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SWF Lockdown 6-21-2006

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“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN THIS IS SWF LOCKDOWN!” The Franchise greets the audience as pyro continues to set Doomtopia ablaze while Mak settles down under the roar of the crowd, “We are located in…where the fuck are we? I see people, but I also see goblins, dwarves, leprechauns, the Tooth Fairy, Sammy Davis Jr…”


“Mak we are in DOOM…DOOM…DOOMTOPIA!” The Gambling Man chants leaving Mak to piece together the jigsaw the surrounds them.


“Sammy Davis Jr? Well we are in the domain of SWF superstar, the Straight Bread Sensation Jimmy the DOOM! We have a jam packed show for you tonight including…oh damnit I’m about to be interrupted aren’t I.”




“I’m Born!”


“I’m Alive!”


“I Breathe!”


The variety of Doomtopian natives FREAK OUT as the Smarktron switches from a shot of the infamous volcano in the background to the Unique Youth’s career highlights as of this moment. “Vitamin” by Incubus continues to blare across the sound system as the Patron Wrestler of Athens enters the nation of Doomtopia to a thunderous roar.




Covering his long brown hair with a hat with the number “2” carved on the front, Zyon wonders down to the ring dressed in his usual khaki shorts and black T-shirt. Taking a moment to stare out into the rabid audience, Zyon can’t help bust smile when he realizes that the man really does make the belt. Feeling slightly naked without the Cruiserweight Title, the youth rolls into the ring, immediately asking for a microphone.


“So what is he doing out here?” King wonders aloud before answering his own question, “I mean should he even be allowed to open the show? He’s going to kill our ratings. Seeing him in the main event is enough, but I already find myself disinterested with the show. And I work here!”


“King, give the kid the floor. I’m sure he’s still a bit overjoyed by the fact that he’s getting his first World Title shot ever tonight. Let him have the floor. I personally think this could be good.”


“You don’t get paid to think Mak. You get paid to put over spot monkeys like Zyon. While I tell it how it is. That being that he’s never going to amount to anything past the Cruiserweight Title.”


The Gambling Man speaks harshly of the youth knowing he didn’t hear a word he said. Zyon has much more important notions as opposed to arguing with a retired senile fool who marks for Tom Flesher…and only Tom Flesher.


He’s not Superior


He’s not Straight Edge


He’s not Iron


He’s not a Divine Wind


He’s not the King of Pain


He does have the floor…let’s take a listen.


“WHOOOOOOOOOO!” The Unique Youth releases to the glee of the thousands who find the youth quite entertaing, but a bit taken back by his joy, especially after losing his Cruiserweight Title to Michael Cross at Thirteenth Hour! “I have a question for you. And I want an honest answer. I don’t care if you answer with hand gestures, jeers, cheers, or throwing slices of plain white bread at me. I just want to know…are you ready?”




The crowd explodes with an explosive yes that sends the youth on the beginning of what could be another thirty seconds of soaking in cheers and saying nothing of note, or it could be the start of the greatest night ever for the Unique One.


“That’s what I like to hear. I don’t wish to bore you with long dramatic sentences that have unneeded descriptions of my life’s story. But I will take up all the time I need to get a few things off my chest. First…Michael Cross .” The youth pauses and even comically covers his ears in fear of hearing the obvious.




The crowd launches into a massive jeer at the name of the current Cruiserweight Champion, while the youth hushes the crowd by continuing his verbal therapy.


“Ouch. Then again he does deserve it, but let’s not get it twisted. The man, the warrior, and the incredible athlete that is the Suicide Machine did indeed get the better of me at Thirteenth Hour. Sure you could say I was prepared for Akira and not Cross, or whatever.” Zyon shakes his head in disgust at the amount of excuses he’s heard over the week. “You should not want his head for defeating me in battle. However, the coward, the punk, the bastard that is the real Michael Cross should be crucified for his actions. How a guy could attack his best friend and hope to gain something from it is beyond me, but at least he didn’t try to kill him, right?”


“Would he get on with it? Look you feuded with Spike months ago and he couldn’t even carry you to a decent wrestling match.” King fumbles over his words due to the annoyance that he finds in the man that is currently in the ring.


“So I’m going to lay it down like this. You have what belongs to me.” Zyon states with a cold focus in his eyes as the crowd roars in approval. “You have what belongs to these people. You have what belongs to this division. Cruiserweight wrestling isn’t about plotting your way into an unexpected title match. Cruiserweight wrestling isn’t about attacking your best friend in the back. Cruiserweight wrestling isn’t about KILLING AKIRA WITH A CHAIR TO THE FACE! You told a man that I may not like, but I respect to go to hell…and stay there. Michael, I’m willing to go to hell. I’m willing to meet you on Elm Street. Do you want to get obliterated at Camp Crystal Lake? How about we have a rendezvous on Namek? Would you like to rip the three little pig’s house down and bitch smack the big bad wolf all in one night? My pride would carry me through Gotham, to Metropolis, and all the way to the Matrix if we have to!”


“What the fuck is he talking about?”


“Fictional places it seems.”


Firmly behind the youth, the audience continues to pick up on the hints until Zyon finishes the clue, “Cross, I will not let you destroy the most important division in professional wrestling. A division that lived through having the title, the symbol, the pride of all those involved with it’s creation…it survived being used as chip dip. It survived the reign of a man who was so arrogant, that he would type up workrate reports. Yes, it even survived Spike Jenkins!”




“However, all of that above is definitely petty in comparison to what you could do to this division. Call it a code if you want, but I will not allow you to destroy the standard that many before myself had set. Cross, I will not allow you to injure fellow wrestlers or shame this division for your own personal ego. That is why, I promise to put a stop to you. That is why; I’m making it official. Cross, I want you face to face. I want to know about it before the bell rings. Hell, I want you to know about it too. So unless the SWF wants any more victims on their conscience, I’d suspect that I will redeem what you have taken from me. I will take back what you have stolen from this division. And if this excites you as much as it does me, I’m sure you will be ready to add me to your list.” Zyon takes a second to breathe, regaining an arrogant smirk, almost a chuckle before he continues. “I should warn you, though. Ask around, I don’t die easy.”


“What a blockbuster! Zyon just put the challenge out for the Cruiserweight Champion. Cross/Zyon II could be an excellent affair!” Mak already begins to shake at the notion of such an event.


“I still have no idea what the fuck he is talking about?”


“Now on to tonight. On to what could be…and I know this will sound clichéd, but tonight could be the night where I fly off into the sunset. This isn’t Lockdown anymore…this is destiny.” Zyon pronounces the “D” word which excites the audience to no end as he continues, “That’s right I said it. It only took one conversation with our current champion in China, and that set everything in motion. And quite frankly, it’s fucking time! For the last couple months, I’ve kept to myself. I went out and performed to the best of my ability, and entertained all of you, and damnit I enjoyed it.”




“What a cheap pop? Seriously that’s worse than an off brand PEPSI MAX.”


“Yet for some reason, every time I began to grow wings I was looked at as a threat. I can’t speak of a glass ceiling, because the bastards in charge cut my wings off before I could get that far.” The crowd continues to cheer the young star, even if he is sounding a bit bitter, “One minute I would put on a show with the likes of JJ Johnson, Jay Hawke, Akira Kaibatsu, and Landon Maddix. And then the next I would be condemned to such matches than involve tanks, meaningless tag matches, and if they wanted something bullet proof, they just told me to take the night off. Let me tell you something right now, I’m in my prime! I don’t need the night off!” Zyon shouts, taking a second to regain his composure, “Oh and I’m sure some of you are wondering the exact same thing that those goons in the back believe. What makes me a credible challenger? Well other than beating Spike at a PPV…”




The youth smirks at the joke that got him his shot, “…I refuse to be denied. Neither the time nor the place makes any difference to me. I live each day like it’s my last, and I refuse to dwell on the past. But for those of you who do? Let me quell your worries. I lost the SWF Hardcore Gamers Title to Marcus Ward, and what did I do next? I went on to take Jay Hawke to his limits and earn this company the ratings they so desire. After a close match with the Professor, I went on to fight a man that for all intents and purposes is more skilled than I. That man of course being JJ Johnson. He ripped me apart two straight matches, until I finally broke through the mold, and defeated him for the Cruiserweight Title…”




“King are you alright?”


“Yeah I’m fine.”


“…I soon lost that title to the Divine Wind weeks later. And did I stop and give up? Hell no, I teamed with a psychopath and went undefeated in a tag team tournament. Soon after, I put on a show…a masterpiece with that same psycho. A psycho that really did teach me a lot, but it had to be done. Did I stop there? Nope, not even close. I won the Cruiserweight Title for a second time defeating Grendel and the very man who defeated me twice before, Akira Kaibatsu. That piece of success coupled with experience brings me to tonight…brings me to my destiny. The obstacles are gone. Johnson, Akira, Hawke, Pretzler, Spike, and the list goes on. They are either dwindling in darkness or they are AWOL. I refuse to be a casualty of war. This war has conveniently brought me to General Toxxic .”




The youth shrugs off the explosion that would overwhelm his best pops, “Yeah he sure is great. He’s so great, that like a General he orders those inferior to call him by his title…Michael Stephens. I say fuck that noise! The moniker doesn’t make the man. Toxxic , Michael, Tinker Bell, or whatever you want to call yourself has no bearings on how I feel about your legend. It’s a great story no doubt; watching your book unfold has brought joy to these people as well as myself. You have my respect.”


“Zyon always a good sport…”


And just as Mak speaks…it goes downhill as the youth holds up one finger minus any sort of gothic nail polish, “Partly. You see something about you is a bit awkward for my liking, Toxxic.” Zyon is sure to put emphasis on the name, “Try to understand that this might come out a bit bitter, but it’s my destiny, and you can’t stop it.” The youth arrogantly shrugs, “You are looked at as one of the greatest to ever grace this ring. Not only are you physically gifted, but you have the mental prowess of a true tactician. Some believe that on your best day…you have no equal. It’s a hard point to argue to be honest, but I’ll try. You didn’t go through the SJL.”




“You were one of the first to go from the Indies to the majors, skipping everything in between. Sure I did the same, but the SJL has long since been dead, and any argument against me would hold no ground. Against you…well I’ll try. You came into this place with the heart to achieve and a snobbish attitude to boot. Dude, from the first moment you entitled someone as sunshine, it was in the bag. Sure, you have been quoted as going down the wrong road, but let’s face it man, you’re the same guy who made a living snapping people necks. The early you dared to dream and all you did was fulfill it. And you’re still a dreamer, man. People like myself, that bastard Cross, Akira, Johnson…we all dared to dream. But you…you impressed us all. You made your dream a reality…three different times. This fourth time against Landon, it was no dream. It was a harsh reality…for Landon. You admitted it yourself, the title was secondary to your own well being.” Zyon again smirks as exactly two people in the crowd boo him, “And let’s face it…that was a bitch move!”


“WHAT???” Mak just about spills out of his chair…that he is bound to for life.


“See, Cross and yourself are in my sights, but for different reasons. Cross is looking to kill a code for his own sick purpose in life; while yes you did break necks and injure people also…you did it in the name of the sport. Revolution Zero, Straight Edge Sensation, and everything else that you are known for pales in comparison to the fear that you bring. A fear that helped fulfill your dream…and a fear that led to Landon’s demise. See you really are the same man, simply because you are the only man who can do that. Toxxic , I’m not looking to hurt you. And I’m sure your not looking to hurt me, but I’m awake. You can play the song all you want man, but I’m not listening. There will be a time, a day, and a moment where you are going to have to make a choice. Follow your dreams or meet a harsh reality. A reality that Landon, Johnson, and yes…” The youth gulps a little, “…A reality that I have met. The problem is tonight, could be your reality check…no tonight will be your reality check!”




The crowd can feel the youth’s passion; “You pointed out my flaw on Aftershoxx, about how I lost my morals during my teaming with Spike. And Toxxic you’re right, there was no honor in that, just like snapping people’s necks has none. Just like attacking those with your petty group of hooligans, Revolution Zero. Just like using your position as General and flaunting it in everyone’s faces. None of that is honor incarnate, but that…that my friends is what made you a dreamer. I’m slowly losing my grip on reality man, and tonight could be the end of my daze. No longer will I be held down, no longer will I wrestle matches where there are tanks…tanks for crying out loud, and no longer will I awaken to find myself unsatisfied. This is my dream.”


Zyon shuts his eyes for a moment, before opening the mystical pair, gazing out into the awestruck audience who are overwhelmed by the intensity, “Man this is my destiny.” Zyon again smirks and with a simple unforgiving shrug of his shoulders ends, “And sunshine , a sleep or not, Toxxic or Michael …you can’t stop that.”



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SWF Lockdown Card @ The Doomerican Airlines Center (of Doom), At The Lip Of An Active Volcano, Doomtopia!
Date: 21st June 2006.
Viewing Times: 6:00pm PST, 10:00pm EST; check local listings.


No one's really sure what the hell is going on anymore, but somehow and somewhere, the SWF's emergency flight out of Raccoon City (thanks to UBCS) has landed them in the nearest safe country... which just happens to be the home of one of the SWF's most Straight-Breaded superstars! Of course, the crowd is made up of lots of crazy gypsies instead of fans, but we don't let that bother us.



Main Event - World Heavyweight Title Match
Michael Stephens© vs Zyon

Description: Holy crap the drama of buildup while we were in Raccoon City! I'm hardly the wittiest person around, so let's just sound hyperactive. Zyon! Michael Stephens! World Heavyweight Title! Tonight! Live! In Doomtopia. BUY BUY BUY BUY TICKETS... or something like that. I'm tired.

Rules: Straight singles, as per the usual.


Sub-Main Event - International Title Match
Aecas© vs Charlier 'Grappler' Matthews

Description: Aecas the fighting champion. Aecas the fighting Briton. Aecas is the MAN. Unfortunately, the MAN has never been able to defeat Charlie Matthews in one-on-one competition. The boring half of Team Matflesh goes toe-to-toe with the Black Angel with the gold on the line. Will Matthews prove to be an unstoppable force, or will Aecas dominate the Grappler once and for all?

Rules: Straight singles match.


Hardcore Title Match
Sean Davis© vs Bloodshed

Description: Davis crushed Spike in a steel cage to gain ahold of the Hardcore title. Bloodshed, of course, fancies himself to be a rather hardcore individual, if delusionally psychotic. Now where have we heard that before... either way, big man meets small man in a clash of the violent types!

Rules: Rules? No rules whatsoever.


Singles Match
Landon 'La Cucaracha' Maddix vs Wildchild

Description: Two awesome wrestlers go head to head in a classic matchup of plots versus spots. At least... Landon tends to follow the first as opposed to the second, most of the time. Will the conniving Cockroach plot his way to victory, or will the generally spotty - but capable of being plotty - Bahama Bomber bounce his way to another victory?

Rules: Straight singles match. Of awesomeosity.


Another Singles Match
Austin Sly vs 'Hollywood' Spike Jenkins

Description: Austin has expressed interest in moving up the card. Of course, we at creative control have no problem with that, but we'd just like him to deliver a little beatdown to someone before we shuffle him up to kick some ass. A win here would push the Sly one into position for a title shot... which title, of course, remains a mystery.

Rules: Straight singles match.


House Rules: Jimmy's House
Thomas Flesher vs Jimmy the Doom

Description: Cruiserweight Rules favours Tom Flesher. The philosophy of Straight Bread favours Jimmy the Doom. Considering our local Doomtopian has the hometown advantage, it seemed perfectly feasible to put these two men together. Can Tom's cruiserweight handling mastery overcome the Straight Bread mindset of Jimmy the Doom, or not?

Rules: Peters is not happy with Tom just attacking Grendel like that. This is his punishment. A ring will be erected in Jimmy the Doom's kitchen. Outside said ring and on the kitchen counters, as well as on various tables, are sandwich makings. The match will be fought under Cruiserweight rules, BUT!!!! in order to win, you must make a sandwich with condiments, then force feed it to your opponent, violating the Straight Bread philosophy. What is Jimmy's House? Use your imagination.


Yet Another Singles Match
Bruce Blank vs MANSON

Description: Upon study of records, Bruce Blank and Manson have never faced each other one on one before. Of course, we immediately chose to remedy this. Can the Trailerpark Messiah survive, or will he fall victim to the all encompassing power of MANSONOSITY?

Rules: Standard singles match.


Tag Team Match
Kerry Staunton/Scott Rageheart vs Martin 'Big Country' Hunt/Matt 'Insert Gimmick Here' Myers

Description: Two newcomers get a greeting in the form of two of the SWF's favourites jobbers to the stars. Well, not so much favourites as the fact they're warm bodies. Enjoy yourselves, folks.

Rules: Standard tag match. Remember the tag ropes and all that.

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The TV cameras swing back across the crowds and the odd pillar of smoke and ash as we return for the first match of the evening on SWF Lockdown.


“Hey King, how does it feel to be back here? I see the place is a little run down since the JLA and those tax lawyers ran out of town.” Mak Francis quips from the commentary desk.


“I’ll have you know, I let those guys win…only so I could bury them under a few thousand tons of lava and ash…mwahaha!” King shoots back with a straight face.


“Ok, and while we make sure King hasn’t taken over the volcano control room to run some massive insurance scam by killing us all, it’s time for our first match of the night.”


“Ohh, hold me back, hold me back. A pair of no names and well, some rookies. I expect blood or this just wont entertain me. And I pay for such entertainment!” King cries, not totally joking.


Mak looks across at his co-commentator slowly. “King, the company pays YOU. Besides, what a more spectacular place for a new team to make their debut in the SWF?”


A small rumbling makes it way around the The Doomerican Airlines Center, as the crowd shift in their seats, settling down for the first match as Funyon stands, center-stage in the ring with his mic poised.


“Ladies and gentlemen, the firs contents of the evening will be a tag team match…for one fall! Introducing firstly, from Alberta, Canada….weighing in at a combined total of five hundred and fifteen pounds…the team of KERRY STAUNTON AND SCOTT RAGEHEART!”


A flash of pyro lights up the entrance ramp as the sounds of ‘Thunderkiss '65’ by White Zombie roll out of the PA system. Staunton and Rageheart stand in the clearing smoke from the pyro, eyes scanning the crowd. Strolling down the ramp to the ring, the duo flex their huge collective set of muscles before climbing into the ring. A small cry breaks over the crowd, with most holding back, waiting to see what to make of this new tag team.




“And their opponents,” Funyon booms, “At a combined weight of four hundred and forty ones pounds… the team of …. MARTIN ‘BIG COUNTRY’ HUNT AND MATT ‘TAG DIVISION’ MYERS!”




‘A Country Boy Can Survive’ rumbles out across the speaks as Big Country and the man tonight trying to embody the whole Tag Division, step out onto the ramp, to a yell from a crowd happy to see someone they know. Climbing the ring pots, Myers and Hunt throw their arms up to the crowd as Rageheart and Staunton look on.


“Now, new guys or not, a new tag team is even worse to double guess that just a new star. You have two guys to worry about, wonder how they work together. Pile that on top of not being a regular team and things could start looking bad before this even starts for Myers and Big Country.” Francis points out.


“You mean boring Mak, just boring. Unless the new guys turn out to be impressive or something. But when the hell does that ever happen anyway?”





The opening bell rings as referee Hardcastle sweeps his arms down to single the opening of the match. Myers takes one last moment to leap into the air, throwing his arms out to the fans before turning and offering a handshake to the new comer, Scott Rageheart. The Canadian takes one look at the offered hand before slapping it again and giving ‘Tag Division’ Myers the middle finger.




“Hello, I could start to care about these guys maybe. As soon as I see a low blow and some ref distracting, I’ll know we’re got some hot new talent here!” King cries with a slight smile.


Not wasting a moment, Rageheart lunges forwards and locks up with Matt Myers, trying to force the smaller man back up against he ropes. Twisting form side to side, Myers wriggles his grip free and quickly slaps on a Side Headlock, trying to slow the bigger man down for a moment. But a flex of his arms overpowers the hyperactive crowd pleaser as Scott sends ‘Tag Division’ shooting off into the ropes, then a hook of the arm and a twist launches Myers into the mat with an Armdrag.




Flipping straight back to his feet in near one movement, Myers catches the bigger man as he charges in and sends Scott to the mat with an Armdrag of his own. A twist of the hips and Matt leaps from the mat and drives both boots into the side of Rageheart’s head before he can get up.




“Speed wins out over power in the first stand off between these teams. While Kerry and Scott look about the same heights as Myers and Hunt, they have over 30 pounds each on them.” Francis points out.


“Yep, all that extra weight for beating the tar out of these idiots. Listen to these people, they’ll cheer for anyone we have on the website!”


Shaking his head out for just a moment, the Canadian rushes back to his feet and grapples with ‘Tag Division’ Matt a second time. Not wanting to be outpaced again, Scott smoothly drives his knee directly into Myers’ midsection, doubling him over before whipping him off into the ropes.


Backing up a couple of paces, Rageheart braces himself, watching Myers hit the ropes, before racing forwards to intercept him, sending his knee rushing out. Still light on his feet, Myers smoothly side-steps the charging knee and spins around on one foot. Out pacing the bigger man a second time, Matt Myers leaps into the air and cracks his calf into Scott Rageheart’s face with a Spinning Wheelkick!




