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SWF Storm 7-14-2006

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EARLIER TODAY...

 

Clad only in two towels, one wrapped around his waist and one draped over his neck, Tom Flesher reclines on the makeshift trainer’s table in the men’s room serving as a locker room at the ephemeral Restaurant At The End Of The Universe.

 

“Tom?” asks medic-on-duty Chris Belcourt, “why the f**k are you wearing a towel?”

 

“I just took a shower and I was hoping Grappler’s sister was working tonight,” Flesher deadpans.

 

Belcourt sighs, deeply inconvenienced. “So what’s the problem?”

 

Flesher sits up. “Is this the smoking section?”

 

“No.”

 

Flesher fishes through his messenger bag and pulls out a pack of Camel Turkish Royals. Without a second thought, he puts a cigarette to his lips and lights it with his Zippo lighter. Belcourt snaps, “I said this is the non-smoking section.”

 

Tom looks at him quizzically. “But... I’m Tom Flesher.” He blinks. Belcourt sighs.

 

“You know, you wouldn’t feel so run down if you quit smoking.”

 

Flesher cocks an eyebrow. “Who died and made you head doctor?”

 

Belcourt stares at Flesher.

 

“I asked who died and...”

 

“I heard you.” Belcourt rolls his eyes and says, “So, what brings you to the training area today?”

 

“Well,” Tom says, “I’ve been having some problems with my left thumb recently. It’s a little bit sore.”

 

“Have you been using it a lot lately?”

 

Flesher shrugs. “Not particularly.”

 

“There are no referees here, Tom.”

 

“I’ve been thumbing my opponents in the eye every match for weeks. It’s like an addiction.” Flesher takes another drag off the cigarette, looking plaintively at Belcourt. “What can you do?”

 

“Sounds like a repetitive use injury,” says Belcourt.

 

“Thanks for clarifying that,” says Flesher. “So, what can I do about it?”

 

“What do you think I am, some kind of doctor?” Belcourt asks. Flesher raises an eyebrow. “Um... you can tape it, I guess.”

 

“Tape it, eh?” asks Flesher. “What would that do?”

 

“Well, if you tape around the base of the thumb and anchor it to the wrist, it can help support the joint, so you won’t run into as much soreness because the tissue around the joint won’t get bent back as much. The tape holds it together. Same principle if you tape around the thumb itself – it’ll hold the thumb in the extended position.”

 

“To make it easier to thumb a guy in the eye.”

 

Belcourt sighs again, this time with additional emo. “Listen, Tom, how about if I just give you a roll of tape so you can have James take care of this for you?”

 

Flesher shakes his head. “Oh, Christopher. Christopher, Christopher, Christopher. James is an idea man. Now... I hope you do a job that deserves a thumbs-up!”

 

With that, Taamo extends his left arm, thumb extended. With a deep sigh, Belcourt begins wrapping his wrist.

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

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents...
swfworldtour2.jpg
SWF Storm!
Live, Friday, July 14th, from Milliways, the Restaurant At The End of the Universe!
(7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings)
(Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3)

milliways.gif

Posting a description of Milliways on this card would be impossible (joke intended!), so for more detailed settings (should you choose to incorporate them), click here, and skip to Chapter 14. The chapters aren't terribly long, and 14, 15, and 16 should give you some fun stuff to work with (if you want). :P

The short version: Milliways is a restaurant that exists in a time bubble, in the moments just before all of creation ends. You get there by travelling through time, and through the windows you can watch the Universe begin to collapse and crumble while you enjoy your meal, then travel back to your time whenever you like.

-=-=-=-=-

THE MAIN EVENT - TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Tom Flesher and Charlie "GRAPPLAH" Matthews vs. Kerry Staunton and Scott Rageheart

-> Kerry Staunton and Scott Rageheart - two technically sound athletes with some solid victories, including a recent win for Scott over the CRUISERWEIGHT MASTAH, Wildchild. Tonight, these two take their shot at Team MatFlesh, who took the titles of the Doomtopians just a few short shows ago! Will the still-green team of StauntHeart rise to the top in short order? Or will MatFlesh... um... pin them... and retain the titles? (I've totally run out of things to say here)
Rules: Standard tag match. TAG ROPES OR DIE.

-=-=-=-=-

TAG TEAM MATCH
The New Doomtopians vs. Michael Stephens and Landon Maddix

-> You've gotta be kidding me.

Seriously, it was funny at first, but come on.

Stephens and Maddix?

A TEAM?

I don't buy it.

But apparently the fans do - at least, according to Joseph Peters and his wacked out logic. So tonight, one of the oddest odd couples we've seen in a while will take on the ex-champion Doomtopians!
Rules: Standard tag match. Use the tag ropes (pretty please)!

-=-=-=-=-

CRUISERWEIGHT MATCH (non-title)
Grendel vs. Michael Cross

-> Grendel's still got plenty of ANGER directed at Tom Flesher, and Joseph Peters has a decent amount of anger directed at Cross, considering who ran down in the main event in Smarkdown. Not Akira, though, the other guys. Yeah, them.

In any event, Peters sees this as a good opportunity for both men. If Grendel can't directly put the screws to Tom, a decisive victory over the man holding the title Tom wants might be a good way to go about it. And a decisive win for Cross would give him a great deal of momentum for his next defense!
Rules: Cruiserweight Rules - 20 count outside, no throwing over the top rope.

-=-=-=-=-

SINGLES MATCH
"Hollywood" Spike Jenkins vs. Amy Stephens

-> Innit!

Haven't heard that in a while, just felt the need to get that out there.

SO ANYWAY, Spike Jenkins, one of the competitors looking to get his grubby little paws on the International Title, is not about to take the show off before the big match(es)! Tonight, he takes on the less-than-ladylike-lady Amy Stephens!
Rules: Standard singles match.

-=-=-=-=-

HARDCORE MATCH
Mike Van Siclen vs. Bruce Blank

-> Against all odds, MVS bravely took on the fearsome cardboard menace, and came out the victor! Nevertheless, he and Peters are still at odds, and Peters won't be giving him an easy time. Van Siclen's next opponent - the self-proclaimed King of Pain himself, Bruce Blank!
Rules: RULES ARE FOR SISSIES!

-=-=-=-=-

SINGLES MATCH
Trent Hawk vs. Zyon

-> A number of people showed up during Smarkdown's main event who were not invited - Akira Kaibatsu, for one, and Ciro and Trent as well! Zyon's chance to take back the Cruiserweight Title was squashed, and the Unique Youth is not about to take it lying down! Tonight, Zyon looks to put the newcomer in his place!
Rules: Standard singles match.

-=-=-=-=-

SINGLES MATCH
Insane Luchador vs. Ciro Vitale

-> The Insale Luchador returns from vacation... although really, we just travelled in time to the point when his vacation ended, then brought him here. That worked pretty well. In any event, he takes on the newcomer Ciro Vitale!
Rules: Standard singles match.

-=-=-=-=-

CRUISERWEIGHT MATCH
Wildchild vs. Ced Ordonez

-> Scott Rageheart pulled out a surprise win against Wildchild on Smarkdown. Has the Bahaman Bomber gotten rusty? Let's hope not. In any even, he'll attempt to sharpen (or resharpen) his [email protected] cru1s3r sk1llz tonight against the DDR-crazed Ced Ordonez!
Rules: Cruiserweight rules - 20 count, no throwing over the top, etc.

-=-=-=-=-

OPENING SQUASH OF GREAT SQUISHINESS
JJ Johnson vs. Martin Hunt

-> JJ's back! When did this happen? I'm not sure, but that's not the point. The point is, he's back! Hooray for JJ! On Smarkdown, he called out Michael Stephens for a World Title shot, but Joseph Peters wants to be certain that JJ's fully recovered from his injury. What better way to do that than with a Hardcore match? NONE, says I!
Rules: HARDCORE~!

-=-=-=-=-

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The Storm intro winds down and we’re taken live (well . . . sorta since we’re at the end of time and all that jazz) to the main dining room at Milliways where everyone has a front row seat to the destruction of the universe. There is none of the normal fireworks, no pyrotechnics popping off tonight since we’re actually in a functioning active restaurant - No tonight the light displays are provided by the dying of the Universe

 

*FFSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHH!!* - There goes the outer rim of the universe, collapsing on itself in an amazing light display

 

* BAP!*BAP!*BAP!*BAP!*BAP!*BAP!*BAP!*BAP!* - The planets in the solar system nearest Milliways all implode from outer most to inner most almost as on schedule.

 

*BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!*- Sol goes supernova taking out the entire Milky Way galaxy.

 

The crowd OOOHs and AAAHs at the display before turning their attention towards the ring in the center of the restutant and Milliways’ famous Master of ceremonies - Mr. Max Quordlpleen himself!!

 

*Applause for Max*

 

"Ladies and gentlemen," Max says "The Universe as we know it has now been in existence for over one hundred and seventy thousand million billion years and will be ending in a little over two hours, but don’t worry we’ll keep you entertained and well fed as we watch this spectacle. Welcome one and all to Milliways, the Restaurant at the End of the Universe!"

 

*More applause for Max*

 

"Tonight we have a very special show for you, an apocalyptic show almost which is very fitting considering where we are" Max says with a smile and a wink "it’s the end of the universe and what better way to celebrate it than having guys beat each other up? I know I’m excited"

 

*More applause for Max who’s on FIAH! Tonight*

 

"This," he said, "really is the absolute end, the final chilling desolation, in which the whole majestic sweep of creation becomes extinct. This ladies and gentlemen is the proverbial 'it'."

