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SWF Storm, May 26th, 2006!

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SWF Storm is live in FIVE…

 

 

FOUR…

 

 

THREE…

 

 

TWO…

 

 

ONE…

 

 

*BANG! BANG! BANG! BAM-BAM-BAM-BOOOOOOOOOOM!!*

 

The lights go up, the pyros go off and we are live in Angkor Wat! All around the ancient monument fans are cheering and chanting, and the cameras pan around showing the odd scene.

 

“We’re here on SWF Storm, coming to you from Angkor Wat in Cambodia, and who the hell thought this was a good idea?” Mak Francis says from the commentary position.

 

“What are you talking about?” Suicide King asks, “we’re here in one of the wonders of the world!”

 

“Yeah, in a rainforest with freaking midges,” Mak mutters, “and here’s me with limited mobility.”

 

“Hold still partner,” King soothes him, “I brought some Raid!”

 

*FWWWSSSSSSTTTTTT!*

 

“BASTARD!” Mak coughs. However, the charming on-air camaderie is not to be heard much longer, as a loud chant suddenly rolls out through the Cambodian night sky…

 

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

 

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

 

This is immediately followed by the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire and the huge portable Smarktron that’s been accompanying the SWF on their World Tour briefly whites out, then starts to fade down to black. As it does so jagged white letters flash up a familiar phrase, one word at a time:

 

‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’

 

“Oh God,” Suicide King sighs, “not this idiot again…”

 

However, the Suicide King seems pretty much alone in his distaste, as the assembled Cambodians are going mental now Storm is kicking off with one of the SWF’s biggest names! The tune starts to build, the bass drum kicking louder and louder, and the Smarktron is showing clips of matches that finally culminates in Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the move known then as the Toxxic Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the blast of red pyro-

 

*BOOOM!!*

 

-that announces the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman! The Smarktron is still showing his triumphs, but for all the achievements it is if anything a harsh reminder for the man now making his way out into the view of the crowd.

 

“TOXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

For all the fact that he’s grown his hair, stopped wearing the makeup and started using his own name again, Michael Stephens is still known for what he was before.

 

“TOXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

All the great accomplishments flickering up in two-second clips were done by a man universally hated, a man who looks quite different.

 

“TOXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

But the same man, nonetheless.

 

“On Lockdown we saw Michael Stephens return to the ring when he beat Sean Davis one-on-one,” Mak Francis reminds viewers, “but on Smarkdown things took a turn for the bizarre when during the three-on-two handicap match between Stephens, his sister Amy and Sean Davis versus Tom Flesher and Charlie Matthews, Mike Van Siclen ran in out of nowhere and took both Stephens siblings out with a steel chair!”

 

“And excellent work it was too,” King says approvingly.

 

Michael Stephens has now reached the bottom of the entrance ramp set up in the Cambodian jungle and rolls under the bottom rope into the ring. He doesn’t bother doing his normal pose and igniting the turnbuckles; instead he calls for a microphone, and within a couple of seconds Funyon has obliged him. The man formerly known as Toxxic takes it, raises it to his mouth… and pauses.

 

An odd expression crosses his face for a moment.

 

Then he resumes the motion, and begins to speak:

 

“Y’know, it sometimes seems like things never change,” the man from Nottingham begins. “I mean, I’ve been back in the SWF for two weeks now and already I’m out here at the top of the show, taking up time and shooting my mouth off. I’d really hoped I could avoid doing this sort of thing this time around, but a couple of things have happened that demand my attention, and I want to grab everyone when I’m certain that they’re watching.” He looks up and around at the crowd, as if to make certain that they are watching, then starts speaking again.

 

“Since I’ve returned to the SWF I’ve been the victim of an unprovoked assault by Landon Maddix, I’ve had Mike Van Siclen attempt to perform cranial surgery on me with a blunt instrument, and I’ve seen Tom Flesher and Charlie Matthews give my sister a spike piledriver when the match we were involved in had already been called as a no-contest,” he states bluntly.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Exactly!” the straight-edger agrees, nodding as the crowd voice their displeasure, “I’ll be blunt about it; that fucking sucks! I don’t remember feeling this victimised when I was the World Champion and half the planet wanted my head! But anyway,” he continues, “I’m going to line up all these events and give the people concerned my opinions. Then hopefully,” Stephens says, although he doesn’t sound too hopeful, “we can work this out and I won’t need to bore you all anymore.

 

“Firstly, Mike Van Siclen.”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Mike,” Stephens says, talking over the crowd, “I know you don’t like me. Bloody hell, the feeling’s mutual. And I can understand that you’ve got incredibly bored dazzling the natives with your teeth in Shitsville, Idaho or wherever it was you crawled off to after I retired you. However, I want you to remember one thing; you asked for it, sunshine! It was you who put your career on the line to get a shot at my World Title. Your idea, not mine! So now you feel you can waltz back in to the SWF and take a swing at me, and not just at me, but at my sister, as some sort of payback?” The Briton’s face shows a mixture of anger and genuine puzzlement as he looks around, maybe half-expecting MVS to erupt from the crowd again. “I mean, what were you hoping to achieve? Revenge? Did you want to anger me into having another match with you? Believe me sunshine, I’ve dealt with that a lot lately. All I can say is that you’ll probably end up with my sister smashing those shiny white teeth down your throat, because Amy does not like getting hit in the head by strangers.”

 

“But she’s OK with it from family friends?” Francis asks, puzzled by the possible logical extensions of Stephens’ statement.

 

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” King remarks, “although what would surprise me is if that family had any friends in the first place.”

 

“Next, Tom Flesher,” Stephens says, ignorant of the commentators.

 

“FLESH-ER SUCKS!”

 

“FLESH-ER SUCKS!”

 

“Tom,” Stephens says, talking over the crowd chants again, “and yes, I’m talking to you rather than Grappler because I know you better. Tom, why did you go and take out Amy on Monday? Why? The match, such as it was, was over. I haven’t heard any evidence that you want to go after her Hardcore Gamer’s Title, so it’s not even like you’re trying to soften up the champion. The only thing I can think of is that you’re just indulging your misogynistic, arsehole-ish ways on the basis that, at that point in time, you could.

 

“Well nuh-uh. Ain’t happening no more, sunshine.”

 

“TOXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

Michael Stephens’ face has changed. There is a certain stony determination visible there now, that of a man who has made a hard decision but one that he thinks is right. It’s far from the almost gleeful excitement that was present in the Toxxic of old where he seemed to feed off any adversity, whether from the crowd or from an opponent, but something has changed since his soft words of a couple of weeks ago.

 

“Y’see Tom, I’m not prepared to let this one go,” the former World Champion informs all those listening, “because I know this isn’t limited to me or even Amy. You’ve already done the same thing to Akira. Now on a personal level, I’ll be honest, I don’t know Akira Kaibatsu and I’ve got no real reason to be bothered if you should seriously injure him, but it’s more the principle that’s at stake. Because as far as I can see you’re going around doing what you’re doing because you believe that you’re better, that you’re Superior to the rest of the Federation, and you can do whatever you bloody well please.

 

“Odd thing, Tom. I remember us going one-on-one back in 2004, the only time we ever have. And I remember me beating you.”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“You know what else I remember?” Stephens asks, raising his voice to be heard, “I remember a couple of weeks after that where it was you, me and Janus wrestling for the World Heavyweight Title. And guess what, I remember me getting the winning pinfall over you!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“So if I’m right and you really do just think that you can do whatever you want, whenever you want, to whoever you want simply because you think you’re better, then I appear to have found a flaw in your logic, sunshine!” Mike bites off. “I’m not going to sit by and watch you get your kicks at other people’s expense, and you should know from the past, when I’ve wrestled you and when I’ve wrestled for you while you were booking Smarkdown, that I can and will back it up in any ring, at any time, in any match you care to name!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“…but I’d rather not.”

 

The atmosphere changes, from jubilant enthusiasm to confusion. Everyone heard Michael Stephens’ fighting talk, heard him declare his opposition to Tom Flesher’s callous treatment of the SWF roster, heard him proclaim his willingness to face Tom Flesher in the ring over it. Now, they’re not quite sure what they heard.

 

“You see Tom, I don’t want to do it like that,” Stephens says, his voice pitched back to a normal level. “You’re a hell of a wrestler - a complete arsehole, but a hell of a wrestler - and I can still remember that one match we had together, one-on-one. It was one of the toughest of my career, and it wasn’t even for the World Title. It was just for bragging rights between us. If we get into the ring and go head-to-head again, I don’t want it to be because we’re at odds. I don’t want it to be because you’re throwing your weight around and risking injury to talented wrestlers for the hell of it, and I’m stepping in to stop you. I want it to be a wrestling match, pure and simple; someone on the booking committee deciding that they want to put us in the ring to see who’s best at that moment in time.”

 

“I have to say, I’d like to see that,” Mak Francis admits.

 

“He’s lying,” Suicide King responds.

 

“I’m not!”

 

“Not you,” the Gambling Man says, rolling his eyes, “him! Toxxic, or Michael Stephens, or whatever! He’s just trying to fool Tom, that’s all…”

 

“TOXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

With the prospect of a Flesher/Stephens match having been mentioned the crowd seem to feel that they should show who they’d support in the event of such a match. Stephens looks around as the chants grow again, then shakes his head slightly. Possibly sadly.

 

“Finally… Landon Maddix.”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Landon,” Stephens begins, “well, I’ve already said my piece on Landon. I’ve explained why I don’t want to face him again, why I’ve no intention of facing him again no matter what he says or does. I said that ten days ago on Lockdown, and as yet I’ve heard nothing from Landon on the matter. Nothing. Zip. I haven’t seen him, I haven’t read an interview with him. However,” the straight-edger continues, “all the rumours, all the whispers, all the gossip… that all points at one thing. That Landon still wants to get me in the ring, and he’s still figuring out how to do it.”

 

Slowly, probably without thinking about it, one black-nailed hand comes up to rest on the back of Michael Stephens’ neck. He has a tendency to crack it from side to side in moments of stress or excitement, and it’s possible that there’s a slight ache there. On the other hand, it may be more likely that he’s thinking about what Landon Maddix wants to do to him; indeed, what he so very nearly did to Landon Maddix over a year ago.

 

“Landon, something occurred to me the other day,” Stephens says, “just something I remembered. It was an interview you gave to Ben Hardy, I can’t be sure exactly when it was but I think it was just before Slay Ride, no more than a couple of weeks before you challenged for the World Title that I held at the time. In that interview you were playing with Ben; you talked about having a ‘dark side’ that no-one knew about, and you actually got him believing you before you let him know what a tool he was and that you’d just been messing with him. I’ll admit,” the Englishman continues, “I laughed at that interview; it made me chuckle. More because I couldn’t see how someone as goofy as you could be a threat to me, which admittedly was a mistake on my part,” he shrugs, “but also because the idea of Landon Maddix, Landon Maddix as some evil psychopath was just ludicrous.

 

“Fast forward a year or so, and what do we see? Well, I’d say the situation has changed a little,” Stephens declares. “Landon, I don’t think you hold a grudge for over a year without a ‘dark side’. I don’t think you screw someone’s sister in an attempt to mess with their head without a ‘dark side’. I don’t think you beat someone’s sister so badly that you get her blood on the World Title you happen to own, and then carry that title belt around with the blood still on it, without a ‘dark side’.”

 

The man formerly known as the Straight-Edge Sensation looks up, and his steel-grey eyes bore directly into the camera for a second before he looks away and continues his statement.

 

“Landon, I know for a bloody fact that you don’t deliberately try and break someone’s neck without there being a dark side to you. I remember, back then, I had a little phrase I used to taunt you with. I used to call you ‘just a cheap imitation of me’. These days… these days I guess you’re not doing so bad.

 

“So tell me. How does it feel to get up in the morning, go to the bathroom, look in the mirror and find me staring back at you?”

 

It has gone quiet inside Angkor Wat. The crowd aren’t making much noise anymore, caught up in the honesty of Michael Stephens’ words. The man himself is looking down at the canvas, perhaps too caught up in his own thoughts to pay much attention to the TV cameras anymore.

 

“Landon, you never used to be like this. Goofy; yes. Annoying; yes. When it came down to it, a pretty good wrestler; yes. But you never had the sort of callous disregard for the safety of others that you’ve been displaying recently. I mean c’mon,” the Englishman says, the ghost of a smile returning briefly, “you’re Landon Maddix! You hit people with baguettes in hardcore matches! Is that really such a bad legacy to have?

 

“Maybe it is, from your point of view. Maybe you really aren’t going to rest until you’ve somehow got me where you want me,” the straight-edger nods mournfully, “and believe it or not, I can relate to that. It’s exactly how I felt two years ago. So I’ll give you one warning now, and please don’t take this the wrong way; it’s not meant to be patronising, it’s not meant to be antagonistic, it’s simply because at the moment, I’ve been there and you haven’t.

 

“The simple fact is that to get rid of me, to truly eliminate me from your life, you’ll have to become just as bad, just as hard, just as cruel as I ever was. Maybe you think you can live with that. I have a feeling that you’ll be proved wrong… and not by me.” Michael Stephens looks up, looks around at the subdued crowd, and a grimace twists his face.

 

“OK, I’m done. Go to commercials or something. I’m outta here.”

 

And with that he drops the microphone, rolls under the bottom rope and heads for the backstage area. As he walks up the ramp between the fans he looks to neither right nor left, and disappears from view without looking back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

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SWF STORM!

Live, Friday, May 26, from Angkor Wat in Angkor, Cambodia!

(6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings)

 

The "spiritual enlightenment" leg of the SWF World Tour continues as SWF Storm comes to you LIVE from Angkor Wat in Cambodia!

 

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

 

Non-Title But Still Totally Awesome Main Event

Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix © vs. Zyon ©

-> The newly crowned Cruiserweight Champion vs. The (somewhat) newly crowned World Heavyweight Champion! Two of the SWF's top stars duke it out - gold may not be on the line (yet), but pride and a buttload of ranking points are!

Rules: Standard singles match.

 

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

 

JJ Johnson © vs. Sean Davis

-> Oh boy. Oooooh boy. Aecas snakes the win out from under JJ Johnson, and I imagine Sir Johnsonosity is NOT pleased with this. Nor is he pleased with the fact that Aecas don't work on no Storms, delaying his mandatory rematch! Sean Davis steps in, hoping to take advantage of JJ's hotheaded state to pick up a huge win, and establish himself in the International Championship scene!

Rules: Standard singles match.