With a last quick wave to the crowd, Myers dashes to his corner and tags in ‘Big Country’ Hunt. Slowly climbing over the ropes, Hunt looks the rising Rageheart up and down before stepping in to plant a big right hand into the Alberta natives’ face. A second blow wobbles Scott Rageheart before he can get to his feet and shove Hunt away. ‘Big Country’ shifts back a few steps before returning the favour and sending Scott staggering backwards at well.


“Martin Hunt sending a message that the new comers won’t just be able to manhandle their way through their first match.” Says Mak Francis.


The two men crash together, as Rageheart lets his colours show with a quick thumb into Hunt’s eye before sending him flying into the ropes. Breaking into a run, Scott makes for the opposite set of ropes, but rather than bouncing off them, he leaps on the second rope and launches himself into the air. Twisting around, Rageheart catches the running ‘Big Country’ square in the chest with a Springboard Dropkick.




“Nice moves, maybe that isn’t all steroid muscle from the Canucks. And defiantly not wasting any time getting the job done either. I’m getting to like Staunton and Rageheart already,” King comments.


“Why am I not surprised? But thumb to the eyes or not, that is a nice move from someone the size of Scott Rageheart. We still have to see if his partner can make the same moves as well though.”


And as if on cue, the Franchise gets his chance, as Rageheart tugs the North Carolina native to his feet before dragging him over to his corner and tagging in the much larger Staunton! The ref indicates that he saw the tag made as the massive Airdrie native steps through the ropes and buries a knee into the sternum of Big Country; Rageheart, satisfied that Hunt is under control, steps out to the apron.


“And now we get to see what the big man can pull off, King,” Mak grins.


“BigGER man, Mak,” corrects the Gambling Man. “Rageheart alone is bigger than most of our SWF competitors.”


Another knee to the sternum precedes Staunton’s whip to the ropes, Hunt bouncing off the opposite strands and heading back towards a ready Albertan; however, knees to the chest do not a groggy opponent make, and Hunt launches himself into the air for his 100 Proof high knee!


That’s blocked, Staunton putting both hands up and planting them against Big Country’s leg, sending him stumbling back to the ground. The massive Albertan, noting Hunt’s imbalance, takes advantage by lashing out with his hand and seizing the frat boy by the throat, throwing his arm over his shoulder, and bringing him UP…







…and DOWN, driving Hunt into the mat with a Choke Suplex! Martin lands high on his shoulders, and Staunton takes an arm and draws it into a wristlock before leaning on top of Big Country in an attempt to score a pin early.












But Hunt muscles his way out just after two, and Staunton snorts before dragging the groggy North Carolinian to his feet and giving him a firm shot to the face with his knee before snaring him in a uranage and sending him up and over with an Exploder…and as Hunt goes crashing into the mat, Staunton merely rushes off the ropes.


“What power!” lauds the Heartbreaker. “First, Staunton manhandles Hunt with that throat-hold uranage, and then he gives him an Exploder without leaving his feet!”


“These two may be strong and quick,” admits The Franchise, “but they’re definitely going to have to work on their ground game.”


It’s almost as if the tag team exists solely to do immediately what Mak says as Staunton’s rush off the ropes comes to fruition, the heavyweight leaping and tucking his legs into his chest before driving them down into Hunt’s stomach with a double stomp!




“Sweet Zombie Jesus!” shouts Mak as Hunt folds up like a Yugo at an intersection, clutching at his quite possibly mortally wounded stomach. “I mean, that looks painful when Maddix does it, but this is a whole different level; Staunton is damn near 300 pounds!”


“There’s your ground game! That’s known in Mexico as La Lanza; Mr. Staunton here calls it The Lance,” grins the Heartbreaker as Staunton bounces off of Big Country and simply continues forward, tagging the already halfway up the ropes Rageheart back into the match. With no further ado, Scott climbs to the top rope and casts himself into the air…before crushing Hunt with a frog-splash, staying on for the pin!






















THR-But no! Matt ‘Tag Division’ Myers rushes in and breaks it up, swatting Rageheart with his forearm to prevent taking a loss to the powerful rookies! Rageheart snarls, but before he can pounce on the unfortunate jobber – who is only just now realizing his mistake – Staunton is in the ring, brushing past the ref, charging Myers AND DESTROYING THE TAG DIVISION WITH AN AXE BOMBER!!









Myers channels the spirit of Mr. Perfect as he performs a 450 flip-sell, toppling head-over-heels before collapsing into a lifeless heap on the mat before the Alberta native reaches down and casually lifts him, walks to the side of the ring, and dumps him between the ropes to the outside before returning to his corner at the behest of the official.


“Oh, good,” says King nonchalantly. “We haven’t had a handicap match in a while.”


“In most situations, I’d chastise you for being arrogant,” begins the Philadelphian at the desk, “but I can’t say you’re not at least somewhat correct; we haven’t seen the Axe Bomber in the SWF since Danny Williams last showed up, and I’ve felt that, ladies and gentlemen. It’s not fun.”


“Well, of course you felt it,” scoffs the Heartbreaker. “It’s a devastating clothesline that hits with the bicep, AND it was above the waist.”


“I wasn’t paralyzed back then, King,” says Mak through gritted teeth.


“No, but your career was,” fires the Gambling Man back as Rageheart drags Hunt to his feet and hooks him in a front facelock, putting an arm over his head, and hoisting him vertical for a suplex!



…and holding him…









…and holding him…









…and holding him…








…and holding him…






…and holding him…




“This is absurd,” gasps Francis. “Rageheart has had Hunt up there for at least fifteen seconds, and he doesn’t show any sign of letting him down!”


“This is monotonous,” yawns King. “I mean, I like these guys, and I’m all for establishing dominance-“


“Says the guy that spent 85% of his career getting kicked around, and the other 15% pulling wins out of his ass,” says Mak.


“-those were perfectly legitimate wins. Anyway, I’m all for establishing dominance, but honestly. The show must go on, Scott,” finishes King, a tad snappier.


Rageheart doesn’t look like he cares, still holding Hunt as high as possible, for as long as possible, the Box King turning a delightful shade of purple. Finally, after a solid minute, Staunton professes an interest in entering the match, and Rageheart brings Hunt to Earth, albeit quite violently on his spine. The smaller of the tandem tags Staunton in, and the thick-bodied Albertan steps through the ropes and sits him up. On the plus side, this gives the blood a chance to drain from the suitably bruised-and-battered opponent’s head.






On the down side, this gives Staunton a chance to open fire with some cowboy kicks, firing his boot into the spine of Big Country!








Deciding the Box King has had enough, Staunton takes a firm hold of Hunt’s hair and tugs him to his feet before securing a facelock, draping an arm, and hoisting Hunt vertical for a suplex…



…and, you guessed it, holding him there.


“Aw, dammit!” swears King. “Not this BS again!”


“This is actually pretty smart of the newcomers, King,” admits Mak. “The heat from this volcano is sweltering, and this is a way for them to wear down their opponents without doing lots of running around.”


“Yeah, because holding a 200+ pound man above your head by his head definitely doesn’t take a lot of effort,” says King, rolling his eyes.


“Does it look like he’s expending a lot of effort?” asks Mak, nodding his head towards Staunton, and indeed, the look of boredom on his face is plain for everyone to see. The look of effort, frankly, isn’t there as he reaches about the forty-five second mark. Where he didn’t match Rageheart’s lift, however, he makes up for with impact, as opposed to a vertical suplex, Staunton spikes Hunt head-first with a brainbuster before floating over for the cover!
















THR-And Hunt just shoves his shoulder off the mat, prompting a grunt of mild frustration from Staunton.


“And it appears a country boy can survive,” quips Mak, “but for how long? I haven’t seen Myers move since he took the Axe Bomber, and Hunt’s simply not going to last against this high-powered offense without reinforcements.”


Or so it would seem, as Hunt finally resists, firing off a punch to the jaw of the Albertan! Staunton shrugs it off, but Hunt lashes out again, landing a firm uppercut! This one seems to faze Kerry slightly, and it allows Hunt to roll and stagger to his feet before lashing out with a firm boot to the face of Staunton! Satisfied with the stunning he’s done, Big Country heads towards the ropes, sprinting off of them before coming back, leaping high…and connecting with a 100 Proof high knee!




Staunton staggers into the ropes, but this turns out to be a good move, as he uses the rebound to swat his arm out with an Axe Bomber…




…that misses, Hunt ducking the deadly clothesline before swiveling his head under Staunton’s arm and hoisting him up for a back suplex!



Well, trying. The Albertan, however, merely reaches out and wraps his hand around the ropes, preventing any lifting Big Country may have had in mind. He lets Hunt waste energy for a bit, then powers him down to the mat with a hip-block takeover before leaping high, his knee cast down and ready to crush the Carolinian.


However, you can’t always get what you want, and this is proven by the fact that Hunt is quick to manoeuvre his head out from under the 270+ weight of Staunton, causing the heavyweight to come to a shuddering halt against the canvas with a rather sharp pain in his knee. Hunt, meanwhile, makes it to his feet, and charges off the ropes again before coming back with another 100 Proof…



…as Staunton leaps from his knees to his feet before seizing Hunt by the legs, draping him over his shoulders, and collapsing backwards, crushing Big Country underneath his weight!






“It’s been nothing but either jeers or expressions of awe since this match started, King!” notes Mak. “I may not like them, but I have to admit Rageheart and Staunton are something special.”


“Well, imagine being crushed under that big Rocky Mountain Bomb like Hunt just was!” notes King. “You’d express awe, too!”


Staunton performs a crisp back roll before shooting forwards, taking Big Country’s legs and shooting forward, trapping him down with a prawn hold.
























THR-NO! Hunt shoots his shoulder off, and tries to roll away to safety, but Staunton is entirely too quick, and he instinctively seizes a firm hold of Big Country’s leg before crossing the other leg under the knee, twisting him onto his front, and locking him in a Lasso from El Paso!


“And there’s the Disk Jockey slapped on,” smirks King.


“The Disk Jockey?” asks Mak.


“You know, because it shuffles your disks around,” explains King. “Like in your spine.”


“Oh,” says Mak. “That’s kind of lame.”


“Yes, but I’m not going to be the one to tell Staunton,” says King, and Mak just shakes his head as Kerry continues to wrench away on the hold.




The crowd tries to throw a rallying chant behind the beaten up Box King, even as he vainly tries to drag himself towards the ropes. But trying to crawl along with his battered body weight and that of the Albertan as well is almost too much for Hunt and he barely moves. Straining his head to try and look to the outside for his tag partner, Big Country slams his hands to the mat, even as ref Hardcastle checks him over.


“If Myers doesn’t get himself back into action right now, he’s going to lose the match and not know anything about it!” The Franchise shouts.


“It’s not as if he’d know anything about winning now, is it Mak?”


Even as Hunt grits his teeth, trying to fight back the pain, the plucky crowd pleaser from Hawaii begins to stir, twitching his arm and slowly stumbling up to his feet.




“Matt Myers is moving at last! He might just make it in time to save Martin Hunt!”


Hearing the roar from the crowd, Big Country tries to grapple on Kerry Staunton’s leg, flexing his legs to throw/trip Staunton out of the hold. One heave…but it’s not enough and Kerry just clinches down on the hold, drawing a fresh cry of pain from Hunt. On the outside, ‘Tag Division’ Myers is making a full on crawl back for his corner. A second heave from Hunt earns him another twist of the hold and a fresh cry of pain.


“Pain, suffering, misery,” the Gambling Man notes. “This is such a good way to start a show.”


With one last ditch effort, the Country Boy pitches his hole body weight sideways and sends Staunton and himself sprawling across the mat in a twisted tangle of limbs. Thrashing around, the big Canadian struggles to free himself and scramble back to his feet, as Hunt enjoys a needed few moments of recovery.




But it doesn’t last as Staunton goes straight back to driving Cowboy Kicks into Big Country’s spine with vicious intent. An open handed slap across the face just for insult and then Kerry waves his arm over head, calling for a big slam to finish Hunt. Scooping Hunt up into his arms, Staunton breaks into a full speed charge for one of the neutral corners.


“Big Country breaks free of the Disk Jockey but it doesn’t get him out of Kerry Staunton’s clutches! Matt Myers is still crawling on the outside, but he’s just not going to make it in time.” Mak yells.


“That’s it, keep on him. I see a nice old Calgary Stampede in Martin Hunt’s future and not much else. Ahaha, how witty am I Mak? Really, how witty?” The Suicide King questions.


“Not at all King, but for some reason it’s in your contract. Just like the online poker while at commentary.”




The full speed run and the weight of both men end up causing a bone-jarring impact between spine and turnbuckle, as Kerry Staunton looks to make a Big Country sandwich, twisting his victim around and heading straight for the opposite corner, another body crunching impact in mind.




A second twist and the Albert native charges back into the middle of the ring, planting Hunt like a fallen tree, the boom echoing around the volcano topping arena and holding on for the cover.






















“Corner to corner Running Powerslam, but Martin Hunt still kicks out!”




With a disgusted look on his face, Staunton shrugs and grabs the Box King by the hair, dragging him along the ring, back into his corner while ignoring the warning shouts from Hardcastle. On the opposite side of the ring, Matt ‘Tag Division’ Myers weakly beings to haul himself up via the ring apron.


Slamming the wounded Hunt into the turnbuckle, Kerry reaches out and makes the tag to Scott Rageheart before dropping Hunt on his backside, facing out across the ring. Grabbing both arms, the big Canadian plants a boot between Hunt’s shoulder blades as Rageheart takes a run up and smashes his knee right into Hunt’s unprotected face.




“Charging knee right to the face, ouch. And with his spine being stretched like that, it’s really not going to do Hunt any good. It’s almost like Staunton and Rageheart are toying with Big Country right now.”


“Hey, maybe they’ll let him make the tag to Matt Myers so they can beat him up like a rag doll for a while. That’ll make a change.” Sneers the Heartbreaker.


Grabbing the increasingly beaten Big Country by the head, Rageheart sprawls him onto his front and drops into a Camel Clutch, wrenching on Hunt’s worn spine. Almost laughing, the in charge Canadian points cross the ring as ‘Tag Division’ Myers drags up with the tag rope and rest on the ring post.




Rageheart stands of a moment, only to drop an elbow straight across the small of Hunt’s back, taunting his tag partner, waving for Myers to get into the ring. Easily dragging the frat boy up to his feet, Scott slaps way a few weak right hands and ploughs his own blows into Big Country’s face.


“Myers is alive but Scott Rageheart is just taunting the injured Hunt about it. Kerry and Scott haven’t had to worry about cutting off the ring for most of the much, but it looks like they mean to start on it now.” Mak Francis points out.


“Hey, Capitan Obvious, the internet called and they need you on some message board. Don’t forget that wand of blinding stupidity plus three.”


A quick Irish Whip sends Hunt into the ropes, but Rageheart isn’t done there, as he calls the spot to his tag partner. Kerry Staunton his waiting and delivers a swift kick to the small of the country boy’s back as he bounds off the ropes. The blow sends him stagger into Rageheart’s waiting arms, scooping up his dazed victim. The Albertan carries Martin Hunt’s full body weight under his arms, running to the middle of the ring before planting him with a mat shaking Side Slam.




“What a massive Running Side Slam, it could be over right now if Matt Myers doesn’t do something!”




















“MYERS BREAKS UP THE PIN!” Mak roars over the crowd. “With massive twisting Moonsault cross the right and right into Scott Rageheart’s chest!”


“God damn it, Hardcastle do your job and keep that hyper active kid out of the ring when he’s not the legal man!”


The still dizzy Myers throws an arm to the crown even as Hardcastle herds him out of the ring, way from Scott Rageheart’s grasp. Swatting in a few swift right hands, the Alberta native sends Big Country into the ropes ones again, this time grabbing one leg and scooping him up for a big Spinebuster…




But at last the ‘100 Proof’ Knee connects and staggers Rageheart, allowing Hunt to drop back to his feet. A boot to the mid section and Hunt does the only thing can be easily do, he drops Scott to the mat with a DDT.




“Big Country Hunt finally finds the mark with that knee to the face. Saving him from another painful trip to the canvas!” The Franchise exclaims.


“He still has to get up and make the tag Mak. And landing on his back away isn’t going to help. Like that DDT will keep Rageheart down for long enough.”


But it looks like it just might; Rageheart is holding his neck, and looks to be in far more pain than a DDT should cause no matter who it’s from.


“I think Rageheart landed funny, King,” Mak points out, “and now Hunt is making his move!”


“Bah,” scoffs King. “All Rageheart has to do is turn and grab him by the ankle and all will be well.”


Unfortunately, Rageheart is making his way back to his corner, holding his neck still and cringing as Hunt begins to uselessly hobble up to his feet, desperate to get a tag before Rageheart can. Staunton, for his part, looks like his eyes are about to bug out of his head, bellowing at Rageheart to keep Hunt from getting to his corner. It looks to be no use, and the crowd explodes as the Box King works his way up, and begins a slow hobble to, quite frankly, some fucking rest for once.


“I swear, I’m disowning this team if Hunt makes the tag,” sighs King.


“Since when do you own them?” inquires Mak.


Realizing finally that the situation is a tad dire to ensure their dominance, Rageheart picks up the pace, finally saying to hell with his stinging neck and lunging forward, making the tag to Staunton! With frightening quickness for a man of his stature, Kerry steps through the ropes and charges across the ring…CRUSHING HUNT INTO HIS OWN CORNER WITH AN AVALANCHE!!




The ring shakes a little, Big Country collapses, and Staunton, quite satisfied with himself, turns back towards his corner, dusting his hands off in a mock display of having done a hard day’s work, the crowd jeering at the arrogance of the Albertan.


*clap, clap, clap, cla-**SMACK!*




Staunton freezes. The louder sound, followed by cheers, he was not expecting, which means one of two things: one, he hit his hand harder than normal, and the crowd cheered, deeming him wounded – with this crowd he wouldn’t be surprised – or two, something is rotten in the state of Doomtopia. Cautiously, the mammoth Albertan turns back towards the corner of his opponents…






…as Matt Myers confirms number two with a springboard dropkick to the face of Staunton!


“And here comes Matt ‘Tag Division’ Myers!” shouts Mak excitedly as Myers rains blows on the bigger man, pummeling the Albertan with fists in an attempt to bring him down! Finally, he staggers him, the crowd getting louder with every passing second, and Staunton fires back with an elbow in an attempt to slow down the momentum…




…but Myers shrugs it off and blasts him with an elbow of his own before whipping Staunton to the ropes! The Tag Division lets out a primal roar before charging in after the big man!





And, judging by the silence of the crowd, the absurd amount of spinning, and the jubilation from one half of the announce table, running right into another Axe Bomber. Myers comes crashing hard to the mat, and Staunton doesn’t even bother to drop for the pin, instead merely planting a foot atop the Tag Division’s chest.





















“Thunderkiss ‘65” kicks up as Staunton boots Myers’ quite lifeless corpse to the side before rolling out of the ring, joining Scott Rageheart before the two begin trudging towards the back.


“What a disappointing comeback,” notes King.


“Yep,” agrees Mak, “but what an impressive debut from Staunton and Rageheart! They may be unsavory, but they’re also extremely talented, and I think they’re going to be big, King.”


“Well, finally you see it my way,” snorts the Heartbreaker.


“Anyway,” says the Franchise, rolling his eyes, “up next, it’s Bruce Blank vs. the indomitable MANSON! Whose cuisine will reign supreme?”


“Wrong sh-“




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Once the commercial break ends we’re whisked to ringside where the Suicide King and Mak Francis are both busy cooling themselves off, Mak by fanning himself with his papers and King by partaking of yet another cold Pepsi Max


“Man it’s hot Mak, why the hell would anyone put a city near an active volcano? I mean don’t they realize it’s going to be HOT?” King complains as Mak tries to point out that they’re on the air


“Oh quit waving that finger Mak, I’m just saying that it’s so damn hot here I’m sticking to my chair. . . which I guess is nothing new to you. *sniggers* Thank god for my Pepsi Max” King says and empties yet another can of it as Mak just looks on, licking his lips wishing he had something other than a pitcher of stale, luke warm water.


The very distinctive guitar riff of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Don’t ask me no questions” kicks in and cuts off Mak and King.


”Well everytime that I come home nobody wants to let me be

It seems that all the friends I got just got to come interrogate me

Well, I appreciate your feelings and I don’t want to pass you by

But I don’t ask you about your business, don’t ask me about mine”


Even though the music hasn’t been heard in an SWF arena for a while it still brings quite a strong reaction from the Doomtopian crowd, not just because it’s Bruce Blank’s music but also because gypsies can’t stand all that cheerful country music.


“Well it’s true I love the money and I love my brand new car

I like drinkin’ the best of whiskey and playing in a honky tonk bar

But when I come off the road, well I just got to have my time

’cause I got to find a break in this action, else I’m gonna lose my mind


The crowd mood drops even further when Wayne Blank steps through the curtains with a big grin on his face and a beer in his hand as he waits for his brother to make his appearance. When the big man steps out the first thing you notice is that the blood stained jumpsuit is gone – instead Bruce is wearing jeans and an Alabama Crimson Tide Football Jersey like he used to in the past and that beat up, dirty cowboy hat that he’s so fond off is back on his head. Another thing that’s gone is the angry scowl, replaced with an arrogant grin as the big man looks at the crowd.