 

Silence

 

But not until we’ve enjoyed some great SWF entertainment, starting off with a few words from . . . erm" Max rummages through his pockets before pulling out a piece of paper and reads it "Ah yes. . . erm . . . it says "Blank"? that’s odd, even for earth" Max says with a nervous laugh.

 

"Alright, alright joke is over" Wayne Blank says as he appears at the entrance with a microphone in hand wearing a blue blazer with a little anchor logo on it and the words SWF written underneath it "I’m here tonight to interview a man who has no equal in the SWF, a man who just won’t settle for some loser like Ben Hardy to interview him. . . or some legless bum" Wayne says with a smirk as he points to the curtains.

 

A low murmur starts up when Bruce steps through the curtains, not because they know him or hate him or whatever, but because they’re wondering how Bruce got by Milliways’ "No tie no service" policy. Bruce high fives his little brother before heading to the ring, Bruce seems to be in a good mood this week unlike last week . . . or the week before that . . . or indeed the week before that.

 

"Now Bruce" Wayne starts in this mock "interviewer" voice "Recently you’ve been having some doubts have you not? You’ve been pondering stuff, trying to figure something out am I right?"

 

"That’s true, I have been thinking a lot about my place in the SWF, if the Hardcore division has defined me and if that’s all I’m destined to do" Bruce starts out. "Stephens questioned if this was all I would ever do, hell after I lost to him I was inclined to believe him"

 

"Really? So you’re sticking to the Hardcore division from now on?" Wayne asks in a voice that reveals that he already knows the answer.

 

"I realized something last week, I realized that the Hardcore division doesn’t define me - I DEFINED THE HARDCORE DIVISION! I mean for 213 days I WAS the damn division, I took on all comers and beat each and every one of them. Look at what happened once I lost the title, no one has been able to hang on to it, the girl coughed it up to Spike of all people"

 

"That must have been a low point for the Hardcore division" Wayne adds

 

"At least he stuck around to lose it, unlike Davis and don’t even get me started on that joke who holds the title now." Bruce scoffs "I defined the division, I set the tone I brought it to prominence and now it’s back to being a joke. I could take the title any time I wanted to, but I got something else in mind right now"

 

"The international title I assume?" Wayne says trying to sound super serious but failing.

 

Bruce nods and then adds "In many ways the International title has suffered the same fate as the Hardcore title, after a record long run with the title it’s gone from hand to hand and is now up for grabs with no champion. But have no fear SWF, have no fear Peters I’m here to bring some stability back to the International division!"

 

"Like you did with the Ultraviolent title!"

 

"Damn right! It’ll only be a matter of time before people say Jay Who? When talking about the International title" Bruce says obviously referring to Jay Hawke and his monster title reign. "You know Landon has already seen the light and backed out, so now there are only 6 unfortunate people left along with me."

 

"It’s a pretty good field though Bruce I mean you’ve got Zyon, you’ve got Akira Kaibatsu going for it. You’ve got experienced guys like Austin Sly, Manson and Spike Jenkins going for it and you’ve even got the current Cruiserweight champion gunning for the title." Wayne lists in case anyone at home had forgotten the participants.

 

Bruce shakes his head in disbelief as Wayne lists the names before replying "I can’t believe that so many little boys think they’ve got a chance in this, out of the bunch Manson is the only one that’s got a set out of the whole bunch and Zyon is the only one who may one day amount to something if he stays out of my way. This is a joke right? Akira Kaibatsu? I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve beaten this guy"

 

"Seven times" Wayne helpfully interjects

 

"Really? Ah well I never get tired of beating up that masked midget" Bruce says with a grin

 

"What about a guy like Austin Sly, he’s the guy that brought this all on by refusing to just be handed the title" Wayne asks all inquisitively.

 

"I can respect that, don’t want something for nothing here. Too bad for him that I decided to throw my hat in the ring for this, I’m sure he wasn’t expecting that - not so soon after he got toasted in the cage" something which Bruce seems to take great pleasure in pointing out.

 

"What about Spike?"

 

"What about him?" Bruce replies deadpan

 

"Well what do you think of him? Of his chances?" Wayne asks with a wink.

 

"I don’t"

 

. . .

 

 

"Fair enough let’s move on to the last man, the guy who holds the Cruiserweight gold"

 

"Michael Cross. . . yeah I remember him, little guy about ye high" Bruce says and holds his hand up to his waist with a smirk "Yeah, yeah I remember him and his doctor’s note - I just hope you’re knee or your spleen or whatever it was is better now. Or was it a decided lack of spine?"

 

"Maybe it was a concussion, I mean did you hear him go on and on and on last week?" Wayne asks.

 

"Oh I heard him, then I laughed for like 10 minutes" Bruce says and chuckles just to underline his point "I heard you bragging about being the Top Cruiserweight in the world and how that made you some sort of warrior. . . being the top Cruiserweight is like being the fastest kid in the sandbox - it doesn’t mean ANYTHING in real life! If you finally grow a set and step in the ring with me you’ll find out that there is a HUGE difference between playing with the kids in the Cruiser division and stepping into the ring with the MEN" Bruce says while tapping himself on the chest.

 

"Any closing words Bruce?"

 

"There isn’t anyone in this tournament that I haven’t beaten or scared so badly that he ran away - That’s not going to change on Lockdown, Smarkdown, HeldDOWN, Sloweddown or Rundown! This is where the International title belongs" Bruce says while making the "belt gesture around his ample waist line "And once I kick it into gear people will say "Jay Who?"

 

*Starwipe*

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FADE IN

 

Ced Ordonez is already in the ring as we return from commercial. Funyon stands in the center of the ring, facing the camera, as he raises the microphone to his lips. “The following contest,” he begins, “is scheduled for one fall! Currently in the ring, from Sacramento, California, weighing two hundred nine pounds… Ced Ordonez!” Ced raises his hand and accepts a few nominal cheers.

 

“Ced Ordonez has the ability to press anybody to the limit,” says Mak Francis, “but he’s definitely going to have his hands full against the Wildchild!” At that point, “Night of Fire” fades out, to be quickly replaced by Mystikal’s “Bouncin’ Back.” Fans watching from their tables at Milliways begin to applaud politely as the Bahama Bomber makes his way to the ring.

 

“His opponent,” continues Funyon, “is being accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki! From the Bahamas, and weighing in at two hundred fourteen pounds… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild and Melissa slap hands with the fans at hanging around the barricade as they make their way down to ringside.

 

“Wildchild and Melissa are showing their love for the fans here,” says Mak, “They seem pretty excited to be here at Milliways!”

 

“Which is surprising, considering his state of mind after his last loss,” remarks King. “He certainly can’t afford to take Ced lightly, though; a loss against a guy who’s semi-retired would be devastating to any hopes he might have of getting another title shot!”

 

“More than a few people were surprised when Wildchild declined to participate in the invitational tournament for the vacated International Title,” says Mak. “And I have to admit to being surprised as well; perhaps he has something else on his mind.” Wildchild stops in front of the ring and removes his shin guards, handing them to Melissa before somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes to enter the ring. He glances briefly at Amy as he rolls to his feet and then heads over to the edge of the ring, climbing on to the middle rope, raising his arms over head to salute the crowd.

 

“I tell you what,” replies King, “if he’s put whatever he’s got on his mind ahead of a title opportunity, then he clearly doesn’t have his priorities straight!”

 

“Well, I’m being told that Ben Hardy will attempt to interview Wildchild after the match,” says Mak. “Hopefully, he’ll shed some light on his motivations!” WC hops back down into the ring as referee Red Herrington motions for the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match:

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“Bell’s gone,” says Mak. “And we’re underway!” WC and Ced slap hands in the spirit of sportsmanship as they circle each other, looking to gain inside position; they end up meeting in the center of the ring for a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Wildchild quickly takes advantage, shifting into a side headlock, and prompting Ced to lead him backwards to the edge of the ring. Ordonez uses the ropes to help him to propel Wildchild across the ring, and lowers his head to deliver a back-body drop as he rebounds, but the Bahama Bomber evades Ordonez with a running leapfrog, and springs back into the air as Ced turns around…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Serving him with a standing dropkick facial! Wildchild quickly rolls to his feet as Ced staggers back up and explodes off the ropes, slashing his leg through the air fiercely…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… And blasting Ordonez in the mouth with a flying leg lariat! The Bemani Cross Wizard stumbles through the ropes and onto the apron, as Wildchild spins around on his back before gracefully rolling to his feet.

 

“Wildchild with the Spinaroonie,” says Mak, as the diners applaud politely in approval. “And the fans here at Milliways love the Caribbean’s showmanship!”

 

“Fat lot of good that showmanship did him on Smarkdown,” snipes King, as Wildchild races towards the ropes. “The only thing that showmanship did for him was get him driven through the canvas by Scott Rageheart!” The Human Hurricane leaps onto the turnbuckles and springs over the top rope outside the ring!

 

“Look out below!” shouts Mak. Wildchild wraps his legs around Ced’s throat and arches his back as he spins towards the arena floor, ripping Ordonez forcefully off the ring apron…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And onto the hard arena floor, courtesy of a springboard satellite Hurricanrana!

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

 

The now-rambunctious crowd shows their love for the Tropical Tumbler as he pops to his feet, absorbing their adulation like a sponge!

 

“This guy makes me sick!” spits King. “He does all these stupid flip-floppery, and the fans eat it up! It’s because of him that these idiots don’t know how to show proper appreciation for a true, legitimate Cruiserweight like Michael Cross!”