 

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

 

Grendel vs. "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke

-> Two big names collide - Grendel, the rookie who got off to a hot hot start, and Jay Hawke, the veteran looking to put him in his place on his way back up the ladder! Take your pick - barn burner, slobberknocker, show stopper, Match of the Night - any and/or all could be applicable!

Rules: Standard singles match.

 

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

 

SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH

House Rules - The Search For En-Fight-Enment!

Amy Stephens © vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins © vs. Manson

-> Let me just shorten the description by saying this - Spike Jenkins is fucked. Amy's got beef with him, Manson's got beef with him, and tonight they'll be going after him inside the Therevada Buddhist temple. No holds barred and the Hardcore Title is on the line - just as Buddha would have wanted.

Rules: Theravada Rules. The inside of the temple will be adorned with dozens, nay, HUNDREDS, of Buddha statues, of varying sizes, shapes, and materials. The first man to break a Buddha idol over each of his opponents heads is the winner!

 

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

 

Bruce Blank and Bloodshed vs. David Cross and Stryke

-> This can't be right. A tag team match? Absurd! Are we actually attempting to stimulate the division? Perish the thought! tongue.gif

 

Bruce Blank is back, but considering his condition in recent weeks, we thought it might be better to start him off with some help, and there's no better help for the king of Ultraviolence than a man like Bloodshed! They take on two crowd favorites in what should turn out to be a BIG TAG TEAM [email protected]

Rules: Standard tag team match.

 

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

 

OPENING BOUT - Cruiserweight Rules

Tom Flesher vs. Insane Luchador

-> Coming off a hard loss to Wildchild, and a... something... at the five-man tag, Tom's comeback isn't everything he'd hoped it to be just yet. Tonight, he battles once again under Cruiserweight rules, this time against the perpetually down but never really out Insane Luchador!

Rules: Standard, with Cruiserweight Addenda.

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DING DING!!!

 

The fans cheer as the house lights go down, heralding the beginning of tonight's show! "Ladies and gentlemen," says Funyon, "tonight's opening contest is scheduled for one fall, and will be contested under CRUISERWEIGHT RULES!"

 

“Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains begins to play. As the song kicks up, black and red fireworks light up Cambodia, and Andrew Rickmen steps out of the entrance. He milks the cheers for a few seconds before throwing his arms into the air energetically. Then, he sprints to the ring, slapping the fans hands, and slides under the bottom rope. He goes around each corner, saluting the fans, as Funyon announces, "Hailing from Easton, Pennsylvania, and weighing in at 221 pounds... his name is Andrew Rickmen, but you know him as the INSAAAAAAAAAAAANE LUCHADOR!"

 

"Here we are in beautiful Cambodia," says the Suicide King, sounding utterly bored with the whole affair.

 

"Beautiful? Damn it, King, I've never tried so hard to find a wheelchair ramp."

 

The fans continue cheering as Rickmen looks to the entrance, pumping his fists and shouting for his opponent to come to the ring. The lights go down, and once again, the site is silent.

 

"LADIES and gentlemen," comes the loud and abrasive voice, as the fans turn to the entrance only to see James Matheson standing in front of the curtain.

 

"Well, we should have expected this," says Mak Francis. "He's hooked up with Charlie Matthews, so of course we're going to be seeing this bastard hanging around."

 

"You all know who Insane Luchador's opponent is tonight," Matheson says. "He's a man who needs no introduction... but he deserves one anyway. Twice the Heavyweight Champion of the World, former holder of the Intercontinental-Television Title, Cruiserweight Championship, Light-Heavyweight Championship, and Tag Team Championship... he is superior... he is award-winning... and ladies and gentlemen, he is MAGNIFICENT! I give you your friend and mine, TOM FLESHER!!!!!!!!!"

 

With that, Matheson stands aside as the familiar blue explosion lights up the Cambodian countryside, accompanying the percussive opening of Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir." With his trademark smirk, Flesher walks through the curtain and strides confidently to the ring, Matheson following behind him. Flesher climbs the steps into the ring, wiping his feet off on the apron before entering, and picks up the microphone that Funyon left on the side of the ring.

 

"Andrew, Andrew, Andrew," he says, as the music fades out. "Come on, do you really want to do this? You and me, we're friends, Andrew. We drink together. You don't want to test out your new style with me, do you? Someone you've never beaten? Someone you've faced God knows how many times since 2002? You need to work your way up. Go beat up on someone clueless, like Maddix or Grendel or Akira. But hell, if this is what you want, Andrew, let's get it underway."

 

"Tough talk from the Superior One," says Suicide King. "But, of course, it's not as tough beating a perennial loser like Rickmen."

 

"Give IL some credit," Francis says. "He's been around longer than you or I have, and he's trying to work his way up. If part of that is reinventing himself, then you gotta do what you gotta do."

 

With that, Flesher backs away and strips off his warm-up suit, then steps back to the center of the ring.

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

Flesher and Rickmen circle around each other for a few seconds before Flesher drops down to one knee and lunges forward, grabbing his opponent by the ankle and taking him to the mat with a low single-leg takedown. Flesher keeps the leg, transitioning smoothly into an ankle lock!

 

"Flesher's just a well-oiled machine," King says, as the Superior One holds the leg up and continues torquing the ankle. "The Insane Luchador isn't going to be able to withstand this kind of assault."

 

"He's been working it in the training room," Mak replies. "He's so quick and so flexible that a methodical guy like Flesh might not see it coming. Besides, Tommy's slowed down a lot since his last time in the ring. Wildchild saw that and worked it."

 

Rickmen grimaces, caught off-guard by the early attack, but quickly begins crawling to the ropes. Flesher tries to pull him back, but the Pennsylvania native quickly lunges for the ropes and grabs the bottom cable. Immediately, Red Herrington begins counting.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

Shaking his head, Flesher releases the heel hook and takes a step back.

 

"Rickmen escapes the first of what will surely be many submissions," says Suicide King. "Tom Flesher is all about attrition, and there's no way he can take ten, twenty minutes of this abuse."

 

IL grabs the middle rope and begins pulling himself to his feet. Flesher stays close, however, and quickly grabs onto his arm. Before Rickmen can react, Tom pivots and sends him to the ropes with an Irish whip! Rickmen rebounds, only to run right into a picture-perfect Railgun suplex! Flesher arches back, tossing Andrew through the air and slamming him to the mat! Flesher rolls over, making the cover.

 

 

ONE!!

 

 

 

Rickmen kicks out and rolls to his stomach. Flesher crouches down behind him, grabbing him around the waist for a German suplex! As he lifts Rickmen, however, the Ill One drops his hips and spins around, hitting a standing switch and ending up behind his foe! He tightens his grip and starts to arch backwards, only to have Flesher grasp him by both wrists and sag his hips the same way. Instead of hitting a switch, though, Flesher tucks his head and rolls forward!

 

"Beautiful Granby roll!" marvels King, as Flesher rolls through, grabbing Rickmen's ankle once again! He stands up into another heel hook! This time, Rickmen lunges forward quickly, escaping Flesher's submission before he can fully apply it.

 

"Told ya he was quick," says Francis with a smirk.

 

Flesher, however, quickly changes up the game plan and dives forward, hammering an elbow into Rickmen's back! The Luchador grimaces, arching his back, but Flesher maintains his position and crouches down. He grabs Rickmen around the waist and lifts him off the mat in a gutwrench position. As he flips his adversary, Flesher drops quickly to one knee, nearly snapping the lanky skater with a gutwrench backbreaker! Still calm, Flesher walks away from Rickmen and begins chatting with Matheson.

 

"And look at that," says King. "Even a man as accomplished as Flesher is still willing to take direction from his manager."

 

As Flesher talks to Matheson, Rickmen starts to get to his feet. Flesher sighs, shaking his head, and walks back over to Rickmen before walloping him in the jaw with a shotei!

 

"Well," says King, "the Looch couldn't beat Flesher in the suplex department. Now, it looks like he's going to give him a chance to stand up and strike with him."

 

"That's a mistake," snickers Francis.

 

Flesher whips the momentarily-stunned Luchador to the corner and follows him in, leaving his feet and nailing him with an avalanche that knocks his wind out. He backs away, stepping into the center of the ring and waving at the Insane One to come at him.

 

"Look at the egotism," the Franchise spits. "Flesher's just trying to embarass Rickmen tonight."

 

"... your point?" asks King.

 

Francis sighs, exasperated.

 

"I mean, hell," King says, "it's the INSANE LUCHADOR. Isn't embarrassing him the POINT?"

 

Rickmen stands back up, and Flesher cockily advances toward him. As he does, the Insane Luchador jumps up and dropkicks him in the chest! Flesher stumbles backwards, but IL sprints to the ropes before he can regain his senses. He leaps off the canvas and grabs Flesher's head, taking him to the mat with a tornado DDT! The crowd cheers the Luchador's attack, even as Flesher avoids the cover by rolling to the nearest corner.

 

"The Insane Luchador comes out of nowhere and puts Flesher on the ropes!" says Francis, as Tom stands up in the corner. Rickmen sprints at him and dives to the mat, rolling and looking for a koppo kick! Flesher evades the kick by ducking out between the ropes. Rickmen whips into the corner, stunning himself as Flesher calmly leans back in. He looks at Rickmen, then shrugs and lifts him back to his feet before slamming him into the corner. He keeps his opponent momentarily out of it by whacking him with another palm strike before taking a step back to measure him up.

 

"Always calm, cool and collected," says King, "Tom Flesher is capable of keeping a match in his favor no matter what's going on."

 

Flesher grabs IL by the wrist and lifts it over his head, depositing the arm where it's least likely to do anything useful before stepping in and hammering his opponent in the ribs with a devastating shin kick! IL curls up, grimacing in pain, but Flesher once again nails him with a shin kick to the ribcage. This time, the kick draws a shout from Rickmen before he finds a way to control himself and begins gritting his teeth to avoid showing the pain. He steps forward, trying to avoid another kick to the ribs. This time, though, Flesher merely attacks from another angle, nailing him with a shin kick to the small of his back! IL arches his back, and Flesher takes a step back to admire his handiwork.

 

"One of the things Flesher has been working on in training is his kicking ability," says Suicide King. "He's learning to rely more on different types of strikes... hence the kickpads on his shins. He's also switched out from using the familiar Doc Martens and he's wearing standard Asics wrestling shoes again."

 

Flesher grabs the Luchador with a three-quarter facelock, as if to execute a Diamond Cutter, but instead drops to one knee and pulls his opponent over and onto the mat with a snapmare! He takes a few steps back, then sprints forward to throw a stiff kick straight into his spine! Rickmen's back curls up and he lets loose with a blood-curdling scream, cut short only by a second place-kick straight to the back! The Insane Luchador's face is contorted into a mask of agony as Flesher backs up. He sprints at his foe once more and kicks as hard as he can, absolutely slamming his foot into the spine! This time, Rickmen collapses to the mat, grabbing his back. He looks up at Flesher, who shrugs, feigning sympathy.

 

"Andrew Rickmen is showing astonishing resilience," says Francis. "I mean, the kid's just taking more and more from Flesher, but he's still all the way in it."

 

No one apparently told this to Flesher, however. He drops a vicious knee into Rickmen's back, causing the Insane Luchador to curl up in pain. Flesher stands up, then drops another knee onto Rickmen, curving his spine. Rickmen arches up, in obvious pain. Flesher, however, takes a step back. Rickmen stands up, then turns to Flesher.

 

"He's just not going to give up," says King. "Someone should tell him that he can't take all this abuse."

 

"Come on," says Francis. "We've seen him come back from worse."

 

Flesher, though, isn't willing to take any chances. He grabs Rickmen by the wrist and nails him with a short-arm palm strike that puts him back on the mat! Undeterred, Rickmen tries to stand back up, and is helped along by Flesher, who pulls him into another short-arm shotei! Showing only the faintest signs of being stunned, Rickmen stands up once again. This time, Flesher keeps the arm and pivots, dropping to his knees and throwing Rickmen down in front of him with a judo-style ippon seionage! Rickmen stays on his behind, seated in front of Flesher, who snakes his hand under the extended arm and into a half-nelson. Immediately, the crowd lets loose with an "oooooh!"

 

"This isn't good for the Looch," says Francis. "I've used that cobra clutch since I turned pro, and the thing's nearly impossible to break. He better get out of this before Flesher cinches it up."

 

"Not bloody likely," says King.

 

Flesher presses a knee into Rickmen's back, pulls the extended arm across his neck and locks on a cobra clutch! Sensing what's coming, Rickmen begins flailing and squirming, trying to escape from the hold before the Superior One can sink in his bodyscissors! Before he can escape, though, Flesher shoots a leg around the Insane One's waist and falls to the mat before throwing his other leg over Rickmen's hip and locking on his scissors grip!

 

"THERE IT IS!" shouts King! "The King Cobra! This one's over!"

 

The Insane Luchador, however, has other ideas. His eyes are clear as he rolls from side to side, reaching for the ropes any way he can find them. He extends each leg, trying to hook the bottom rope that's easily three feet away. He reaches out, trying to grab the ropes with his free hand. As his movements become more labored, he grabs at Flesher's foot, trying to break the bodyscissors that are restricting his motion, but to no avail. He reaches up to try to break the lock holding his arm across his own throat, but the technical master keeps the wristlock on as tight as he can. As Rickmen rolls, trying desperately to get to the sidelines, Flesher arches his back, moving the scissors grip down to Rickmen's hips. Now, rather than just immobilized, Rickmen finds himself being bent in half while Flesher chokes him out!

 

"Oh, come on," says King. "Why doesn't the little bugger just tap, for god's sake?"

 

"It's not his style," says Francis. "He's not about to tap out just now, not over this."

 

Rickmen reaches up, desperately trying to break the lock on his wrist. As he does, it becomes apparent that he doesn't have enough left in him. Finally, Flesher cranks back once more, and Rickmen's eyes close.

 

"That King Cobra is DEADLY," says Francis, as Red Herrington drops to one knee and lifts the limp arm in a mere formality.

 

He lifts it once... and it falls.

 

He lifts it twice... and it falls.

 

He lifts it a third time, holding it in the air for an extra second.

 

And once again, it falls. Herrington calls for the bell.

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

Immediately on hearing the bell ring, Flesher releases the pressure of the hold and disentangles himself. James Matheson enters the ring, and as Herrington raises Flesher's arm, Matheson hands his protege a handkerchief. With a smirk, Flesher wipes the sweat off his brow before looking expectantly to Funyon.

 

"The winner of this contest, by submission... TOM FLESHER!!!!!!!!!!"

 

Flesher keeps his arms in the air as Mak Francis says, "Tom Flesher picks up the win with the King Cobra, but Andrew Rickmen didn't tap out. He came out here trying to show Flesher up on his feet, and then on the mat, but..."