”So, don’t ask me no questions

And I won’t tell you no lies

So, don’t ask me about my business

And I won’t tell you goodbye”


“I guess it’s the return of “Classic” Bruce King?” Mak wonders out loud


Bruce’s smile widens as he pulls out what looks like a 4 foot long sub-sandwich with meats and other goodies spilling over the side as he takes a big bite out of it




“What the hell are they chanting?” Mak asks as the crowd repeats the same thing over and over


“Who the hell knows with these weirdoes? I mean they make Jimmy the Doom look positively normal by comparison” King mutters as he tries to look the word up in his English to Doomtopian Translation scroll.


Bruce doesn’t seem to care that the act of eating the sub has outraged 90% of the crowd here due to their strong “Straight Bread” philosophy, or maybe that’s exactly why he decided to have his pre-match snack on the way to the ring.


“Ladies and. . . “ Fuynon looks at the crowd, then he shakes his head and decides to start over “I mean Gypsises, Tramps and Thieves!!”




Funyon smiles, that’s the reaction he was going for as he continues switching to Doomtopian for the introduction of the next match “What follows equal specifies for a case! If awhile of the border of 30 minutes he introduces first "of the Dirty Park of the connection of the Tornado," - he is the "Regality of Discomfort inducer" BRUUUUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE of the AREA EMPTY"




“Have everyone gone totally nuts tonight?” King asks as he wipes the sweat off his brow.


“Maybe it’s the heat King – maybe that’s why most Doomtopians are a little. . . shall we say goofy?”


Bruce does his best to ignore the messed up intro and just takes one final bit of his 4 foot long sub before leaving it on the time keepers table with Wayne keeping an eye on it while Bruce wrestles.


“And its competitor, hailing of Denver, Colorado and with weigh of 7 Sacks, 5 Bags” Funyon starts out, showing that he actually sat down before the match and figure out what 230 pounds is in Doomtopian measurements.


The Rage Remix of the Imperial March kicks in along with a series of strobe flashes that probably induce seizures in a number of SWF viewers at him.


“The master of Mansonosity, can only be it the Phenom, which admits that it MANSON~! is!”


MANSON tosses the curtain aside and enters the arena with a serious “I’m gonna Fuck someone up” look on his face as he stares at the big man in the ring.




The Raging Bull pulls his shirt off before he even hits the ring, then slides under the bottom rope and runs right at Bruce driving his shoulder into Bruce’s midsection pushing both of them up against the turnbuckles as the fists start flailing from both competitors.




Bruce lets forearm after forearm rain down over MANSON’S back with hollow thuds each time he makes contact with MANSON’S ribcage or spine, the Raging Bull doesn’t seem deterred at all but the blows as he keeps swinging his taped fists at Bruce’s mid-section nailing the big man in the short ribs and the kidneys as he has Bruce trapped in the corner.


“Hold up, hold up! How can they start the match without a referee in the ring? I mean yeah they’re usually in the way and all but you’ve got to have one to raise your hand in the air right?” King asks as he is unable to see a SWF “Zebra” anywhere.


“*clears throat* I hate to say this but you’re wrong” Mak says expecting the Suicide King to explode


“WRONG? I’m never wrong damn it!”


“Well this time you may just be – there is a referee in the ring, look through Bruce and MASON’S legs you’ll see Richard Soapdish is actually in the ring” Mak points out drawing attention to the diminutive referee who’s trying to force his way in between Bruce and MANSON to separate the two.


“You mean to tell me they’ve hired a midget?” King says as he finally figures out what the hell Mak is talking about


“Well yes he is . . . erm below average height but so what? It’s Nick Soapdish’s son so refereeing runs in his blood” Mak points out.


The Suicide King just shakes his head as the diminutive referee tries his best to separate the two power houses, only to come up short (no pun intended) and has to resort to a count instead






MANSON tries to back off but Bruce has the Ragin Bull’s arm trapped under his. Trying his best to look innocent, making it look like MANSON is the one not letting go.








Lead on by the chant Little Dick Soapdish quickly scurries around to the other side to catch Bruce with MANSON’S arm trapped which leads to him threatening to disqualify Bruce.


“Oh come on so it’s one little infraction!” King complains loudly as the Doomtopian crowd seems to. . . well who knows what they’re doing.


“So it’s okay to cheat if you don’t cheat that much?” Mak asks incredulously.


“It’s okay to cheat until you get caught Mak! I’ve always maintained that”




That chant actually draws Bruce’s attention as he turns and looks at the crowd with a “what the hell is wrong with you” kinda look on his face, a look that an elbow from MANSON quick erases, followed by a second one and then a third one that almost erases Bruce’s nose from his face.




“You know it’s a sad day when eating a 4 foot sub makes you the bad guy” King grumbles


“Only in Doomtopia. . . and maybe San Francisco”


MANSON grabs Bruce by the wrist and tries to whip the big man into the corner but Bruce quickly turns it around by reversing it and attempting to whip MANSON across instead only to find his efforts thwarted by the Master of Mansonosity as he pulls the big man off balance and sends him into the turnbuckle behind him


“HOLY SHIT HE HIT THE” Mak yells out as it looks like Bruce is about to his Richard Soapdish, then he adds “oh wait no he didn’t” when the diminutive referee scurries between Bruce’s legs instead avoiding the ref bump.


“You know it’s not often that it comes in handy being so damn short but it saved Little Dick’s bacon” King quips


“Little Dick?”


“He’s short. . . and his name is Richard, do the math” King explains


Bruce doesn’t even get a second to think before MANSON slams the big man to the ground with an STO out of the corner and then follows up by putting Bruce in a vice like headlock to keep the big man on the ground.


“A bit of ground work tonight, not something we usually see from the Raging Bull” Mak notices


“Well first of all it’s a good strategy against a bigger opponent, after all look how well it worked out for Tom Flesher at 13th Hour” King gushes


“Good point, Flesher did control the beast pretty well”


MANSON twists his body around so that he has Bruce’s arms and legs pointed away from the ropes but is able to put his own feet on the bottom rope and use the tension of the ropes to add more pressure on the headlock. It doesn’t take long for the younger Blank to notice that the Raging Bull is cheating and he’s quick to point this out to Richard Soapdish.


“Oh you can smell the irony” King points out as Wayne complains about someone else cheating.


“Hey now cheating is cheating!”


“. . . AND?”


“He’s right to point it out. . . but it is ironic since he doesn’t like to play by the rules himself.”


Once Wayne makes enough racket the referee finally notices MANSON’S feet on the ropes and starts to count to make the Raging Bull let go of the illegal hold. At four he lets go, then he stands up and gives the referee a less than pleasant hand gesture.


“Soapdish didn’t like that!” Mak says as the diminutive referee tries to admonish MANSON but is promptly ignored as MANSON looks straight out in the air above the referee’s head.


“Oh where is the little pisher going now?” King asks as Dick Soapdish climbs the turnbuckles up to the second rope and then begins to admonish MANSON, this time at eye height.


The moment MANSON turns his attention towards the referee and tells him where to stick it Bruce rolls out of the ring and then heads over to talk to Wayne as he tries to shake the cobwebs. After a few moments of Bruce saying something and pointing to the back Wayne nods and then walks off, heading down the aisle to the back.




“What the hell was that all about?” Mak asks totally confused.


“Oh lord who knows with Bruce? I mean does anyone really know why he does what he does?” King points out


“True – no sane man would voluntarily step into an exploding cage or do what he did to Insane Luchador in the Pandemonium match at Battleground”


His little talk with Wayne hasn’t gone unnoticed by MANSON as the Raging Bull has stepped through the ropes and is waiting on the apron, taking his time, picking his spot carefully. The second Bruce turns around to get back in the ring MANSON runs down the apron, leaps off and drives his knee right into the side of Bruce’s head knocking the big man down with the Raging Bull landing on top of him.




For some unfathomable reason the Snot Rocket on Bruce just draws a huge reaction from the crowd, either it’s some sort of Doomtopian greeting or maybe it’s just because Bruce just got his with a wad of snot


“Oh that’s just sick” Mak says and turns his head in disgust.


“You know I bet that’s as close to a bath as Bruce has been in ages” King quips.


MANSON grabs Bruce by the hair and the shirt and throws him under the bottom rope back into the ring before the Little Dick in the ring can raise 6 fingers in the air. The Raging Bull quickly follows suit and returns to the ring to ensure that Bruce doesn’t get a moment to breathe. MANSON taps his right knee as he takes a couple of steps towards Bruce and then drops a knee that hits square on Bruce’s forehead making the big man twist and roll around on the canvas in pain.


“You never and I mean NEVER! Underestimate the power of MANSONOSITY!!” King says in no uncertain terms as the Raging Bull is in firm control of the match.


“He’s playing it very smart here, he’s not letting Bruce get a chance to breathe and he’s not taking the huge risks with his moves – it’s smart, high impact wrestling and it’s wearing Bruce Blank down!”


The Master of Mansonosity grabs Bruce by the shirt and hair and drags/throws him into the corner, then he drapes one of Bruce’s arms over the top rope to give him a clear shot for a stiff, well placed.






“You know I don’t think the Doomtopians quite get it” Mak says






“Hey that’s closer” King says, surprised that these people even got that close to it.






“By George I think they got it!” Mak says with a grin as the Doomtopian crowd “WOOOO’s” along with the chops. MANSON speeds up his chops and lets a series of lighting fast knife edges rain down on Bruce’s chest and the side of his neck




Each of the chops doesn’t have the impact of a slow, much more deliberate, deep impact chop but the speed of which they follow each other and the number of chops more than makes up for it as MANSON goes chop crazy in the corner






After an undisclosed number of short, sharp chops to the chest MANSON whips the Trailerpark Messiah towards the opposite corner, sending the big man crashing chest first into the turnbuckles. When Bruce staggers backwards MANSON swiftly wraps his arms around Bruce’s waist and suplexs the big man up and over underscoring the fact that MANSON is still all about the power




Bruce hits the mat shoulders and neck first and then flips over on his stomach as MANSON releases his grip on the big man. Moments after Bruce hits the canvas Wayne Blank returns to the arena, carrying a big blue cooler under his arm, looking rather annoyed at the fans as they boo him and begin to think out gypsy curses to place on him.


“So he left to get a cooler? During the match? What the hell is wrong with him?” Mak asks


“Hey it’s hot in here” King says as he opens another ice cold Pepsi Max “Maybe Bruce needs to cool down like the rest of us?” King surmises as Wayne places the cooler at ringside and then turns his attention towards the action in the ring.


Wayne’s reappearance at ringside has caught MANSON’S attention and the Raging Bull makes a bee-line for the younger Blank brother only to be intercepted by Richard Soapdish. . . well sorta intercepted, kinda hard for the little man to really hold MANSON back. While MANSON tries to untangle his legs from the diminutive referee Wayne quickly reaches into the cooler, grabs a can of beer that he shakes vigorously and then slips it into Bruce’s hand all the while both MANSON and Richard Soapdish are distracted.


“Hey now don’t just hand out beers to your brother there Wayne” King complains as Wayne doesn’t look like he’s willing to share.


When MANSON bends over to pulls back to his feet Bruce quickly brings his hands together and opens the shaken can of beer




The Master of Mansonosity is enveloped in a golden shower as the sweet, sweet contents of the can spray all over him. The alcohol blinds Manson and gives Bruce a chance to get out of the ring to try and regret. Wayne reaches into the cooler and gets his brother a nice cold beer and then runs over to where the big man is leaned on the apron trying to get his breath back.


“Wayne” *gasps* “We need to regroup bro” Bruce says as he takes the beer from Wayne and then drinks it in one long gulp.


After throwing the can away Bruce and Wayne start to plot out a way to get the advantage in the match, focusing so much on their conversation that they don’t see MANSON reach through the ropes for them. The still half blinded MANSON grabs both Bruce and Wayne by the hair and then rams their heads together






“Double noggin knocker!” Mak says out of tradition.


“The power of Mansonosity finally gets Wayne to use his head!” King quips at the expense of Wayne’s . . . less than impressive IQ.


MANSON wipes the remains of the beef from his eyes and then exits the ring. The Raging Bull grabs the staggered Wayne Blank around the neck and lifts the little man up in the air, spinning him around before driving him down with an Uranaga suplex






The younger Blank brother is driven into the blue cooler, cracking the container wide open and sending cans of beer, ice, water and a set of brass knucks flying everywhere from sheer impact.


“There was a set of brass knuckles in the cooler!! Those cheating bastards!!” Mak yells out as he noticed the foreign object lying on the mat.


“HEY NOW!!. . . it’s not cheating unless you actually use the brass knucks”


MANSON doesn’t even notice the brass knucks on the floor as he’s already turned his attention back towards the King of Pain, ramming him shoulder first into the ring post and then rolling him back inside the ring to quite a positive reaction, it would seem that everyone enjoys seeing Bruce getting his ass kicked. MANSON lays in a couple of soccer kicks to Bruce's ribs before pulling the big man back to his feet and throwing him into the corner.


"MANSON is large and in charge tonight Mak, but then again most nights he is - it's almost like he's this unstoppable force" King comments.


"Yeah right, next you'll tell me he shoot beams of light from his eyes that explode people" Mak says with a voice thick with sarcasm.


With Bruce slumped against the turnbuckles MANSON takes a moment to put some distance between them before spinning around and running straight at the big man in the opposite corner. The Raging Bull raises both hands as he gets closer to Blank ready to clubber his opponent into oblivion only to be stopped dead in his tracks as Bruce takes a step towards him and then raises a foot that MANSON runs straight into




“Any lower and the bull would have become an ox” Mak says revealing that he’s got a more intimate knowledge of farm yard animals than he ever let on.


“He let MANSON do all the work on that one” King adds.


With MANSON bent over Bruce has him in the perfect position for a power bomb and he does manage to flip the Raging Bull up on his shoulders quite easily – but that’s where the ease ends as MANSON starts to swing his fists at Bruce’s skull striking the King of Pain repeatedly before the big man can execute the power bomb. Bruce staggers backwards from the punches and then slumps back against the ropes with MANSON landing with his feet on the middle rope and his hands on the top rope.


“Oh he’s not going to give up THAT easily” King says as Bruce stands up once more with MANSON in the power bomb position.


“Yeah well neither is the Master of Mansonosity!” Mak counters pointing out that MANSON has a good hold on the top rope.


After 2 failed attempts at power bombing MANSON because of his hands on the ropes Bruce pulls his head back and then drives his forehead straight forward with a sharp snap to the headbutt. . .




Right to MANSON’S private parts!




With MANSON’S mind elsewhere Bruce has an easy time pulling the Raging Bull’s hands off the ropes and then run forward for 3-4 steps before driving his opponent to the canvas with so much force that MANSON actually bounces off the mat once. Little Richard Soapdish jumps over Bruce by putting a foot on the big man’s shoulder so that he can see MANSON’S shoulders on the canvas.




“Bruce busted out the Sweet Home Alabama for old time’s sake!” Mak exclaims in case the people at home have forgotten that the running power bomb used to be Bruce’s finisher














“Last second salvation for MANSON” Mak yells out as the excitement hits a fever pitch.


Bruce is furious that he was denied what he thought was a sure fire victory and lets the referee know exactly what he thinks of him as he grabs him by the shirt and then lifts the diminutive referee up in the air.


“You don’t put your hands on the referee!! Come on Richard just call for the bell!!” Mak yells out, cuing up his “righteous indignation” tone.


“Man you are so damn over sensitive, he’s just straitening Little Dick’s shirt – besides if you can intimidate the referee a little bit he’ll be a bit quicker on the count next time” King replies relaying a bit of personal wisdom in the process.


Unfortunately for Bruce he’s so pre-occupied that he doesn’t realize that Wayne is yelling at him to watch out, nor does he figure out WHY Wayne was yelling until MANSON manages to reach up and grab the Trailerpark Messiah by the back of his jeans and roll him up with a School Boy while getting a good handful of jeans to aid his leverage.











“That was pure instinct on his part, the power bomb rattled him but he had enough experience and ring feel to roll Bruce up!” Mak says as Bruce manages to kick out from the roll up even


“Yeah shame it didn’t quite get the job done” King counters


Once again Bruce rolls out under the bottom rope to the floor and once again he has an annoyed look on his face since he has not been able to diminish the power of MANSONOSITY and put the Raging Bull down for the 3 count.


“MANSON is really frustrating Bruce tonight, the King of Pain has tried a number of tactics but none of them have been able to put the Raging Bull away” Mak says dazzling everyone with his amazing analytical powers.


“It’s been great Mak! Hard hitting, no wimpy bullshit in this match!” King says promoting the cheating ways of both MANSON and Bruce Blank.


“I think Bruce has seen the brass knucks that are still on the floor! He’s going right for them!!” Mak yaps as Bruce turns the corner.


But instead of picking up the discarded brass knucks Bruce wanders over to the time keepers table and picks up his sandwich and then takes a bite out of it while Wayne Blank leaps up on the apron on the opposite side of the ring to draw Little Dick’s attention away from the two combatants. MANSON ignores the younger Blank, leans out through the ropes and grabs Bruce by the back of his dirty mullet and then. . .




Bruce turns around and blasts MANSON over the head with the 4 foot long sandwich sending bread, meat and dressing covered vegetables flying everywhere while the Ranging Bull stumbles backwards and falls to the canvas like he had been shot




“What the hell? Was the bread stale?” Mak says, confused by the effect the shot with the sandwich had on the Raging Bull.


“Maybe it’s Wonder bread” King quips making a really weak joke as the crowd boos Bruce mercilessly.


Wayne leaps off the apron and then points to MANSON in the ring turning Richard Soapdish’s attention back towards the official participants in the match. The grin on Bruce’s face only grows wider as he slides under the bottom rope and then places both hands on MANSON’S shoulders to hold the Master of Mansonosity down.





“He looks like he’s out cold”





“From a shot with a sandwich?? Say it ain’t so!” Mak repeats with confusion









“Gaining the position of victory in 10 increments of 60 and 32 time counts, the "Regality of Discomfort inducer" BRUUUUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE of the AREA EMPTY"




Bruce quickly gets back to his feet and then demands that the referee raises his hand in victory knowing full well that at less than 4 feet that’s an impossible task for Dick Soapdish.


“I. . . I don’t believe it!”


Moments later Wayne reveals the secret of the sandwich as he picks up the remaining bread and then pulls out an 18 inch long iron pipe and hides it behind his back so that the referee doesn’t see what the Blanks had hidden inside the sandwich.


“THAT CHEATING BASTARD!!” Mak yells, so outraged he almost leaps out of the chair (if he actually could) the Suicide King however can’t help but laugh as the Blanks pulled a fast one on the Master of Mansonosity

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“Welcome back wrestling fans,” greets Ben Hardy, standing in front of an SWF Fictional World Tour backdrop. “I am here with the newest, multimillion dollar acquisition by the SWF-”


A loud, overbearing moan interrupts the SWF journalist, and the cameras zoom away from Hardy to reveal the ‘rookie’. It is a man dressed in dirty, tattered and most likely smelly clothes…and most importantly dead.


“So tell me…Zombie…” Hardy begins again. Zombie grunts in reply. “I’ve been told that you have issued a challenge to our new and reigning World Heavyweight Champion--




Suddenly, Zombie is whacked in the back of the head by a large stick! The cameras quickly pan over to reveal the attacker as none other than the masked assassin Grendel! Having knocked Zombie back to hell, the Spirit spins his double bladed weapon around and jams the bladed side into the floor then snatches the microphone from the hand of Ben Hardy.


“Tom Flesher!” Grendel heatedly says with his low growling voice. He stares directly into the camera and if he weren‘t wearing a mask you would see the fire burning in his eyes. “Last week, on Aftershox, you attacked me from behind like the cowardly dog that you are! Pounding me in the back of my head before locking me in your King Cobra submission, and for what I ask! WHAT!?”


“Um…Grendel?” Hardy politely interjects himself back into the picture, peering around the Assassins shoulder like a scolded dog. “If I may, I believe Flesher attacked you on his quest to get back at everyone who beaten him while he was Ghost Machine two point oh.”


“I could have figured as much,” Grendel replies, “but I thought that maybe Tom Flesher was a bigger man than that. I guess I thought wrong…but I should know better. Unfortunately, for Flesher, that’s will serve to be the biggest mistake he’s made since coming back to the SWF.”


“With all due respect, Mr. Rose. I can see where your going with this and I know you’d probably like to get your revenge,” says Hardy, trying to keep the rookie from making a mistake like challenging a big league talent. “I also know that you beat Flesher when he was Ghost Machine but that’s not the same man that attacked you last show…”


“I don’t believe I asked you for your advice, Hardy!” snaps Rose, before shoving the interviewer out of camera range. Grendel turns back towards the camera and says, “I will have my revenge against you Flesher. You don’t attack a man like you attacked me and not expect to receive punishment, so watch your back Tom cause you don’t know what kind of danger is lurking around the corner for you!”

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“And now,” says the Suicide King, “it’s time for the boys in the truck to switch the feed over to Jimmy the Doom’s house in Doomopolis, where we spent a significant portion of time setting up a ring.”


“Well,” Mak says, “it’s not so much a ring as a twenty-eight-foot amateur mat with ringposts. Thanks once again to the Doomopolis High wrestling team for allowing us to use their mat!”