 

Wildchild darts across the ring, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes, and explodes into the air as he heads back towards the edge of the ring, sailing over the top rope and twisting in midair as he plummets down…

 

SPLASH!

 

… Before crashing into Ced’s back with a twisting tope con hilo that crushes his chest against the barricade!

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

 

“Holy crap!” exclaims Mak. “What a spectacular move by the Wildchild! He went balls-out on that one!” Wildchild grabs Ced by the back of the head and drags him over towards the edge of the ring before rolling him underneath the bottom rope.

 

“That kid is a danger to himself, and to people around him,” says King angrily. Wildchild climbs effortlessly onto the top turnbuckle and immediately springs back into the ring, extending his arms into a crucifix position as he spins around…

 

 

SPLASH!

 

 

… Crashing into Ced’s chest with his patented Andros Drop! Wildchild remains atop Ordonez as Red Herrington dives into position to deliver the count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR—

 

 

… Ced kicks out at two! Wildchild pulls Ced to his feet; he then grabs him by the wrist and whips him into the far corner, running in after him and leaping into the air as he approaches the turnbuckles, twisting in midair…

 

 

SPLASH!

 

 

… Before crashing into Ordonez with the Blue Crush! WC steps towards Ordonez as he staggers out of the corner, hops off the canvas and whips his leg quickly through the air, smacking Ordonez in the back of the head with a step-up Enzugiri! Wildchild applies a lateral press…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR—

 

 

 

Ced kicks out! WC quickly exits to the ring apron, climbing up to the top turnbuckle; he waits for Ordonez to get back to his feet before leaping back into the ring, wrapping his arms around the Pinoy’s waist as he flies past, and pulling him backwards into a Sunset Flip!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THRENO!

 

 

“Wildchild’s had the edge in this match from start to finish!” says Mak. “Obviously, he came out here with something to prove!” WC pulls Ced to his feet and traps him in a front facelock; he reaches down to grab Ced’s near leg and then lifts him up, spinning around before falling backwards to slam Ordonez into the canvas with a corkscrew vertical suplex!

 

“Corkscrew suplex!” announces Mak, and WC rolls out to the apron. “And we know what that usually leads to!” WC scales the turnbuckles and leaps off without hesitation, extending his arms and twisting in midair as he crashes into Ced’s chest with a twisting body splash! He remains on top for a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THRE—NO!

 

 

Ced just gets the shoulder up!

 

“Wildchild has been utterly dominant in this match,” says Francis. “But give credit to Ced for having the tenacity to not roll over!” Wildchild pulls Ced to his feet and grabs him by the wrist to whip him across the ring, but Ordonez reverses, pulling the Caribbean Cruiser towards him and hoisting him up onto his shoulders…

 

BAM!

 

Before flipping forward and driving WC into the canvas with the Regal Roll!

 

“Big time move by Ordonez!” shouts Mak, as Ced heads over to the corner. “And Ced’s going to go for the homerun here! He’s looking for the Fire Soul!” Ced begins climbing up to the top rope, but the Human Hurricane suddenly pops to his feet and sprints across the ring; he leaps into the air as he approaches the corner, springing off the middle rope and latching his hands around Ced’s neck as he twists back towards the inside of the ring and falls, abruptly pulling Ordonez backwards off the top turnbuckle…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… AND SNAPPING CED’S NECK AGAINST HIS SHOULDER AS HE LANDS ON THE CANVAS WITH A DEVASTATING FALLING HANGMAN’S NECKBREAKER!

 

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

 

 

“Good God!” shrieks Mak. “The Neck Wrecker!”

 

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,” growls King. “That move’s a lawsuit waiting to happen! 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!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“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 Bemani Cross Wizard onto his shoulders. WC looks out into the crowd and releases a primitive growl before he falls backwards…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

AND PLANTS ORDONEZ INTO THE CANVAS HEAD-FIRST WITH THE WILD RIDE!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Wild Ride!” croaks Mak, as Wildchild rolls Ced over:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

“Good night, Ced!” shouts Mak. “Thanks for playing!”

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“Bouncin’ Back” begins to pump through the speakers as Wildchild rolls onto his knees, sitting up 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!”

 

“A fairly easy and convincing win for the Wildchild,” says Mak. WC rolls out of the ring and accepts a congratulatory peck on the cheek from his main squeeze before they begin to make their way backstage. However, they are stopped midway by Ben Hardy, who is brandishing a microphone.

 

“Wildchild,” begins Hardy, “a lot of people want to know what’s been going through your mind these last couple of weeks?”

 

“Y’ wan’ t’know, what’s been on my mind?” WC asks through heavy breaths. “Well, let me tell you somet’ing: what’s been going t’rough my mind is de same t’ing dat’s been goin’ on in my mind for de past two years… Mike Van Siclen!”

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“Ever since he nearly ended my career,” continues Wildchild, “I’ve been waiting for de time dat I could get my hands on him… Y’know, dis scar on my right shoulder reminds me every day of what Van Siclen did t’me, an’ ever since he snuck back into de SWF like a thief in de night, I been feelin’ it right here! So, you wan’ t’know what’s on my mind, it’s getting my hands on him, dat’s what!”

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“I wan’ my pound of flesh, Van Siclen! I wan’ my revenge! I wan’ t’get your bitch ass in de ring, an’ I don’ care what it takes!”

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“You an’ me got unfinished business! I know dat you’ve always had a problem with me, an’ de feelin’ is more den mutual, but believe me when I tell you dat I’m ‘bout t’solve it for you!”

 

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“As far as I’m concerned, you’ve been livin’ off borrowed time for de last two years, an’ when I finally get my hands on you, you’re time is gon’ run out!”

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

With that, Wildchild and Melissa begin to walk away as “Bouncin’ Back” begins to play once more. The Bahama Bomber raises his hands to the crowd, who chant his name as he exits the ring:

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

 

“And there you have it,” says Mak. “Wildchild has just called out Mike Van Siclen! How will Van Siclen respond? WILL he respond? Folks, things have just gotten a lot more interesting here in the SWF, and we’ve still got more action here tonight! Stay with us for more of SWF Storm!”

 

As we:

FADE OUT

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As we return from commercial, we see Joseph Peters seated at one of the many fine tables at Milliways, hungrily looking over the menu. As he runs over his options, the waiter makes his way over to him.

 

Waiter: "Have you made your decision yet, sir?"

 

Peters: "What's your beef selection like this evening?"

 

As the waiter says "An excellent choice, sir," a grade A bovine makes his way over to the table."

 

Cow: "So you're looking at your beef choices today? Hi, I'm Bossy, and I've been genetically engineered to help you decide on your selection this evening."

 

Peters: "What?"

 

Bossy: "Might I suggest something out of my rump? It's nice, succulent, and tender, and full of protein."

 

Peters: "I think I'll just have a green salad."

 

Bossy: "But..."

 

Peters: "No buts. I don't care if you're genetically engineered or whatever else, I refuse to eat an animal that's been trying to have a conversation with me."

 

Bossy: "Very well. And for you, sir?"

 

What the hell? Who else could he be talking to?

 

"I'd like a steak. 20 ounces, well done."

 

Peters turns to his left and sees Jay Hawke in the seat next to him.

 

Bossy: "Very well. I'll just pop off into the kitchen and shoot myself now."

 

Bossy walks out of the shot as Joseph Peters looks over at his until-recently MIA superstar.

 

Peters: "How could you? That's inhumane."

 

Hawke: "It's only inhumane if the animal's unwilling."

 

Peters: "So why..."

 

A gunshot is heard in the distance, coming from the direction of the kitchen. Joseph Peters looks toward the kitchen, knowing full well why that particular sound was heard, then turns back to Jay Hawke.

 

Peters: "So why are you here?"

 

Hawke: "Well, my sabbatical is coming to a close, and I wanted to discuss my return with you."

 

Peters: "Great. See, we're thinking of having you waiting in the wings to feud with--"

 

Hawke: "Save it. I see you're having troubles keeping a stable International Champion around lately. And the bottom line is I want in. You can't have the title on the line without the greatest champion ever having a part in it, right?"

 

Peters: "Jay, it's not that simple. You've just had six weeks off, and your win-loss record was average at best the last month you were there."

 

Hawke: "That doesn't stop Spike Jenkins from getting shots."

 

Peters: "While that may be true, I simply can't allow someone who's been out of action into that scenario. It wouldn't be fair to the other participants."

 

Hawke: "Then I have no choice but to play this card."

 

Peters: "What card?"

 

Hawke: "When Wildchild beat me for the title, I never did get my rematch."

 

Peters: "Jay, we discussed this. You had a shot at Wes Davenport for the World Title in exchange for that rematch."

 

Hawke: "See, that's where you're wrong. See, I got my shot at the World Title, but not once in that agreement did I ever agree to give up my mandatory rematch for it. Now, I would suggest that whether you're doing a battle royal or a torunament or whatever, you stick me in there...or I'm going to have to call my attorney."

 

Peters shakes his head and sighs. But...

 

Peters: "Alright. I'll see what I can do."

 

Hawke: "Marvelous."

 

With that, the waiter hands Peters his salad, then gives Jay Hawke his steak.

 

Hawke: "My good man, get my friend here some barbecued ribs off of that cow that shot himself. My treat."

 

Waiter: "Yes sir."

 

Peters: "I think I'm going to get sick."

 

[fade out]

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"I can't believe that prick Peters is makin' ya go through wi'this."