 

"... but he better hit the weights and get himself a decent coach before he tries that again," snickers King. "He's trying to change up his style, but he hit the immovable object tonight."

 

"We'll see how the Looch recovers from this one," Francis replies, "but tonight, Tom Flesher takes the duke."

 

As Matheson and Flesher step out of the ring, Rickmen starts to regain consciousness. Flesher looks over his shoulder once more, and with a smirk, continues walking back to his locker room as the show fades to commercial.

Edited by chirs3

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Somewhere in the vast temple of the Angkor Wat sits a makeshift office for the SWF’s one and only Commissioner Joseph Peters. Despite being in what is considered amongst the locals to be somewhat of a holy place, Peters is in an overwhelmingly foul mood tonight. Much to his dismay, there’s a rap at his door.

 

“Go away!” Peters yells.

 

“It’s Ced Ordonez… could I speak with you please?”

 

“What is it?”

 

“It’s just… I… could I just come in?” Ced pursues the idea of entering the office. “It’d be a lot easier to talk to you if there wasn’t a door in between us, and this is kind of important.”

 

“Fine, come in. Make it quick, though,” Peters warns.

 

The door to the office shuts tight behind the Bemani Cross Wizard, who enters wearing casual clothing, but an expression across his face that seems to show a bit of stress.

 

“Mr. Peters, sir.” Ordonez coughs. “I’ve been on this world tour with the SWF since the beginning and you’re yet to schedule me for a match. Why is that?”

 

“Well… how can I put this without hurting your feelings.” Peters smirks. “You’re not very important. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to say that you’re a bad person or anything. It’s just that you don’t exactly put the butts in the seats, you know? Let me explain something to you Ced… in this day and age, the SWF is all about capital.”

 

“Capital?”

 

“Yeah, capital… profits, you know? We’ve got to make money, and quite frankly you’re not exactly a big seller. This world tour, it costs money. The wrestlers in the locker rooms, cost money. You see what I’m getting at here?”

 

“Yes, but…” Ced trails off.

 

“But what?”

 

“Well… you’re paying me to be here for something. Wouldn’t it be just as well to let me actually wrestle?”

 

“You’re a referee now,” Peters reminds the young Sacramento native. “You’ve got no business going out there and wrestling.”

 

“I know… I’ve just got the bug tonight.”

 

“All right, fine. I’m not going to let you risk yourself, though. I’ll send out Matt Myers and let you bounce him around the ring for a little while. Will that make you happy?”

 

“That’s great!” Ced says with glee, “thank you, sir! Thank you!”

 

“You’re welcome…” Peters looks back up at Ced. “Well…”

 

“Well what?”

 

“Get out!” Peters yells, driving the young referee back and out of the office. He simply shakes his head before returning back to his work as we fade to commercial.

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”All this and also this handy booklet on how YOU can create your own handy secret wrestling identity for only 7 easy payments of $49.95” the masked Question Mark Man explains as he points to a table full of various black shirts, white paints the masks of Grendel, Ghost Machine V2.0, Laberinto and other “blink and you missed them” mystery gimmicks.

 

“But only if you call now, supplies are limited! Be like Landon Maddix and create your own kewl masked secret identity!! It’s a surefire way to a world title!!”

 

*Fade back to Storm*

 

“Welcome back to the number one rated wrestling show in this time slot!” Mak Francis says putting the hype in hyper. . . or something.

 

“Wow you’re really out on a limb with that comment Mak” King says sarcastically, then he adds “Instead of dwelling on Mak’s incredibly lame hype job lets move on shall we?”

 

“Fine!” Mak says “I thought it was excellent” he mumbles as we go to the ring.

 

Funyon steps over the top rope, then gives the crowd a quick wave since he KNOWS they’re all here to see him more than anyone else on the card, he is the “Golden Tongue” after all. With a knowing smirk Funyon raises the microphone up to deliver the introductions for the tag-team match.

 

“The following tag-team match is scheduled for ONE FALL with a 30 minute time limit. Introducing first at a combined weight of. . . “ Funyon stops for a moment to add the two figures together using his fingers before continuing “Four Hundred aaaaaaand Fourtyfive pounds – Christian Fury and STRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKEEEEEEEEEERR!!”

 

Fort Minor’s “Remember the Name” kicks in at the same time as a wall of white and blue pyrotechnics illuminates the entire arena / temple.

 

“It’s a good thing this is a stone temple or we may not have been allowed to shoot off fireworks in such an old building” Mak comments as Fury and Stryke step through the smoke and sparks, Stryke briefly stops to raise a hand and greet the fans.

 

STRY-KAAAAAAAAAH!! STRY-KAAAAAAAAAH!! STRY-KAAAAAAAAAH!!

 

“What the hell? Stryke getting a reaction?” King says as he spits out a mouthful of Pepsi MAX in surprise.

 

“We’re in Cambodia, they don’t have any “Hometown heroes” King, I guess Australia is close enough” Mak surmises as a vocal section of the crowd chant for the Australian Ace.

 

While Stryke gives a few fans the thrill of a high five Fury seems to be a bit more business like as he just heads to the ring and slides under the bottom rope while Stryke takes an extra moment to wave to the fans before leaping over the top rope into the ring. The two start to lay some sort of plan in their corner as “Remember the Name” slowly fades out.

 

“Has anyone actually SEEN Bruce since he got sprung from the mental asylum?” King asks hoping that Mak might know.

 

“I don’t think so, but I’ve heard he was in a really bad state when Wayne and the others got him out” Mak replies relaying the sparse information he has.

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAND their opponents weighing in at a combined weight of 525 pounds The Apostle and the King of Pain bring their blend of violence and violence to the ring this is

 

” Move bitch, get out the way

Get out the way bitch, get out the way”

 

Ludacris’ “Move Bitch” blares over the PA system as Wayne Blank steps into the arena wearing Bruce’s cowboy hat and a confident grin as he waits for his brother to appear. A moment later the curtains are violently thrown to the side and Bruce Blank walks out. A dirtier, rattier looking Bruce Blank that is in his dirty gray boiler suit with the number 4775 on it, a more haunted looking Bruce Blank with deep dark lines under his eyes, a more focused Bruce Blank as he just marches straight for the ring without looking left or right.

 

“What the HELL happened to him? Are we sure this is the same guy?” King asks promptly setting off 800 internet rumors about Bruce Blank dying and being replaced by someone else.

 

“I want to know what that title around his waist is” Mak says as he notices what’s strapped around Bruce’s waist.

 

One of the camera men apparently heard Mak’s comments as he moves in to get a close-up of the belt around Bruce Blank’s waist. It reads:

 

“OAOAST 6 Man Tag-Team Championship”

 

“Are you kidding me? What the hell is he doing wearing that thing in the SWF?” Mak says all indignant on behalf of the SWF and anyone who watches the SWF.

 

“You know I heard that he was spreading terror there as well. . . holy shit!”

 

“What?? What??” Mak confusedly asks.

 

But before King can say anything the lights in the arena are turned off, leaving only a single solitary red spotlight on focused on the middle of the ring, Focused on Bloodshed as he suddenly appears with his trench coat open, revealing that he is wearing an identical title belt.

 

“I heard that Blank had invaded OAOAST with Todd Cortez and. . . and Bloodshed!” King says.

 

“You mean to tell me that these two have teamed up before?” Mak asks.

 

“They have, hell they’re tag-team, well 6 man tag-team champions in OAOAST – I didn’t think they’d bring those trinkets with them here thought” King replies.

 

Blood immediately lives up. . . or maybe lives DOWN to his reputation as he dives for Akira’s legs hoping to take the Japanese superstar down before the match has even started, before he has even removed his trenchcoat or belt. Bloodshed may be fast, but Fury came prepared o figt and simply sidesteps his charging opponent like he was a bullfighter and Bloodshed was a small bull.

 

“OLE!!” Mak yells out

 

“Man you’re such a walking cliché machine” King grumbles.

 

Bloodshed turns around, but instead of charging ahead once more he motions for Fury to try and attack him instead and then strikes a defensive stance. Fury paces and back and forth in front of Bloodshed before he approaches Bloodshed looking like he’s ready to lock up with his opponent. Bloodshed doesn’t seem very interested in mixing it up collar and elbow style so he rolls forward and then up to his feet again behind Fury and then turns to throw a blow at Stryke who leaps off the apron to stay out of harms way.

 

“EYES ON THE PRIZE BLOODSHED!!” King yells out as Fury comes at Bloodshed fast and furious.

 

But Bloodshed has already seen Christian Fury and ducks under the attempted clothesline and then counters with a spin kick aimed straight at Fury’s face the moment his foe turns around. Fury deftly avoids the foot and replies with a swift drop kick of his own.

 

A drop kick that Bloodshed Blank out of by bending over backwards, bridging out like his name was Keanue and he had mastered the Matrix.

 

“Damn he’s fast!” King says

 

“Fury’s just as fast King!” Mak counters as Fury sweeps Bloodshed’s legs out from under him.

 

With Bloodshed down Fury launches into a series of kicks, each aimed straight at Bloodshed’s sternum, each of them hitting nothing but canvas as the lighting fast Bloodshed rolls out of the way of each and every blow. Only Fury’s own lightning quick reflexes allows him to leap over Bloodshed’s legs as he tries to sweep Christian Fury’s legs.

 

“Man a lot of wind but not much impact” Mak says as the two fast superstars just haven’t been able to get a hold of each other.

 

“Kinda like a taco platter eh?”

 

Fury backs off his opponent, allowing Bloodshed to get back to his feet while removing his trenchcoat and title, now it’s down to serious business!

 

“Big mistake!” King says and then elaborates “Never give your opponent a break, NEVER EVER!”

 

“Sounds like something you’d say” Mak replies.

 

“I just did, are you deaf? Give the guy a break and it’ll come back to bite you in the ass”

 

Bloodshed approaches Fury with his hands raises to initiate a collar and elbow tie up, but the moment the two make contact Bloodshed ducks under Fury’s arms and plants square in Fury’s midsection with a loud thud. He then quickly follows up by grabbing Fury by the hair and the shoulder with the intention of slamming Christina Fury’s face into the turnbuckle. But intent doesn’t match up with reality as Fury is able to put a foot up on the middle turnbuckle to break Bloodshed’s momentum, a back elbow breaks his grip on Fury and then an elbow to the chest of Bruce Blank who looked like he was ready to interfere frees Christian Fury of the enemy corner.

 

“He doesn’t look happy about that!” King says as Bruce swings one of his beefy fists at Fury

 

*POW!!*

 

“Oh my Lord!” is all Mak can say as the blow strikes the unprepared Christian Fury square in the face sending him to the ground like he had been shot.

 

“HE’S NOT DONE YET!!” King yells out as Bruce ducks through the ropes to try and attack Fury further.

 

His onslaught is only halted by Wayne Blank who leaps up on the apron and wraps his arms around Bruce’s waist trying his best to keep the very agitated and pissed off Bruce out of the ring. Bruce’s fists flail left and right as he loses any and all cool he had at the start of the match and it’s only through Wayne’s quick intervention that the big man doesn’t just enter the ring to knock everyone down.

 

“Jesh he’s a mad man, he’s a maniac” Mak says as the referee and Wayne Blank try their best to keep Bruce on the apron.

 

“I just hope he doesn’t get his team disqualified” King says revealing that he’s not that worried about Bruce’s mental state or anything.

 

With the referee distracted by the near 300 pound berserker Bloodshed turns his attention to Christian Fury who’s still on the ground. Bloodshed puts his boot on Fury’s face and then rakes it across Fury’s nose and eyes with a sadistic smile on his face. Wayne manages to pull Bruce to the ground while talking to him all the time, trying to calm the beast with his words as best he can.

 

PSYCHOOOOOOOOOOO!! PSYCHOOOOOOOOOOO!! PSYCHOOOOOOOOOOO!!

 

“Oh come on now how is that helping anything” King complains.

 

“They call it like they see it”

 

Bloodshed doesn’t let up for a moment as he drags Fury up onto his knees, then wraps his arm around Fury’s head, hooks the leg and then pulls backwards hard with a Side Russian leg sweep that takes Fury almost 180 degrees from being face down on the canvas to crashing down on his back and neck only a split second later. With the momentum solidly cemented in his favor Bloodshed quickly scales the turnbuckles, balancing on the top rope for a moment before flipping forwards for the Relapse

 

“FURY MOVED!!” Mak yells out as Christian Fury manages to move far enough out of the way for Bloodshed to hit nothing but canvas.

 

“He ate canvas but more importantly he’s given Fury an opening to get out of there” King says as Fury rolls over towards his corner while Bloodshed gets back to his feet.

 

Stryker has one hand on the tag rope and the other hand stretched so far into the ring as he possibly can yelling at Fury to tag him in. In a very uncharacteristic move Bloodshed just stands there and watches as Fury gets closer to his corner, almost as if he WANTS Fury to tag out and let the fresh man in the ring. The moment Fury touches Stryker’s hand the Aussie leaps over the top rope into the ring.

 

“Why the hell is Bloodshed smiling? What’s so damn funny?” Mak asks as he seems to get annoyed by the smile on Bloodshed’s face as Stryke approaches him.

 

“Man you’re so impatient” King replies without elaborating.

 

As Stryke approaches him Bloodshed calmly and nonchalantly reaches backwards, holding out his hand for Bruce to tag in.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

Bruce slowly steps through the ropes while keeping his eyes glued on Stryke the entire time. Once he’s in the ring Bruce just stands there, looking at Stryke, not moving, just standing there towering over his much smaller opponent. It’s totally understandable that Stryke is a bit hesitant as he looks at Blank, after all no one knows exactly what to expect from the big man as he just stands there and looks at Stryke with those creepy eyes.

 

“Bruce is usually not one to just stand there and wait, he’s usually in there going like a freight train trying to hit anything that moves” King says as he is surprised by the change in Bruce’s tactics.

 

They get closer and then

 

BOOOOOOM!!

 

Big boot to the face

 

The Cover 1 – 2 – 3

 

“What the hell just happened??”

 

“I’m not sure I think the jet lagged made him oversleep so he had to get it over with.” King replies

 

“The winners of the match the team of Bloodshed and returning BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!!

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Several hours before SWF Storm continues the World Tour, the “New Straight Edge Sensation” Spike Jenkins arrives at the destination for tonight’s event. Wearing a pair of ripped jeans, checkerboard Vans slip-on shoes, and a black “7 Angels 7 Plagues” hoodie, he climbs up the steps, entering the Angor Wat temple, cell phone in his hand and pressed against his ear.