“Unfortunately,” King says, “we couldn’t fit commentators into Jimmy’s kitchen, not even that guy without pants, so Tom Flesher’s actions will have to stand on their own as he...” King looks down to read the sheet of paper in front of him. “Mak, this can’t be right.”


“‘In order to win the match,’” Mak reads, “‘one competitor must make a sandwich including condiments and feed it to his opponent.’ It’s a straight-bread thing.”


King looks crestfallen. “But... but...”


“Well, this one’s about to get underway,” says Mak cheerfully. “Let’s go to the ring!”






Starwipe onto the cluttered kitchen of Jimmy the Doom. The owner of the house is nowhere to be seen, but two parallel lines of druids form a makeshift entrance from his dining room, where a pair of French doors remains closed. All of a sudden, one of the druids plugs his black iPod into Jimmy’s stereo system and hits “Play.” With that, Boots Randolph’s “Yakety Sax” begins to blare through the room, until the druid ratchets the volume down to about six.


As his music plays, Jimmy the Doom throws open the left French door, revealing a system of Chinese screens separating the dining room into two opposing locker rooms. He walks the six feet to the ring, followed as always by Lois the Unethical. As he steps through the ropes, Lois takes a seat at his kitchen table, next to a counter covered in sacrilegious condiments.


Mustard. Ketchup. Relish. Honey. Pickles. American cheese. Swiss cheese. Pork. Ham. Roast beef. White bread. Rye bread. Even the dreaded hoagie rolls.


Lois shakes her head sadly, and a single tear drops from Jimmy’s eye as he takes his place in the corner. He removes his lime-green kamikaze helmet and sets it on the ringpost as he awaits his opponent.


The Druid turns his iPod down and then looks expectantly at the opposite French door, which flies open. James Matheson stands in the doorway and, lacking a microphone, cups his hands over his mouth.


“Joe Peters gave him a raw deal, but tonight, this man is going to give Jimmy the Doom a salted, cured deal by shoving ham straight down his throat, along with mustard and possibly several pickles! That’s right, tonight, Jimmy, your opponent is none other than the Superior One, TOM FLESHER!”


Immediately, the druid flips to the next song.


i said a hip hop the hippie the hippie

to the hip hip hop, a you dont stop

the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie

to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat


now what you hear is not a test--


“WRONG SONG, YOU IDIOT!” shouts Matheson, as he shakes his fist in a threatening manner at the druid. Dutifully, the druid hits “Next.”


Some day, when I'm awfully low,

When the world is cold,

I will feel a glow just thinking of you...

And the way you look tonight.


Yes you're lovely --


“God damn, it,” sighs Matheson. “NEXT SONG!”


Tell all the people that you see: follow me!

Follow me down.

Tell all the people that you see; set them free!

Follow me down.


Matheson shrugs. Flesher does the same, and he walks out from the back in his warm-up suit. As he passes the first druid, he sneers at him, then thumbs him in the eye. The druid falls over, landing on the one next to him and starting a domino effect that continues until the final druid, the one holding the iPod, collapses. This rips the cord out of the speakers, mercifully ending the Doors’ “Tell All The People.” With that, Flesher strips off his warm-up and enters the ring as Matheson pulls up a kitchen chair. He sets his briefcase in his lap and looks over at Lois, already busily at work on a Sudoku puzzle.


Referee KJ Sanchez meets the athletes in the center of the ring. He looks at Jimmy and sticks a hand into each pocket, pulling them out and revealing them to be empty. Satisfied that he has no foreign objects, Sanchez sends Jimmy back to his corner before turning to Flesher.


“You don’t have to check him,” shouts Matheson.


Sanchez raises an eyebrow before instructing Flesher to extend his arms to the side. Immediately, a packet of ketchup falls out of his armpit and to the mat. Jimmy the Doom screams, “TRAITOR!” and begins rushing out of the corner, but Sanchez pushes him back, assuring him that he will find any and all foreign condiments.


With that, Sanchez drops to one knee and checks Flesher’s shoes, withdrawing a small dipping sauce packet from McDonald’s. Honey BBQ – the fiend!


“That’s everything!” Matheson screams.


Suspicious, the referee reaches into Flesher’s left kickpad and pulls out a quarter-pound package of sliced roast beef, with Jimmy’s eyes blazing. Sanchez checks the right kickpad as well, this time finding a six-ounce package of Canadian bacon! Flesher looks down at the two packets of meat and says, “I didn’t put those there.”


“You got the lunchmeats,” Matheson pleads. “You don’t have to continue this vicious and unwarranted invasion of privacy!”


Sanchez, looking slightly confused, moves up Flesher’s leg and slides a hand into the lower part of Flesher’s left singlet leg, freeing a two-ounce envelope of creamy garlic salad dressing! Determined to root out the last of the condiments, the official reaches into Flesher’s right singlet leg and pulls out a Polish sausage! Horrified, Sanchez pulls it all the way out, only to find it attached to another link of sausage, then another, and another! Finally, after pulling three pounds of sausage out of Flesher’s singlet, Sanchez looks at the pile of condiments, convinced there couldn’t possibly be any more sandwich fixin’s in Flesher’s wrestling gear.


“Jesus, how much more do you think he could fit in there? There can’t possibly be any more in there!” shouts the outraged Matheson.


Sanchez’s eyes narrow. He stands up and orders Flesher to turn around. As soon as he does, he notices a bulge in the back of Flesher’s singlet. He reaches in and produces...


“FIEND~!” screams Jimmy the Doom, running out of the corner, but Sanchez holds him back before setting the loaf of marble rye on the mat next to the pile of condiments.


“Keep checking him,” says Matheson flatly, attempting to put his Bachelors degree in Psychology to work.


Sanchez shrugs. “Oh well,” he says. “I think I found everything. Checking him would only further delay the start of the match.” With that, he places all of Flesher’s foreign sandwich ingredients on a tray and has a ring attendant set them on the counter next to the other fixin’s. He orders both athletes to their corners and then calls for the bell.






One of the druids realizes his microwave burrito is finished and goes to collect it. Meanwhile, Flesher and Jimmy step out from their corners, meeting in the center of the ring. Flesher reaches out, grabbing the lanky Doomtopian by the biceps and pulling him into the center. He drops to his knees and shoots for Jimmy’s left leg, snagging it and stepping up with the knee in the crook of his arm. He throws a foot behind Jimmy’s heel, tripping him and taking him to the mat. Flesher keeps the leg hooked and starts to step over into a single-leg Boston crab, only to have Jimmy reverse it almost instantly into a figure-four leglock!


“Wait, wait, wait,” Flesher says, shaking his way out of the leglock, standing up and making the T-sign with his hands. “Time the heck out.”


“MATTE!” shouts Sanchez.


“What?” Jimmy asks, also standing up.


“Never mind,” Sanchez says.


“KJ,” Flesher says, “we can’t have this kind of crap going on. Countering a half-crab with a figure-four? Come on!”


“Jimmy?” asks Sanchez hopefully.


“I know not the arrant pedantry of speak which,” Jimmy says with great conviction.


“I can’t believe this is even happening,” Flesher protests.


“I’m going to allow this,” Sanchez says after mulling it over for a few seconds. Wrestlers, back in your positions.”


“What?” Flesher asks, genuinely confused.


“Let him put a figure-four on you.”


As Doom lays on the mat, Flesher grabs him in a fujiwara armbar.


“I countered it,” he says flatly.


“Sounds good to me. YOSHI!”




“Start wrestling again.”


Even as Flesher cranks his fujiwara armbar, Jimmy digs deep and finds the courage to fight through the pain. After a moment, the camera pans out to the druids, one of whom is still munching the burrito. As the camera pans back, Flesher is down on the mat in a camel clutch.


“OH, COME ON!” shouts Flesher, standing up. Jimmy falls down to the mat, but quickly stands up. “That’s not even possible!”


Sanchez shrugs. “What can I do about it, Tom?”


“Well, I think the only logical thing is to... have him pay me some sort of penalty.”


Sanchez looks at Flesher as if he had just asked permission to stick a finger in his nose. “Jimmy, give him a burrito.”




Flesher looks at Jimmy, then thumbs him in the eye. As Jimmy ricochets backwards, hitting the turnbuckles at full force, Flesher calmly turns to Sanchez and says, “You know, KJ, I’m just trying to put on a show for the crowd here.”


“What crowd?”


“We’re only a block from the arena. Are you telling me there isn’t a closed-circuit hookup?”


“Nope,” Sanchez says ruefully. “We got a few fans smuggled in as druids, but other than that, they’re not even going to know what happened.”


Flesher furrows his brow. “But...”


“Sorry, man. Can’t help you.”


Flesher looks out to James Matheson, who merely shrugs. Meanwhile, Jimmy the Doom slides in behind Flesher and grabs his thigh, rolling him up in a schoolboy pin! KJ Sanchez looks down, and Flesher shouts, “Pins don’t end the match, you idiot!” Crestfallen, Sanchez skulks back to the corner as Flesher rolls through. “Jesus, what is this, fucking Bizarro World? And why are we on TV if we can’t get a closed-circuit hookup?”


“Union regulations.”




With that, Flesher turns around to face Jimmy, who leaps into the air and catches Flesher with a snap kick to the face! Flesher staggers backwards into the corner, only to have Jimmy charge in after him with a cocked knee! Tom drops to the mat, and Jimmy careens into the turnbuckle. Flesher stands up and turns around, grabbing his Doomtopian adversary by the waist and quickly arching back for a German suplex. Jimmy hangs on for the ride, flipping his disgustingly lanky legs over and landing on his feet behind Flesher. Tom turns around and eats another snap kick, then collapses to his knees. Knowing he has a few seconds, Jimmy picks Flesher up and whips him to the ropes before leaping into the air from his Crane stance and nearly deyakitating him with a Yak kick!


KJ Sanchez looks on as Jimmy climbs the ringpost and Flesher rolls to his stomach. As Tom starts to get to his feet, the Straight Bread Sensation leaps off the top rope, diving at Flesher and grabbing him in a diving Oklahoma roll! As Jimmy cradles him, Sanchez once again drops to the mat. Frustrated, Flesher stands up and shouts, “For god’s sake, he can’t pin me, you idiot!”


“Sorry, Tom.”




Disgusted, Flesher turns back toward Jimmy, who stands in a Yak stance, waiting to hit Flesher with the Doomtopian equivalent of Krav Maga. He looks the Doom up and down for a few seconds before...






Jimmy doubles over, then drops to one knee, grabbing his crotch! Flesher strolls away smirking and then drops to one knee to adjust his kickpad, which had been loosened by the force of the kick to the groin. Lois the Unethical fumes silently, presumably at the fact that she can’t figure out where to put the remaining Seven but conceivably at Flesher’s unethical treatment of her charge’s testicles.


Flesher grabs Jimmy by the arm as the freakishly thin Doomtopian menace holds his testicles painfully. The Superior One pivots and sends Jimmy to the corner. Jimmy hits the buckles and then slumps down. Flesher stands in the ring, about three feet from Jimmy, and measures him up. Then, as Jimmy takes a step out of the corner, Flesher steps forward and thrusts a thumb into his eye! Jimmy throttles backward, hitting the top rope and flipping over it before falling into a heap on the outside of the ring. The Superior One turns around, smirking in a satisfied manner, and struts over to his corner.


“Hey KJ,” shouts Matheson. “Don’t check Jimmy’s eye for damage.”


“Shit,” Sanchez says. “Jimmy’s eye might be damaged. I better check it.”


As Sanchez drops down to one knee with his back turned to Flesher, Matheson rolls his eyes and opens up his briefcase. He pulls out a Subway sandwich, still in its wrapper, which Flesher takes with a grin. He removes the butcher paper wrapped around it, letting the unmistakable odor of a chipotle southwest cheesesteak sandwich waft through Jimmy’s kitchen! Lois sniffs a few times and looks up, but returns to trying to place the final Seven once again.


“She’s not very bright, is she?” asks Matheson. Flesher merely shrugs.


Meanwhile, Jimmy finally starts to recover from the thumb to his eye. He gets to his feet, only to see his opponent coming in with an impossibly well-made sandwich! Sanchez’s eyes grow wide as Flesher, still holding the cheesesteak in his left hand, grabs Jimmy by the right arm and whips him to the ropes! As Jimmy rebounds, Tom chokes up on the sandwich like a baseball bat, and he swings it at Jimmy’s jaw with all his might! As he gets caught in the face with the sandwich, Jimmy gets knocked off his feet, flying backwards and finally coming to rest on his stomach in the center of the ring.


“OH MY GOD!” screams Lois, finally taking notice. “Oh, no, no, good at all this isn’t!”


“Why do you figure that got her all worked up?” asks Matheson.


“Probably the straight-bread thing,” Sanchez offers helpfully, as he wipes splattered chipotle sauce off his face. “Plus, Jimmy probably got some of that stuff in his eye.”


Flesher kneels down, pulling Jimmy’s mouth open, but before he can force-feed the sandwich to his opponent, Sanchez takes a fingerful of the sauce and tastes it.


“WAIT A MINUTE!” he screams. “This kind of bold, zesty, smoky pepper flavor is the sort of thing that you could only find at a SUBWAY RESTAURANT!”


Flesher looks up, horrified. “But... but...”


“No way, mister! You get that sandwich out of here right now!”


“Come on!”




Flesher sighs and takes a bite of the sandwich. “Feh. The steak’s rubbery anyway,” he mutters, as he throws the sub over one shoulder. It falls at the feet of Lois the Unethical, where it splatters her with more chipotle sauce. Lois bursts into tears and runs from the room in disgrace. In the meantime, the award-winning Tom Flesher grabs Jimmy and hooks his arms behind his knees before rolling him up into a kneeling position and sitting down on his shoulders, securing the vaunted NELBINA! Several of the druids visibly cringe, somehow, despite their hoods.


Flesher stretches out, relaxing on Jimmy’s shoulders, and shouts, “Hey, Matheson... got a Camel?” Dutifully, James hands Flesher a pack of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter. As he withdraws a cigarette and lifts it to his mouth, the familiar SWF logo appears in the corner of the screen, and we fade to commercial.






The screen fades in on a black silhouette against a green screen. The only feature highlighted is a small white box in his hand and little ear plugs. The short figure appears to be wearing a mask of some sort, but it's hard to tell from the silhouette.


Suddenly, the short figure, taps a few buttons on the little white box and music starts up.


I am the modern man… (Secret secret, I've got a secret)


The figure begins to move, moving his body's appendages at exacting angles and with a steadiness that only a computer could replicate!

Who hides behind a mask… (Secret secret, I've got a secret)

So no one else can see… (Secret secret, I've got a secret)


The figure continues to do THE ROBOT~! as the background colors and camera angles continue to change.

My true identity!


The figure continues to get it down, his limbs swinging and shifting with perfection…

Domo arrigato, Mr. Roboto

Domo (Domo), Domo (Domo)

Domo arrigato, Mr. Roboto

Domo (Domo), Domo (Domo)


At the bottom of the screen, white text appears while the music continues on:

Dance like it's Prime Directive #3.

Domo Arrigato, Mr. Roboto

Domo Arrigato, Mr. Roboto

Domo Arrigato, Mr. Roboto

Domo Arrigato, Mr. Roboto

Domo Arrigato, Mr. Roboto

Domo Arrigato, Mr. Roboto

Domo Arrigato, Mr. Roboto…


iPod. Full compatible with Ghost Machine versions 1.4 and up.






As SWF Lockdown returns from a commercial that is, to say the least, outdated, Tom Flesher remains seated on Jimmy the Doom’s shoulders, with the Doomtopian crowd favorite (hypothetically speaking) still locked in the Nelbina! Flesher ashes out the last of his cigarette onto the mat, then flicks the BUTT in the general direction of Jimmy’s dining room. He takes a deep breath, then steps off Jimmy. Tom takes a few steps back, measures Jimmy up, and sprints forward....






... nearly decapitating Jimmy with a Yakuza kick! Jimmy collapses to the side, still nelbinized, and Flesher steps through the ropes toward the counter.


“Now, he’s going to make a sandwich,” Matheson says to no one in particular.


Flesher struts over to the counter and opens up a hoagie roll. With the Doomtopian still recovering from the effects of the blasphemous Yakuza kick, Flesher spreads a thin layer of mustard on each side of the roll. Then, with an evil smirk, he layers a piece of swiss cheese on each piece! Immediately, one of the druid faints. However, before Flesher can continue any further, Jimmy leaps to his feet and sprints to the outside, grabbing Flesher around the waist! Flesher initiates a go-behind, but Jimmy stalls him and...






... thrusts both hands onto Flesher’s alleged neck with the HAND of DOOM! He grabs on as best he can, choking Flesher. Then, with a powerful lift, Jimmy spins around, throws Flesher over the top rope and slams him to the mat with a Jimmy Bomb into the ring! Flesher hits the mat hard and curls up, obviously in pain. Meanwhile, Jimmy grabs the top rope, and then pulls it back to slingshot himself over the top rope! He somersaults and lands hard on Flesher with a slingshot senton atomico, making a sound that echoes through his kitchen!






With that, Jimmy grabs two pieces of bread and flings them at Flesher, then looks expectantly at KJ Sanchez.




Sanchez shrugs. “Well, Jimmy, it seems you need to make a sandwich to win.”


“AND THEN FEED IT TO FLESHER!” Matheson yells, at the top of his lungs.


“And furthermore, it’s necessary to feed it to your opponent. Sorry, man.”


Frustrated, Jimmy lifts Flesher to his feet. He throws a stiff headbutt that sends Flesher staggering backwards, and follows it up with another! Flesher stumbles back into a corner, where Jimmy sprints in and hammers him with a running avalanche! Tom slumps down, but Jimmy plants a boot into his stomach and grabs the back of his head. He jumps up, planting his other foot likewise, and then falls backwards to throw Flesher overhead with a monkey flip! Flesher flies through the air, then lands with a loud, concussive sound.






With that, Jimmy hoists Flesher off the mat and applies a head vise! Flesher sighs, looking bored, and motions for Matheson. As any good manager would, Matheson opens up his briefcase, puts another cigarette in Flesher’s mouth, and lights it for him. As soon as the Doomtopian FCC sees the offending gesture begin, they break into the telecast, and the show fades to commercial.


















Finally, the show fades back in as James Matheson removes Flesher’s cigarette from his mouth. Energized by the foul, poisonous nicotine, Flesher points to the counter as he stands up. Matheson opens up his briefcase, pulling out a sandwich press and plugging it in on the counter! Immediately, Flesher grabs Jimmy by the arm and breaks the head vise, twisting the arm into a standing arm bar and then turning to face the Doomtopian! Immediately, Jimmy throws a fist to Flesher’s jaw...






... which Flesher ignores! (A druid shouts, ‘ONE!’)


Jimmy throws another fist, once again catching Flesher in the mush...






... but Flesher no-sells that one as well! (The same druid yells, ‘TWO!’) Finally, Flesher points at Jimmy, his eyes blazing menacingly! (‘YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOU!’) A house of fire, Flesher throws a a thumb to Jimmy’s eye that sends the Doomopolite skittering back to the ropes. As Jimmy rebounds, Flesher grabs him and spins him around, hooking him around the waist and tossing him to the mat with a Greco-Roman backdrop! The ringposts shake, due to their shoddy construction, and Flesher leaps to his feet!


He steps through the ropes, sprinting over to the counter, where a packet of roast pork is awaiting him. He layers the pork onto the sandwich, before placing the dreaded honey-baked ham on the other side of the hoagie roll! Finally, as even the druids gasp and faint, Flesher layers sliced pickles over the middle of the sandwich... sliced pickles of EVIL~! He folds the whole thing over, shouting “VIVA LA MEDIANOCHE~!”, and places it on the sandwich press!


“Is that... a Cuban sandwich?” drools KJ Sanchez.


Flesher doesn’t even pause to nod as he re-enters the ring, throwing a stiff shin-kick to Jimmy’s head to keep him silent. He reaches down, grabbing Jimmy and applying a body scissors grip before flopping to the mat and grabbing the bottom rope to pull himself toward the edge of the mat. Once there, he tightens the scissors and... reclines on one elbow.


“Hurry up, man,” Flesher shouts.


“I’m toasting as fast as I can!” Matheson shoots back.


“So...” Sanchez says.


“So...” Flesher replies.


“Er... so, do you eat here often?”


Flesher stares oddly at Sanchez’s bizarre question, trying to formulate an answer that is at once patronizing and accurate. Before he can do so, however...






The sandwich press beeps, allowing Matheson to retrieve a perfectly-toasted Cuban sandwich and hand it off to Flesher! Tom grabs it, pulls the semi-conscious Jimmy’s mouth open, and shoves a chunk into his piehole! Sanchez immediately calls for the bell!






“Yours is ready too,” Matheson says, tossing a sandwich to Sanchez. The referee, satisfied in his fatty, mustardy, pickly snack, raises Flesher’s arm and declares him the winner. However, the sweaty Flesher has another engagement already in mind.


He pulls his arm away from Sanchez and sprints out the door, grabbing the small, pink bicycle owned by a ten-year-old Doomtopian lass, and shoving his half-sandwich in the basket. He pedals furiously, pink streamers trailing behind him, and heads toward where the main arena is set up. Occasionally, he reaches into the basket, taking a bite of his sandwich for strength, and continues pedaling.