 

The familiar, untreated voice of Amy Stephens growls through the Stephens family locker room (with a curtain down the middle. Hey, they're siblings but they're not freaks) as her brother continues to lace up his New Rock boots across the room. Head down, Mike's body language seems to tell us exact his mood...pissed. Pissed off rather than just pissed, because if he were drunk this might actually be half-tolerable. As it is, he's having to stay sober, being forced to team with his mortal enemy(~!) and just to top it all off...

 

 

"Whassup geez!"

 

Stephens shudders at the terrible Mockney accent. Why everyone sees fit to mock his native tonuge just because he's the only Englishman in the company is still beyond him, even after all these years and all those terrible attempts. He doesn't really sound like that, does he? No, no, it's just not possible.

 

"Let's just get this over with, right?" Stephens snaps as he snatches his World Heavyweight Title belt, making a point to throw it over his shoulder when and only when it's within Landon's eyeline. "Maybe when Peters sees what bollocks this idea is, we can get back to beatin' the piss outta each other."

 

"I...don't know what bollocks means."

 

Stephens groans.

 

"But look, that aside, I wanted to talk to you before we go out there tonight. And, seeing as you wouldn't answer any of my calls..." sighs Maddix, perhaps expecting an apologetic look or sentiment, getting nothing close. "...now will have to do. This idea about us teaming together. Look, we've had issues in the past and I think we've both been guilty of some...'misdemeanours' in the past."

 

Landon makes the mistake of glancing over at Amy at this point, the former Hardcore Champion glaring a hole through her former beau's temple.

 

"When I said I'd found peace with the situation, I meant it. And I'm willing to try and make this work."

 

"Whoopee," sneers Stephens.

 

"So, with that in mind, if we're going to be a proper tag team and this relationship is going to work out in the long-run, we're going to need a name. To prove that we're not just two singles wrestlers thrown together for convenience. That we're a team. A collective effort. A well oiled machine! A team to rival the greats of this company's history. Like Y2Chris. The Fallen. Wild And Dangerous. The Bemani Cross Wizards! Something that's catchy, hip, memorable through the ages..."

 

"Would you get to the bloody point?"

 

Holding up a hand to as for some patience, Maddix signals to Megan. Reaching down her top to barely a flinch from the otherwise inclined World Champion Megan produces a piece of paper, which Maddix accepts with a smile, unfolding the sheet...which seems awfully long. Almost comedy long.

 

 

If the Stephenses weren't so disgusted at the mere sight of Landon's face, they might even crack a smile.

 

"Okay, idea number one, a name which links us both together. That way, when somebody sees our name, they'll instantly think of me... and you. As a team. Think Wild and Dangerous. Think DVD. Think Team SpYon!" announces Landon, to noteable groans. "What do you think of; 'Team Maddixxic'."

 

"Sounds like you 'ad a stroke 'alfway through." Amy snipes.

 

"Crude, but valid. Well, how about Team Spanglish?"

 

Seemingly unable to tell if this is for real or not, Michael looks to Amy, who just shrugs her shoulders to tell her brother she isn't sure either. Turning back to Landon, the World Champion tries his best to display his disinterest as he shakes his head.

 

"Team Toxxaracha?"

 

"Bloody hell."

 

...

 

"Right, I'm not feeling a lot of support for the conglomorations." admits Landon. "Okay, idea number two. In honour of the man himself, we call ourselves Team Thoth. Alternative names running on this same thought process include The Midnight Thothers, The Thoth and Roll Express and my personal favourite, Team Turn Your Head And Thoth."

 

"No, no, no and piss off."

 

"Well, I hardly think that was called for." sulks Landon, disappointed that no-one is as amused with his dry wit as he is.

 

"Look, Peters wants me tagging with you. I can't do anything about that, apparently. But I'll be buggered if I'm walking around with some Daily Star quality pun hanging over my head for however long Peters insists on sticking us together. So, how's this? Unless you've got any names that aren't some bloody awful word play crap, I suggest you shut your gob and concentrate on wrestling. Unless that's too much of a chore for you."

 

An awkward silence falls over the room and these four unlikely 'allies'. Megan checks over the results of her latest manicure, while Landon scans down the paper, mentally crossing off a good number of suggestions before finally, with a smile, he looks up.

 

 

"Two Skinny White Guys."

 

With no verbal response and no clear change of expression, Stephens promptly stands up, turns and leaves. Just out of protest, Amy follows, muttering a quiet but clearly audible "prick" under her breath as she passes by. After a few seconds taking this unorthodox response in, Landon turns to Megan, confused.

 

"So, was that a yes?"

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*ZAP *

 

As SWF Storm returns from a short break in the action, the next round of tourists coming to the Milliways have appeared at one of the few empty tables around the ring, not unnoticed, as the loud commotion that follows gathers the attention of almost everyone.

 

“Apparently,” reports Mak, “a fan has lost an arm in the midst of time travel, and now there’s nothing more than a nub.”

 

“Let’s not forget, Francis, that nubs can be comforting sometimes,” says King

 

A few other fans decide not to waste their time waiting on the next match up, deciding that the nub on the arm of the otherwise beefy man would be a much more appropriate pastime for them at this point in time.

 

“And during the few moments we have left, we want to talk to everyone right down to earth, in a language that everybody will understand...”

 

The booming recording of Malcolm X’s message to the grass roots instantly makes folks sitting at the tables turn their heads towards the entranceway, as Vernon Reid busts out with the opening riffs of “Cult of Personality” by Living Colour. A rousing chorus of boos floods the restaurant, as Trent Hawk is seen atop the ramp, staring down to the ring, and to the tables of fans around him, arms crossed, and smirk set.

 

“Is it just me, or did he just seemingly appear out of nowhere?” King asks, a bit confused as to how exactly Hawk managed to get there so fast.

 

Mak lets out a sigh of frustration, “Well, that would be the case, King. We are among time travel here, and things do tend to appear and disappear quite often. Anywho, here comes Trent Hawk, from the Axis, which has been making their presence known lately.”

 

“Indeed,” says King, “they managed to down Akira Kaibatsu for a moment...before they were ousted by the Divine Wind and Zyon, and retreated with their leader, Mike Cross.”

 

Hawk has nearly completed his trek to the rampway, his athletic suit loosely hanging off of him, and swaying in the breeze, caused by the constant flow of travelers coming in and out of the Milliways. Funyon stands in the center of the ring, looking at the anxious crowd, no longer paying attention to the armless audience member, but rather at the ring, sensing the arrogance exhumed from the man making his way to the ring.

 

“This match is scheduled for one fall,” Funyon exclaims, putting on the perfect smile to be a good showman for the crowd, like a ringmaster at the circus. “Making his way to the ring at this time, hailing from Hollywood, California, and weighing in at two hundred and forty-three pounds, Trrrrrrrrent Haaaaaaaaaawk ” Hawk has made it to ringside, where he slides in underneath of the bottom rope, feeling the canvas under him, finally. Hawk pushes himself to one knee, finally getting to a vertical base, and takes all of the crowds negative reception with a grain of salt, almost feeding off of it to look even more smug and arrogant than he did before.

“You know,” King begins, “this Hawk fellow seems to be my type of guy. I think this may be a better match with Zyon than some may expect.”

 

Trent stands in the center of the ring, cracking his neck from side to side, before leaning over, and putting his hands on his knees, resting, and getting relaxed, to prepare for his match. However, “Cult of Personality” dies down soon, and all is silent in the Milliways, until finally, the Smarktron comes back to life...

 

“I’m Born”

 

*FLASH*

 

“I’m Alive”

 

*FLASH*

 

“I Breathe”

 

The audience erupts in massive roars of wewtness, as “Vitamin” by Incubus kicks into high gear.

 

“Can you feel it, King?” Mak projects, yet the volume of his voice still cannot amount to the sheer loudness of the crowd, as Zyon appears on the top of the ramp, getting the crowd on their feet. He nods around the arena, grinning the whole way, before shooting down the rampway.

 

“And his opponent,” Funyon announces, “making his way to the ring at this time, from Elkhart, Indiana, weighing in at two hundred pounds, the “Unique Youth”, Zyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyooooooooooon ” Funyon’s booming voice overpowers the crowd, who only erupt in more of an ovation at the utterance of his name. Zyon gets to ringside, and climbs up to the apron. He grabs the top rope, and uses the leverage from a good pull backwards to catapult him up and over, flipping in the process, before landing perfectly on his feet. He charges to the nearest turnbuckle, as the referee is seen in the background holding Hawk back, in case he tries to get a cheap start in.

 

“Those Axis members are a dirty bunch, good to see they’re taking some precautions for the sake of the fans viewing this match,” says Francis.

 

Zyon stands atop the second turnbuckle, holding his hands out, soaking in all of the feedback towards his appearance, before jumping off of the turnbuckle, and turning in mid air, landing directly across from Hawk, who stares a hole through Zyon, bouncing around, getting the feel for the Milliways, and presumably trying to get himself loosened up for the match. The sounds of Incubus begin to fizzle out, as the fans are ready, the referee is ready, and the men in the ring are ready to fight. The ref makes the signal.

 

*DING* *DING* *DING*

 

“And the match is under way, Francis,” King slyly says, “as does the beginning of The Axis’ rise to power.”

 

“Hawk is a rookie,” Mak is quick to point out, “Zyon wants revenge after his shot at the Cruiserweight Title was cut short due to some interference from the Axis, and one Akira Kaibatsu. There’s no way in hell that Zyon’s going to let Hawk walk out of this match with a win.”