 

“No, you don’t seem to understand me. I know WHY you booked me in this match and I’m fine with it. Amy challenged me; Manson wants a shot at me after I stole his title. But I don’t understand why it is HERE !”

 

“Spike,” says the voice of Peter Joseph on the other line, “Angor Wat is such a huge place for the people of Cambodia and has such a rich, fulfilling history…of course I was going to book a match in it where everything gets destroyed.”

 

“Very tasteful, Peter,” Jenkins says as he swings open the doors and enters the now deserted temple. He looks around him, carefully memorizing the location of each Buddha statue. “So, where are you?”

 

“I’m at the hotel.”

 

“…What…?” Spike mutters, his eyes widening in shock.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Didn’t you have one of your little goons come tell me to come to the temple BEFORE the show?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Wasn’t it to meet me here?”

 

“Umm…no.”

 

Spike takes a deep breath, his blood beginning to boil over the actions of a top authority of Creative Control. “Then why did you send me here early? It can’t be to scout the area…because that would mean…” Jenkins trails off as soon as he realizes that he is not alone inside the temple.

 

“Well, due to time restraints on tonight’s show, I figured why not have the “En-Fight-Enment” match early and tape it!”

 

Spike coldly stares at the cameraman who has been following him the whole time…he, of course, was thinking he was just going to cut a promo.

 

“Well…good luck, Spike!”

 

*Click*

 

“I hate that bastard…” Spike trails off once more as a shadowy figure pops up to the side of him. Spike puts his hands up to defend himself, but breathes a sign of relief as it’s just a man wearing a red toga.

 

“Who are you?” Jenkins asks calmly.

 

“I am the referee.”

 

Spike looks at the Buddhist, not sure of how to answer that…when he hears a noise behind him. His shoulders drop and he shakes his head in a mixture of annoyance and fear. Jenkins looks at the Buddhist referee, “Manson is standing behind me, isn’t he?”

 

“Yes, he is!”

 

“Yeah…do me a favor? Hold my cell phone so I don’t break it when I’m getting the shit kicked out of me?”

 

“Yes, I will!”

 

Spike hands his cell phone off to the referee, looks at a giant Buddha statue towards the end of the temple and turns around, ready to meet his maker. He turns around; catching eyes with the man he stole one-half of the SWF World Tag Team Titles from.

 

“Hey, Manson.”

 

“Hey, Spike.”

 

Manson slams his fist into the side of Jenkins’ face, knocking the Straight Edger back. Spike grabs his face as he stumbles back towards Manson, who connects with another punch to the face, knocking Jenkins’ to the ground! He turns over onto his hands and knees and tries to crawl away from “The Enforcer”, but Manson stays right on top of him.

 

“You think you can steal MY title and get away with it?” shouts Manson.

 

Spike climbs to his feet and holds his hands out, trying to stop Manson.

 

“Come on, man! That was like, a week or two ago! Get over it, already!”

 

No, that doesn’t work. Manson charges at Spike, kicking him square in the gut and knocking him back into a Buddha statue. Spike falls over it, landing hard on the back of his head. He rolls over onto his knees, grabbing the statue and lifting it up into the air.

 

“GET BACK! STAY AWAY FROM ME YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

 

Manson calmly walks over to the disoriented Jenkins. He kicks at Spike’s hands, punting the Buddha statue into a million pieces and leaving the former Cruiserweight champion stunned. Spike looks up at Manson with a nervous smile and half-heartedly laughs.

 

“Come on, man. Can’t we be friends?”

 

Manson moves forward, ready to attack…but Spike leaps up to his feet, grabbing Manson by the collar, and falls backwards, flinging Manson face first into the ground! Spike jumps to his feet and charges towards the door.

 

“Get me the hell out of here!”

 

Almost at the door, Spike realizes that he is about to break free from this temple of doom. Nothing behind him. No natives with weapons. No fire. No boulders.

 

 

 

…Except to the side of him charges a crazy Brit.

 

“Where do bloody hell do ya tink’ yer goin, innit!”

 

Spike makes it five feet to the door before being tackled from the side by the SWF Hardcore Gamers Champion and the sister of Spike’s archrival, Amy Stephens.

 

 

Indiana Jones had it easy.

 

“Dis’ is for Rochelle! Pick on yay women yer own size!”

 

“GET OFF OF ME YOU PSYCHO!”

 

Amy slams her fist into the side of Spike’s head, ground-and-pounding her way into beating the guy who attacked her friends’ ex-lover.

 

“Oy, I’ll show you, bloody bastard!”

 

Spike pushes her off of him and both quickly get to their feet.

 

“You’re fucking crazy! You know that! Just like your brother!”

 

“Oy!”

 

“No wonder Landon dumped you.”

 

“…YOU BLOODY FUCK YA!”

 

“…Oh shit…I’m sorry?”

 

“I’LL KICK YER BLIMEY ASS YOU WANKA!”

 

“What the hell does that mean? You make no sense, you crazy bitch! Then again, YOU ARE ENGLISH!”

 

“OY!”

 

Amy charges at Spike, who carefully picks up a Buddha statue from his side and smacking the Punk Rock Princess across the face with it…

 

 

 

 

 

…Which she, of course, no-sells.

 

 

“BLOODY HELL, INNIT!”

 

Amy stands there, stunned by the blow. Not really feeling too much damage, but just shocked that she was smacked across the face with a tiny statue…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…When Manson comes up behind her and hits Spike in the back of the head with a statue, as well!

 

 

“GOD DAMN IT!”

 

Spike collapses to the floor in a heap, leaving Manson and Amy alone. Manson looks down at the man who stole his tag team title with complete anger and malice…

 

 

 

 

 

 

…Giving Amy a free shot with a tiny Buddha statue!

 

“You bitch!” shouts the former Hardcore Gamers and World Tag Team Champion!

 

“Tis’ da rules!”

 

Now with everyone at one-a-piece, the next person to use a statue on his or her opponent will be the Hardcore Gamer champion. Manson eyes Amy, as she looks down at the hurt Spike Jenkins. She looks at Manson…and quickly reaches for a statue. She grabs it, lifts it over her head and charges at the body of Jenkins…only to be grabbed by Manson and dragged away from their opponent! He pushes her back, slamming her into the giant Buddha statue that Spike was looking at when he first entered the temple.

 

“DAMNIT LET ME GO!”

 

Amy tries to fight back against Manson, but each time, he slams her back into the giant statue…that begins to wobble.

 

 

“OH SHIT” both yell in unison as they jump out of the way…and the giant 80-foot statue tips over…falling over towards Spike Jenkins!

 

 

 

*CRAAAAAAAAAAASHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH*

 

 

The statue hits the ground with a loud bang, sending dust into the air around the temple. The faint sound of coughing is heard, as the dust begins to settle. The figure of a person stands up, surrounded by dust, as they try to make their way through the mess.

 

“Tit landed on Spike, yer! I won, right?”

 

As Amy Stephens asks this question, the double doors to the temple swing open…

 

 

 

 

 

AND ENTERS KING ARAGORN!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Actually, it’s Landon Maddix! But his hair is swinging just like Aragorn’s in Return of the King!

 

“Bloody bastard, wattcha ya doin here!” Amy shouts as she charges towards the awaiting World Champion of the SWF. “Ill kill yer!”

 

Amy grabs a statue that hasn’t been crushed off the ground as she comes closer to Landon, who is waiting in the doorway. Behind her, Manson gets to his feet. He picks a statue up off the ground and limps towards the last person he has to hit to win the match.

 

“Ya bloody fuck ya!”

 

Amy gets five feet from Landon…when Megan Skye pops out of the darkness behind her, the SWF World Title (covered in dust, just like Megan is) in hand, and smacking the sister of Toxxic in the back of the head, dropping her to the floor!

 

“Jesus, Megan…”

 

“Damn it, Landon! The 80-foot statue fell and got dust all over me!” cries the manager of the World Champion.

 

“Come on, let’s get her out of here.”

 

Landon grabs Amy by her hair and drags her out of the temple, with little help from Megan, who is trying to get the dust off herself and the SWF World Title. Behind them, Manson continues to limp, falling to his knees and crawling towards them.

 

“WAIT! I NEED HER! I NEED HER!”

 

Manson, realizing that if they take Megan, there is no way he can win the match. Holding his leg that he injured during the statue falling and a statue in his other hand, he crawls towards the three. Landon and Megan finally drag Amy outside of the temple, just as Manson makes it over to the doorway…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…And they slam the door shut!

 

“NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!”

 

Manson makes it to the door, slamming his fist against it.

 

 

“OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN THE DOOR!” he shouts.

 

Continuing to slam his fist and the statue against the door, Manson doesn’t know what to do. The last person he had to beat has been dragged away and he was locked out. How could he win the title now?

 

 

 

 

 

………

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Sucks for you.”

 

 

Manson turns around, to look up at Jenkins.

 

 

“Oh…the irony in this…” are the last words from Spike as he smacks Manson across the face with a large statue, swinging away at the fence. Manson collapses in a heap, leaving Spike standing over him. Suddenly, the door opens; Landon, Megan, and Amy nowhere to be found, but gives an exit to the now double champion, Spike Jenkins. The Buddhist referee pops out of nowhere, handing the Hardcore Gamers title (and his cell phone) to Jenkins. Spike grabs the title and pie-faces the Buddhist, as he exits the temple.

 

Standing on top of the temple steps, Spike holds the Hardcore Gamers title high in the air.

 

“I AM THE KING OF CAMBODIA!”

 

………

 

“Actually, I am the King of Cambodia!”

 

Spike looks over to his side, looking at the actual King of Cambodia.

 

“What did you do to my temple?” cries the King.

 

Spike looks at him, then back into the near-collapsing temple, with Manson lying in the doorway.

 

“I destroyed it…because I’m the SWF Hardcore Gamers Champion and one-half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions…AND THE NEW KING OF CAMBODIA!”

 

Spike pie-faces the King of Cambodia, pushing him down the flight of stairs leading up to the temple. He holds the Hardcore Gamers title high in the air, as the people at the bottom all look up, bow, and pray.

 

 

 

“Hollywood” Spike Jenkins is the new Hardcore Gamers Champion…and the King of Cambodia?

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"Landon Maddix just doesn't know when to stop," Mak Francis spits in total disgust as Maddix hauls Amy into the ring by her hair, "he's already beaten Amy Stephens down! He was walking around with her blood on the World Title, and now he has to make sure she loses her title as well, the title that he was too egotistical to try and win!?"

 

"Yup, looks like it," King agrees gloomily. "Oh but look, it gets better!"

 

Sure enough Landon has dumped Amy in the ring and reached back out through the ropes to Megan Skye who gives him a microphone, and as the World Champion approaches his former girlfriend again he slaps her in the back of the head.

 

"TOXXIC!"

 

"Oh brother," King groans, "here we go again..."

 

"Toxxic, I gave you a chance!" Landon yells. "You had one simple choice to make; YES or NO, and you chose the wrong one! So now it's up to me to help you correct that error, because I'm going to give you one last chance to reconsider." La Cucaracha gestures towards Amy, who is now getting to her feet. "If you persist in trying to avoid me, we all know who's going to pay for it!"

 

"Oh God no," Mak mutters, "not this again..."

 

But yes, it appears that it is going to be this again. As Amy gets straightened up, eyes still glassy and presumably wondering where the hell all that irritating shouting is coming from, Landon steps in and-

 

*SMACK!*

 

-delivers a forearm that knocks the former-HGC Champion back down again. It'd normally take more than that to floor the Punk-Rock Princess, but Amy hasn't had a good week what with the spike piledriver and the Hardcore match and so on, so down she goes.

 

"TOXXIC! I'm waiting!"

 

"Someone needs to stop this!" Mak declares urgently. "King, I don't suppose..."

 

"Uh-uh, forget it buddy," the Gambling Man says, "I don't like Landon, but I don't get paid to go all vigilante."

 

Amy, being considerably tougher than any old boots you'd care to name, is already starting to get back up again even though it's not clear she even realises what's going on. Landon gestures to Megan... and now the Toddess enters the ring, bringing a steel chair with her. Landon accepts it graciously, lines up on the unsteady Stephens and-

 

*CRACK!*

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

"Where's Comet when you need him?" Francis seethes.

 

"Hell, why doesn't Toxxic just come out here?" King wonders.

 

Landon Maddix stands over Amy Stephens, now well and truly on her back and unlikely to move in the near future - the trickle of blood running down her forehead from where the chairshot bust her open only seems to confirm that. Maddix drops the chair, raises the microphone to his mouth, and grins.

 

"Toxxic, I could go on like this all night."

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

"BUT... I'm not going to."

 

With that Landon Maddix tosses the microphone casually to Megan Skye and reaches down to peel Amy Stephens off the mat. The Punk-Rock Princess seems to be pure deadweight but Landon hauls her up to something vaguely approaching upright, then bends her over and puts her head between his legs in a standing headscissors...

 

...then underhooks both her arms.

 

"Oh shit." Mak Francis says.

 

"TOXXIC!" Maddix roars, Megan now holding the microphone to his mouth. The Toddess looks uncomfortable, as if she's not sure that this is such a good idea, but she's going along with it anyway. "Toxxic, this is your last chance!" Landon continues, raising his voice just so there's no doubt that everyone can hear him. "If you're not out here in ten seconds, I'm going to break her goddamn neck! It's your call, 'sunshine'!"

 

 

"TEN!"

 

 

"NINE!"

 

 

"EIGHT!"

 

 

"SEVEN!"

 

 

"SIX!"

 

 

"FIVE!"

 

 

"FOUR..."

 

 

"THREE..."

 

 

"TW-"

 

-and then the curtain flies aside, and Michael Stephens sprints out.

 

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

The Englishman starts to race down to the ring, but not for long:

 

"HOLD IT!" Landon bawls, hauling Amy up until her feet are barely on the ground, "one more step and it's traction time!"

 

Stephens obediently halts, but the expression on his face is an ugly one. The grey eyes that glare out at Landon from behind the dark curtains of hair don't hold a trace of softness or reluctance anymore; they are steel, cold and hard.

 

"Give the man a microphone," Landon orders a nearby SWF technician, who hurries over to Michael Stephens with the required item. Stephens reluctantly takes it, then returns to staring at Landon.

 

"Toxxic, you've been avoiding me for far too long," Landon gloats, "but I've got you now! After everything you've pulled, all the nights I waited for the ache in my neck to subside, the damage done to my career, to my self-esteem, to my fucking life, all that's gonna end now! You and me are getting in the ring, one-on-one, one more time, or your sister can kiss her vertebrae goodbye! What do you say?"

