt. Avoiding the knockout shot from the head hunter, Zyon latches on to Akira who stammers into an Irish whip across the ring. Following the Japanese warrior, Zyon’s ears catch a piece of Mr. Kobe’s strategy…

 

…Akira’s strategy. Looking up in astonishment, Zyon is unable to shape a proper defense as the Divine Wind springs off the middle rope with a sedating springboard gamengiri that launches Zyon to the canvas, clutching his face. Pausing for a moment to clutch his neck, Akira exits to the ring apron, taunting the Spirit of Aggression to take his best shot!

 

“Hahahah. This guy must be delusional. He has the upper hand, but he’s stopping to taunt the reigning Cruiserweight Champion. What a joke?”

 

“Hey man, you got the moniker of The Gambling Man. Let this kid move on with his plan.”

 

“He has a plan? I thought it was suicide.” King replies to his crippled partner.

 

Adjusting his mask, Grendel stares at the visibly injured Divine Wind who continues to taunt the Assassin. The brilliance of Mr. Kobe can’t help his client now as Grendel takes off in a mad dash for his next victim. Realizing that becoming a victim isn’t exactly the most flattering thing, Akira springs off the top rope, aiming both of his feet down on to Grendel who’s feeble dodge isn’t enough to avoid the KENTA STYLE springboard missile dropkick.

 

Oh but that’s not all.

 

Smashing Grendel’s chest with his signature KENTA dropkick, Akira continues his freefall as he descends down on to the carcass of one Zyon who suffers the same fate of everyone else that gets flattened by a SENTON BOMB...

 

…That would be injured ribs!

 

“YYYYYEAHAHAEYYYEAH!!”

 

“LISTEN TO THE PEOPLE KING! That’s what Akira was planning. He killed two birds with a chain attack, baby. You’ve got to love it.” Look ma, cripples can mark da fuck out.

 

Everyone is the arena minus Grendel, Zyon, and Akira appreciates the spectacle of what they are witnessing. Wait Akira? Along with his opponents the Divine Wind settles on the canvas, clutching his neck from the minor whiplash accustomed with the surprise senton. Pushing himself off the mat, Akira wonders around the squared circle until he recognizes that the Spirit of Aggression is aggressively…hobbling his way.

 

Yeah hobbling…aggressively.

 

Evidently feeling the effects of the high impact KENTA dropkick, Hunter Rose lunges at Akira with a wild forearm…that actually hits. Staggering forward due to the immense follow through from the forearm, Grendel can only watch as Akira bounces off the ropes…AND RETALIATES WITH A SLICING SPEAR! Tackling the champion to the mat, Akira rolls on top of Grendel for the pin fall.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEE!

 

“Grendel’s GONE!” Mak fires off.

 

Mak would be jumping for joy since he’s a mark for title changes, which would be inventible if the champion got eliminated. However, two significant facts stop the Franchise from doing this. One…he’s crippled.

 

No surprise…yeah.

 

Two, referee Ken Masters tosses his hand up into the air with only two fingers shining into the lights!!!

 

In other words, Mak spoke much too soon. The crowd along with Mr. Kobe has come to the sudden realization that they have underestimated the undefeated enigma. Lifting Grendel off the canvas, Akira pulls the Cruiserweight Champion into a front face lock. Gripping the tights of his opponent, Akira neglects the knee that plunges into his sternum from the mysterious Hunter Rose. Flailing out of the front face lock, Grendel sends a bolt of lighting through Akira in the form of an elbow into the back of his neck. Dropping to one knee due to the pain, Akira is powerless when Grendel pulls the Divine Wind into a front face lock, following it up directly with a swinging neck breaker, and the pin.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREENO!

 

Thrusting his shoulder off the mat much to the crowd’s delight, Akira immediately clutches his neck as Grendel shows off some of his submission ability with a seated dragon sleeper!!!!

 

“Grendel isn’t really known for his submissions…or anything else for that matter. But that dragon sleeper must be excruciating for Akira.” Mak explains.

 

Stomping the mat violently, Akira’s right hand flails like a kite in a thunderstorm as he tries his damnest not to tap. In the nearest corner, Zyon slowly drives himself off that canvas, not in any hurry to help the Divine Wind in an elimination match! Pleading for Akira to not give in, the audience notices Grendel ease into the dreaded sleeper.

 

*CRACK!*

 

“YES!!!!”