 

The fans have a hot tension going on in the restaurant. Silent, the anticipation for the action to begin is at it’s pinnacle, as Trent and Zyon begin to walk in a circle, for every step one makes, the other makes an equal and opposite step, so that their line of vision is never changed. Finally, they both stop for a moment, before charging, and locking up in the center of the ring with a collar and elbow tieup. Hawk, having the height and weight advantage over Zyon, pushes down on the shoulders, putting Zyon on one knee, before he stands back up, giving a surge of strength back at Hawk. Hawk reels back into the corner, letting Zyon overpower him, as the referee begins to count to five, with Zyon not letting up, pushing Hawk against the corner.

 

“1!

 

2!

 

3!

 

4! ”

 

Finally, the referee works his way in between the two wrestlers, as Zyon is forced to break the hold. Over top of the referee’s head, Hawk pulls back, and hits a beautiful left hand to the top side of Zyon’s cranium, sending him to the canvas below. The crowd doesn’t take too kindly to this, and begins to boo Hawk with enthusiasm, as the arrogant Axis member plays it off. With enthusiasm.

 

“This is the first time in a long time I’ve seen someone take the time out of his busy wrestling schedule to say anything but the words ‘Shut up’ to a fan,” Mak observes, as Hawk begins to almost egg on a first row fan by making fun of the nub on their arm. He looks away from the fan, and sees Zyon almost to his feet, and decides it wise to get back to the match at hand. Trent wails away on the Unique Youth, with two swift right hands to the face, setting him up for something bigger. Hawk grabs Zyon by the arm, and whips him into the far side ropes. On the rebound, Trent prepares to make Zyon fly through the air, however the crafty veteran slides between Hawk’s legs.

 

“Never underestimate the slipperiness of Zyon.”

 

This does not phase Hawk one bit, however, as he decides to make the attempt to grab at Zyon from between his legs. This plan does not pay off, however, as Zy grabs the wrists of Hawk, and pulls them through, making Trent complete a somersault, ending on his back. Zyon lifts Hawk’s shoulders off of the mat, so that Hawk is in a seated position, before wrapping his arm around the chin of Hawk, and squeezing with a rear chin lock. Hawk brings his hands up to combat the hold, and it works out nicely, as Trent is able to get enough leverage to begin to wrap Zyon’s arms up.

 

“What is he looking for here?”

 

“Why are you asking me, again?”

 

Trent slides out from under Zyon, keeping ahold of the wrists, before getting to one knee, and finally a vertical base, holding Zyon at bay with a nice wristlock. The pressure is being brought down upon Zyon’s wrists and arms, however, Hawk has grown impatient with this. He brings up his leg swiftly, breaking the wristlock that was in place, and making Zyon double over in front of the rookie. “This guy’s impressing me with how well he’s keeping Zyon at bay, King,” Mak states, as a snort emerges from Suicide King.

 

“I told you. I freaking told you. Trent Hawk is the man.”

 

Hawk pulls Zyon in to his body, tucking his head underneath of his arm, before dropping down hard with a DDT, as Zyon flips over onto his back. Hawk quickly capitalizes, and goes for the cover, as the referee slides into position.

 

“1! ”

 

Without much effort at all, Zyon gets his shoulder up before the referee can bring his hand down to the mat for the second time. “Well, obviously, that just wasn’t enough to put Zyon away.”

 

“That’s an understatement. Wait a second...is Hawk arguing the call?”

 

Hawk has risen to his feet, as has the referee, before the brash young stud begins to walk slowly towards the referee, cursing at him the entire way, and holding up three fingers. “Is he trying to say that the count should’ve been a three count?”

 

“I guess, but those would had to have been some quick flicks of the wrist to get a three out of that.”

 

Hawk slaps his hand three times, showing his thoughts about what should’ve went down at that moment in time, but also giving Zyon ample time behind him to regroup and get to his feet, which he has done, and is now walking towards Trent, who seems to be letting his problem with the count go. Hawk turns around...

 

*SMACK*

 

“What a beautiful roundhouse kick there by Zyon He almost took Trent’s head off with that one ” exclaims Mak, as Hawk turns around from the impact to the side of the face and head, and falls to the mat face first. The crowd roars, as Zyon can feel it coming to him now, even bouncing a little bit on his toes, before walking over to the head of Hawk, and beginning to drag him by his neck to a vertical base. Zyon seems to forget, however, that they’re near the ropes, so, as he lifts Trent up by his neck, Hawk grabs Zyon’s shorts, and pulls back hard, throwing Zyon behind him, with enough force behind it to toss Zyon through the top two ropes, as the Unique Youth topples outside, his body rolling from the apron to the floor, rolling onto his back, as the fans once again erupt in an uproarious fit of jeers for Trent Hawk. He manages to get to his feet, looking out to the audience, and nodding at his own performance thus far. He then drops back down to the mat, and slides outside underneath the bottom rope, as the referee begins the ring out count.

 

“1!”

 

Trent grabs Zyon by the back of the neck, as he is making an attempt to crawl back to his feet. Hawk helps him up to his feet, obviously planning only to knock him back down.

 

“2!”

 

“The rookie has still managed to keep himself in this match, I’m surprised.”

 

“Mike Cross doesn’t get slouches, Mak.”

 

The crowd boos Hawk, who begins to taunt them, asking for more boos coming his way. And, if that were possible, than it happened, as the volume the crowd was overwhelming, before Hawk takes the stabilized Zyon, and picks him up, as if he’s going to attempt a body slam on the padding on the outside. However, Hawk drapes his midsection over his shoulder, and, with a lot of effort, tosses Zyon into the air. The Unique Youth catches himself on the barricade, keeping himself from crashing face first into it, before jumping up on top of it, and leaping off, catching Trent with a beautiful cross body to the floor! The crowd goes wild, as Zyon pushes himself back to his feet, and grabs Hawk by the neck, pulling him to a standing position, as well. As the referee approaches the count of six, Zyon rolls Hawk into the ring, and then climbs up on the apron himself. “It appears as though Zyon has shifted the momentum in his favor!” Mak shouts, as Zyon pulls back on the top rope, and uses the leverage to shoot over top of it, crashing down on top of Hawk’s head and throat with a guillotine leg drop!

 

“The speed and agility of Zyon seems to be taking control of Hawk here, King.”

 

“Zyon’s talented, and it’s showing right here. He’s flying all over Hawk right now...I still think Hawk is going to surprise someone here. He can’t be a slouch if he’s a member of The Axis.”

 

Zyon quickly rolls off of Trent’s head, and onto his body, hooking the far leg, as the referee slides into position...

 

“1!

 

 

 

 

2!”

 

After the second slap of the mat, Hawk pushes Zyon off of him, and begins to get up. However, the speedy Zyon gets to his feet first, and is right back on the attack as Hawk gets to his feet. Two quick forearms to the face of Trent, who staggers back a bit, before trying to come back with a closed fist punch, wheeling all the way back to muster all the force in his body. However, Zyon ducks underneath of the arm, as Trent turns around into a spinning wheel kick to the face, bringing Hawk down to the canvas with a thud. Zyon rolls back to his feet, as Hawk once again begins to make an effort to get to his feet. Zyon stalks Trent, before laying in to him with a closed fist, knocking him back down to one knee, before Zyon grabs him by the arm, and twists around with a full arm dragon twist.

 

“Look at the torque on that arm,” observes Mak, as Zyon pushes hard, the pain evident in the contorted face of Hawk. Zyon takes the arm, and whips Trent over into the far side ropes. On the rebound, Zyon uses his momentum to take him over for a powerslam, hitting the mat hard. Zyon then hops off of Hawk, and turns around, before jumping into the air and hitting a beautiful standing moonsault onto Trent, pinning him down to the mat.

 

“1!

 

 

 

 

2!”

 

Swiftly, Trent’s shoulder shoots up off the mat, as Zyon gets back to his feet, and starts onto the attack again, beginning to lift Hawk to his feet. Trent cuts him off at the chase, hitting a gut shot, which brings Zyon down to Hawk’s size, on his knee. Trent stands up, and hits a clubbing forearm blow to Zyon’s back, which gives Trent the time needed to walk around and shake the cobwebs out.

 

“Hawk is a smart wrestler, Mak. As you can see here, he’s bringing this match back down to his pace, which is more than a few steps below the pace of the Unique Youth, Zyon,” King chortles, as Hawk looks back to see a standing Zyon. They move towards one another, looking to recapture the aura that was felt at the beginning of the match, until Hawk jumps towards Zyon, looking for a tieup, but instead being on the receiving end of a neckbreaker, pulling Hawk down to the mat hard with a good bit of air.

 

“There it is again, King, the quickness of Zyon catches the rookie off guard.”

 

Hawk attempts to get to his feet, but Zyon gets to his feet quickly, and hits a quick and low, but effective dropkick to the sternum, sending Hawk face first into the mat, and giving Zyon an opening. He walks over to the lain body of Trent, and gets to his knees by his legs. Grabbing behind him, Zyon lifts Trent to a position so that he is on his knees, and places Hawk on his shoulder, pulling the neck and back into an arch formation with all of his might. Trent screams in pain, as Zyon’s face shows the amount of effort and strength being put into this hold.

 

“Look at the intensity on the face of the Unique Youth! He’s trying everything in his power to put Hawk in pain after he so unceremoniously cost him his shot at Mike Cross’ Cruiserweight Title on Smarkdown!”

 

“No doubt about that one, King, he’s aiming to prove a point in this match, that Cross’ goons aren’t enough to keep him away from his title.”