 

The Englishman, still staring at Landon, says nothing.

 

"TOXXIC! I'm talking to you!"

 

Silence.

 

"Dammit Toxxic, what-"

 

"My name is Michael Stephens."

 

There is a faint cheer as Stephens finally responds to Maddix's taunting, but that doesn't seem to bother Landon in the slightest. The World Champion just rolls his eyes theatrically and continues.

 

"Toxxic, you can call yourself the Sugarplum Fairy if you want, but it won't make any difference to me! All I want is a match. Just one match, Toxxic! You and me at 13th Hour... in a Last Man Standing match."

 

"A Last Man Standing match!?" Francis repeats incredulously as a ripple of excitement runs through the fans, "seriously? Landon wants to throw down in a Last Man Standing?" Michael Stephens seems to be surprised as well, his eyebrows climbing significantly.

 

"No need to look so shocked," Landon chides his enemy, "after all, this is where it all began isn't it! If you hadn't been so goddamn bloodthirsty and tried to break my neck to keep me down for the ten-count, none of this would be happening. So what do you say, Toxxic?"

 

"...why does it always have to be Last Man Standing at 13th Hour?" Michael Stephens asks wearily, "seriously Landon, have you got no bloody imagination at all? Three years in a row; Kibagami, Spike and now you?"

 

"I don't care about history Toxxic," Landon says, his voice suddenly growing thick with anger, "I just want an answer now. YES or NO?"

 

"So, what, you're going to get someone to bring a contract out to the ring, we'll draw it up and sign it, all while you keep Amy there ready to give her the Demonstar?" Stephens asks dubiously. "Hell Landon, I'd like to see you sign a contract with no hands. Seriously, I'd like to see that."

 

"You're stalling," Landon says dangerously, "you've got ten seconds. YES or NO?"

 

"So what do you want me to do?" Michael Stephens snaps, "I don't see a contract anywhere Landon, you've specifically told me not to get any closer... are you just going to take my word on this!?"

 

"Yes."

 

The noise that's been building around Angkor Wat now suddenly subsides. All the fans are staring at the two men, one in the ring and one outside it. Staring, and wondering what Landon means.

 

"Yes, I'll take your word on it," Maddix continues, his voice softer now, "after all, isn't that what you've always been bragging about? That you 'never break a rule, and never break a promise'? You give me your word, you give me your promise that you'll turn up to 13th Hour to face me, and I'll let your sister go. Peters can draw up a contract if he wants, but I know I'll be there. I guess we'll just see if you can actually keep your word, or if you're an empty bag of wind who's going to run from a fight. Yes or no. Your call."

 

"You want to face me at 13th Hour," Stephens says.

 

"Yes."

 

"In a Last Man Standing match."

 

"Yes."

 

"And if I agree, you'll let Amy go without harming her any further," Stephens says.

 

"That's right."

 

"AND," the Englishman adds, grey eyes flashing suddenly, "you won't touch her again unless you're in some kind of match with her; I'm not having you doing this again Landon, you have an issue with me, you come to me. You don't get to me through my sister."

 

"Believe me Toxxic, you say 'yes' and all my issues with you will be gone at 13th Hour," Landon says with a greedy smile, "so yes, you agree to face me in a Last Man Standing match at 13th Hour and I will never touch your sister outside of a match again... unless she wants it," the World Champion adds with an obscene leer. Stephens just glowers at him.

 

"I must say Landon," he says with a sarcastic grimace, "you've given me one hell of a choice."

 

"Oh, you don't like it!?" Landon snarls, "how do you think I liked it? The choice of lying in bed and wondering if my head was going to drop off or get up and walk around, wondering if my head was going to drop off! The choice of staying up all night and drive myself crazy or try to go to sleep and relive that moment where you tried to break my neck over and over and over again! The choice of-"

 

"Alright, alright, ENOUGH!!" Stephens yells, cutting Landon off in mid-rant, "I'm sick of this! I'm sick of you blaming everything on me, I'm sick of you hurting people near to me, I'm sick of your whining and I'm sick of your bloody face! You let Amy go," he continues, calming down again, "you release her and leave the ring, and you've got your match. I'll face you at 13th Hour, one-on-one, in a Last Man Standing match."

 

"Your word?" Landon queries.

 

"My word."

 

"I've got your promise?"

 

"Yes, you've got my bloody promise," Stephens snaps, "now get away from my fucking sister!"

 

Landon Maddix doesn't answer. Instead a slow, satisfied smile oozes across his face and he releases Amy Stephens' arms, allowing the semi-conscious Punk-Rock Princess to slump to the mat. The World Champion and Megan Skye then step out of the ring on the opposite side to Michael Stephens and, without looking back, turn to make their way through the crowd as security clears a path. The fans boo and even hurl things at Landon and Megan, but a final camera shot shows the smile fixed on Landon's features. Meanwhile Michael Stephens has rushed into the ring and is checking on Amy, who appears to be battered and bloodied but not seriously hurt.

 

"Fans, we have a massive match signed for 13th Hour," Mak Francis says in subdued tones, "but what a way to sign it... Michael Stephens has been blackmailed into this by Landon Maddix who was holding his sister hostage, and now he has to step into the ring with a man who has been threatening to break his neck for months! The only question is, has Landon bitten off more than he can chew?"

 

"Do you think it's possible for them both to break each other's necks at the same time?" King asks wistfully.

 

"It's not something I want to think about," Francis replies acidly, "we've got to take a commercial break now, but we'll be right back."

 

 

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

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Francis: “And as Storm returns to the air during the annual World Tour, we are preparing for another fantastic contest. It is veteran vs. rookie as Jay Hawke battles Grendel.”

 

King: “Must we really subject ourselves to constantly getting involved with easy wins for Jay Hawke?”

 

Francis: “Well, these are two men who have consistently been in the title hunt since they both debuted in the SWF, although lately both men have been in an unusual position for them as both men have been in a slump.”

 

King: “And it’s only a matter of time before each man works their way out of it, but I’d be willing to bet that Jay Hawke is going to work out of it tonight and force Grendel to wait at least another show.”

 

Francis: “Time will tell, and that time is now as we go to Funyon for the opening introductions.”

 

Funyon: “The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a 15-minute time limit.”

 

The lights dim, and the familiar opening strains of Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” begin to blare over the PA.

 

Funyon: “Introducing first … from the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio … weighing in at 215 pounds … ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWKE!”

 

The crowd begins to boo as steam rises from the side of aisle, and Jay Hawke emerges form it. A lone spotlight shines down, illuminating Hawke’s beautiful black and purple robe. As he begins to make his way down to the ring, the crowd begins its all too-familiar chant (in English no less):

 

“JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!”

 

King: “No matter where we go, our fans show us absolutely no class!”

 

Jay Hawke ignores the boos and catcalls from the fans and steps onto the ring apron. Hawke wipes his feet clean on the ring apron before stepping through the ropes and raising his arms into the air, which draws nothing but another series of boos. With that, the lights come back up, and Evanescence’s “Bring Me To Life” comes over the PA.

 

Funyon: “And his opponent … from Manhattan, New York … weighing in at 220 pounds … ‘The Assassin’ … GRENNNNNNNNNNNNDELLLLLLLLLLLLL!”

 

The crowd cheers heavily for Grendel as he makes his way toward the ring.

 

Francis: “Listen to the reaction from this crowd, King! They love Grendel here on Storm this week!”

 

King: “Yeah, they love him now, but will they respect him in the morning when Jay Hawke has stretched him so much that he goes from 6’1” to 6’5” in fifteen minutes or less?”

 

Grendel makes his way to the ring apron and, using the top rope as a slingshot, somersaults into the ring to a nice pop…

 

 

 

 

…only to be brought down to the mat with a lariat, courtesy of the Dean of Professional Wrestling.

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Francis: “And a cheap shot before the bell by Jay Hawke, and referee Scott Ryder has no choice but to call for the opening bell right there!”

 

King: “And he’s wasting no time. He has already begun putting the boots to Grendel’s shoulder! We could be moments away from a Wing Span and an easy submission!”

 

After a series of stomps to the shoulder, Jay Hawke hooks Grendel’s arm into a keylock and begins pulling back on it, hoping against hope that Grendel will simply submit in the opening minute. Nobody can ever be accuse Grendel of being a quitter though, so while he clenches his teeth in obvious pain, he is clearly nowhere near the weakened state needed to force him to say “uncle”.

 

Francis: “Usual strategy from Jay Hawke here. He is going to work on the left arm, which is the arm he normally chicken wings when he uses the Wing Span.”

 

King: “And he wasted no time starting to work on it either. Classic move here.”

 

Grendel works his way to his feet and begins punching Jay Hawke in the midsection with his free hand, forcing Hawke to release the hold. With the hold broken, Grendel unleashes a chop to Hawke’s chest:

 

“WHOO!”

 

And another.

 

“WHOO!”

 

And another.

 

“WHOO!”

 

Grendel runs off the ropes and charges, leveling Hawke with a forearm smash to the chest coming in. Grendel runs off the ropes again, arm outstretched for a clothesline, but Hawke hooks the arm up from out of nowhere and clamps down on it, taking his larger opponent down and locking in a Fujiwara armbar.

 

Francis: “Just when it looked like Grendel was beginning to gain some momentum, Jay Hawke quickly locks the armbar in here!”

 

King: “Absolutely brilliant, Mak! He may have lulled Grendel into a false sense of security!”

 

Francis: “I don’t think that’s the case at all, but he certainly made a nice move to lock the Fujiwara in rather than taking that clothesline!”

 

King: “And you see what using a move like this does. Grendel’s not in bad shape yet, but as he makes a move toward the ropes, it hurts him because he has to twist his arm and shoulder just to move.”

 

Grendel tries to simply crawl toward the ropes, but he thinks to himself “I already have to twist my shoulder to move, so why not go with it?” Using that knowledge, he pulls himself to his knees and flips forward, breaking Hawke’s grasp of his arm, then instantaneously he turns and catches Hawke underneath the chin with a dropkick to the face. Hawke falls to the canvas, but regains his footing just in time for Grendel to catch him with a second dropkick, this one sending Hawke rolling to the floor on the outside.

 

King: “There you go. This is the perfect opportunity to take a breather.”

 

Except Grendel isn’t thinking “Let him take a breather.” He’s thinking “Let’s catch him unawares.” As Hawke gets to his feet, Grendel uses the top rope as a slingshot and launches himself over the top rope. Hawke sees it coming and moves out of the way, but Grendel sees it coming and lands on the apron. Hawke smiles, thinking he’s in good shape, but looks confused when he doesn’t hear the splat of flesh meeting concrete. Hawke turns around, and Grendel runs down the apron and launches himself off of it, catching the Dean of Wrestling with a somersault plancha to a wild response from the crowd.

 

Francis: “What a move there! I think Grendel just outsmarted the Dean of Wrestling right there!”

 

King: “He’s hit one move! Can we wait until the match plays out further before we finish singing his praises please?”

 

Grendel gets to his feet, raising his arms in the air to soak in the cheers of the capacity crowd. Jay Hawke begins making his way to his feet, and Grendel pops him with a couple of forearms to the face that send Hawke backing up into the ringpost. Grendel charges Hawke and levels him with a clothesline against the post.

 

King: “A ringpost clothesline that worked? What the…”

 

Grendel charges again, and this time Hawke moves out of the way. Grendel’s left arm hits the post hard as a sickening sound echoes throughout the arena.

 

King: “There we go!”

 

Francis: “Why seem so excited now? The man might have broken his arm right there!”

 

King: “And it serves him right for doing such a stupid move at such an inopportune time!”

 

Hawke rolls into the ring, then back out of the ring to force referee Scott Ryder to restart his ten count. With that, he approaches Grendel, who is leaning against the ringpost holding his shoulder. Hawke pushes him forward, once again sending Grendel’s shoulder into the exposed steel post.

 

King: “And this is vintage Jay Hawke. Finding a way to work over the shoulder and using the rules to his full advantage.”

 

Hawke walks over to the other side of the post, then grabs Grendel’s left arm and pulls it forward, trying to stretch the shoulder ligaments with the steel post. As Grendel screams in pain, Hawke alleviates the pressure ever so slightly, then SMACK into the post goes the arm and shoulder. Hawke reenters the ring, then rolls back out of it, once again forcing the referee to restart his count.

 

Francis: “Jay Hawke is being absolutely relentless on that shoulder, King. He’s trying everything in his power to put him away!”

 

King: “If the man’s in too much pain to do anything, he can’t win the match. It’s that simple!”

 

Jay Hawke once again grabs Grendel’s arm and slams it into the ringpost, and Grendel, either consciously or not, simply slumps to the floor to stop the onslaught. Hawke gets a smile on his face as he walks over and grabs the arm, then falls to the floor, bringing the arm slamming into the concrete floor with him.

 

Francis: “Oh my! A single-arm DDT onto the concrete floor! More damage being done to that shoulder right there!”

 

King: “And the more he damages that shoulder, the less likely Grendel is to actually doing anything to put Hawke away. Brilliant strategy by the former International Champion here!”

 

Satisfied, Jay Hawke picks Grendel up and rolls him into the ring. He reenters the ring himself and grabs the arm, pulling Grendel into the center of the ring. Hawke drops his leg across the Assassin’s left arm, then uses his legs to scissor the arm.

 

Francis: “Short arm scissors, and Jay Hawke has done absolutely nothing to get away from the shoulder.”

 

King: “Why should he? A few more moves like this and he’ll be in the clear advantage for the rest of the bout.”

 

Hawke continues to maintain his airtight grip on the arm and shoulder of his opponent. Grendel tries to fight the pain, unaware that his shoulders have fallen to the canvas:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Grendel rolls the right shoulder off the canvas, almost out of instinct.

 

Francis: “Was that the first near fall of the match?”

 

King: “I think it was, and Hawke wasn’t actually trying to pin him there, which shows exactly how much pain Grendel must really be in right now.”

 

Again Grendel’s shoulders fall to the mat:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Grendel again gets the right shoulder up.

 

Francis: “Another near fall, and you’d have to think that Grendel needs to find some way of getting to the ropes or this one’s going to be over whether he wants it to be or not.”

 

King: “There’s another way to get out of the hold.”

 

Francis: “What’s that?”

 

King: “Quit.”

 

Francis: “He’s not going to do that, King.”

 

King: “Then he better be ready to have his arm injured, because that’s what’s going to happen if he doesn’t quit in the next minute or so.”

 

Grendel’s shoulders fall to the canvas yet again:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

TH – Grendel uses his legs to roll himself backward, simultaneously weakening Hawke’s grip on the hold and, ever so barely, drape his foot over the bottom rope. Referee Scott Ryder reaches the count of four before Hawke releases the hold, and Hawke gets another boot to the shoulder before backing away from the ropes.