 

The audience seemingly screams in unison…INDIA STYLE! Catching the comfortable Grendel off guard, Akira uses his flailing hand to slam back with a miracle right hand that connects to the face of his opponent. Struggling to remain on his feet, Grendel holds on to the top rope for balance. Victorious in his goal to stay in the match, Akira finds himself in a losing battle as he clutches his neck while reaching his wobbly feet.

 

He’s open for attack.

 

Taking the unwarranted time to adjust his mask, Hunter Rose stalks toward Akira who has definitely seen better days. In his progress toward the wounded Japanese warrior, the Assassin makes a quick throat cutting gesture garnering the cheers from his fans…

 

…And the fear from Akira’s. Akira though is the fearless cruiserweight who’s been known to charge into battle head on. This time would be no different. Stabbing the Cruiserweight Champion with a weak toe kick to the sternum, Akira slides his opponent into a standing head scissor, equipped with a double under hook. AND THEN ZYON ATTACKS! Galloping toward the battlefield, Zyon leaps off the lowered back of Grendel, plunging his knee into the astonished (mask or no mask) figure of Akira Kaibatsu.

 

“Listen up Mak, cause you will only hear this once. That was smart of Zyon. He came out of nowhere with an assisted shining wizard, blasting the wounded Akira in the face. It should be easy pickings for the youth if he can gain control of Grendel.” King gives his unbiased opinion…whoa.

 

Floundering to the mat, Akira scratches his mask, checking to make sure nothing is broken. Spinning around, Zyon hustles toward Grendel who is still recovering from being a near victim of the It Came From Sendai! Scooping Grendel off his feet, Zyon spins the Cruiserweight Champion upside down for the Aero Driver. Leeching on to the Unique Youth’s leg, Grendel rolls through catching the fatigued youth off guard with a roll up as he pulls his opponent’s legs over his shoulders!!!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEE…NOOOOOOOO!

 

Erupting out of the pin attempt, Zyon hurries back to his feet as Grendel rolls back to his. Shooting low for a takedown the inexperienced youth foolishly falls into a knee to the face that would leave him WIDE open for attack if it weren’t for Akira who might be slightly more foolish than his American counterpart. With a soft jab to Grendel’s rib area, Akira tries the mother of all roundhouse kicks, which Grendel easily dodges!

 

“Just smell the desperation Mak.”

 

Spinning completely around after the misjudged deathblow, Akira finds himself on top of the Spirit of Aggressions shoulders…you know, the fireman’s carry position!

 

*GASP*

 

Mr. Kobe watches with sweat dripping down every pore visible with a sharp realization that this JAKKED UP Death Valley Driver could finish Akira off like the Divine Wind did to some poor folk back in 2004. Karma has an unbelievable way of ruining a good thing and it seems Akira is going to fall victim to fate…

 

…BUT ZYON SCREWS THAT UP! Blindly walking into what should be the end of Akira, the Unique Youth analysis the situation poorly as Grendel spins around using Akira’s lethal feet to graze the youth across the face! Descending into the second rope, Zyon bounces back placing his shoulder into the sternum of the Assassin. Startling the Cruiserweight Champion, Akira slides down his back, applying a quick reverse front face lock. Using what is left of his deranged luck; Akira hoists Grendel up into a reverse suplex…until cutting him off with a STU…STU…STUNNER!!!!

 

“What the hell was that?”

 

“Wrong move King. That is known as the Kaibatsu Drop. Known to some as a Osaka Streetcutter.” The Franchise brings the INFO!

 

Tossing himself on top of the motionless champ, Akira can’t even hook the leg…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!!!

 

…He didn’t need to.

 

“Grendel has been eliminated!!! There will be a new champion tonight!”

 

“Zyon or Akira. The lesser of two evils…is there anyway Flesher can win. I mean I know he already faced Wildchild. But can we just give Flesher the belt.” The Gambling Man stuns his partner with such foolishness.

 

Grendel rolls out of the ring to the applause of everyone outside the Taj Mahal, and inside for that matter. Witnessing his window of opportunity closing by the second, Zyon rolls out to the ring apron where he begins his ascension up the ropes. With the roar of the crowd behind him the Unique Youth perches himself on the top rope for the FINAL FLASH!!!!

…

 

…Which would be pretty difficult to do with your opponent is standing. Rolling his eyes along with arrogantly shrugging his shoulders, Zyon leaps off the top rope with the offensive position of zilch. Peeking up at his American counterpart, Akira at the final moment before impact spins around DECAPTITATING Zyon with a European uppercut!!!

 

*CRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAACKKKKKK!*

 

Falling on to the youth, Akira can only plead with the wrestling gods that he can have a moment of immortality.

 

OOOONNNNEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

TTTTWWWWWOOOOO!