 

The referee walks over to Hawk’s face, looking directly up at the rafters of the Milliways, as Zyon pulls harder, making Hawk’s blood curtling yells louder. Trying to prepare himself for a way out, Trent musters everything he can, and brings his arms up, trying to grab Zyon by the throat. However, as an illegal hold, the referee stops him, and the frustration and pain ensues.

 

“Get the fuck off of me!” screams Trent to the lowly referee, before adding an extra groan as Zyon puts more pressure on the hold. Trent shakes his head, as the ref asks if he gives up, before Trent once again brings his hands behind him to Zyon’s face, and this time finds the eyes of the Unique Youth, giving a rip at them, and making Zyon break the hold to hold his face, falling onto the mat, as does Trent. The referee steps away, as both men begin to stir, and crawl their way to opposite ropes.

 

“What a match this has been! Hawk has taken everything that Zyon’s given him thus far, and even been able to cut him off a few times!” Suicide King says, as both men have managed to get to the ropes, and are crawling their way, slowly, to a vertical base. They do end up there, and Hawk charges with a punch. However, Zyon blocks it, and exchanges it for one of his own! The fans pop loudly, as Hawk reels, before going for another punch. Once again, it is blocked for the same result! Zyon hits three quick forearms to the face of Hawk, making him reel even more, before the Unique Youth runs towards the ropes, bounces off of them, and leaps in the air for a flying elbow smash, but Trent ducks out of the way, allowing him to land with his throat on the top rope, bouncing him back up into the air, dazed and vulnerable. He turns around, as Trent sees an opportunity.

 

*CRACK*

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

The crowd goes berserk with emotion, having just seen the favorite in this match, Zyon, take a brutal superkick at the hands of the rookie, Trent Hawk, who falls down from exhaustion, as well.

 

“Zyon was just on the receiving end of a VICIOUS kick right there, King!” Mak shouts.

 

“Oh, I know, I just saw it to, and BOOOOOOOOOY did I like it! Did you see his head snap back? Ah, GREAT visual!”

 

The referee looks at the two men, both seemingly out on the mat, before beginning the mandatory standing ten count as both men stay down...

 

“1!

 

2!

 

3!

 

4!”

 

By this time, both men have begun to stir, and once again, both are getting to opposite sides of the ring, and using the ropes to scrap to their feet.

 

“5!

 

6!

 

7!”

 

Both men have gotten to their knees, and are pressing up on the rope one last time to finally get to a vertical base. They both charge, and end up locking up in the center of the ring with another collar and elbow tieup, but this time, Hawk locks in a side headlock on Zyon, using the pressure to put even more of a bind on his head. However, Zyon hits four consecutive forearms to the ribs and gut, before putting a hand on Hawk’s back, and throwing him towards the turnbuckle, where he lands, and stays, resting. Zyon charges, and plants his hands on the ropes, elevating him into the air in front of Hawk, and smashing him in the face with his knees, dropping Hawk onto his posterior in the bottom of the corner. Zyon grabs Hawk by the head, and lifts him to a vertical base, before pulling him towards the center of the ring. A stiff kick to the midsection follows this, before Zy lifts the rookie into the air, and quickly drops down with his Aero Driver! Hawk’s neck and back folds, as Zyon catches one of his legs before it goes down, leaving him in a pinning predicament. The referee slides into position, as the fans cheer with the anticipation that this one is over.

 

“This could be it, King! I don’t think the rookie has enough in him to keep up!”

 

“1!

 

 

 

 

2!”

 

“AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!”

 

The crowd sighs in disappointment, as Trent managed to get enough strength behind his leg, and kick out of the pin, as Zyon stands up, leaving Trent stirring on the mat. The Unique Youth turns his attention to the turnbuckle, and walks towards it, with something in mind.

 

“It appears as though it is going to be another high flying maneuver from Zyon!” Mak inquires.

 

“Indeed, these are the types of moves that have made him such a threat in this company.”

 

“Let’s see if he’ll be able to land whatever he’s looking for.”

 

Trent is slowly making his way to his feet, as Zyon has gotten to the top rope, and is perched there, lying in wait for Hawk to turn around. The crowd goes crazy, knowing that Trent Hawk is about to turn around into something big, as the events unfold, and he does, letting Zyon leap and connect with a beautiful missile dropkick, sending Hawk back down to the mat in style! “Ouch! Looks like this one’s in the books...damn you, Trent, you’re supposed to win!” King says, with a tad bit of disappointment lingering in his voice.

 

“I’m not sure about that, King, I mean, look at everything that this young man has taken tonight. Even though I don’t like what he pulled last week, he’s obviously not a pushover, and Zyon’s finding that out the hard way.”

 

Zyon almost flies over to the prone body of Hawk, not even bothering with a hook of the leg, going for the pin.

 

“1!

 

 

 

 

2!

 

 

 

 

NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

A shoulder manages to creep off of the mat, as Zyon is beginning to show signs of frustration and exhaustion from the amount of punishment the rookie has taken without giving in. With a slap of the mat, Zyon brushes it off, and continues on the offensive. He picks up the woozy Hawk, and hits an irish whip into the corner, which he almost topples out of, barely grabbing the two ropes to his side. Zyon walks over to Hawk, before grabbing him around the waist, and seating him on the top rope. Hawk comes to his senses, and decides to try to intervene with what’s happening to him, but to no avail, as Zy blocks his punches, and hits one of his own.

 

“What is he looking for now?” asks Francis.

 

“I’m not sure, my friend, but it doesn’t look good for Hawk.”

 

Zyon climbs up to the top rope, looking out at the crowd, and taking it all in, before leaping into the air, and hitting a huge top rope hurricanrana, planting Hawk in the center of the ring, as he sprawls out.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

Zyon turns around, and looks at the downed opponent, before shaking his head no. “What’s he doing, Mak? He has the match won, if he just pins him.”

 

“That’s what you think. Look at what Hawk’s kicked out of already!”

 

Zyon picks up Hawk by the head and neck, leading him up to a vertical base, before hitting a swift kick to the gut, and pulling the far arm between the legs. Within an instant, the fans go crazy, knowing exactly where Zyon is going with this.

 

“The Aero Driver couldn’t get it done,” says Mak, “but the 911 Aero Driver might be!”

 

Zyon then grapevines the near arm, before lifting Hawk into the air. Hawk, however, spins through, landing on his feet behind Zyon! Trent, in a time of desperation, instantly lifts his leg, squarely between the legs of Zyon!

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! That HAD to hurt, Francis!” King laughs.

 

Zyon doubles over, in an immense amount of pain, before Hawk turns him around. Trent sets his head between his legs, and lifts Zyon into the air in a powerbomb formation. Hawk lets Zyon roll over his shoulders, however, and he ends up perfectly in position, as Hawk tucks the head under...ROLLING THE CREDITS!

 

“Whoa! He laid him out!” King is excited, as the fans all flood the restaurant with boos, that is soon flooded out by the sounds of the Three Tenors, who apparently zapped themselves into the Milliways. Hawk makes the cover...

 

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“1!

 

 

 

 

2!

 

 

 

 

3!”

 

*DING* *DING* *DING*

 

“That was insane, King!”

 

“I know, that note was PERFECT!”

 

“Cult of Personality” by Living Colour kicks back in once again, as Hawk gets to his feet slowly, and the referee walks over to raise his hand. Hawk raises his fist, as if to threaten as if he was going to hit him, before dropping to the mat, and sliding out of the ring underneath of the ropes.

 

“And the winner of this match...Trrrrrrrrrrrrent Haaaaaaaaaaaawk!” Funyon puts the kabbash on it all, as Zyon begins to stir in the middle of the ring.

 

“I told you!” insists Suicide King, as a sigh of annoyance emerges from Mak.

Edited by chirs3

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Emma Dumas appears backstage (AKA in the kitchen) inside the Restaurant at the End of the Universe! She stands around dumbfounded, microphone in hand as the waiters and cook run around putting together everyone’s favorite meal.

 

“Ummm…I was told to be here! Like…but I don’ remember why…” Emma pouts.

 

“You’re here to interview me,” says a very familiar voice. The camera pans out, showing The King of Cambodia, “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins standing next to Emma, obviously ticked off, “How did you forget that you were here to interview me…WHEN I’M STANDING RIGHT HERE!”

 

“Hehe…you’re cute.”

 

“Idiot…just hold the microphone up. This is my interview time and I’m going to use it to talk about the upcoming Survival of the Fittest!”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Damn it! I said hold up the microphone! Not talk into it!”

 

“But then how will people hear my thoughts?”

 

“What the hell does that mean?”

 

“You’re funny!” laughs Emma.

 

“Survival of the Fittest is the upcoming event for the vacant International Title…”

 

“WHOOOOO TITLE! YAY! Want me to take my top off?”

 

“…Yes…after my interview, though.”

 

“Okay!”

 

“Anyway…Survival of the Fittest! Eight men! One prize! The SWF International Title! The one title, besides the World Championship, to never grace my fingertips. And now, here is my shot!”

 

“So, what is your game plan, Spike?” asks Emma.

 

“Well, my game plan is simple. I’m going to cheat to win.”

 

“Boo! That’s not nice!”

 

“Really, Emma…it’s the only way to go. Come on look at me! Depending on whom you ask, you will either be told that I am the most deserving person or the least deserving person. For example, if you ask me, I will tell you that I am the most deserving person. But if you ask anyone else…they’ll tell you I shouldn’t even be in this match! So I have to do whatever it takes to win!”

 

“I hope you lose.”

“Are you still going to take your top off?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then we are all winners.”

 

“YAY FOR WINNERS!” giggles the SWF reporter, “What were we talking about?”