He nears the seats, and is immediately greeted with confusion from most, and a standing ovation from King! Pedaling as fast as he possibly can, Flesher rides up the ramp, teetering precariously on the lip of an active volcano, but finally makes it to the ring! He grabs a microphone, chest heaving, mouth full of pork.


“I... I beat.... Jimmy the Doom,” he pants into the mike.









Flesher grins, crumbs falling out of his mouth, as we fade away.

Edited by Justice

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“Well, for the second time since his return, it looks like Austin Sly will have to face off against his old nemesis Spike Jenkins,” begins Mak Francis. “Last time these two met, Austin ended up picking up the pinfall after stealing a page out of Tom Flesher’s book, another of Spike’s old enemies, and hitting an Ego Trip.”


“… and I was saddened for days knowing that he had sullied the good name of Tom Flesher,” chimes in King. “He should really start asking people before he tries to steal their thunder.”


“I don’t think that was his intentions at all, King.”


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




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


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


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


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


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


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


“It’s hard to lose a step if you’ve been standing still your entire life, Mak,” King bites back. “Now Spike, on the other hand… there’s a man we should all be idolizing. He beat Zyon within an inch of his life at Battlegrond, showed very respectively against his old team mate Sean Davis at 13th hour, and is currently the King of Cambodia.”


“Yet still lost his Hardcore title,” Mak injects.


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




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




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


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


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


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


“For once we agree,” smiles King.


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


*Ding ding!*


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


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


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


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


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







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




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


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


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


“LARRRIATTOOOOO~!” screams King.


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






Two! Kick out after two!


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






Two! Kick out after two again!


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


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


“I didn’t say that.”


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


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


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


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


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



“This ones for you, Zyon! And for you, Davis! And for anyone else that gets in my way! Fuck you!”



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







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











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


“That was a slow count!” King yells.


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


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




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


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


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



“Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap!”



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





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


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


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


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










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


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


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


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


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


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


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




















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




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







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


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


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











THREEENOOOO! Spike rolls over and breaks the pin.


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


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


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


“Finish him off, Sly!” Mak screams.


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


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






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


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


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


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













*Ding ding ding!*


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


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


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

Edited by chirs3

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“Welcome back everyone, you’re joining us for a great night of wrestling with no less than THREE huge title matches to come later tonight and loads more” Mak shills as Lockdown goes live once again.


Before he can say anything else, even before the Suicide King can make a snide comment Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Southern Rock classic hits the PA system for the second time tonight and once again to a very negative reaction




“Oh lord haven’t we seen enough of Bruce tonight?” Mak moans as “Don’t ask me no questions” plays on.


”Well every time that I come home nobody wants to let me be

It seems that all the friends I got just got to come interrogate me

Well, I appreciate your feelings and I don’t want to pass you by

But I don’t ask you about your business, don’t ask me about mine”


Most people would think that a crowd full of gypsies, tramps and thieves would be like playing before a home town crowd, but even these raggedy fans can’t stand the self proclaimed King of Pain and boo him mercilessly as he walks down the ramp. Of course it doesn’t help that Bruce openly mocks Doomtopias anti-smoking laws (it states: you can only smoke if you brought enough for everyone) as he pulses on a huge cigar while he saunters down towards the ring, six pack of beer in one hand, microphone in the other.


“Aww Bruce you came to give me a present” King says obviously assuming that the six pack of beer is for him.


“Well it’s true I love the money and I love my brand new car

I like drinkin’ the best of whiskey and playing in a honky tonk bar

But when I come off the road, well I just got to have my time

’cause I got to find a break in this action, else I’m gonna lose my mind


But Bruce just bypasses the announcers table, totally ignoring the Suicide King as he passes by them and then enters the ring.


”So, don’t ask me no questions

And I won’t tell you no lies

So, don’t ask me about my business

And I won’t tell you goodbye”


The music dies down but the boos don’t so Bruce just stands there for a moment, cigar lodged in the side of his mouth as he just stands there and waits for the crowd to shut up.


“You know” Bruce starts




Bruce takes the cigar out of his mouth and uses the interruption to pull a can from the six pack, put the others down and then proceed to drink about half the beer in the can in one gulp followed by a




“Howdy!” Bruce says with a crooked grin, he seems to be in high spirits tonight – a sentiment not shared by the crowd “I said Howdy”


. . .


“Oh wait, wait I forgot where I am, what I mean to say was “Bork, Bork, Bork” assholes!” Bruce adds grinning even wider


“We’re not in Sweden you idiot! The Doomtopians don’t talk like the Swedish chef” Mak points out adopting the role of ambassador of Doomtopia for one night.


“Alright, seriously – I’m here tonight because I got a few things to say, whether you like it or not” Bruce says as he points his cigar at the camera to indicate that “you” means people backstage. “First of all, Bloodshed. . . Good luck pal, it’s good to know that soon this federation will once again have a champion worthy of carrying the Ultraviolent title, not some little turd like Spike who couldn’t even beat Sean Davis”




“Oh come on who can’t beat Sean Davis?” Bruce says with a chuckle “One barbwire baseball bat to the chest and he screams like a little girl! He’s no match at all, so here is to you Bloodshed. . . champ”


Bruce raises his beer in the air to salute his tag-team partner and then he empties the beer and throws the can away after crushing it.


“Now – Onto a more personal matter” Bruce says and then pauses, the grin is gone, the playful tone has disappeared from his voice.


“Tom. . . Flesher”


“He did NOT just call out Tom, didn’t he learn his lesson at 13th Hour” King says surprised that Bruce could do such a stupid thing


“I. . . damn it I hate to agree with you!”


Fortunately Bruce cannot hear the commentary while he’s in the ring and the big man just keeps going unabashed by their comments


“I heard ya out here last week going on and on. Blah-di-blah-di-blah “I’m Superior” Yaketi-yaketi “Everyone is on notices” yak-yak-yak “I got Bruce Blank Back”” After the last comment Bruce stops and looks straight at the camera, if looks could kill Bruce would have been responsible for more than one death tonight.


“Now I’m just a country bumpkin” Bruce starts up


“Yup” Mak agrees


“You got that right” King adds emphasising just how right that statement is.


“And you’re this – LEGEND from Buffalo who’s done it all and more”


“I’ve figured it out” King says “he’s here to apologize for wasting Tom’s time”


Bruce doesn’t look very apologetic though as he quietly pulses on the cigar, blowing smoke at the camera before going on.


“So maybe it’s some damn Yankee definition of “getting someone back” that involves someone else pinning somebody else that I just don’t get.” Bruce says and then stops to let the convoluted logic sink in “I said to myself, “Bruce do you remember pinning Flesher?” and I sure did, defended my Ultraviolent title proudly that night. Then I asked myself “Bruce do you remember being pinned by Flesher?” and well no I couldn’t recall that – nor could I recall being put down by Flesher’s helper monkey Matthews”


“Oh come on now! They’re both former champions he has no place for those comments!” King says outraged that anyone would cast aspersions on Tom Flesher.


“I’m tickled pink that your definition of “Getting me back” is to have your partner pin my partner. . . that’s kinda flimsy isn’t it? I mean is this the “Superior One” trying his best to turn horseshit into ice cream and then run off to play with the boys in the Cruiserweight division”




“Guys like Zyon. . . How’s the neck buddy? Still hurting from being dropped on the tank? Or guys like Akira. . . who still smells like smoke after I blew him up. . . or Michael Cross, who couldn’t even get up the gumption to face me?”


Bruce stops and then blows out a ring of smoke and looks at it


“I guess it’s either go off in the cushy direction . . . or actually try to get even with me” at that last comment Bruce pokes the cigar through the ring of smoke dissolving it in thin air.


“Man he’s delusional, Flesher already got even, I was there at ringside, I saw it!” King passionately states.


“After all Timmy – I didn’t just beat you, I turned you from “the Superior One” into just your average Joe Blow”


“WHAT?” King yells out and is about ready to throw down his headset and rush the ring.


“Lemme explain this so that there ain’t no misunderstandings. I beat Ghost Machine V2, stopped him dead in his tracks, blew his momentum right out of the water – You weren’t exactly yourself after that now were you? Couldn’t get a single win in the tag-team tournament, couldn’t even take the kids’ title from Zyon! You lost to Grendel before *HE* went on to beat Zyon. . . “


“You know that’s technically true King” Mak reluctantly admits


“13th Hour was just a loss to me. March 8th, Portland Oregon knocked you down so far that you’ve still not gotten back on form Timmy!” Bruce says before putting the cigar back in the corner of his mouth with a wide shit eating grin.




“I know this big bumpkin wasn’t supposed to beat’cha, I know a lot of people back stage want to make excuses for ya, I know most people probably think I’m stupid for calling you out! Good thing I don’t put much stock in other people, never have, never will. It’s quite simple Timmy – you want to “Get Bruce Blank”? You want to claim that you’ve evened the score with me? Then come at me the way I came at you, beat me the way I beat you! – If you’ve got the set for it.” Bruce says with a a grin




”So what’s it going to be? Regular ol’ “Average” Tom Flesher runs along and plays with the Cruiserweights? Or Tom Flesher tries, and I emphasize the word TRIES to regain his standing as “the Superior One”? My money is that you’d rather run off instead of stepping into the ring with me for another Ultraviolent match. . . because in that area I’M THE SUPERIOR ONE!!”


And with that last comment Bruce stubs the remainder of his cigar out on the camera lens before picking up the remaining beers and downing one while Lockdown goes to a commercial break.

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“Coming up next, we’ve got a great matchup between two of the top stars in the SWF, as Landon Maddix will square off against the Wildchild!” exclaims Mak Francis. “King, these two young men are extremely familiar with each other from competing in the tag team division, but whereas Wildchild was usually able to get the better of Maddix in tag team competition, Landon has appeared to have his number in singles.”


“What are the odds that there could be a revolution here in Doomtopia tonight?” asks King, rolling his eyes in irritation. “I mean, anything to save me from the hell of this match!”


“Oh, come on, King,” wheedles Mak. “It won’t be that bad!”


“The hell it won’t!” snipes King. “This match is going to be a train wreck: you’ve got one guy, who THINKS he can wrestle but can’t, that’s going to be trying to wrestle, and then you’ve got one guy who’s actually a half-competent wrestler, that’s going to be trying NOT to wrestle. Not to mention the fact that I can’t stand either one of these guys! Can’t we just have this declared a double-disqualification and get on with the show?”


“Come on, King,” admonishes Mak, “quit being so damned melodramatic! Landon and Wildchild are two of the brightest stars in the SWF today…”


“Harrumph!” King harrumphs.


“Plus, they both make the company a BUTT load of money,” continues Francis. “You’ve got to give them that, at least!”


“That doesn’t make it better,” bemoans King. “It makes it worse! These two buffoons making the company money just means that I’m forced to continue to watch them! Can’t Peters just send them out during a commercial break to shill some t-shirts, and then send them back to their hotel?”


“King, you’re going to give yourself another ulcer,” replies Mak. “Calm the hell down… This match is going to turn out just fine, trust me.”


“You’re out of your mind,” grumbles King. “There’s NO way that this match turns out fine, because they both suck!”


“A veritable laundry list of championships would seem to disagree with you.”


“Oh, please!” gripes King. “Landon Maddix is the single-luckiest wrestler in the history of this company; he’s the biggest fluke since Johnny Dangerous… Which reminds me…”


“Of what, King?”


“What’s interesting to me about these two is that they were both involved in highly successful tag teams, and in both cases, the more talented member of the team toiled away in mediocrity while the less talented one went on to greater success. In Landon’s case, he was the less-talented partner, who went on to become a two-time World Heavyweight Champion while Todd Cortez was relegated to curtain-jerker status before finally quitting. And, in Wildchild’s case, he was the more talented guy, while his leech of a partner became a two-time Champion.”


“If I didn’t know better, King,” teases Mak, “I’d say that you had a touch of hostility.”


“I don’t have to take this from you!” roars King. “One more squawk from you, and I’ll have you turned over to the authorities!”


Mak chuckles. “For what?”


“For… for… for being stupid in a No Stupid Zone!” sputters King. “I have connections, you know; they love me here in Doomtopia!”


“I’m so sure,” laughs Mak. “Well folks, King’s opinion notwithstanding, we should have a dandy of a match coming up here, so let’s go back to the ring!”






“The following contest is scheduled for one fall!” booms Funyon. “The Game” by Disturbed hits, as from behind the curtain steps Megan Skye, heralding the arrival of Landon who stops at the top of the ramp and thrusting his hands out to his side to boos.


“Introducing first,” continues Funyon, “the manager: Megan Skye! She represents, from Huron, South Dakota, and weighing two hundred twenty-four pounds… Landon… La Cucaracha… MAAAAADIX!”


“There he is; the two-time former World Heavyweight Champion!” remarks Francis, as Landon taunts fans on his way to the ring. “And contrary to the opinions of the Suicide King, Maddix has proven time and again that he’s one of the best this fed has to offer!” Landon leaps to the apron, looking out at the crowd as Megan climbs the steps. Megan holds open the ropes and Landon bounds into the ring, spinning himself into the centre of the ring HBK style and posing with Megan.


“A confident look on the face of Landon Maddix,” notes Mak. “It doesn’t look like he’s at all bothered about losing the Championship at 13th Hour!”


“That’s because he’s a disrespectful twit!” snaps King. “He doesn’t have enough respect for the belt to feel bad about losing it, which is yet another thing not to like about him!” The power couple of the SWF comes out of their pose and heads over to their assigned corner. Landon removes his jacket and hands it to Megan as “The Game” fades out, only to be quickly replaced by the smooth neo-jazz beat of Mystikal’s “Bouncin’ Back.”








“And his opponent,” booms Funyon, “being accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki and hailing from the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds: the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild hears a mild undercurrent of boos from fans that still harbor resentment over his beating Jimmy the Doom at Battleground, but is otherwise very well received. He and Melissa cheerfully slap hands with the fans as they make their way to ringside.


“And here comes the Wildchild,” says Mak, “who seemed to get back on track with a big win at 13th Hour against Grendel, and will be looking to keep that momentum going here tonight; to do that, he’s going to have to beat one of the best!” Wildchild removes his shin guards as he stands in front of the ring and hands them to Melissa, giving her a quick hug before somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes to enter the ring. Wildchild heads over to the edge of the ring and leaps onto the middle rope, raising his arms above his head to salute the crowd:







“This makes me sick,” groans King. “Somebody please spare me from the misery of having to watch this match!” Wildchild hops back down into the ring just as his music fades out. Referee Red Herrington signals to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match:






“Bell’s gone,” says Mak, “and we’re underway!” Wildchild and Landon move towards the center of the ring and stand nose-to-nose, exchanging insults.


“What could they possibly be arguing about?” wonders King. “Which one of them is the least deserving of the success they’ve had? Because that’s one category that I’ll definitely give to Maddix every time!”


“I think that Landon and Wildchild are talking trash!” exclaims Mak. “Even though they’ve never really feuded against each other in singles’ competition, there’s definitely bad blood between the two of them, stemming all the way back to when the House of Todd was squaring off against Wild and Dangerous!” Suddenly, the trash talking comes to an abrupt end, as Wildchild tackles Landon with a double-leg takedown! WC straddles Landon and begins to assault him with a battery of lightning-quick right hands!











“Landon would do well to not get Wildchild fired up,” notes Mak, as Landon kicks WC off of him and begins to crawl away. “I don’t think that he can trade punches with him!” Maddix pulls himself to his feet, and then stuns Wildchild with a rake of the eyes as he draws near. Maddix hooks on a cravate while he tries to figure out what to do next, but he doesn’t get it cinched in squarely, and the Bahama Bomber won’t allow him the respite that he hopes for! WC takes a step forward and then turns his body in towards Maddix before dropping to his knees and taking Landon off his feet with a sudden fireman’s carry takeover! Wildchild applies a reverse chinlock, but the Cockroach slips out the backdoor, trapping WC in a hammerlock. Wildchild negotiates his way to his feet and reaches behind him to grab Maddix by the back of the head before leaping off the canvas, pulling Landon over his shoulder as he comes back down with a flying snapmare takeover.


Landon rolls over to the edge of the ring and uses the ropes to pull himself back to his feet. Wildchild runs over to him and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring, only for Maddix to reverse it! Landon, having wrestled WC several times, instinctively steps backwards out of his effective Pinball range, but the Bahama Bomber picks up speed as he bounces off the ropes, exploding into the air…






… And dives feet-first towards the Cockroach, sending him flying up over the top rope and out of the ring! Wildchild immediately rolls to his feet and waits for Landon to get to his feet before racing towards the corner and leaping to the top turnbuckle, twisting through the air as he springs out of the ring…






… And crashing into Maddix with a corkscrew moonsault! Wildchild pulls Landon to his feet and grabs him by the back of the head, leading him by head towards the corner of the ring and smashing his face into the ringpost! He then leads Maddix over to the corner where two sections of ring barricade intersect and leans him against that corner before returning to the ring.


“Boy, Wildchild wasted no time in taking control of this match!” shouts Mak, as WC climbs back onto the apron. He quickly leaps onto the top turnbuckle, leaping out to the arena floor and crashing into Landon’s back with a flying splash, crushing the Cockroach against the ring barricade!


“Well, I’ll definitely say this,” says King gleefully, “as much as I can’t stand Wildchild, anybody who squishes Landon Maddix like the cockroach he is can’t be ALL bad!” WC slams Maddix face-first into the barricade before pulling him back towards the ring and rolling him underneath the bottom rope. Landon begins crawling away from WC as he gets back to the ring, begging off as the Bahaman gets closer to him. WC pulls Maddix to his feet, but the Next Generation once again stuns him with a rake of the eyes, before applying an arm wringer. Wildchild blinks away the stars in his eyes, and then rolls forward on his shoulders to escape the arm wringer, escaping into a standing wristlock, and then suddenly hopping off the canvas, twisting his body in midair as he maintains control of the wristlock to take Landon over with a spinning arm wringer!


“Landon has been trying to dig into the cheating tactics, but he hasn’t been able to take control of this match away from the Wildchild,” says Mak, as WC and Landon get back to their feet.


“He’s going to have to dig a little deeper,” says King, “because, so far, he’s being thoroughly outwrestled, and we both know that he can’t match Wildchild for speed, so he’d better stick to chicanery!” WC applies another spinning arm wringer to take Maddix back down, causing the Cockroach to pound the canvas in frustration as he tries to negotiate his way back to his feet.


“Stop doing that!” he screams, but Wildchild ignores him, whipping Maddix over forcefully with a third spinning arm wringer! This time, as Landon gets to his feet, he steps towards WC and buries a knee into his midsection! Maddix quickly takes advantage, shifting into a go-behind waistlock, but the Caribbean gets both legs underneath him and backs Landon forcefully into a nearby corner!


“Wildchild was able to use that tremendous leg strength to get Landon into the corner,” reports Mak, as Maddix has no choice but to release the waistlock. “Landon’s been trying to outwrestle Wildchild, but I think you were right, King: that’s a mistake!”


“Of course I was right!” snaps King. “Maddix was able to sit still long enough for Jay Hawke and JJ Johnson to teach him a couple of submission holds, and the idiot thinks that he’s learned all there is to know about wrestling, but he doesn’t have a tight grasp of the fundamentals… And let’s get one thing clear, Francis: I can’t stand Wildchild, but it’s not because he can’t wrestle, it’s because he refuses to wrestle; he actually has the basics down, for the most part, and Maddix is not going to be able to beat him like that!”


“Well, the last time these two squared off in singles’ competition, it took a well-timed handful of sand to the eyes to enable Maddix to hit the Shining Wizard,” says Mak, “but I don’t think that there’s any sand around here!” Wildchild pulls Maddix out of the corner with a snapmare…






… And quickly follows up with a fistdrop that nails Maddix right between the eyes! Wildchild gets back up and pulls Maddix to his feet, grabbing him by the back of the head and leading him into the corner, where he rams him face-first into the top turnbuckle!


“We’re starting to see signs of the aggression that Wildchild was showing right after he lost the International Title to JJ Johnson, ,” remarks King, “I know that he still wants to get his rematch, but he’d better not underestimate Maddix. The little bastard is luckier than he is good, but don’t think for a second that he won’t capitalize if you make a mistake!” Wildchild grabs Landon and leads him back across the ring to ram his head into the opposing turnbuckle…






… But the Cockroach gets his foot up to block it and rams Wildchild’s face into the turnbuckle instead!






Landon pulls SC out of the corner and hammers him in the side of the face with a flurry of forearm shots and then traps him in a front facelock, grabbing him by the leg and lifting him into the air to deliver a vertical suplex, but the Bahaman twists around in midair and lands on his back behind Maddix. Wildchild whips his leg through the air to deliver a roundhouse kick as Landon spins around, but the Cockroach catches his leg at chest level…






… Only for WC to immediately spring off the mat with his other leg, whipping it through the air and blasting Maddix in the face with a Gamengiri!