 

 

 

TTTTTHHHHKKKICKOUT!!!!

 

Immortality…denied. Hoisting the bemused youth off the canvas, Akira hooks his opponent for the Divine Backbreaker! Courageously the maskless youngster from Indiana values what is left of his well being as he counters Akira’s lift attempt with one of his own! Swinging his legs out, Zyon shoves his opponent’s head into the mat with a brilliant snap brainbuster!!!

 

“Oh shit! Even with Grendel gone, Akira’s neck should still be on high alert!” Mak points out the true purpose of the head drop.

 

Rolling on to his limp opponent, Zyon hooks the leg while pressing his weight down for the cover.

 

OOOOONNNNNNEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TTTTWWWWWOOOOOO

 

 

 

 

 

 

TTTTHHHHRRRREEEENOOOOOO!

 

Professional wrestling IS NOT horseshoes, so coming close doesn’t satisfy the radical youngster who forces Akira back to his feet. Sticking his foot in front of Zyon, the swift Divine Wind trips his opponent face first into the mat with a simple push…

 

…But what’s to come is anything, but simple. Crushing the youth’s shoulder plexes with a standing senton, Akira instantly bridges backward for the Cattle Mutilation submission hold, which is usually the second part of the fatal RISING SUN combo!!!!! Placing one arm in the chickenwing, Akira finds the tube that propels the O2 through his body squeezed by Zyon’s other arm! Pushing himself on to his knees, Zyon gradually lifts up on the Divine Wind’s bridge attempt. As the vessel of the Japan bridge breaks down so does Akira’s leverage on the Unique Youth’s other arm!

 

“How does Zyon know how to counter a double chickenwing?”

 

“King, he doesn’t. He knows how to counter a single chickenwing with an upside down single handed chancery.”

 

Well what was once a chancery transforms into a reverse front face lock, which works into Zyon’s strategy perfectly…if he knew what it was. Skipping the obvious dragon sleeper counter, which would damage Akira’s neck even more; Zyon spins around for the Wicked Cutter…

 

…But he doesn’t perform the stunner variation of the move. Instead the spotty cruiserweight takes off for the ropes, running up and then flipping off the ropes for the…GET THIS…the… DIVINE WIND!!!

 

“YEEEEEAAAAHHHHH!”

 

Refusing to let his own move kill him off, Akira hurls the youth backward only for Zyon to land crisply on his feet. Clutching his neck with one hand while using the other to correct his balance as he vaults to the top rope, Akira looks out into the crowd who evenly cheer both men. Ignoring the screws in his neck, the Divine Wind spins off the top rope with…GET THIS…the…NO REGARD corkscrew body attack! Flopping on to his American counterpart with his very own move, Akira stays on for the cover.

 

OONNNNNEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TTTTTWWWWWOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TTTTHHHHHHRRRRREEEEE!!!!

 

…

 

…

 

Gotcha. It’s only a near fall. But boy did I have Mak fooled.

“IT’S OVER!!! Wait, no it’s not….”

 

Clutching the youth by his head, Akira lifts up on the former Cruiserweight Champion only to be surprisingly SCOOPED INTO THE AIR FOR THE AERO DRIVER! Pulsing through his neck would be the pain that comes with a match of this caliber that has everyone on their feet for the moment. They soon leap off of their feet as Akira floats over behind the Unique Youth. With his decorated manager sweating bullets, the Divine Wind spins Zyon around into a ¾ headlock as he takes off for the ropes!

 

*CRRRRRAAACCCCCKKKK!*

 

Reaching across his body, Zyon stops the Japanese warrior in an instant with a SHARP ELBOW to the neck. Shaking violently would be the Divine Wind who almost collapses to the mat, but has the youth to think for his assistance. An assist that is in the form of a reverse face lock. Opting to once again derail his strategy by ignoring the dragon sleeper AND the Wicked Cutter that is in his arsenal, Zyon could be making a grave mistake…

 

…Or could be doing us all one better. Hoisting the Divine Wind so that he is completely upside down, Zyon let’s the former Cruiserweight Champion ponder at the mat and his chances of winning the title…

 

…Before crushing them with a terminal REVERSE BRAINBUSTAAAAA!!

 

“OH SHIT!!”

 

“Mak don’t be such a pussy…I mean you should be used to having a wrestler have all his weight come down on his neck. Hey, that happened to you.” The Gambling Man chuckles.