 

King: “And there’s more of that typical great wrestling from Jay Hawke. He never backs down and always uses the rules to his advantage.”

 

Jay Hawke once again grabs Grendel’s arm and pulls him away from the ropes. Hawke slips behind him and locks in a hammerlock. Grendel tries to fire an elbow back, but Hawke positions himself to where there’s no possible way to get caught with it. Hawke moves his head a bit, which enables Grendel to hook it as if going for a flying mare. Instead, Grendel uses the positioning to flip himself over, landing on his feet behind his opponent. He immediately locks in a tight waist and pushes forward, running Hawke into the ropes and taking him over with a rolling cradle:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR – kickout. Both men are quickly to their feet, and Hawke comes after Grendel with a lariat, only for the Assassin to duck underneath it and hook both of Hawke’s arms, taking him over with a crucifix:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR – kickout.

 

Francis: “A couple of quick near falls here…”

 

Grendel immediately takes Jay Hawke right back down to the mat with a sunset flip:

 

Francis: “…and he’s refusing to give Hawke a chance to regain his bearings!”

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR – kickout.

 

King: “It all looks impressive, but it’s not doing much actual damage.”

 

Both men return to their feet, and Grendel immediately tries to fire off a forearm smash. Hawke blocks it and immediately kicks Grendel’s shoulder. Grendel holds his shoulder as Hawke runs into the ropes, but Grendel leaps up and catches the Dean coming in with a side kick to the face.

 

Francis: “Nice counter. We’ve seen some good counter wrestling from both men tonight.”

 

Hawke backs up to the ropes, and Grendel moves in, only to get driven in the midsection by a Jay Hawke knee. Hawke hooks Grendel up for a vertical suplex and lifts him up, dropping him backwards over the top rope. Grendel somehow gets his feet on the ring apron to keep himself from falling to the floor, then sits down, dropping the back of Hawke’s neck along the top rope.

 

Francis: “Terrific move!”

 

As Hawke gets back to his feet, Grendel springboards onto the top rope and leaps in, doing a full somersault in midair. However, as he tries to grab Hawke’s head and neck on the way down, Hawke senses him coming and moves out of the way. Grendel hits the mat hard on his left side, with most of the punishment being taken by the left shoulder.

 

Francis: “Oh no!”

 

King: “Oh yes! Listen to Grendel scream like a little girl who just had her dolly’s head ripped off!”

 

Grendel clutches onto his left arm and shoulder, but Hawke immediately pounces on it, driving it into the mat with a Fujiwara armbar. Grendel tries to fight the pain but can’t do it:

 

 

TAPTAPTAPTAP!

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Francis: “I can’t believe it.”

 

King: “Believe it. Truly a valiant effort, but all for naught.”

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, in 7 minutes 25 seconds … the winner of the match … JAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWKE!”

 

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

 

 

Jay Hawke stands up and smiles, acknowledging the boos with a quick flip of a finger. Yeah, that finger.

 

Francis: “An unfortunate turn of events in the latter stages there. Grendel went for Grendel’s Curse in an attempt to put Jay Hawke away there, and the former International Champion avoided it and went into the Fujiwara armbar for the victory!”

 

King: “And it just goes to show you with these flippy floppy cruiserweights, Mak. One false move too many, and you’ve lost. And that was simply a case of Grendel making one false move too many, and he paid for it with a submission loss and a potentially injured shoulder.”

 

Francis: “But we have more great action still to come tonight, including that fantastic champion vs. champion main event, so don’t go away!”

Edited by janusd

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“Well this is going to be a match to remember,” King says jokingly. “Next up, ladies and gentleman, is a last minute addition to the card. Earlier tonight, Ced Ordonez asked for a match, so what do we get? Ced Ordonez vs. Matt Myers! So gear up for a piss break, cause this one is sure to be a match for the ages.”

 

“Don’t be so harsh,” pipes in Mak Francis, “you never know, King. These two could put on an absolutely brilliant match! Ordonez is a veteran even at the young age of twenty-two. And lets face it, Matt Myers is… well… Matt Myers.”

 

“Ha! Even your optimistic ass can’t put a positive spin on this. Set the alarm clock, kids, because this one is going to be a sleeper.”

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen…” Funyon’s voice booms out over the crowd, “the following match is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first…”

 

“Night of fire!”

 

The lights in the arena go dark as the fans at ringside stand up in anticipation of the next match. Niko’s “Night Of Fire” floods through the temple…

 

“Fire!”

 

*Boom!*

 

Pillars of flames briefly light up the entrance before disappearing and revealing Ced Ordonez standing on the stage. He fires up the crowd as best as he can before jogging towards the ring. He slides in and promptly makes his way to the far turnbuckle, giving the crowd an obligatory face pose. He hops down and gets in some quick leg stretches before the bell.

 

“… from Sacramento, California… weighing in at two hundred and nine pounds… he is ‘the Bemani Cross Wizard’… Ceeed Ordoooneeeezzz!!!” Funyon announces, a little behind schedule. A small cheer goes up, welcoming Ced back to the ring.

 

“Well, at least it’s safe to assume that a few people recognize Ordonez,” King states. “I don’t know how Ordonez could afford to fly in his whole family on referee pay. Ha!”

 

*Boom-boom-boom.*

 

A loud drum beat fills the air, marking the arrival of…

 

“Is Myers wearing a tiki mask?” Mak queries.

 

That’s right, Matt “Native Warrior” Myers makes his way out from the back of the set wearing a grass skirt covering a pair of wrestling trunks with an old, wooden mask covering his face. The fans don’t know rather to be appalled or cheer the SWF’s lack of decency. Myers simply makes his way down towards the ring.

 

“His opponent, from Honolulu, Hawaii… weighing in at two hundred and twenty-one pounds… he is… Maatt Myeeersss!!!” Funyon announces before rolling out of the ring.

 

Myers rolls in under the bottom rope before climbing the corner turnbuckle and acknowledging his… reaction. He slaps hands with Ordonez in a show of sportsmanship before the bell rings.

 

“Aww… that’s cute,” King says with a roll of his eyes.

 

*Ding ding ding.*

 

The two begin to circle each other in the ring, neither one really wanting to make the first move. The two men have quite a bit of ring rust after being inactive for quite some time now. The fans start to cheer them on though, spurring on confidence. This is an insane amount of cheering though for just two men circling in a ring… that’s because…

 

*CRACK!*

 

Matt Myers gets it first, turning to look behind him only to see a steel chair flying towards his face, a firm grip around it from the hands of none-other-than Austin Sly! Myer’s mask shatters upon impact sending shards of wood flying across the ring and some into the makeshift stands! He hits the mat with a thud as Austin turns his attention to Ced Ordonez. Ced barely has time to get his arms up in front of his face as the chair comes crashing down one more time! Ordonez joins his fellow jobber laying on the mat as the fans at ringside continue to cheer on Austin, despite the fact that he’s just destroyed two men unprovoked.

 

“What the hell is this..?” King manages to stutter out. “I don’t know if I should be thankful to Austin for saving this match or be mad because… well… that’s just how I am.”

 

“I’m not quite sure either, King.” Mak says, stunned.

 

Matt Myers apparently didn’t have enough the first time around as he begins to push himself off the mat, bleeding steadily from his forehead. He reaches his knees before Austin realizes that he’s even still moving, but he’s quick to remedy this. Austin turns, and with one baseball-like swing of his chair, knocks Myers lights out! Sly slams the chair down to the mat before fleeing out of the ring between the middle ropes and back up into the stands as a line of security and medical personnel comes flowing out of the back. The fans continue to cheer, him on as he exits the arena.

 

“I don’t know what to make of what we’ve just seen, King…” Mak mumbles.

 

 

No one quite knows what to make of this attack. Everyone knows that Austin has a vicious streak running in him, but why attack Ced Ordonez and Matt Myers? Why take out your anger on two random members of the locker room? One thing is for certain, though… Joseph Peters’ day just got worse.

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JJ and Sean Davis have an excellent match, with JJ winning with a series of lariats. You see, because Va'aiga does the lariat, and it helps the angle. Hooray for JJ!

Edited by janusd

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"Tox-Michael!"

 

Joe Peters corrected himself just in time, but Michael Stephens doesn't seem to notice the near-slip. The man formerly known as the Straight-Edge Sensation has just entered Peters' office after the SWF's Head Booker sent for him. He seems somewhat distracted as he sits down in the chair across the desk from Peters, who is swivelling slightly from side to side in what could be interpreted as a vaguely nervous fashion.

 

"Listen, Mike," Peters says in what is undoubtedly meant to be a reassuring tone of voice, "I saw what happened out there. Now, I know some people are wondering why I didn't send Janus out to stop Maddix, but-"

 

"-you knew that Maddix would just break Amy's neck if Janus got too close?" Stephens finishes for him, not really looking at Peters. Joe stops, then nods in agreement. "Exactly. I thought it best to let it run its course, then deal with it afterwards."

 

"So what did you have in mind? For 'dealing with it', I mean?" Stephens asks, apparently studying the edge of the desk very intently.

 

"Well... I can state absolutely and categorically that there will absolutely not be any match taking place at 13th Hour between you and Landon Maddix," Peters say firmly. That makes Michael Stephens look up.

 

"Seriously?"

 

"Yup."

 

"What happened to the 'go kick his arse and make me money' vibe?"

 

"Hmph. Yeah, well," Peters backs and fills, "there's a difference between me wanting you to get into the ring with Landon, and him blackmailing you to force a match. I mean for Christ's sake Michael, quite apart from the risk of injury to yourself that you pointed out to me, can you imagine the bad press I'd get for backing this? No. Landon has to learn that these strong-arm tactics aren't going to get him what he wants, which is why I'm going to pick this phone up right now, with you here to witness it, and call SWF Head Office and Budokan Hall to tell them not to start advertising that match..."

 

Joe Peters didn't even see Michael Stephens move. However, one black-nailed hand has clamped over his own and is forcing the phone back onto its cradle. Shocked, Peters looks up to find two steel-grey orbs boring into his face.

 

"Don't. You. Fucking. Dare."

 

"Whu-"

 

"I made a promise Joe," Stephens bites out, "I made a bloody promise. Oh, Landon's smarter than everyone gives him credit for, he knows me better than you might think. He knows I won't break a promise."

 

"But c'mon," Peters says in confusion, "made under duress...?"

 

"Don't matter," Stephens says, shaking his head, "I still made it. In front of all the fans, on international TV, I promised Landon I'd meet him in a Last Man Standing match at 13th Hour. That means that as long as I'm breathing, I'll be there."

 

"You're weird," Peters says bluntly.

 

"What, because I've got some sense of honour?" Michael Stephens growls, "bite me, Peters. You know what? Back when everyone and their mother was on my back, back when I was World Champion and the most hated man in North America, you know what kept me going in the face of that? The fact that I held onto myself. I always knew that no matter what happened, no matter how bad anything got, I would never break a rule and I would never break a promise. I still had standards, Joe. And then at Ground Zero, I didn't live up to my own standards. I cheated to beat Scott Pretzler." The grip on Peters' hand increases for a moment. "I ain't failing again. Landon forced me to make the promise, I'll keep the promise. Somehow, both him and me are gonna have to live with it."

 

Suddenly Stephens releases Peters hand and stands up, then pushes the chair back and turns away from the table. "The match is on, Joe. But," he says, turning back to face the Eminem-lookalike, "Landon got his way, so I want a bit of mine. If he's so determined to have this match and take something from me - probably the ability to walk, if he can - I want to take something of his. I want the World Title on the line."

 

"Suits me," Peters shrugs, going for pragmatic reason in the face of insanity (although the potential ratings may have helped his decision), "as long as the winner can still walk and preferably wrestle. OK, the World Title's on the line." He cocks a wary eyebrow. "Anything else?"

 

"Just one," Stephens says, turning back for the door, "if Mike Van Siclen shows up then tell him his arse is mine. Again," he adds as an afterthought, then steps through the door and shuts it behind him. Joe Peters stares after him for a moment, then quietly places his head in his hands.

 

"I think I liked him better when everyone hated him..."

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“The next match is a non title bout, scheduled for one fall with a sixty minute time limit. And it is tonight’s MAIN EVENT!!!”

 

Funyon welcomes the home audience back from their momentary daze that took place during the commercial break. In the background stands the extraordinary Angkor Wat and to the sides remain thousands of cheering fans from all over the world who all gathered to Angkor, Cambodia (Cheap pop!) to witness a show for the ages!!! A show that will entertain you from beginning to end. A show that will transcend the last, leaving the onlookers gasping for air…

 

…And yes Joseph Peters will continue making money off the ratings.

 

“Here we go King. The match that could very well transform you from the Gambling Man to the Highly Stressed Individual that sits next to the Franchise, baby!” Mak enlists some of King’s own medicine on to him, “Now with that being said. This will be Landon’s first match since becoming the SWF World Champion at Battleground. Could he have some ring rust to knock off?”

 

“Of course he does, Mak! However, no matter how much I dislike that insect he will easily knock the ring rust off in the first two minutes of the bout, which means that Zyon will more than likely get annihilated three minutes into the match.” The Gambling Man refuses to ignore Landon’s skill inside the ring.

 

Mak though has a competitive opinion, “King, I think you may be underestimating the Unique Youth. He is the reigning Cruiserweight Champion who has been going at full speed since Battleground. No doubt facing the World Champion in a non title bout could cause some nervousness. But like you said, he’ll easily knock the butterflies away two minutes into the match. And then it’s anyone’s guess from there on out.”

 

“I’M BORN…”

 

…The first familiar phrase flashes across a man made Smarktron constructed with trees and a cheap screen. Building up to a dramatic baby face entrance, “Vitamin” by Incubus blares over the speakers that were bought at a local Best Buy back in the states. Thumping across the land, one of Brandon Boyd’s early vocals lead the crowd into a massive uproar…

 

“YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAHAHHAHAHHHH!!”

 

…Oh wait it’s not the music that sends them in a frenzy. It’s the emergence of the Cruiserweight Champion himself!! Saluting the audience with a two fingered salute, Zyon sprints down the ramp with the spacious smiles of his enthusiasts reflecting in his gold!

 

“First hailing from Elkhart, Indiana. Weighing in at 200 lbs. He is the REIGNING SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION….The Unique Youth, Zyyyyyyyyyyyyon!!!”