“Just when it looks like Landon Maddix is about to take control of the match,” says Mak, “Wildchild comes up with a counter to the counter! That’ll give you Excedrin headache number 28!” Wildchild rolls to his feet and runs towards the edge of the ring, leaping into the air as he bounces off the ropes, and crashing into Maddix with a running Shooting Star Press! Herrington drops to his knees as Wildchild hooks the leg for a cover:

















WC pulls Maddix back to his feet, only to take him back down with a snapmare takeover, and then runs quickly to the ropes, picking up speed as he bounces off, and slamming his shin into the back of Landon’s head with a running punt kick! Maddix rolls out to the apron to recover, but Wildchild charges right after him, pulling Maddix to his feet and draping his neck over the top rope. Wildchild traps Maddix in a front facelock, only to drop down to the canvas, clotheslining him with the top rope, and knocking him down to the arena floor!


“I tell you what, Francis,” says King, “Wildchild’s going all out to win this match; he knows that his best shot at getting his hands on JJ is to climb back up the ranks of the International Division, and right now, that means going through Landon Maddix!” WC runs across the ring as Maddix gets back to his feet out on the floor, and fires off the ropes with tremendous velocity, flipping over the top rope…






… And crashing into the Cockroach with a tope con hilo! The Bahaman pulls Maddix to his feet and grabs him by the back of the head - leading him towards the corner of the ring and once again smacking him face-first into the ringpost! The fans cheer as WC turns to face them and releases a feral howl:









“Wildchild’s out of control!” cries Mak. “If he doesn’t take it down a notch, he could permanently injure Landon Maddix!”


“I take it back,” says King cheerfully, “this may turn out to be a decent match yet!” With Herrington administering a count from inside the ring, WC turns his attention back to Maddix, but Megan Skye runs up behind him and jumps on his back!


“Look at this!” says Mak. “Megan’s trying to get involved in this match!” Herrington warns Megan to get off of WC’s back as Melissa comes from around the ring, grabbing two handfuls of Megan’s hair and pulling her off of the Bahaman’s back!


“Here we go!” exclaims King. “We’ve got a catfight outside the ring!” Herrington climbs out of the ring to try and separate the two snarling vixens and, in the confusion, Wildchild turns his attention back to Maddix…






… Who sends him crashing face-first into the ringpost with a drop toehold!


“Oh no!” cries Mak. “Landon Maddix was able to take advantage of the confusion outside the ring to turn the tables on the Wildchild!”


“Well, he says that he always has a plan,” says King, “and by Megan jumping onto Wildchild’s back, it certainly seems as though that was at least part of their backup plan!” While Herrington’s attention is still diverted by the catfight, Maddix runs around to the timekeeper’s table and shoves the timekeeper out of his chair. He folds it up and carries it back around the ring…






… Where he slams it into the back of WC’s head! Landon discards the chair and rolls Wildchild underneath the ropes back into the ring. He climbs back into the ring himself and applies a lateral press to the Bahama Bomber.


“Landon has Wildchild dead to rights,” notes Mak, “but it looks like his plan may have worked too well! Herrington’s STILL trying to break up the catfight!” Finally, Maddix is able to get Herrington’s attention, and he slides back into the ring to deliver the count:























“Wildchild came within an eyelash of getting pinned after that chair shot,” says Mak. “But you’ve got to believe that Landon Maddix has a great opportunity to take control of this match now, King!”


“Which would make me even sicker!” growls King. “The only thing that could be worse than Wildchild winning this match would be Maddix winning this match!” Maddix pulls Wildchild to his feet and traps WC's head and arm from the side, before dropping back, driving him face-first to the canvas with his patented Complete Shot! Instead of attempting a cover, he rolls out to the apron and climbs to the top rope, where he leaps down into the ring…






… And drills Wildchild with a suicide headbutt! Landon reaches over to hook the leg as Herrington makes the count:


















“Two count only!” shouts Mak. “Wildchild’s still in this thing!” WC tries to sit up, but Maddix slaps on a reverse chinlock.


“Look at the horrible execution on that reverse chinlock!” spits King. “I told you, this little punk has no grasp of the basics… it’s like he tried to skip from algebra to calculus!”


“I’m inclined to agree with you, King,” says Mak, as WC’s eyes begin to flutter. “I don’t think that Maddix has a solid enough wrestling background to be able to win this match with a reverse chinlock, but he could be able to wear Wildchild down enough with this hold to perhaps set him up for the Land of Nod!” Regardless of Landon’s execution, or lack thereof, he is able to get enough of his bicep across WC’s carotid artery to appear to put him to sleep. Herrington raises his arm once, and watches as it falls.


“I don’t believe this!” gasps King. “That’s one; two more and the match is over!” Herrington raises WC’s arm a second time, but the Tropical Tumbler keeps it in the air this time!


“Not quite!” says Mak. “Wildchild’s still got some fight left in him!” WC negotiates his way back to his feet and rushes backwards into the nearest corner, trying to crush Maddix against the turnbuckles to get free, but the Cockroach continues to maintain control of the reverse chinlock, waiting for WC to take a few steps out of the corner before moving both of his hands underneath the Bahaman’s chin as he falls backwards…






… Driving both knees into WC’s back with the Lungblower! Maddix quickly scrambles atop Wildchild and applies a cover:
















Maddix rolls Wildchild onto his belly and stands at his feet. He bends down to grab WC’s legs and crosses them together, securing them behind his right leg before reaching back to grab a handful of WC’s braids; he pulls him roughly to his knees before cinching in an inverted facelock to cinch in the Elevated Muta Lock!


“Elevated Muta Lock,” says King. “this will continue to set up the Land of Nod; this is a move that puts tremendous pressure on the spine and neck areas, and it’s going to be tough for Wildchild to find the leverage to make it to the ropes!” Wildchild cries out in pain as Maddix cranks back on the hold.


“Wildchild’s natural flexibility and his will to win may be the only things keeping him from tapping out right now,” says Mak. Melissa begins to pound on the mat to get the crowd back into it, and they respond by cheering for the Bahama Bomber:







“You can hear these fans here in Doomtopia getting behind the Wildchild,” notes Francis, “but I don’t know how much longer he can hold out! You know, King, earlier it seemed as if there was a small contingent of fans rooting against the Wildchild, but now they seem to be firmly behind him!” Herrington asks Wildchild if he’s ready to give up, but the Tropical Tumbler seems to be infused by the energy of the crowd, and he vigorously shakes his head no.


“Well, of course they’re cheering for him!” snaps King. “Their only other alternative is to cheer for Landon Maddix, and nobody wants to cheer for Landon Maddix! But Wildchild needs to strongly consider tapping out, and living to fight another day. This is could career suicide; as horrible a technical wrestler as Maddix is, he’s got this hold on pretty good, and I don’t see a way that Wildchild can get out of this move! He could sustain a severely injured back if he doesn’t swallow his pride and give up!” Wildchild locks eyes with Melissa, who stares back at him, her eyes imploring him not to submit.


“Melissa Fasaki has a concerned look on her face,” says Mak, observing the exchange as Megan strolls around the ring to taunt her.


“Of course she does,” replies King. “That’s her meal ticket!” Herrington once again asks WC if he’s had enough, and he shouts defiantly that he has not. WC tips himself forward to land on his belly against the canvas, forcing Maddix to shift his positioning. He then begins trying to claw his way towards the ropes as Melissa continues to pound on the mat in encouragement to get the crowd cheering:







“This is incredible!” shouts Mak. “Wildchild’s actually trying to get to the ropes!”


“That’s impossible!” barks King. “I’m watching with my own eyes, and I STILL don’t believe it!” Wildchild is only able to move a few inches, but it’s enough to convince Landon Maddix that he might have a chance to escape, and decides to switch tactics, releasing the hold and immediately rolling back to his feet, hopping off the canvas before Wildchild can move any further and jamming a double stomp right into his back, and then immediately follows it up with a back senton! Landon rolls him over for a lateral press:















“Two and three quarters,” says Mak, “as Wildchild was, once again, able to slip out the back door!” The Cockroach pulls Wildchild to his feet and traps him in an inverted front facelock.


“Looks like he’s going for the Landon Eye,” says Mak, noting Landon’s pantomime. But the Bahama Bomber reaches up to grab the back of Maddix’s head with both hands, pulling it forward as he brings his knee up and smashing Landon’s face into it!






“Look at this!” shouts King, as WC continues to rifle high kneelifts into Landon’s nose. “Look at Wildchild fire back. I guess that famous circus flexibility finally came in handy!” Wildchild continues to knee Landon until he lets go, and staggers towards the nearby corner to recover, but Maddix decides not to give him that opportunity. He rushes towards WC, arm raised to deliver a running forearm, only for the Human Hurricane to duck underneath it and quickly bring his leg off the canvas as Maddix spins around…






… Knocking Landon silly with a shuffling sidekick!








“Shuffling sidekick!” shouts Mak. “And just bought Wildchild a little time!” Both men writhe on the canvas as Herrington delivers a ten-count. At the count of six, Maddix begins to stir and crawls over to WC, where he wearily applies a lateral press:


















Landon pulls Wildchild to his feet and delivers a series of stiff kicks to the face. He then doubles WC over and traps him in a standing headscissors as he attempts to secure a double-underhook, but the Caribbean Cruiser counters, lifting Landon up and overhead with a back-body drop! WC runs to the ropes as Maddix gets to his feet, leaping into the air as he bounces off the ropes and landing on Maddix’s shoulders, before arching backwards to take him over with a running Hurricanrana!


“Tremendous athleticism by the Wildchild!” exclaims Mak, as WC heads out to the apron and climbs up to the top turnbuckle. He waits to see the whites in Landon’s eyes before leaping back into the ring, grabbing Maddix by the waist as he flies overhead and rolling him backwards into a Sunset Flip!
















Landon kicks out at two! Wildchild pulls him to his feet, but the Cockroach stuns him with a thumb to the eyes! He then grabs WC by the back of the head and leads him across the ring to smash his face into the top turnbuckle!






… But the Bahama Bomber gets his foot up to block it, and rams Landon’s face into the turnbuckle instead! WC executes a standing leap to the top turnbuckle as Maddix staggers out of the corner and then leaps back into the ring, twisting his body around as he crashes into Landon with a flying cross-body block!



… But the Next Generation rolls through the cross-body, pull Wildchild by the tights as he holds him in a pinning combination!





















“Some surprising ring awareness on the part of Landon Maddix,” notes Mak, “but Wildchild still had the presence of mind to get out of it!” Landon steps over WC as he tries to sit up and immediately clamps on a front facelock, before sitting down to apply a sitting body scissors!


“Oh my!” shouts Mak. “That looks like the Wet Cement! He could get him here!”


“Can you believe the nerve of this kid?” barks King. “What a blatant show of disrespect to Tom Flesher!” Landon tries to exert more pressure, but he’s not quite seated properly, and WC realizes that he still has a chance to escape, as he begins bashing Maddix in the ribs with his hands!


“Look at this, King!” exclaims Mak. “Do you think that Wildchild may have stumbled onto a way to escape the Wet Cement?”


“Certainly not!” replies King dismissively. “The only reason why Wildchild has an opportunity to get out of this move is because Landon Maddix is incompetent, and he doesn’t have it applied properly; you’d best believe that if it were Tom Flesher applying that hold, Wildchild wouldn’t be able to get free!” WC continues to hammer Landon’s ribs until he finally releases the hold, but remains seated on WC’s legs as the Bahaman draws back…






… And slams a hard right hand into his face, knocking him off! WC gets to his feet and leads Maddix over to a neutral corner, where he straddles the middle turnbuckles as he begins to administer a ten-count punch!






















At the count of six, however, Landon wraps his arms around WC and carries him out to the center of the ring before slamming him down onto his outstretched thigh with an inverted atomic drop!


“Ouch!” cringes Mak. “That’s chiropractic city!”


“That’s easy for you to say,” snipes King. “You’ve got no feeling from the waist down!” Maddix pushes WC into the corner and begins to light his chest up with a series of reverse knife-edge chops! He then grabs WC by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but the Bahama Bomber reverses, sending him into the corner instead; Maddix avoids crashing into the turnbuckles by stopping himself with his hands against the top ropes, and then raises up as WC charges in after him, twisting around and slipping over Wildchild’s back, rolling him into a Sunset Flip!








… But the Human Hurricane rolls through and grabs Landon’s ankle, giving the sign for the figure four leglock! He winds Landon’s leg around his and then bends down to pick up the other one, but the Cockroach reaches up and pulls WC into an inside cradle!
















“What a fast-paced series of counters!” shouts Mak. Landon beats WC to his feet and stuns him with a boot to the midsection. He stands in front of Wildchild and applies a cravate, signaling Labarinto’s Revenge! He ambles towards the corner, pulling Wildchild along behind him, but the Caribbean Cruiser slips out of the cravate and pushes Maddix into the corner instead, where he slams chest-first into the turnbuckles! WC runs to the ropes as Maddix staggers out of the corner and leaps from the canvas, whipping his leg quickly through the air to knock Landon over with a leg lariat! The crowd begins to become excited as WC pops back to his feet and raises his arms above his head before pulling them down to his chest in that now familiar motion!






“That’s the sign for the Wild Ride!” gasps Mak. “If he hits this, it’s all over!” Wildchild traps Landon in an inverted standing headscissors and reaches back to lock in a double underhook. He then spins around and gets his feet squarely underneath him as he lifts the Next Generation onto his shoulders. WC looks out into the crowd and releases a primitive growl before he falls backwards…












“Wild Ride!” croaks Mak, as Wildchild rolls Landon over. The frantic Doomtopians cry out along with Red Herrington as he makes the count:








“He ain’t gonna get up from it!” shouts King.










“No way!” agrees Mak.












“Bouncin’ Back” begins to pump through the speakers as Wildchild flops over onto his back, panting like a dog as Red Herrington raises his hand in victory.


Funyon rises from his seat at ringside as he lifts the microphone to his lips. “Here is your winner,” he bellows, “the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” WC crawls over to the edge of the ring and pulls himself up to his feet. He leans heavily over the ropes as he looks out to the crowd with a weary grin on his face.


“Big win for the Wildchild over the former World Heavyweight Champion!” shouts Mak, as Herrington raises WC’s arm in victory. “That’s got to shoot him back up the rankings!”


“Well, like I said before, there was nobody that could have won this match to suit me,” says King, “but damned if I didn’t get a kick out of seeing that little twerp Maddix get dropped on his skull!”


“And on that note,” says Mak, “we’ll be right back after this commercial break with more exciting action here on Lockdown!”


Wildchild walks over to the corner and climbs to the middle ropes, saluting the crowd once more with his arms above his head…



As we:


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A video auto-tracks and then shows Joseph Peters’ door. It opens and the camera moves past the secretary, opening the door to Peters’ office. The head cheese looks up at the cameraman, about to say something as an arm comes into view, offering Joseph an envelope. He takes the envelope and opens it, reading aloud.


“Mr. Peters. The Hardcore Gamers’ belt is mine, I’m not giving it up. I’m sure an Ultraviolent Championship will produce more ratings. Spike Jenkins almost killed Rashelle, and I can’t work for a man who would manipulate people at the expense of a human life.”


Joseph guffaws, then begins ranting as the picture blacks out.


The camera flickers back to life, once again auto-tracking. Another door opens, marked ‘Stephens’. On the side of the locker room with the bench, two bags are left alone. One obviously Amy’s and one obviously Mike’s. The arm outstretches again, this time with a taped note … the cameraman places it on Amy’s bag.


“Amy, keep in touch. I have someone to take care of. I’m here if you need me. Stay out of trouble.”


The view pans out a bit and the shot shifts to Mike’s bag. The cameraman’s hand stretches out and sticks a note on his bag.


“Mike, I’m sorry I can’t stick around. I was looking forward to the second Revolution. I’m here if you need me. Take care, friend.”


The camera blacks out.

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SWF Lockdown abruptly returns from commercial break with James Matheson and Charlie “Grappler” Matthews entering the ring, the strains of Muddy Waters’ “Mannish Boy” dying down as the Doomtopian crowd lets the pair know exactly how they feel about them.






Most conspicuous, though, is the fact that Matthews has a comical neck brace supporting his head and, flexing those acting muscles, maintaining various pained expressions on his face. Matheson, meanwhile, grabs a microphone.


“What happened at Thirteenth Hour,” Matheson begins, before he has to stop due to an overwhelming chant of






“…what happened at Thirteenth Hour was a damn tragedy! And no, I’m not talking about the result of the tag team match between the truly Dead Precedents and my boys, Tommy and Grap. No, I’m talking about our opponents’ underhanded tactics, and their clear exploitation of the former neck injury of Charlie Matthews! The man has a very fragile neck, and any further punishment could have resulted in serious injury, even paralysis!”


“Oh, please,” Mak states, rolling his eyes.


“Say, Mak, how’d your morning walk go today?”


“Go to hell, King.”


“So with that being said,” Matheson pulls a folded piece of paper out of his chest pocket, “I went to Joseph Peters and first thanked him for this opportunity for the International Championship tonight. However, since the odds are against Grappler and his neck injury, I requested one simple stipulation to even things out. The champion, Aecas, must have one arm tied behind his back for as long as Matthews has this neck brace!”




Suddenly, the lights go out, and a loud *BONG* is heard, triggering an eruption of random cheers.


“Are you scared?”


“…he’s here.”


Amon Amarth’s “Death in Fire” kicks in and the International Champion appears, igniting another roar from the crowd. He lifts his staff up and spits some disgustingly vicious blood mist into the air.


“Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon begins, “the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the S-W-F International Championship! Introducing first, from Shrewsbury, England, weighing in at three-hundred and fifteen pounds, he is the International Champion, AAAAAAAAAAECASSSSSSS!”


Aecas continues to the ring, entering through the ropes and only several feet away from Charlie Matthews.


“And the challenger, from Kansas City, Missouri, weighing in at three-hundred and six pounds, CHAAAAARLIE ‘GRAPPLER’ MAAAAATTHEWS!”


Conveniently enough, James Matheson produces a length of rope from his mysterious briefcase at ringside, and hands it to referee Skip Mulligan. Aecas scowls, but oddly enough, holds his left arm out and beckons Mulligan to approach him.


“All things considered,” King remarks, “this is brilliant strategy on behalf of Matthews. After all, Aecas will be hard-pressed to escape any restholds with just one hand.”


“All things considered,” Mak retorts, “this is one-hundred percent bullshit. I’m not the biggest Grappler fan in the world by a longshot, but he’s still rapidly losing any respect I have for him tonight.”


As referee Mulligan cinches the rope around Aecas’ wrist and body, he procures the International Championship and holds it up for all Doomtopians to see, before handing it to the timekeeper and calling for the bell!




“These two are no strangers to one another,” Mak begins, “as they locked horns many a time in the old SJL.”


“In fact, Matthews got the better of Aecas on every single occasion. That’s an important little tidbit that you seem to have left out, Francis.”


“I was getting to it. Nevertheless, Aecas has shown a new fire, a new fighting spirit since returning, and I think it might be curtains for Matthews tonight.”


The two heavyweights circle one another, Matthews gingerly stepping and Aecas, oddly enough, still with a malicious grin painted on his face. Surprisingly, the challenger charges at Aecas, but the Black Angel is able to pivot around to his free arm and nail Grappler right in the jaw with a back elbow! Charlie stumbles backwards, and Aecas unleashes, firing off right forearm after right forearm, forcing Matthews all the way back into the corner! The crowd erupts at the sight of the debatably-injured wrestler getting his ass handed to him, while Aecas is absolutely unrelenting in his firing of the forearms. Finally, in a little touch of brilliance and reading of the fine-print in Joseph Peters’ contract, he reaches towards Matthews’ neck and rips the neck brace off, throwing it into the crowd! With Grappler and Matheson in shock, and Matthews leaning against the ropes, Aecas backs up and then charges, extending his leg into the air and slamming his boot into the face of Charlie with a huge Yakuza Kick that nearly takes his head off and sends him over the top rope, all the way down to the floor!


“Get this bloody rope off of me!” Aecas shouts to Skip Mulligan, who obliges.


“What the hell was that?!” King shouts, “Aecas is unnecessarily assaulting an injured man, and now he’s breaking the rules of the match!”


“King, as Peters’ contract said, the handicap only exists when both men have it. Now that Matthews’ neck brace is off, Aecas doesn’t need to have his hand tied behind his back anymore!”


“Fuckin’ eh,” King sighs, “I’m not too sure what Peters was going for, then.”


Aecas, who now has both hands free, riles up the crowd and awaits Matthews’ reentry into the ring which, like everything he does, is quite slow. Once he finally does enter between the middle and top ropes, Aecas stalks the Grappler, only to have the old-school heavyweight use the time-tested thumb to the eye to slow his opponents’ momentum. With Aecas suitably stunned, Charlie Matthews locks his hands together and brings down a hard double-axe handle across the upper back of the champion, and follows this with—surprise!—a front facelock, dropping down to a knee with the hold locked in.






“Charlie Matthews is taking a page out of his partner Tom Flesher’s playbook with that front facelock,” Francis observes, “and it proved effective in its stopping the momentum of the International Champion.”


“Well, if there’s one wrestler you’re going to mimic, it should always be Tom Flesher. And of course, if there’s one wrestler in the SWF who can mimic the Superior One’s moves, it’d be Charlie Matthews. I’m telling you, they’re a dream team.”