 

“We were talking about Survival of the Fittest. In this match, you have former World Champions, former Tag Team champions, former Ultraviolent champions, former Cruiserweight Champions…hell, the CURRENT Cruiserweight Champion…side note, Michael Cross is gay…yeah…that should get me another title shot…”

 

“You’re such a conniving bastard. Why don’t you earn a title shot?”

 

“Where is the fun in that?” responds Spike, “But anyway, tonight! Tonight I face the sister of that son-of-a-bitch Toxxic…”

 

“He goes by Michael Stephens now…”

 

“HE IS TOXXIC! HE WILL ALWAYS BE TOXXIC!” shouts the New Straight Edge Sensation, causing the reporter to pout and begin to cry, “Oh, shut up! Tonight! Amy Stephens! I am going to make an example out of you! Survival of the Fittest! The other seven guys in the match…Landon, Cross, Zyon, Akira, Blank, Manson, and Austin Sly… better watch tonight! I have a surprise in store for all of them!”

 

“I HATE YOU!”

 

“So you aren’t going to take your top off?”

 

“NO!”

 

“Hey, look…a puppy!”

 

“A PUPPY? YAY!” Emma immediately stops crying, “YAY! TIME TO TAKE MY TOP OFF!”

 

“You don’t happen to play World of Warcraft, do you?”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Excellent.”

 

[FADE TO BLACK]

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The view of the main dining room at Milliways is stunning, but then again it always is when we’re nearing the end of the Universe. The restaurant guests are all enjoying their meals, enjoying the view and enjoying the special event put on tonight by the SWF. The always dapper and cheerful Max Quordlpleen is handing the MC duties tonight, after all it’s always been his job and it always will be.

 

“Entities, concepts, ladies, gentlemen, discerning diners and those of you that came for the show” Max starts out flashing that warm smile that’s made him world famous in every corner of the galaxy “The next contest is a “Hardcore” match which means that there are no rules, no limits – just like at our “all you can eat” steak buffet”

 

The crowd laughs at Max’s joke

 

“Introducing first a fellar who hails from the settlement in Mobile, on the already forgotten planet of Earth. The man who genetically closes the gap between humans and Wookies, this is “the Redneck Superman” BRUCE BLANK!!!”

 

There is a polite applause from the crowd, most of them don’t even know earth, much less Bruce but it’s the polite thing to do. Reg Nullify signals his boys to start as a lounge crooner version of “Don’t ask me no questions” begins with Reg really getting into it.

 

“WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-HE-HE-HE-HEEELLLLLLLL Every time that I come home, no body wants to let me be – HEY!” He sings with a wink and a pistol hand gesture

 

“It seems that all the friends, all the friends, aaaaaaaall the friends I got just want to come interrogate me, yeah that’s right baby”

 

Bruce emerges from the entrance pushing a medium sized dumpster ahead of him stuffed with what looks like various Hardcore plunder that he’s gathered up backstage, including but not limited to an alien language street sign and a laser mop that the cleaning staff uses. The big man seems a little annoyed that his favorite song is being butchered by Reg Nullify and the boys but a smile does appear on his face as he pushes the dumpster to ringside and then walks up the three steps to get to the ring.

 

“And his opponent” Max says with a nod and a smile “A champion many times over, most significantly a 2 times Hardcore Gamer’s champion” the charismatic MC reads from the cue card that Mike Van Siclen provide him with earlier tonight. “Here is MIKE VAN SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICLEN!!!”

 

Instead of the usual siren one of Reg’s boys plays a close imitation of one on his violin before the lounge lizard breaks into a surreal version of “Hyphy Juce” as Mike Van Siclen steps into the main dining room.

 

“Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo dumb

dawg, I'm hyphy, yeah real Hyphy!!”

 

If the total butchering of the song bothers Mike he sure doesn’t show it as he walks to the ring with a focused intense look in his eyes. Van Siclen crosses himself and then kisses the fingers he just used to cross himself before pointing to the sky, well in this case he points to Tau Alpha Zeti which is just about to collapse onto itself.

 

”got my white tee, oh yes my whiteeeeeee tee and my stunnas on

gold ones in, I can't go wrong – NO!

 

The man from Harrison, Illinois stops at the dumpster where he looks down in it, most likely making a few notes of what weapons are in there in case he needs to use them later on.

 

“This should be brutal Mak and I for one NEED some brutality tonight after all this wrestling we’ve had to endure” King says as Mike steps through the ropes and into the ring.

 

“I need for this moron to shut up” Mak complains at Reg Nullify hits his most obnoxious, his most Las Vegas’esque high note.

 

”stunnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas on, stunnas on... ”

 

Bruce has been leaning back against the ropes in the corner, looking calm, confident and relaxed while Mike made his entrance, it seems that the King of Pain isn’t very impressed with what he’s seen from Mr. Van Siclen so far

 

But at least he’s been able to see until now

 

What everyone failed to notice was how Mike has kept his left fist clenched on his way to the ring, hiding the fact that he was carrying a handful of salt with him. A handful of salt that ends up being thrown right in Bruce’s face turning his face totally white and temporarily blinding the big man in the process.

 

“Right in the eyes!!” Mak says figuring he may as well state the obvious “It doesn’t matter how big or how tough you are, a handful of salt will blind you”

 

“That’s the Mike we all remember, always thinking, always plotting, always with something in mind – that’s what’s made him successful in the past” Adds King

 

Mike can’t help but tap the side of his head as Bruce staggers round the ring, hands rubbing at his eyes trying to get the salt out. The arrogant Mike circles round Bruce to get in position and then fires off a stiff Superkick square to the jaw of the still blinded Blank. A few of the dining guests actually pop a bit for the super kick, while others still grumble over the salt usage, especially the slug people of Zebglob Minor.

 

“Mike is starting out strong here tonight, whether he can keep the advantage or not is the big question.”

 

“That has been his problem in the past, a strong starter but then it peters out a bit”

 

“So like your sex life Mak?” King quips as Mike lands a Guillotine Leg Drop on his prone opponent.

 

Van Siclen looks to be in control of this match, the salt is still blinding Bruce so the big man is totally at the mercy of the merciless Van Siclen. Mike grabs Blank by the hair and the hand and hauls the big man back to his feet, then he twists Bruce’s arm to the right and locks his hands around Bruce’s big head so that Mike has him in a standing Cross face. Mike throws himself backwards with a sadistic grin on his face as he pulls the big man back as well driving the back of Bruce’s head into his knee.

 

*BAM!!*

 

The Crossface Black move really does some damage to Bruce as his head is viciously snapped to the side on impact, ringing Bruce’s bell with Authority! Mike quickly rolls over onto his knees and then slides under the bottom rope to the floor where he heads for the dumpster full of weapons that Bruce brought along.

 

“This could be the way for Mike to keep the advantage, weapons! Lots and lots of weapons!” King says with a grin

 

Mak is about to reply when they’re interrupted by the waiter bringing them their main course, a couple of juicy steaks.

 

“Man some days I love my job” King says as he reaches for a bottle of steak sauce.

 

Mike has reached for something totally different than a bottle of steak sauce, he’s reached inside the dumpster and found something that looks like a hockey stick (but is in fact used to stir the broth in one of the huge pots in the kitchen). When Mike passes by a table he quickly grabs the metal salt and pepper shakers off the table and then enters the ring. Bruce is back on his feet, wiping his eyes with his “Redneck Superman” T-Shirt as Mike casually drops the salt and pepper shakers on the canvas.

 

“Erm” Mak says as he tries to figure out what the hell Mike has in mind

 

“Pass the butter” King says with a mouth full of steak.

 

Van Siclen quickly swings the “hockey stick” and sends the salt shaker flying straight at Bruce, striking the big man on the shoulder

 

*PING!*

 

The pain is clearly displayed on Bruce’s face as the big man bends over, clutching his shoulder in agony as Mike lines up the next shot. Mike swings and sends the pepper shaker flying. . . Unfortunately it flies OVER Bruce’s back and instead lands in a NowWhatian’s bowl of oil soup with a big splash. Being the dastardly asshole that he is Mike ignores the NowWhatian’s soup stained clothes and runs at Bruce instead with the hockey stick gripped tightly.

 

“I wonder if Mike spend some of his time away from the SWF in the NHL?” Mak wonders as Mike raises the hockey stick over his head ready to strike at Bruce.

 

“Looks like he was part of the flying Van Siclens!!!” King yells out as Bruce ducks under the attack and then backdrops Mike over the top rope.

 

Mike fortunately manages to grab hold of the top rope as he’s being flipped out of the ring and thus manages to end up on the apron instead of on the floor. A condition that Bruce quickly rectifies with a powerful clothesline that knocks Mike off the apron and right into the side of the dumpster with a hollow thud!

 

“I think Bruce has had enough of this!” King says as he watches Bruce steps over the top rope onto the apron with an angry scowl on his face.

 

“Don’t count Van Siclen out yet King”

 

“Don’t count Bruce out either Mak, he held the Hardcore title for 213 days, he had more successful title defences than any other champion, he’s not an easy man to beat at all and any man who thinks that is a fool”

 

Bruce proves that his eyesight has returned as he kicks Mike right in the face with his trademark big boot that drives the hard sole of his cowboy boot into Mike’s face. With Mike once again down Bruce reaches into the dumpster and pulls out a random weapon without really looking at it and then brings it down over Mike’s head breaking what looks like some sort of laptop computer over Mike’s head

 

*CRACK!!*

 

Another blow to the head totally shatters the computer and sends bits of circuit board and keyboard keys flying everywhere around the dumpster some even landing on the ring side tables.