 

Funyon bellows over the land as Zyon rolls into the ring. Energetically ascending the second rope, the youth gazes at the people surrounding him before tossing the “X” symbol into the air, paying homage to his epic encounter with Hollywood Spike Jenkins. Breaking the “X” apart, Zyon bends his elbows into a familiar taunt that emits arrogance from someone who openly drowns in the spotlight.

 

“The kid looks ready. I don’t want to lead anyone on here, but if Zyon wins, we could be looking at the new number one contender for the World Title. Just saying…”

 

There is one person located in the great land of Cambodia that would take offense to Mak’s harmless comment.

 

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

 

The typical arrogant warning of the incoming cockroach rings out, which quickly becomes a source for mass jeering.

 

"Tell me exactly, what am I supposed to do

Now that I have allowed you, to beat me!

Do you think that we could play another game

Maybe I could win this ti-ime."

 

“The Game” by Disturbed blares over the nearby speakers as the exquisite Megan Skye reveals herself as she struts through the black curtain that blocks off the backstage and the wide jungle behind us. Waving her hands around, the female valet hangs on the next man that wonders through the curtain…

 

“BOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

…That man would be Landon Maddix. With one arm wrapped around his dame, Landon extends his left arm soaking in the jeering that has come to echo in the background of La Cucaracha’s entrance.

 

“And his opponent. Hailing from Huron, South Dakota. Weighing in tonight at 224 lbs. The REINGING SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION, LANON LA CUCARACHA MADDIX!!!!!

 

“He’s got the girl! He’s got the gold! He’s got the attitude! Landon Maddix is on top of the world right now!”

 

“That’s what a rational person would think, Mak. That scumbag on the other hand continues to torment himself over Toxxic…who isn’t even Toxxic anymore. He should be living like a star, no an anti social joke with a pretty girl. If I was in his shoes…” King is going on a “back in my day” tirade that doesn’t need the time of day to air across what should be a great match.

 

Strutting down the ramp, shewing off the few fans that want a simple hand clap, Landon leaps on to the ring apron as the lovely Megan Skye takes her sweet time to open the ropes for her man. Bounding into the ring, Landon shows off that natural charisma that brought him to the dance as he spins around, showing off a title superior to the Unique Youth’s.

 

“You know Mak, I seriously doubt that if JJ Johnson was champ that we would see this type of showboating.”

 

“That would be correct. He would however, use the title to justify a reason to dig up the corpses of famous leaders of the world to prove that he is indeed the World Champion. Hell, he would probably get ole’ Honest Abe to tap out to a buffalo sleeper chained with a Boston crab.”

 

“King that’s not even possible.”

 

“Don’t tell JJ that.”

 

Both men untangle their respective titles, handing them off to the exiting Funyon. Disrobing the knee lengthen jacket, Landon lowers his entrance attire to his beautiful yet dangerous manager while Zyon stretches in the opposite corner. With all the surplus action out of the way, referee Ken Masters looks at both competitors before calling for the bell!

 

DING DING DING!

 

A minor eruption of cheers from the crowd fill the area surrounding the temple as the crafty cockroach exits his corner with a huge grin across his face. Strutting to the middle of the ring, Landon makes sure to point out to the Unique Youth that he doesn’t stand a chance…

 

*CRACK!*

 

…And with a forearm shot, Zyon respectively disagrees. Rubbing his chin with a calm exterior, Landon mouths toward the youth, “That was a free one.” Wondering over to the center of the ring where the Cruiserweight Champion stands stationary, Landon wallops the youth with an open handed smack!

 

*SMACK!*

 

Turning toward his female companion, the New Generation arrogantly winks at Megan as Zyon comes bursting back with a wild right hand! Crushing the atmosphere with his closed fist, Zyon can only watch on, discouraged by the fact that he missed Landon by a mile! Using his right foot to spin his body around, the World Heavyweight Champion CLOCKS the youth with a perfect European uppercut! Staggering away from the New Generation, Zyon tries to shake the cobwebs out as Landon charges in for the attack…

 

…And foolishly falls into a hip toss. Clinching on to La Cucaracha’s arm, Zyon kneels down applying an uncharacteristic arm bar.

 

“See that King, Zyon was obviously rocked by that European uppercut, and has found a way to keep Landon in check while he attempts to collect himself. Good strategy by the young Cruiserweight Champion.” Mak explains.

 

Pulling Landon back to his feet, Zyon Irish whips the New Generation across the ring. Bouncing off the opposite ropes, Landon charges in with a kitchen sink knee attack aimed at the sternum of the man who whipped him across the ring. Halting the attack with the palm of his hands, the youth slides back a few steps before getting stunned by a forearm to his unguarded face. Noticing the destruction in his opponent’s excited eyes, Landon pulls the youth into a collar and elbow tie up.

 

“See that Mak, Landon is a pussy. He was controlling the match, but he probably got paranoid by the youth’s eyes or something equally stupid, and locked on a collar and elbow.” King continues his anti Landon commentary.

 

Sneaking behind the youth, the almost technically sound La Cucaracha traps the youth’s arm against his back with a reverse hammerlock. Tapping his shoulder in a feverish attempt to get the blood flowing, Zyon reminds Landon that he’s not training with Jay Hawke or JJ Johnson, two men who could counter the reverse hammerlock with a go behind or something equally technical. Zyon on the other hand, flings his elbow backward, snapping Landon’s head back with a sharp elbow to the face. Megan cries out, hoping that her boyfriend’s face isn’t squash by the end of the match. Lucky for Ms. Skye, the youth initiates his spotty offense, as he takes off for the ropes perpendicular to where Landon is standing. Springing off the middle rope, Zyon latches on to the New Generation’s outstretched arm, tossing him to the mat with an overly flashy arm drag. Rolling directly back to his feet, Landon takes a step forward before getting blasted in the face by a Zyon right hand. Swiftly, Zyon traps the World Champion in a front face lock, taking him up and over with a snap suplex that is followed by the cover!

 

ONEKICKOUT!

 

Shoving his cruiserweight opponent off, the New Generation rises back to his feet just in time to catch a right forearm to the face! Winding up for a bigger blow, Zyon’s action is cut off by Landon’s knee that plunges into his sternum. Applying a front face lock on his energetic opponent, Landon wiggles his hips to the delight of the females in the audience…who all catch an evil stare from Megan Skye. Spinning toward the mat, La Cucaracha drives Zyon’s neck into the canvas with a swinging neckbreaker. Popping up to a seated position, the youth clutches the back of his neck as Landon settles down by holding the Unique Youth hostage in a seated chin lock! Grinding his forearms into the youth’s facial epidermis in a crossface manner, Landon eventually works his way around, applying a cravate to the seated youth. Forcing Zyon to his feet with the ¾ headlock, Landon flips the youth over with a snapmare as he bores the crowd with another chin lock…and loving every second of it.

 

“BOOOOOOO!”

 

“These people really hate Landon, who so far has ignored his own style in favor of the one taught to him during his training with Johnson and Hawke.”

 

“God he’s such a pussy.” Yeah that was King.

 

Repeating his earlier process, Landon lifts Zyon back to his feet with the dreaded ¾ headlock, but this time the youth uses the back of his hand to club out of the rest hold. Pushing off of his arrogant opponent, Zyon takes a step away from the World Champion…only to get yanked back down to the mat by his hair! Allowing the Unique Youth to rise once again into a seated position, Landon lowers himself as if he’s ready to rape the youth with another fucking cravate. However, the Next Generation spikes his knee into spine of the youth, eliciting an airless gasp from his seated opponent. Pivoting his foot away from Zyon, Landon shoves the same foot forward, striking the youth in the same spot with a soccer styled punt to the back. Leaving the youth to clutch his back, Landon takes off for the opposite ropes, bouncing off of them, and snapping Zyon’s neck forward with a Hennig style neck snap!

 

“Great combination of moves by Landon. Two strikes stunned the youth while the neck snap put an exclamation point on his dominance so far.” Mak points out that Landon has kept the Unique Youth in check…so far.

 

Gripping the youth by his neck, Landon throws the youth in a nearby turnbuckle only to have Zyon explode out with a devastating forearm that sends the New Generation stumbling. Throwing the slowest kick EVER at Landon’s side, Zyon looks less than perturbed when the New Generation stops the strike by trapping his leg against his side with his arm. Hopping around on one foot with Landon staring back at him with a wide grin, the Unique Youth spins around tossing his other foot toward Landon’s side, which also becomes encaged with the World Champion’s free arm. Proceeding to hook the bent over cruiser by the waist, Landon hoists the youth backward for a wheelbarrow suplex attempt. However, due to his both his legs being free, Zyon grabs on to Landon’s head with his right arm, kicking both legs out, and driving the World Champion to the mat with a bulldog counter!!

 

“YES…err…I mean. Figures Zyon could only counter a move with some sort of overly spotty maneuver than is the same as it’s regular counterpart.” The Gambling Man stays in spot hating mode.

 

Irritating wrestling purists around the world, Zyon allows the crafty veteran to rise back to his feet. Visually alarmed by the youth’s ability to turn the match around, Landon soon realizes that he has to end this as quickly as possible…

 

…Which is really hard to do when you can’t spot your opponent in the ring. With the clues that range from the fans cheering to Megan Skye blatantly giving Zyon’s position away, Landon twirls around to see two feet descending on him…and then into him! Blasting the World Champion with a missile dropkick, the youth drops down on to the World Champion for the cover…

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

Kickout!

 

Lifting the World Champion back to his feet, Zyon delivers a few blunt strikes to Landon’s youthful features before taking off for the ropes again. Witnessing the control of the match flinging from his grasp, Landon takes a monumental step forward, lifting the charging youth with his palms, tossing him high into the air. Swimming in the atmosphere for a moment, the Cruiserweight Champion extends his feet once again, as he comes crashing down on Maddix with another captivating dropkick…

 

…Well it’s captivating, but useless when Landon steps upward toward Zyon’s spread out body, away from his legs. Pushing down on the youth, the Next Generation crushes Zyon with a high impact back breaker that sends the youth bouncing to the canvas. Swaying around on the mat due to the pain in his back, Zyon feels the weight of Landon’s hand. A hand that forces him back to his feet. A hand that delivers a vicious chop to the youth’s chest. Very little padding comes from the shirt he wears as Zyon is sent back peddling from the stinging strike. Aggressively applying a front waist lock on the youth, Landon hurls the Cruiserweight Champion overhead with a belly to belly suplex! Crawling toward his fallen opponent, Landon attempts his first cover of the match.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

Kickout!

 

Pushing the World Champion off, Zyon rolls back to his feet just to be immediately trapped in a front face lock. Persisting to keep the pace of the match at a favorable speed, Zyon doesn’t mope around while held in another rest hold. Instead, he lifts La Cucaracha into the air for a Northern Lights suplex counter! Now it’s Landon’s turn to infuriate his opponent. Shifting his superior weight down on to the youth, Landon finds himself safely on the mat with Zyon struggling to break free of the front face lock. The youth’s lungs are slowly deflating, as Landon looks out into the crowd and with a smirk yells, “I GOT HIM NOW!”

 

 

Once again, Zyon looks to please the fans while proving the Next Generation wrong by lifting him back into the air. This time the youth stammers forward toward the ropes with Landon horizontally in front of him. Thrashing about on top of the youth, Landon expects to land cautiously to the canvas once again…

 

…Too bad for La Cucaracha that he didn’t make a wish. Dropping the World Champion across the top rope, crotch first, Zyon easily pulls out of the front face lock as Landon writhes in pain. Megan Skye uses her trusty towel to cover her distraught expression, as La Cucaracha Mountain will never be the same again. Springing off the second rope, Zyon leaps into the air, smashing Landon in the face with a sensational back kick to the face! Zyon safely lands on all fours in the ring…while Landon isn’t so lucky. Slipping off the top rope, Landon’s landing is immensely rough as his legs clip the ring apron, and his face smashes into the thinly padded floor!!!

 

“YYYYEEAHAHAHAHAHHHH!”

 

And the people love it.

 

“Finally, a spotty attack that actually worked in Zyon’s favor…and mine. Did you see Landon’s face bounce off the floor. Megan you could always come home to me.”

 

That last statement gets a cold stare from Landon’s female valet who looks like she could puke at the thought of sleeping with the Gambling Man. Checking on her man who could have a broken…a broken face, Megan Skye actually helps the Next Generation back to his feet due to the ref’s count already starting.

 

FIVE

 

SIX

 

Momentarily bored, Zyon sprints foreword for one of his dazzling dives over the top rope, but then he notices the not so innocent female standing in front of Landon…

 

…And foolishly applies the brakes.

 

“Megan has just inserted herself into the match ladies and gentlemen. I’m surprised it took this long. I can’t say I would condone Zyon smashing her into oblivion, but sooner or later she’s going to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Count on it.” Can Mak see into the future?

 

Sliding out to the outside, Zyon gets into a verbal confrontation with Landon’s lady friend. Cowardly hiding behind Miss Skye, the Next Generation is derailed by a multitude of strong jeering from the crowd. Sick of playing games with the World Champion’s woman, Zyon takes a step forward, grabbing at Landon.

 

*SMACK!*

 

So Megan finds it in her jurisdiction to smack the taste right out of Zyon’s mouth, along with bad mouthing the reigning Cruiserweight Champion!

 

“That jezebel…”

 

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA…Oh my god. Mak you did not just say that.”

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing. You just made my night. Well technically this fine Cambodian will make my night a little bit later. But that was a hoot.”

 

“King, other than you’re usual ramblings about the random slut you’re hanging out with after the show, I have absolutely no clue what you are talking about.”

 

“Random slut? Come Mak. That’s not a good way to talk about your mom.”

 

“Zing King. Really. Zing.” The Franchise deadpans as he tries to watch the main event.

 

Brushing the hard smack away, Zyon proceeds after Landon who surprises the youth with a right hand. Skipping away from the battlefield, Megan cheers her man on from the other side of the ring. Realizing the outside is no longer his environment; Landon rolls back into the ring with Zyon in hot pursuit. Falling for one of the oldest tricks in the book, Zyon is quickly bombarded by a series of stomps before he is even completely in the ring. Fighting through the multiple stomps, Zyon unleashes a double leg take down on the veteran who smoothly locks his legs around the youth’s waist. Inexperience continues to blind the Unique Youth who lowers a bomb on to Maddix, to which Landon easily dodges. With his opponent open for any sort of strike, Landon instead opts to apply a front face lock, completing the Wet Cement combination. Noticing the struggle of the youth, the audience no longer finds the rest holds to be boring….

 

…They find them to be threatening.

 

“Zyon fell right into wet cement. For the love of god, has he not watched a tape on Tom motherfucking Flesher?”