However, being so fresh in the match, Aecas is able to power back up to a vertical base, before arching backwards and sending all three-hundred pounds of Charlie Matthews over his head and onto his back with a release northern lights suplex! Both men scramble to their feet at the same time, charge at one another…




…and knock heads. Oops. The force and momentum of the collision sends both men several feet backwards, as they nurse their heads after the botched spot. Still, after the recovery, they charge again, and this time Grappler is able to lift his right knee up, catching Aecas right in the gut. With the champion doubled over, Matthews grabs him around the waist and lifts him vertically into the air, before dropping him down crotch-first across his outstretched knee with an inverted atomic drop. Aecas clutches the injured part or parts in pain, backing up against the ropes. Seeing this, Matthews charges, arm outstretched, and uses his own momentum to catch Aecas under the jaw and send both men tumbling down to the floor!


“Cactus clothesline by Charlie Matthews,” Mak calls, “and now the validity of that so-called neck injury drops further into question. First, why would he perform such a high-risk move, and second, why would you want things to spill the outside of the ring, where the chances of actual wrestling occurring are slim-to-none?”


“I think you’re missing the point, Francis,” King replies, “as this is a testament to the intestinal fortitude of Charlie Matthews. He does indeed have a serious, recurring neck injury, but he’s fighting through it, and valiantly!”


Both wrestlers are notably slower to their feet, but, unsurprisingly after the tumble, Matthews is up first, and just to piss his opponent off, he goes old school again and rakes his fingernails across the back of Aecas! With the champion in sheer pain and agony, Grappler clubs him from behind with the Russian sickle, sending him down to his knees in front of the ring steps. Taking a page out of his old rival John Duran’s playbook, Matthews backs up a few paces and then runs full-speed ahead, driving his knee into the back of Aecas’ head, subsequently slamming his face into the ring steps!




“The two men hated each other,” Francis recalls, “but I think John Duran would have applauded Grappler’s use of that knee-ring step sandwich.”


“See, Francis?” King snaps, “I told you Matthews had a purpose in going outside of the ring. His plan is working perfectly.”


In full control, the challenger grabs Aecas by the hair and rolls him back into the ring, following in and pouncing on top with a lateral press, as Skip Mulligan counts.








Shoulder up! The crowd roars in approval as Aecas powers out of the pin attempt. However, just like in any good Grappler match, Charlie Matthews decides to go for the resthold. He turns Aecas onto his stomach and stands over his back, squatting down and wrenching the Black Angel’s head up with a devastating camel clutch!







Matthews cinches in the hold and shows no signs of letting up, while Matheson cheers on goofily from ringside. The Doomtopia fans, meanwhile, shift their chanting to something incomprehensible, but with “Aecas” at the end, so we can only assume they’re providing moral support for the champion.


“Charlie knows that Aecas is in a hell of a lot better shape than he is,” King starts, “so it’s wise to wear down that body and make it easier to pin or force to submit.”


“I might be the one submitting if this camel clutch goes any longer,” Mak sighs.


As if on cue with Mak’s complaint, Aecas begins to fight the power, so to speak, as he gets to his knees. Showing tremendous strength and shocking Matthews, Matheson, and all of the Doomtopians in attendance, Aecas, in one smooth motion, powers up to his feet with Grappler still on his back and kicks his legs, falling backwards and squashing Matthews under his three-hundred and fifteen pound frame! Aecas rolls over and climbs up to a vertical base, just in time to see a charging Matthews, who attempts to stop Aecas’ momentum. As it turns out, he’s the one who’s stopped, as the Black Angel extends his arm out and floors Grappler with a clothesline! Matthews rises to his feet…and eats another! The Doomtopians explode as Aecas brings Matthews to his feet and traps him in a front facelock, before hoisting him into the air and, just as quickly, dropping him down onto his head and neck with an evenflow brainbuster!




Aecas hooks a leg on the cover of Matthews and Skip Mulligan counts the pin.













James Matheson recovers from his near heart attack at ringside, while Aecas brings Matthews up and backs him into the nearest turnbuckle. He fires off several forearm shots, before backing up and extending his leg, using his boot to choke the challenger, much to the approval of the crowd!


“That’s the smartest thing for Aecas to do,” Mak points out, “especially after softening up Matthews with that beautiful brainbuster. If Aecas can stay on that neck, Grappler won’t last much longer.”


“It’s always weird hearing you of all people talking about that, Francis.”


After the necessary five-count from the referee, Aecas relinquishes the boot choke and backs away, but out of the corner of his eye he sees James Matheson goading him on the ring apron. Aecas charges at the Herpes-like annoyance, but Matheson smartly drops down to the floor to avoid any contact. Aecas, of course, has a few choice words for him, but these choice words allow Matthews to crawl up behind the Black Angel and club him where it hurts most!




As referee Skip Mulligan finishes his admonishment of Matheson, Charlie Matthews shoves the doubled-over Aecas hard between the second and top ropes and all the way down to the arena floor! Grappler follows him out, and with both men on the outside, Skip Mulligan begins his obligatory ten-count. Matthews, being the gentleman that he is, helps Aecas up to his feet, but is unceremoniously met with a huge hand clasped around his throat! The crowd roars as Aecas prepares to chokeslam the living daylights out of the challenger, but Matthews has the move scouted and fires a hard back elbow to break the hold. As Aecas stumbles, Grappler pushes him back against the guardrail and executes his own blatant choke! To make the fighting on the outside just a little cleaner, Mulligan exits the ring and admonishes Matthews, who finally listens to him and relinquishes the hold.


“Charlie Matthews knows that he can’t win the title on the outside of the ring,” Mak helpfully notes, “but that choke sure will expedite the process.”


“Yeah, and by the way he’s wrestling, it doesn’t look like Grap is completely focused on winning the title. I think he just wants to administer as much punishment as possible on Aecas. Hence the outside brawling.”


As Mulligan reenters the ring to begin counting again, Charlie Matthews pulls back on the protective mats surrounding the ring, revealing the hot, hard concrete below (they’re by a freakin’ volcano, so it wouldn’t be cold and hard). With the blessing of James Matheson and the registering of one-count from Mulligan, Matthews brings Aecas down into a standing headscissors and raises his hands into the air, signaling for a powerbomb! He reaches down to pick Aecas up…




The Black Angel easily stands up, sending Matthews over his head and onto said concrete with a biiiig back body drop!


“THREEEEE!” Skip Mulligan is actually giving the wrestlers the benefit of the doubt with a slow count, as the fans are clearly enjoying the up-close punishment going on outside of the ring. Aecas now runs his thumb across his throat, signaling that it just might be payback time for the Old School heavyweight. Indeed, he brings Matthews up, but the Grappler backs off, calling the attention of Skip Mulligan and saying that he needs immediate medical attention. That distraction is all that’s needed.




“Damn it!” Francis shouts, “James Matheson just clobbered Aecas from behind with that briefcase! Come on, Mulligan!”


“I think Matthews’ condition is a little more important than that little altercation between friends, Francis.”


With the Black Angel doubled over, and Mulligan administering a “FIVE!”, Charlie Matthews quickly underhooks the arms of Aecas and falls backwards, planting him head-first onto the concrete with a double-arm DDT!




“Did you hear that?!” King rhetorically asks, “Matthews just plastered Aecas into the concrete with that DDT! I love this guy!”


Grappler craftily slides back into the ring upon Mulligan’s “SIX!” clearly deciding to take the low-road to victory tonight.




“Well, I guess you were right, King,” Mak concedes, “because it looks like Matthews is going to let Aecas get counted out after that sick DDT!”


But Aecas is up! The crowd roars as the International Champion gets to his knees, showing that it’ll take a hell of a lot more to take him down. He’s up to a standing base!




But inside of the ring, Matthews drops down to his knees clutching his neck and calls Mulligan over, claiming a severe attack on the neurons in his central nervous system. While Skip again questions the validity of such dubious claims (and how smart is this guy, anyway), Matheson again backs up, and levels Aecas in the back of the head with the briefcase!






Aecas drops down again, Matthews assures Mulligan that he’ll make it, and the referee turns to count again.





“C’mon, Aecas! Damn it!” Mak cries, “don’t let this match end now! Aecas was just getting warmed up before that rat had to interfere and make his presence felt. Grappler, I thought you were a better wrestler than that!”


Aecas is up to his knees, and the crowd roars the valor and fighting spirit of the Black Angel-






-but it’s too late.





Boos and Borts rain down upon Matthews as “Mannish Boy” kicks in, with James Matheson sliding into the ring to celebrate with his client. Grappler even sports a smile, raising his hands into the air as if he actually won the title.


“Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon begins, “the winner of the contest, as a result of a count-out, is CHAAAAAAARLIE ‘GRAPPLER’ MAAAAATTHEWS!”


The two men unwisely continue to celebrate in the ring, as unbeknownst to them, Aecas slides back into the ring. The crowd roars, and the music abruptly stops, which I guess is enough of a hint. Matthews turns around…




…and gets floored with a huge Yakuza Kick by the champion! Matheson tries to scurry away, but gets grabbed by the head, and the crowd again explodes, waiting to see James Matheson get his! And get his he does, as Aecas places Matheson in a standing headscissors, before signaling to the crowd with a thumbs-down sign. He then proceeds to hoist Matheson up into the air and SLAM him onto the canvas with an enormous powerbomb!




“Thank God!” Mak swears, “James Matheson got what was coming to him after his copious amount of interference in that match! You can tell Aecas wanted to beat Matthews fair and square, and what happened tonight was far from that.”


“Graps did what he had to,” King corrects, “or, more specifically, what he wanted to do. He showed Aecas that he was a viable threat, and that he doesn’t need the International Title to prove that.”


“Death in Fire” kicks in again as Matthews, hurting on the outside, drags an unconscious Matheson out of the ring and carries him, fireman-style, to the back. Aecas is presented with his International Championship, which he holds high to the cheering Doomtopians as SWF Lockdown shows a graphic for the hot and upcoming Michael Stephens vs. Zyon World Championship match.

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“Hi, this is Emma Dumas, bringing you the biggest and best SWF news! Tonight, I’m backstage with World Champion Michael Stephens; Michael, any comments before your gargantuan title defence against Zyon later tonight!?”


“Yeah,” the Englishman says, eyeing the new arrival uncertainly, “what the hell happened to Ben Hardy?”


“Someone saw him with a takeout bag from Subway!” the overenthusiastic interviewer explains.


“Oops,” Stephens grimaces. “But yes, to answer your question, I’d like to set a few things straight before I take Zyon on tonight. You see, I feel we got off onto slightly the wrong foot on Aftershoxxx. Zyon seems to think that he hasn’t been treated all that fairly in the SWF, and I can see where he’s coming from; he’s had at least two non-title wins over champions recently, and I know he had a series of matches against Jay Hawke at the end of last year where he nearly got the International Title as well. He was probably still a little bitter over losing the Cruiserweight Title to Mike Cross, and I can understand that too. Hell,” the World Champion grins ruefully, “I’ve got bitter over title losses before, just ask the locker room. So all in all I probably shouldn’t have made such a big deal about what he decided to call me, because he probably wasn’t in that receptive a mindset.” The World Champion turns away from Dumas to look into the camera, and begins to address his challenger directly.


“Zyon, I don’t want tonight to be about the words we exchanged on Aftershoxxx. It doesn’t need to be. Yeah, I do question some of the things you’ve done, but then I question some of the things I’ve done as well. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t come out there thinking you’ve got to prove yourself, because you do. A World Title match is a proving ground for anyone, no matter how many times you’ve been there. I’ve been in more of them than anyone else on the roster except maybe Flesher, and I’m not sure about that. It doesn’t mean that I haven’t got to prove myself every time I step into the ring with this belt on the line, because each new match is a new chance to lose it.”


“Zyon, I respect who you are and I respect what you’ve done,” Stephens says. “You’ve been bubbling under the surface of the main event for long enough, and it sounds like it’s time for you to step up. I believe you can do it, I honestly do. But what you need to understand is that even though I believe you can do it, I believe that I can do it as well, and I’ll be doing everything I can to make sure I do. I’m not going to underestimate you; make sure you do the same for me sunshine, because I’ve made a career out of proving people wrong. If we both go into this match with our eyes open and willing to give it our all, we should be able to give the fans what they want to see… one bloody good match.”


“Can I just ask you your opinion on the words Tom Flesher had for you and Mike Cross on Aftershoxxx!?” Emma Dumas asks, and the World Champion snorts.


“Yeah, sure. Tom, you’re a great wrestler. A great wrestler. On the other hand you’ve never beaten me one-on-one, and you’re far too fond of the sound of your own voice. So rather than talking about what you’re going to do, try actually doing it sunshine instead of jumping people like Grendel to try and make a point. You want the Cruiserweight belt? Go take it from Cross. You want the World Title? Well, if I’m still holding it after tonight, I’ve got a challenge for you.”


Stephens leans closer to the camera, his steel-grey eyes boring into the lens through the strands of black hair that hang over his face.


“Come and have a go… if you think yer ‘ard enough.”

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“Fans, we’re back here LIVE~ in Doomtopia, and it’s time for our main event!” Mak Francis says with about as much excitement as a suave Franchise can display without losing his Oakleys. “It was ten days ago that Michael Stephens defeated Landon Maddix to win his record-equalling fourth World Title - only a couple of hours previously on the same show, SWF 13th Hour, Zyon had lost his Cruiserweight Title to ‘Iron’ Mike Cross. However, due to Zyon defeating Maddix in a non-title match before 13th Hour, Stephens thought it was only fair that Zyon get a shot.”


“Yeah, right,” Suicide King snorts. “Face it Francis, Toxxic’s just offering out title shots to beatable tools to make himself not only look like a fighting champion, but also rack up the defences and stroke his own ego.”


“I wouldn’t class Zyon as a beatable tool,” Francis argues.


“Hey, he got beat just ten days ago, so that’s one part of your argument down. Plus he uses Incubus as entrance music, so that takes care of the ‘tool’ part.”


‘I’m born…


I’m alive…


I breathe…’




The words flash up on the Smarktron and the crowd goes wild as ‘Vitamin’ by Incubus hits, proving that whatever the Suicide King thinks about it, Doomtopia is down with Brandon Boyd. Or maybe they’re just down with Zyon; either way, the cheering only gets louder as the Unique Youth appears from behind the curtain and stands on the soundstage, soaking up the crowd support as overhead, the Smarktron shows clips of some of his greatest matches and most insane stunts.


“We heard from Zyon earlier this evening,” Mak reminds viewers. “We also heard him go toe-to-toe - verbally - with Michael Stephens on Aftershoxxx, and it’s clear that the Unique Youth is mentally ready for this match. The only question remaining is; can he step up and dethrone one of the most SWF’s most consistent athletes in the past two or three years?”


Zyon seems to think so; after grinning at the cheering Doomtopians he breaks into a sprint, tearing down towards the ring at full speed before leaping up onto the ring apron. From there he grabs the rope in both hands and vaults athletically over it, then hops up to the second turnbuckle and spreads his arms to generate more approval.








“King, if Zyon pulls the win out here tonight he’s going to become the first wrestler who joined the SWF since the SJL folded to win the World Title, apart of course from Michael Stephens himself,” Mak Francis points out. “That’s got to be a great motivating factor.”


“What about Davenport?” King asks, puzzled.


“He doesn’t count.”


“Why not?”


“He just doesn’t,” Francis says firmly. “But anyway,” the Franchise continues, “I’m anticipating a split crowd here because both Zyon and Stephens are very popular with the fans.”


“Yeah, because the fans are morons and love Zyon’s flip-flopping, while also being stupid enough to fall for Toxxic’s tricks,” the Suicide King sniffs. “I’m telling you Francis, he hasn’t changed one bit.”





The rolling chants blasts out of the PA system as the Smarktron whites out, before the roar of voices is overtaken by the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire. As the driving bassline starts to power through the chaos and become more distinct the Smarktron has already darkened to black, jagged white letters flashing up words one at a time to form a easily-recognisable phrase as if in response to King’s last remark:




Clips start to flash up showing some of Michael Stephens’ most memorable matches, greatest triumphs and, in some cases, most dangerous falls. And after Aecas has had a light tube driven into his jaw, Tom Flesher has taken a Super Intoxxication (or Sunny In England as it is now) and Landon Maddix has been locked in the RTF II the screen changes again, as it always does, to show Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the onset of the main riff and the-




-explosion of red pyro that signifies the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman! And through the flame and smoke…




…black hair hanging down over his face, the SWF World Heavyweight Title around his waist…




…wearing his customised England soccer shirt in honour of his country’s World Cup match against Sweden yesterday…




…comes the man once known as Toxxic.


“Michael Stephens first World Title run ended after only 19 days when he lost the belt to Johnny Dangerous,” Mak Francis says as the World Champion brushes his hair back from his face and looks down towards the ring, steel-grey eyes locking on the figure of his opponent, “a result that many people considered to be something of an upset.”


“Upset? It was a freaking tragedy,” Suicide King sniffs.


“Regardless, Michael Stephens faces another potential pitfall in Zyon here tonight,” Francis says as Stephens starts to make his way down the ramp. “Zyon may have lost the Cruiserweight Title, but we know that he has the capability of getting the right result in the big matches, or ‘pulling a Zyon’ as it’s become known in the locker room. Stephens is probably the hot favourite, but that just means that Zyon comes into the match with no pressure and nothing to lose.”


“Except the ability to walk,” King replies, “this is Toxxic he’s up against, after all.”


“Will you stop that?” Francis growls.


Michael Stephens has reached the bottom of the ramp now, and as ‘Rookie’ rises towards the first verse he crosses his arms for a moment in the straight-edge ‘X’, then throws them wide, palms flat, triggering another eruption of red pyro, this time from the top of each ringpost!




‘I never thought this could be me

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

Like all the fun turns into shame

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


‘Rookie’ starts to fade out as Stephens rolls into the ring and he unstraps the World Title before handing it to referee Brian Warner, then pulls off his shirt and wads it up before throwing it out to the crowd. Meanwhile Warner holds the title belt up as Funyon steps forward to make his announcement.


“Ladies and gentlemen of Doomtopia, the following contest is scheduled for one fall,” the veteran ring announcer begins, “and is for the SWF World Heavyweight Title! Introducing first, the challenger; from Elkhart, Indiana; he stands five feet eleven inches tall and weighed in earlier today at 200lbs; this is the ‘Unique Youth’… ZYYYYYYYYY-ONNNNNNNNNNN!!”








“…and his opponent,” Funyon continues over the roar of support for the Unique Youth as Zyon spreads his arms wide once more, “from Nottingham, England; he stands at an even six feet tall and weighed in earlier today at 218lbs; he is YOUR reigning and defending SWF World Heavyweight Champion… MIIIIIIIII-CHAAAAEEEELLLLLL… STEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!”








Michael Stephens simply cracks his neck from side-to-side and raises one black-nailed hand in acknowledgement of the support he’s receiving from the crowd. However, his attention doesn’t seem to be solely on Zyon anymore. Instead, the World Champion quickly casts a glance around the crowd, as if looking for someone. Apparently not finding the person he’s searching for he returns his attention to his opponent just as Warner calls for the bell.




Zyon takes advantage of Stephens’ brief inattention immediately, leaping forward as soon as the bell sounds! Stephens dodges to one side and helps Zyon on his way with a shove in the back, then drops down to the mat as the Unique Youth rebounds off the ropes. Zyon hurdles him with ease and heads back to the far cables, then bounces off again only to be snared and taken over with an arm drag!




Zyon pops back to his feet just as quickly as his opponent, and as Stephens tries to make a grab for him Zyon returns the favour with an armdrag of his own!




This time Zyon is a little quicker to his feet than his opponent and takes the opportunity to paste Stephens in the head with a forearm, then before Mike can react he Irish whips the World Champion towards the ropes. Zyon leaps up for a front dropkick as Stephens rebounds… but the Englishman holds onto the top rope and kills his momentum, causing Zyon to land flat on his back looking just a little silly! Stephens then darts forwards and rolls over Zyon, grabbing both legs as he does so to apply a jacknife pin…










…but Zyon kicks out at one and starts to scramble up to all-fours, only to find Stephens diving across his shoulders and taking him over with an Oklahoma Roll!











-but Zyon kicks out before Warner can even think about two, rolling his weight back off his shoulders so he comes up onto his knees! However, as he tries to rise Stephens snares him in a front facelock and then reaches forwards to cradle a leg before rolling back with a small package!










-but Zyon’s having none of it, and kicks out again!






However, this time as both men come to their feet Stephens gets payback for Zyon’s forearm by pasting his opponent with a European Uppercut!




Zyon staggers and Stephens grabs him to Irish whip his opponent into the ropes; however, Zyon reverses the momentum of the move and sends the World Champion into the cables instead, then follows him in and delivers a running front dropkick that not only kills the Englishman’s momentum but sends him tumbling backwards out of the ring between the top and middle ropes, ending up holding his chest on the arena floor!






On his back on the mat, Zyon grins. And kips up.




“Oh snap!” Mak Francis calls, cunningly combining the name of a move with a popular phrase indicating that someone has got the better of someone else, “Zyon’s on fire in the early going.”


“Literally?” King asks hopefully, looking for smoke.


Michael Stephens isn’t going to let something as mundane as a front dropkick stop him, and he’s already picking himself up on the outside despite his painful fall. However, Zyon’s seen something important.


His opponent is outside the ring.


He, Zyon, is inside the ring.


…and the Unique Youth’s LuchaMatic-o-Vision™ goes *ping*.