 

Realizing that the fatal head drop may not be enough to lead to the spirited Kaibatsu’s demise, Zyon rolls backward locking his opponent’s arm in an arm scissors with his legs! Out of body and out of mind, Akira is motionless until the jagged pain in his neck returns in the shape of the GOUKI CROSSFACE!!!! Akira quickly searches for a way out as his heart tells him to fight on…

 

…And then he notices Mak in the corner of his eye…and his brain sends him a career saving opposite signal.

 

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

 

DING DING DING!!!

 

Immediately releasing the hold, Zyon leans against the canvas with a tired, but satisfied definition to his face as it becomes official.

 

“THE WINNER AND NEEEEEEEWWWW SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION…ZYYYON!!!”

 

Funyon barks as the prestigious lightweight title is handed to Zyon who exits the ring. Noticing that his Japanese counterpart could be hurt, Zyon feels a tad bit remorseful…

 

…And then he sees his reflection in the gold…

 

“ZY-ON ZY-ON ZY-ON!”

 

…Along with thousands of India citizens chanting, and he realizes that there is little time to feel sympathetic towards an adversary. Zyon continues up the ramp, hugging the Cruiserweight Title…

 

As we fade to black.

Edited May 18, 2006 by realitycheck

[the.weej 0]

The screen has almost gone dark on the aftermath of the Cruiserweight Championship match. Grendel and Zyon have moved along, leaving only Akira Kaibatsu making his way back to the locker room. All of a sudden...

 

 

BOOM!

 

 

An explosion of blue pyro lights up the Taj Mahal! As the smoke clears, Tom Flesher stands in front of the velvet curtain, wearing his warmup suit and holding a microphone.

 

"What the hell is Flesher doing out here?" asks Mak Francis. "Akira just finished a match."

 

"Listen up, Akira," says Flesher, "because I'm going to cut to the chase. You know why I'm back in the SWF - I want to take back what's mine, whether it's the World Championship, or whether it's just getting back the losses I've given up. You're standing in my way." Flesher struts toward the ring, meeting Akira halfway up the ramp.

 

Akira, still exhausted, looks up, as if to ask, "So what do you want from me?"

 

"But Akira, it's not going to be as easy as it was when I was under the mask... oh no. Because not only am I focused on wrestling, and not on being a two-bit comedy act... not only am I ready to take the division down one cruiser at a time until I get what I want... I didn't come alone this time."

 

With that, Flesher turns toward the curtain, and...

 

"Oh my god!" shouts Suicide King. "That's..."

 

 

 

 

 

Charlie "Grappler" Matthews.

 

 

 

 

 

With that, Flesher throws a palm strike at the exhausted Akira, sending him backwards into the apron. "Come on, Flesh, what are you trying to accomplish?" shouts Mak Francis, but Flesher ignores him and whips Akira into the ringpost, following him in with a Yakuza kick that sandwiches his head between the steel and Flesher's boot! Immediately, Akira crumbles to the thin padding over the concrete. As Matthews jogs down the ramp to the boos of the crowd, Flesher hoists Akira into the air with a Canadian backbreaker rack and then quickly drops to one knee, snapping Akira's back over his shoulder with a derailler! He stands up, then smirks and climbs the stairs onto the apron.

 

"Jesus, Flesher, come on!" shouts Francis, unable to control himself. Still, Matthews lifts Kaibatsu off of the floor and turns him upside down.

 

Then, still smirking, Flesher grabs Akira by the boots. He jumps off the apron as Matthews sits out, and they drill Kaibatsu into the concrete with a spike piledriver! The crowd boos even louder as Akira lays on the floor convulsing, but Flesher merely looks over his shoulder as he goes back up the ramp to pick up the mic, with Matthews following closely behind.

 

"You see, Akira," says Flesher, as a slew of road agents and medical personnel push past him, "I'm not going to be playing Ghost Machine anymore. I'm playing for keeps. And Mr. Matthews here? We're in it together."

 

Trying not to move the brittle cruiser, the road crew hustles a gurney past Flesher, who simply continues backing up the ramp. As they strap Akira down, Mak Francis stares mutely at Flesher, and then at the injured Kaibatsu, and then back at Flesher.

 

The paramedics continue trying to stabilize Kaibatsu's neck in what the fans hope is merely a precaution. Still, as the show fades out, all we see is the young "Divine Wind" incapacitated by a brutal spike piledriver, and all we hear is the voice of Tom Flesher.

 

"We're back... and we're magnificent."

 

===

 

SWF Lockdown, May 17, 2006

© Acid Rayne Productions. All rights reserved.

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation: Raising workrate by typing faster.

[the.weej 0]

Huzzah! Card should be finished faster than a microwave dinner.