 

“Probably not King. Though I’m sure he owns the entire collection of Wildchild’s matches.” The Franchise makes a fictional connection with Zyon’s lack of technical game to his aerial game.

 

Struggling to push himself out of the Wet Cement hold, Zyon angrily pounds the mat with his fist, foolishly wasting precious energy. Landon on the other hand looks to be in complete control, albeit a bit uncomfortable as he dominates the youth with his technical ability as opposed to any other ability Landon has, which ranges from aerial to knitting. Figuring his way out with trial by error, the Unique Youth ascends back to his feet, spreading his legs far apart, gaining a center of balance. The body scissors applied to the youth is less effective, but he’s not out of the water yet. Now that the New Generation’s desperate to keep the Tom Flesher specialty cinched in, Landon begins to tighten the glorified choke even more. The effect of the choke is void as Zyon uses his hands to push down on where Landon’s shoulders should be. And well they aren’t where they should be. After a little bit of feeling around, the youth tries to push Landon’s shoulders to the mat, and this time comes out successful with a pin attempt.

 

ONE!

 

Pfft, not even close. The New Generation easily lifts his shoulder off the mat, which fits into Zyon’s off the wall plan. Landon through all his years wrestling is still a bit shaky on the technical style, which appears in full form when he pops his right shoulder off the canvas…

 

…The one that has Zyon’s head caged between his arm and his side. No longer pinned to the mat, the youth violently pulls backward…FREEING HIMSELF FROM THE WET CEMENT!

 

“YEEEEAAAAHHHH!!”

 

The crowd erupts for the simple breaking of a rest hold…this match has gained overness. Unhooking the body scissor, La Cucaracha floats behind the fatigued youth, pulling him down with a school boy roll up!

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

THREKICKOUT!

 

A large sigh of relief pours from the area surrounding the Angkor Wat as Zyon sloppily hurries back to his feet. Cool, calm, and collective would describe the World Champion who boots the youth in the stomach, forcing him down into a standing head scissor, applying a double under hook in the process!

 

“He’s going for the Toxxic Shock Syndrome!”

 

“Mak you fool. It’s the Maddix Shock Syndrome. Toxxic doesn’t exist anymore remember? All we got was Michael Stephens.”

 

“Who Landon will equally get his ass kicked by. Count on…”

 

“Count on what? How many times you have counted Landon out and he’s won. Every time you count that jackass out he comes back and wins, which pisses me off. Stop underestimating him!” The Gambling Man actually makes a good point about the cockroach.

 

Wiggling free, Zyon busts out from the double under hook, placing the palm of his hands on the thighs of La Cucaracha. Lifting with his legs, the Unique Youth lunges backward, hurling Landon down on to the canvas with a back body drop! Collecting himself on the mat, Landon is unexpectingly damaged by the youth who springs off the middle rope with his Half Moon quebrada, crushing Landon with his weight and the cover!!!!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

“He could have him…”

 

“Mak what did I just tell you!”

 

THKICKOUT!

 

Sweat pouring out from his pores due to his using much more energy than usual to escape the variety of rest holds he’s been put in. Hoisting Landon back to his feet while the World Champion clutches his sternum, Zyon places his cruiserweight opponent on his shoulders in a fireman’s carry position. Launching the New Generation up and over his shoulders, Zyon drops to the mat with both of his knees extended as gravity hurls the wide eyes World Champion sternum first across the youth’s knees!

 

“YEEEAAAAHHHH!”

 

The Cambodian audience goes ballistic as Zyon rolls the gasping champion over on to his back for the pin.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

KICKOUT!

 

Thrusting his shoulder off the canvas, Landon Maddix refuses to die. Looking to stay away from the rest hold and keep the match at his pace, Zyon Irish Whips the crafty veteran into the far turnbuckle. Colliding back first with the unexposed turnbuckle, Landon throws his arms up to guard his face as the youth dives at the New Generation with a shoulder thrust to the wide open sternum! With La Cucaracha doubled over, Zyon feels a certain comfortable level rise as he stupidly pumps his fist at the audience.

 

“YEAAHHHHH!”

 

Garnering the expected cheers, Zyon is ABSOLUTELY SHOCKED when the World Champion sweeps Zyon off his feet with a double legged takedown. Stacking the youth on his shoulders, Landon falls on to Zyon for the legal cover.

 

ONE!

 

And once he puts his foot on the ropes and Megan comes galloping over to hold them down, the legal cover becomes the feared illegal variant.

 

TWO!

 

It’s only cheating if you get caught…

 

…THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

 

 

 

It only works if you win. And Landon DID NOT win. Zyon kicked out!

 

“I swear to god that is the closest to a three without skipping the number altogether and going straight to four.” The Gambling Man is pleased to see the spot monkey kickout.

 

Shaking his head, Landon growls at the ref who he believes has a rotator cuff problem due to the believed slow count. Both men find themselves back to their feet as Landon snaps the youth backward with a DECAPITATING European uppercut. Following the Unique Youth backward, Landon doubles the youth over with a toe kick to the sternum. Latching his hand on to Zyon’s long hair, La Cucaracha brings the PURO with swift unprotected kicks to the youth’s face.

 

“Kawada kicks to the face of Zyon. They are quite weak on their own. But as you can see, when the user uses six to seven, it can rock the opposition.” Mak brings the PURO knowledge.

 

“Well at least those are worth it. I’ll never forgive Hawke for teaching Landon the damn cravate. It’s like selling a gun to whoever is currently public enemy number one.”

 

With one lasting slicing kick, Landon unlatches his hand that was around the youth’s hair. Gazing at the youth who stammers backward due to the stunning kicks, Landon takes a step toward his opponent, leaping into the air, wrapping his legs around the head of his opponent, and snapping him over with a hurricanrana.

 

Oh excuse me, HurriLANrana.

 

Nonchalantly, Landon reaches back for the youth’s legs, who uses those legs to roll Landon on to his shoulders with a sunset flip pin without the actual sunset.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

KICKOUT!

 

Smashing the youth’s head with his feet, Landon rolls backward back to his feet as Zyon does the same. His eyes blurring due to the waterfall of sweat rolling down his face, Zyon either misses the attack entirely or Landon beats him to the punch. Either way the youth is unable to block the charging Maddix who leaps into the air with a spinning gamengiri kick that lands FLUSH on the opposition!!!

 

*CRRRRACK!*

 

Sprawling to the canvas with his hands eclipsing the slight bruise that forms over his face, Zyon pulls himself back to his feet. Landon though is in front of the youth, meeting him with a…

 

…Good lord…

 

…Another caravate.

 

“MADDIX SUCKS! MADDIX SUCKS! MADDIX SUCKS!”

 

The vocal Cambodians chant in their native language, which becomes of such high technology, is instantly translated to English. Angered by Landon’s brilliant strategy that he continues to pound into the youth, Zyon tries to maneuver himself away from Landon, who reels his back in. The Unique Youth though used his step away to gain a moment to think clearly. Through his thought came the counter to the ¾ headlock. Pulling himself away once again, Zyon uses the JJ Johnson counter as he swipes Landon’s arm away, leading to both men standing back to back to each other. Zyon, the quicker of the two warriors, twirls around, wrapping the New Generation in a reverse waist lock. Just as Zyon applies the reverse waist lock, Landon effortlessly counters with a standing switch, holding the youth in contempt with a reverse waist lock of his own. Refusing to waste as much time as the innocent Cruiserweight Champion, La Cucaracha tosses the youth backward with a release German suplex that sends the youth crashing to the canvas…

 

…Feet first. Achieving the element of the advantage, Zyon takes a step forward, but doesn’t go anywhere with Megan Skye holding on to his foot. “LET GO!” The youth hastily shouts and to everyone’s surprise, the heelish female releases Zyon who turns back toward Landon…

 

*CRACK!*

 

…And his European uppercut. The force from the strike sends the youth leaping dramatically over the top rope and on to the ring apron. Rotating his jaw in an attempt to make sure everything is correctly connected, Zyon pushes himself back to his feet as Landon proceeds forward. Lunging at the youth, Maddix looks to strike the youth down with great vengeance and furious anger, but Zyon is all fuck that noise as he breaks the mold with an unprotected head BUTT that sends La Cucaracha staggering backward with a yelp! Shaking away the cobwebs, Zyon aims to regain control of the match with what he has become known for.

 

Flash.

 

With Megan sneaking up on the young Cruiserweight Champion, Zyon springs off the top rope, narrowing escaping Landon’s female valet who was reaching for the youth’s foot once again. Swimming through the atmosphere, the youth forms a superman taunt as Landon begins to recuperate from having his face smashed in by someone’s skull. Grinding his teeth with his eyes completely bloodshot, the New Generation realizes that one other person has head BUTT him worse.

 

Fuckin’ Toxxic.

 

However, no amount of fury can save Landon with his own personal brush of decapitation as Zyon CLOBBERS him with his flashy version of the springboard forearm smash!!! Landing on top of the dazed champion, Zyon reaches back and hooks the leg for another pin attempt.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

KICKOUT!

 

Springing away from the World Champion, Zyon slaps the canvas with the frustration that comes with getting a near fall on the World Heavyweight Champion. During the youth’s minor tirade against the wrestling ring, he notices that Landon has recovered from the high impact forearm faster than he imagined was possible. Then it hits the youth like a Danny Williams elbow.

 

He’s fighting the best in the business.

 

The butterflies in his stomach return at the worse possible time. In a feverish attempt of dispel the nervousness inside him, Zyon bounces off the near ropes, lunging toward Landon, and wrapping both feet around the World Champion’s waist. Instinctively, the Next Generation pulls the youth up for a wheelbarrow suplex, and Zyon once again, wraps his arm around Landon for the bulldog.

 

“YEAH….GASP!”

 

A hush looms over the energetic crowd as Zyon’s youth energy might have gotten the best of the Cruiserweight Champion, as Landon remains stationary. Fastening both arms around the waist of his cruiserweight opposition, the New Generation MURDERS the Unique Youth with a BACKDROP DRIVVVVVVVEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!

 

“GAHAHAHAHAAHAHHHHHHAHAHHH!!”

 

The crowd launches into a riotous battlecry as Zyon’s neck his dismantled by Landon’s awesome counter. Rolling the limp cruiserweight on to his back, Maddix leans on the youth, pushing both shoulders to the mat.

 

ONEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWWWWWOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEENOOOOOOOO!!!”

 

“HE KICKED OUT!!!!” Both announcers shill in unison.

 

Blistering Landon’s ears is the massive cheering from the crowd who actually believe that the youth can beat the World Heavyweight Champion. At the beginning of the night only a fool and a cripple would think that. Now even the crafty veteran and his vixen on the outside are sweating bullets. Landon’s burning eyes reveal a desperate champion fighting for the victory in a NON TITLE bout. He may be cocky, brash, and a bit on the loony side.

 

But he’s currently the best in the business. And nobody can take that from him.

 

“Landon’s good, but Flesher’s better.” King just took it from him because he can.

 

Lifting the spaghetti legged youngster off the canvas, Landon hesitantly applies a front face lock, setting up another Wet Cement attempt perhaps?

 

“Landon looks like his ego couldn’t take Zyon countering the Wet Cement again. He’s stalling…” The Franchise trails off.

 

Leaping to wrap his legs around the stunned Cruiserweight Champion, the Next Generation overshoots the body scissors as Zyon’s knees give out, lowering the youth. Reaching deep to pull out some of that FIGHTING SPIRIT, Zyon pulls himself back up with Landon sitting on his shoulders. Shaking his head, disproving of the youth’s next attack, La Cucaracha has just become some Chinese man’s dinner as the youth exterminates the insect with a POWERBOMB…FOOL! A smile washes over those in the stands as Landon’s head bounces off the canvas. The smile turns into a ruckus cheer as Zyon falls on Landon for the cover.

 

ONEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

THRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEE!

 

Could it be?

 

Nope.

 

“YEEEAAAAHHHH!”

 

The audience erupts as referee Ken Masters holds up two fingers. Those two fingers alone almost force the youth into tears as he drops to one knee payable by fatigue. Using most of his strength to pull himself back to his feet, Landon’s eyes droop to the point that he looks like he could collapse at any moment. Lifting himself back to his feet, Zyon bounces off the near ropes, sliding under the fatigued beaten World Champion, latching on to Landon’s arm on the way through…

 

“He’s looking to apply a pump handle which leads to you know what King.”

 

“The end.”

 

“Yep.”

 

King, Mak, and Landon both understand this fact. For this reason, La Cucaracha does INDEED collapse on Zyon, as he is halfway through the slide. Sitting on his back, Landon reaches over for the dragon sleeper to send Zyon on a one-way trip to the LAND OF NOD! Twisting his body slightly, the youth brings the technical experience he has gained during his time in the fed, as he clutches Landon’s arm, dragging him to the side with an arm bar! The crowd comes to a boiling point as the youth tries his damnest to transition the arm bar into an arm scissor for the Gouki Crossface! Sensing the danger, Megan leaps on to the apron just as Landon rolls through with the counter. Back on his feet, Landon turns to order Megan off the apron rather than attacking the distraught youth.

 

Even the best make mistakes.

 

With his attention diverted, Landon is sent crashing into his manager due to a Zyon shove. The vixen crashes to the floor, gaining sympathy from NOBODY! Staggering away from the ropes, Landon turns into the Unique Youth who scoops the champ off the mat…before spiking him back into the canvas with the regular Aero Driver!

 

“Aero Driver Beta. Quicker than the 911, and a perfect set up for…” Mak trails off…

 

Zyon finishes the Franchises sentence as he ascends the top rope with the nearby Cambodians ALIVE on their feet. Wasting little time, Zyon leaps off the ropes, reaching for the stars as he twists 120 degrees, crashing on to Landon Maddix with the spectacle knows as the…FINAL FLASH!!!!!!!

 

ONEEEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

 

“Vitamin” plays over the sound system, but you wouldn’t know it as the Cambodian audience nearly breaks the sound barrier with their cheering and chanting. Megan sits on the floor, bewildered by the fact that they lost.

 

“The winner of the contest in 47 minutes and 39 seconds, THE UNIQUE YOUTH! ZZZZZYYYYOOOOONNNNNNNNN!!!!”

 

Funyon bellows under the crowd’s mighty cheer as Zyon exits to the outside with Landon remaining in the ring.

 

“Mak that spot monkey won the match be persevering under the pressure of facing the World Champion. I guess Landon never realized he was under the same pressure.”

 

Falling over himself as he wonders up the ramp, dragging his Cruiserweight Title, Zyon looks back at Landon and Megan who remain in the ring confused by what just went down.

 

Score one for the good guy.

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