“King, I think Zyon’s going to go airborne!” Mak Francis exclaims as the man from Indiana jumps up and down a couple of times to warm his legs up, then turns and sprints for the ropes behind him. He rebounds off at high speed and rockets across the ring, then leaves his feet to go sailing out over the top rope, angling down towards Michael Stephens with a dive mimicking that of his famous Final Flash…


…and Stephens leaps up to dropkick him in the fucking back!










“Sweet Zombie Christ!” Mak yells (possibly still with memories of the Raccoon City Police Station in his head) as the Doomtopian crowd demonstrates that their command of English isn’t much better than that of their most famous countryman, “Michael Stephens just shot Zyon down like Dick Cheney with a hunting partner!”


“Please, Toxxic’s been jumping onto people out of the ring for years,” Suicide King says, “Zyon’s going to have to do better than that to catch him with his own trick.”


For his part, Stephens clearly has been a little shaken by finding someone who can match him for speed around the ring, and indeed outpace him. The World Champion gets back to his feet as Zyon lays on the protective mats clutching his back and looks around for inspiration…


“Uh-oh,” Mak says, calming down a little, “we all know that Stephens is more than comfortable outside the ring; he has that Hardcore background, and is a great improviser.”


Sure enough, as Brian Warner bellows ‘ONE!’ from inside the ring the World Champion seems to have decided that it’s time to use the environment to his advantage and he grabs Zyon to pull him to his feet, then takes the Unique Youth’s wrist and Irish whips him towards the nearest steel guardrail. However, Zyon displays his agility by leaping up to the top of the rail and balancing there for a second…


…and Mike, running in after him, slams a basement dropkick into the guardrail that knocks it out from under Zyon’s feet and causes the challenger to fall, landing the small of his back on the steel before he bounces off into the crowd!






“Whoah!” Mak says, eyebrows raising, “I think Zyon might have been going for the Half Moon off that guardrail, but Michael Stephens cut him off at the pass!”


“I remember Scott Pretzler pulled the same trick once to stop Toxxic from hitting the Role Reversal in the same situation,” Suicide King nods, “smart move, and further evidence that Pretzler is God.”




Michael Stephens reaches over the guardrail and gets hold of his opponent, then hauls Zyon back to his feet and drags the Unique Youth back into the ringside area.




Stephens doesn’t hang around to try and cause any more chaos with his opponent’s vertebrae, instead rolling Zyon under the bottom rope into the ring and following him in. He quickly makes a cover, hooking the leg as he does so…


















…but Zyon kicks out moments after two, proving that it’s going to take more than that to deny him the title! That seems to be fine with Stephens, who scoots around behind his opponent and raises him to a sitting position before threading one arm underneath Zyon’s and locking in an abdominal stretch. The Unique Youth groans in pain as his back is wrenched to one side, but Stephens has his hands locked tight and seems intent on getting as much as he can out of the hold.






“This is good strategy from the champion,” Mak Francis nods as Stephens looks around at the crowd, “grounding and slowing down Zyon takes away the challenger’s main weapon. Stephens made his career on pulling spectacular moves out of nowhere to change the course of the match, and he won’t want anyone using the same tactic on him.”


“Or alternatively, he’s out of ideas already,” King remarks, “and is applying an abdominal stretch because he can’t remember how to do anything else.”


“Always a possibility.”


However, as anyone with a basic knowledge of mat wrestling will tell you, ring positioning is very important. These days Michael Stephens does have a basic knowledge of mat wrestling, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have lapses from time to time. Looking out of the corner of one eye as he head is bent to the side, Zyon realises that the ropes really aren’t that far away from his left leg, and he starts trying to shuffle his body across the canvas to get there. He can’t really use his arms very effectively due to the hold that he’s in, but he’s able to start ‘walking’ his legs towards the cables. The effort causes him to get bent even more painfully, but salvation is very nearly within…








‘He’s in the ropes!’ Brian Warner declares as Zyon’s boot tip just rests on the bottom cable, ‘break it up Toxx!’ Michael Stephens shoots a quick glare at the referee for the use of his old ring name, but obliges by releasing Zyon and backing away to allow the Unique Youth to get to his feet.










The warring chants are still going on inside the Doomerican Airways Center as Zyon takes his time getting back up, holding onto the ropes as he does so. Stephens gives him a couple of seconds, but sportsmanship only goes so far and as Zyon continues to catch his breath the World Champion decides to press his advantage by advancing on his opponent and driving a knee into the Unique Youth’s gut. Brian Warner begins to remonstrate with the Englishman about striking his opponent in the ropes but Stephens solves that problem by Irish whipping Zyon towards the opposite side of the ring. However, Zyon reverses the momentum once more and sends the World Champion into the cables instead, this time scooping up the onrushing Stephens and twirling him through the air before dumping him down over one knee with a tilt-a-whirl gutbuster!








“Tilt-a-whirls are in play,” Mak Francis calls as Stephens rolls away across the mat holding his front again, “and Zyon just returned that knee to the gut with interest!”


Zyon isn’t able to follow up all that quickly though as the effort of manoeuvring his opponent’s weight through the air twisted his back painfully, and he’s still finding it a little hard to breathe after the abdominal stretch and the knee to the gut. As a result Michael Stephens is already starting to get up by the time Zyon feels he’s in much shape to do anything, so he allows his opponent to rise but then moves in to grab Stephens’ arm and try to take him down to the mat with what could be a Fujiwara armbar or, then again, could be something else entirely…






“He’s going for the Gouki Crossface!” Mak Francis says as Stephens attempts to resist, gritting his teeth to try and avoid being forced to the mat, “it was this move under the name of the Cobra Crossface that allowed Ejiro Fasaki to end Michael Stephens’ last World Title reign!”


“Yeah, but that was Ejiro,” King says, “and flawed as he became in his later career, he could actually do the move properly. Unlike Zyon.”


However, Zyon has all his weight about Michael Stephens’ shoulder and arm, and the World Champion has been forced down to his knees. With his other hand braced against the mat Stephens still tries to fight his way out… then changes tactics, tucks his head in and rolls forwards. With no resistance Zyon comes crashing down to the mat but although he still has his opponent’s arm in his grasp it isn’t bent at such a painful angle anymore; in fact Stephens is now able to swing his legs back and latch them around Zyon’s head, then pull his opponent down into a headscissors!






The Englishman’s supporters are now starting to make themselves heard again as the Unique Youth finds his head anchored firmly between his opponent’s thighs. Somwhere in the world Bobby Riley rubs his hands in glee at the thought, but Zyon isn’t so happy and coils his legs before trying to kip-up out of it. However Stephens has him held tight, and Zyon just spasms like an epileptic frog. Once more the challenger tries that method of escape, and once more he fails.


“Michael Stephens is slowing the match down again here,” Francis notes, “the moment he allowed Zyon to move quicker he had the tables turned on him, so it’s in his interests to wear the challenger down further.”


Zyon has clearly decided that he needs to try another approach here, and so he starts to try and manoeuvre his body around to get another angle on it. He manages to end up with the top of his head facing down into the mat, still in the headscissors, with Michael Stephens now in a sitting position and his hands planted on either side of him. From there Zyon starts to push himself up into a headstand position, perhaps looking to fall forwards into a pin or pop backwards and extract his head that way, but Stephens simply leans forward and hammers him in the back with both fists, knocking him back down again!






However, once Zyon has been knocked back down Michael Stephens suddenly opens his legs (you stop that right now!) and allows Zyon to escape; however, his motivation for this initially surprising act becomes clear as he quickly gets up to his knees and grabs Zyon’s head as the challenger starts to stand, then delivers a snapmare that takes the Unique Youth into a sitting position. Once there, Stephens quickly goes back to a sitting position and swings his legs up to apply a seated double-leg nelson to his opponent.






Once more Stephens looks around at the crowd as they chant his name… but then again, he doesn’t exactly look like he’s appreciating the support. Instead, he seems to be looking for someone in particular as he scans the faces.


“Another wear-down hold applied here by the World Champion,” Francis says, “this one more concentrating on Zyon’s neck rather than his midsection.”


Zyon appears to be trapped without anywhere to go, his arms held up uselessly and his head bent forwards. However, then Unique Youth is nothing if not a fighter and he starts trying to shuffle himself across the mat towards the ropes again. The cables are considerably further away this time and it doesn’t look likely that he’ll be able to get there, but what else is he going to do?








However, his efforts come to nothing; without his hands to help him he’s simply sinking further and further into the full nelson and putting more pressure onto his neck. But then another idea occurs to him and he plants his feet firmly on the mat, then starts to bridge up! The back of his neck is only getting more uncomfortable, but the fans are starting to see where he’s going with this and begin cheering louder!






“King, I think Zyon’s actually trying to force Michael Stephens back onto his own shoulders here,” Mak Francis says in some interest, “the only question being; will Zyon be able to do it before his neck gives out?”


However, at the moment Zyon is on track - the strain is clear on his face, but as he straightens his body out he’s starting to force Michael Stephens back, and the Englishman is getting dangerously close to a pinning predicament! Brian Warner hovers, waiting to see what happens, but the pressure on Stephens’ legs from Zyon’s unorthodox counterattack means that it looks like he can’t unhook his legs even if he wanted to, and he’s slowly rolled backwards…



















-but in pressing backwards as hard as he can Zyon loses his balance, and Stephens rolls backwards to bring the challenger down in what is effectively a spiked backslide using his legs!



















-but Zyon kicks out!




In kicking out, Zyon ended up more or less on his front. And as he starts to push himself up he sees Michael Stephens in front of him, also on his front, and nothing in the way.




The Unique Youth leaps forward, landing on his opponents back and beginning to hammer right hands down onto the back of Mike’s head as the crowd goes wild! Brian Warner tries a count, but it is only through pulling Zyon off that the referee is finally able to disentangle him from his opponent! Zyon doesn’t seem bothered by this however, and the challenger heads for the ropes and steps out to the apron, seemingly waiting for his opponent to get back to his feet.


“Zyon seems to have stepped up a few gears here,” Mak Francis says, “and now for the first time he has room to manoeuvre! Michael Stephens has kept him grounded for some time but Zyon looks to be setting up for something aerial now, and this could spell trouble for the World Champion!”


Michael Stephens is taking his time getting back to his feet, as indeed most people will when they’ve taken a pasting in the back of the head. However, as he gets back up and looks around there’s a curious sense of deja-vu. So often in the past Stephens had dazed his opponents and then stepped out to the apron to deliver a high-impact, high-flying attack-




-much like the springboard elbow smash that Zyon just pasted him with!








The World Champion goes down like he’s been shot, but the fighting spirit is still strong inside the Englishman and he pops back up again almost immediately. Not as quick as Zyon however, as the Unique Youth slips behind his opponent and grabs a reverse facelock, then before Stephens can react he twists and drops him into the Wicked Cutter!




Zyon seems to be feeding off the crowd now but he doesn’t waste any time soaking in the applause; instead he gets back up to his feet and points to the nearest turnbuckles before charging straight at them and vaulting upwards, bouncing off the second rope and the top rope. He clips the top rope with his legs on the way down and arcs backwards with the flashy but effective Dusk moonsault, landing right on Stephens’ ribcage!






The impact hurt Zyon’s ribs and back as well and it takes the Unique Youth a moment to roll back onto his opponent for the cover, but the moment he does Brian Warner is there to make the count…




















-but Stephens kicks out!


“Half a second away from winning the World Title!” Mak Francis exclaims, “actually, probably less!”


Zyon slaps the mat in frustration and grabs Stephens by the head to pull him up to his feet, then delivers a forearm strike. It only rocks the World Champion, but that’s good enough for Zyon and the challenger turns and runs for the turnbuckles again, running straight up them without breaking stride before corkscrewing back off the top…


“No Regard!” Mak shouts.






“Denied!” King shouts back as Michael Stephens leaps up at the last moment to dropkick Zyon out of the air again! Zyon lands awkwardly and hard, but his run of offence has had its effect on the World Champion as well, and Stephens isn’t fast to rise either!


‘ONE!’ Brian Warner bellows, stepping in to apply the double count.


“King, what a match we’re seeing here,” Mak Francis says, “you can really see how much both these men want the World Title! Michael Stephens has had a good gameplan, but now Zyon’s broken out can he put the champion down, or has the earlier damage been too much? And don’t discount Stephens’ experience; he’s already slapped Zyon down on two high-risk moves!”


“Zyon’s a beatable tool,” King repeats, “and Toxxic knows exactly what he’s doing.”




Zyon grits his teeth, feeling the pain in his ribs and back, not to mention his neck. But this is his time, and he’s not going to give up now.




Michael Stephens lies on the mat, trying to gather his wits. Zyon’s attacks have taken their toll, and he’s wondering if wrestling such a conservative, mat-based game - never his strength - was such a good idea.




But he beat the count ten days ago at 13th Hour. And he’ll be damned if he’s not going to keep getting up now.




“They’re up!” Mak Francis says as both men come to their feet, gritting their teeth in effort, “and it could come down to who lands the first move!”


That looks to be Zyon, as the Unique Youth steps in and delivers a boot to the gut to keep Michael Stephens doubled over before taking a deep breath and pausing a moment, then performing a standing backflip to deliver a Flash Kick to Stephens’ jaw…




…or he would have done, if Stephens hadn’t inconsiderately swung his upper body to one side and dodged! With breathtaking athleticism Zyon still lands on his feet, albeit with a surprised expression on his face, and wastes no time in charging the World Champion with a clothesline; however, Stephens sidesteps him and snakes one arm up under Zyon’s, then grabs the back of Zyon’s shorts and hoists the Unique Youth off the ground before sitting out and driving his opponent into the mat with a half-nelson facebuster!




Stephens rolls Zyon over onto his back and makes the cover as Brian Warner drops to count…



















-but Zyon kicks out!










The crowd seem, if anything, to be more behind the challenger than the champion now, but Stephens isn’t going to let that stop him. He grabs Zyon’s head and pulls his opponent to his feet… but Zyon slaps his hands away and kicks him in the gut again… but Stephens catches it!




The Unique Youth doesn’t give his opponent any time to think and instead jumps up, whipping one foot towards the Englishman’s head with an enzuigiri… but Stephens ducks it!


“Zyon can’t land a shot at the moment!” Mak says.


However, Zyon lands on his one free foot, retaining his balance. Before he can try a mule kick or similar Stephens lets go of Zyon’s captured leg and grabs the Unique Youth by the neck as if sitting him up for a sitout neckbreaker, but he then twists around and drives Zyon’s face into his knee with an adapted Pressure Drop before popping back to his feet, applying a front facelock with his left arm and then sweeping his right arm over and down to send Zyon back down to the mat with the Unfinished Business!




“That’ll do it,” King confidently predicts as Stephens rolls Zyon over and makes another cover…



















-but Zyon kicks out again!


“It would have done if Warner could count at the right speed,” the Gambling Man amends.


However, regardless of the referee’s timekeeping abilities, Michael Stephens seems to think that it’s time to put an end to this. He pulls Zyon up again, then places the Unique Youth in a ¾ facelock and runs towards the nearest ringpost.


But Zyon’s spent some time wrestling against and, on occasions, tagging with Akira Kaibatsu, and whether it’s called the Sunny In England or the Divine Wind, it’s still the same move. So he takes a step backwards at just the right moment, breaking Stephens’ grip and causing the World Champion to land facedown over his shoulder as he starts the floatover that‘s meant to culminate in a match-winning head trauma. For a moment it looks as if Zyon’s going to stagger and fall but then the challenger turns and starts to run, finally swinging Stephens off his shoulder and to the mat as he dives forward with a massive running powerslam!










“It was the challenger’s experience that came into play that time,” Mak Francis points out, “and he could be one move away from winning the World Title!”


Indeed he could. And, as he gets slowly back to his feet and hears the crowd chanting his name, Zyon knows which move it is.






The Unique Youth runs to the nearest ringpost and steps out to the apron, then begins to climb. The combination of facebusters Stephens hit him with a minute ago have dazed him, but not enough to stop a natural high-flyer like Zyon reaching the top rope. He stands tall for a second, arms spread wide as hundreds of camera flashes go off…


…and then he leaps into the air.


“FIIIINNNNAAALLLLL FLLLLAAAASSSSSSHHHHHHHH!” Mak Francis roars as the arena rises in anticipation…




…and watches Zyon come down, back-first on Michael Stephens’ raised knees.


“DENIED!” Suicide King yells in response as a massive cheer goes up from the pro-Stephens portion of the crowd, “that’s where flip-flopping gets you!”


Zyon almost ricochets off, rolling across the mat and clutching his back in agony. Behind him, Michael Stephens is starting the gruelling process of pulling himself to his feet, but Zyon refuses to be beaten.






The chants are still ringing out strongly around the Doomerican Airlines Center, and the Unique Youth makes one last attempt. Gritting his teeth he braces his hands on the mat and pushes, forcing himself up to his feet.






The pain as he straightens his back nearly makes him cry out, but he continues rising… and as he reaches a vertical base, Michael Stephens runs past him from behind, grabbing a ¾ facelock as he does so and towing the battered challenger towards the nearest turnbuckles.


This time, as the World Champion runs up and vaults back and over, Zyon has no answer.






“SUNNY IN ENGLAND!” Mak Francis yells as the back of Zyon’s skull is driven into the mat, “that’s got to be it!”


Michael Stephens has every intention of making that it; Zyon’s body has hardly come to rest after the impact before he’s hooked his opponent’s far leg with his arm and the near leg with his own, then rolled into the cover and stacked as much of his bodyweight as he can onto Zyon’s shoulders. Brian Warner dives in to make the count…



























…and Zyon kicks out!




But just too late.




“Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms as ‘Rookie’ rings out around the Doomerican Airlines Center, “here is your winner and STILL~ SWF World Heavyweight Champion… MIIIIIIIII-CHAAAAAEEEEEEELLLLLLL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!”






Michael Stephens wearily takes the SWF World Title back from Brian Warner, then has his right hand raised in victory. As the cameras pan around the Doomtopian fans, most of whom are on their feet applauding the match they’ve just seen, Stephens joins Warner in checking on the Unique Youth.


“What a contest!” Mak Francis says, impressed despite himself. “Both men gave it their all, and the outcome was in the balance right up until the end; I’ve got to say King, I think on another day Zyon could have taken this.”


“Well yeah, if that day’s the one where Toxxic forgets to turn up,” King sniffs. “I mean sure, he made the kid look good, but if he’d ever been in any real trouble he’d have just broken his neck.”


“Damnit King, when are you going to stop that!?” Mak Francis seethes, “Michael Stephens was taken to the very limit by Zyon here tonight! He had to use every advantage of experience he had, and Zyon still nearly pulled it off! Comments like that aren’t only disrespectful to Stephens and the changes he’s made in his attitude, but also to the fact that Zyon came within a hair’s breadth of taking the World Title!”


“Does this look like a face that cares?”


In the ring, Michael Stephens is helping Zyon up from the canvas. The younger man’s face displays bitter, bitter disappointment - understandably. However, as he reaches his feet Stephens takes his right hand and raises it into the air with his left, pointing at Zyon with the hand that holds the World Title and inviting the crowd to applaud the Unique Youth!








As the massed SWF fans chant his name in respect and approval of his efforts, Zyon’s disappoint slowly seems to fade. Michael Stephens offers his hand and after a second’s hesitation Zyon clasps it. The crowd let out a further cheer, and lip-readers might see Stephens wishing his opponent better luck next time… and, to judge by his face, meaning it sincerely.


“Fans, this has been an explosive edition of Lockdown,” Mak Francis says, “and don’t forget to tune in for Smarkdown on Monday which promises to be just as exciting!”


“And God knows where we’ll be,” Suicide King mutters resignedly.


In the ring, Zyon applauds the crowd before turning and heading towards the ropes; meanwhile, Michael Stephens climbs to the second buckle and spreads his arms with the World Title in his grasp as camera flashes go off…

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The shot fades over into a shot of the parkinglot of the Doomerican Airlines Center (of Doom) where all the Gypsy cabs and horse draw carriages are parked. Bruce is leaned against the hood of one of the few actual cars in the parking lot, the back light of the volcano erupting makes Bruce Blank nothing more than an outline as he impatiently waits for something


“Where the hell is he at?” Bruce mumbles to himself


“Hey PSSSSSSSST Bruce” A voice is heard from the dark and moments later Wayne Blank comes sneaking through the parking lot straight at Bruce


“Finally” Bruce mutters and throws the cigarette BUTT over his shoulder before getting up to meet his brother. “Did you get it?”


Wayne just pads his jacket pocket and nods with a knowing smile


“Was there any problems?”


“Oh please bro, I could have done that with my eyes closed, just some piece of shit lock and then a 3 digit combo padlock. Hey you want to go out and have a late dinner?” Wayne asks.


“You buying?” Bruce replies


“Not really, I found out he had Doomtopian currency in his locker” Wayne says and holds up a bucket before adding “There’s got to be like 75-80 clams there”


Bruce just shakes his head in disbelief over the fact that the Doomtopian currency is actually physically clams.


“Ooooooooooooor. . . “ Wayne says and pulls out a credit card “Maybe we’ll just let Mr. Flesher put it on his tab instead”


“Bro. . . I knew there was a reason I kept you around” Bruce says with a smile as the two brothers walk through the parking lot to find their rental truck.



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