 

“Mike has become road kill on the Information Super Highway” King says and then chuckles at his own joke.

 

“Did you know that Bruce is personally responsible for our insurance rates going up 20% last year? And he looks like he’s ready to drive them up even high this year” Mak says sharing one of those useless tidbits with the crowd that they love but don’t really need to know.

 

Bruce heads over to the ringsteps and kicks the top section off leaving the base of the steps in place for something devious that he’s contemplating. While Bruce is busy redecorating the ringside area Mike is pulling himself back up to his feet by holding on to the dumpster, still staggering from the shots to the head. When the King of Pain sees that his opponent is on his feet he picks up speed and goes for a clothesline, only to find himself chest first against the dumpster as Mike moves out of the way. The big man staggers backwards as he tries to regain his breath, he staggers so far backwards that Mike can get a running start at him with his arm raised in the air.

 

IT’S THE UNDENIABLE! INDESTRUCTIBLE! SHAKE YOUR BONES! RATTLE YOUR TEETH BEFORE KNOCKING YOUR ASS FOR A LOOP!! STOLEN LARIATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~!!!

 

*CLANG!*

 

Correction: STOLEN LARIATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~! TO THE RINGPOST!!

 

Bruce throws himself out of harms way at the last moment, not caring that he actually ends up on one of the ringside dining tables, as long as he avoided the lariat. This has the added bonus that Mike ends up striking the ring post with his extended arm instead of Bruce’s chest. Van Siclen is in a world of pain from hitting the metal post so hard that he could have broken his forearm, although that’s not something he’ll know for sure until after the match.

 

“Do you think the referee would stop the match if Mike’s arm is broken?” Mak asks

 

“This isn’t Family Friendly rules any more Mak – and thank god for that may I just add” King replies dismissing all the “wimpy concerns” that his co-commentator has.

 

Bruce grabs Mike by the long hair and the back of the shirt and throws his opponent into the ring. While Mike is busy being in pain and trying his best to find the less painful way to hold his arm Bruce rummages around the dumpster and then finds a long piece of heavy chain that he holds up with a grin. The Redneck Superman grabs one end of the chain and then begins to wrap the rest of the solid steel chain around his right arm while keeping a watchful eye on his opponent in the ring.

 

“You know in Alabama a chain like that is considered “Bling”” King quips as he cuts another piece of delicious steak

 

“I thought teeth were “Bling” in Alabama?” Mak replies.

 

With the chain wrapped around his right arm Bruce slides into the ring on the opposite side of where Mike is staggering to his feet by leaning against the ropes as he tries his best to hold his right hand still. Van Siclen doesn’t get a chance to orient himself before he’s struck with a vicious steel chain enhanced clothes to the throat with so much force that it even knocks Bruce down as he sends Mike ass over elbow

 

*THUD!!*

 

“HOLY CRAP!” A surprised King yells out spitting small pieces of meat all over the place

 

Mike curls up in the corner, clutching his right arm as he’s in a world of pain and pulling hard for his breath after being struck on the throat with the chain. While Mike is hurting Bruce is feeling on top of the world as he’s quickly back on his feet shaking the arm with the chain on it to make a bit of noise. Bruce quickly picks his shot and then drives his fist and the steel chain into Mike’s right shoulder and arm, each shot sending waves of pain through Mike’s body as he tries to shield his hurt shoulder as best he can from the blows but to very little avail.

 

“Has there ever been a one armed wrestler?” King asks

 

“Not that I know off” Mak replies foolishly thinking that King was seriously asking and not just making a joke.

 

“Ah well then Bruce may just create the first one if he keeps this assault up.” King replies with a grin.

 

After seven or eight chain augmented blows to the shoulder Bruce decides to change tactics and grabs Van Siclen by the left arm, twisting it and turning it as he pulls his opponent back to his feet inflicting even more pain on Mike with every tug on the arm. Mike is in a world of hurt and his right arm looks to be weakened to the point where he can’t use it at all without causing more pain. Mike knows he has to get away from Bruce if he’s going to stand a chance in this match and quickly takes a left handed swing at Bruce only to be tossed left shoulder first into the turnbuckles and then hoisted high in the air with a gorilla press slam

 

“Man look at Mike wiggle, maybe Bruce is squeezing a little something too tightly” King comments as Van Siclen begins to wiggle and squirm in Bruce’s grip

 

“I always wondered how he managed that you know”

 

“Why would you care? You can’t feel anything down below anyway” King counters with a vicious grin.

 

Mike’s tactics pays off as his wiggling has manages to get Bruce so much out of balance that he is forced to drop Mike behind him. Mike lands on his feet on the apron right behind Bruce, but unlike last time Mike is alert enough to move out of the way when Bruce tries to knock him off the apron causing Bruce himself to stumble through the ropes and flip to the floor. With his right arm cradled to keep it from moving too much Mike gets off the apron and then begins to rummage around the dumpster for something.

 

“Hey get out of my way” Mak yells as Bruce uses the commentator’s table to get back up to his feet.

 

“Man that smells good” Bruce says as he smells the dinner that King and Mak are eating. The big man quickly snatches the last bit of steak off Mak’s plate and begins to eat it with a wide grin.

 

“HEY!!” May yells out but decides not to push the matter any further, being in a wheelchair and all.

 

Bruce notices that Van Siclen has found something in the dumpster and tries to stop him from using it by hurling Mak’s now empty plate at him.

 

*CRASH!!*

 

The plate misses and shatters against the side of the dumpster, Bruce then grabs the first thing he can get hold off and hurls it at Mike

 

“THAT’S MY STEAK KNIFE!!” Mak yells just a split second after Bruce has thrown it at Mike.

 

*THUNK!!*

 

Fortunately for Mike Bruce is a terrible knife thrower and the knife hits the dumpster instead, impaling itself a few inches from Mike’s arm. Van Siclen just stares at the knife impaled in the side of the plastic dumpster, his eyes bulging out with surprise and anger over what Bruce just tried to do. Mike turns around and looks at Bruce, the look in his eyes has gone beyond anger, into an intense rage at Bruce that seems to give him a rush of adrenaline as he pulls out a weapon and tries to use it on Bruce.

 

*WOOOOOO-PISH!!*

 

“A bull whip? A BULL WHIP?” King asks in disbelief as Mike wields a 10 foot long rawhide bullwhip with his left hand.

 

“Talk about something that can turn the tide in a match” Mak says as he looks around, trying to find something to keep him out of harms way.

 

Bruce looks a little worried, in fact he looks very worried as Mike stubbornly walks towards him, whip in hand cracking it towards the big man every now and then.

 

*WOOOOOO-PISH!!*

 

Van Siclen’s right arm hands down by his side looking like he can’t even lift it under it’s own power but his left arm is fine and his aim with the whip seems to improve as well with each crack of the whip.

 

*WOOOOOO-PISH!!*

 

Bruce is struck on the shoulder, tearing his t-shirt and actually leaving a thin cut on his skin. Bruce tries his best to back away from Mike as the two go around the ring with Mike suddenly in the driver’s seat due to the whip.

 

*WOOOOOO-PISH!!*

 

Mike lashes Bruce across the thigh no doubt leaving a major welt on Bruce’s skin, each time Van Siclen hits Bruce he gets a little more energy from it. Riding on the wave of his success Mike has chased Bruce all the way around the ring with Bruce backpeddling and Mike cracking the whip every couple of moments until he’s got Bruce trapped with his back to the dumpster.

 

Mike raises the whip with confidence, his opponent is trapped and at his mercy, he’s going to make Bruce pay for everything he’s done to him so far.

 

*WOOOOOO-*

 

“Bruce closed the lid on the whip!!” King yells out as Bruce manages to throw the lid shut as the tip of the bullwhip hits the edge of the dumpster effectively trapping the whip in the dumpster.

 

Bruce pulls hard on the whip hoping to drag Mike in for a short arm clothesline or something like that, but Van Siclen is too smart to fall for that and simply lets go of the whip instead, he’s not about to fall into Bruce’s trap. Van Siclen cradles his right arm as he backs off from Bruce looking around for something, ANYTHING to use on his bigger opponent.

 

“Quick Mak grab your steak. . . oh wait” King says with a smirk and then eats the last piece of his steak.

 

“Oh shut up”

 

Even though he’s been lacerated several places with the whip Bruce is still on the attack, stalking his hurt opponent as Mike tries to find something to use against the King of Pain. Mike almost stumbles over the camera guy as he doesn’t get out of the way quick enough, Van Siclen shoots him a very dirty look before getting some sort of idea. After a swift kick to the testicles Van Siclen relieves the camera man of his hand held camera and swings it at Bruce, or at least we think he swings it at Bruce since the audience at home just gets a quick pan across the crowd followed by a

 

*CRACK!!*

 

And then a bunch of static until they can change to a fixed camera in the back of the restaurant. The first thing that becomes apparent is that the SWF cameras cannot take a beating and keep working as Mike only holds PART of the camera in his hand now with the rest of it scattered around Bruce who’s on his hands and knees with bits of plastic in his hair. Mike doesn’t seem to care that he’s only got half a camera left as he swings yet again, striking Bruce over the back of the head

 

*CRACK!!*

 

The camera shatters and Bruce is knocked to the ground. Van Siclen turns around and starts to look for something else to hit Bruce with, he knows that his right arm is next to useless and that he can’t actually wrestle Bruce at this stage of the match so he looks for stuff to hit Bruce over the head with instead. He finds the sign with the alien language on it, then turns to face Bruce once more only to find out that the King of Pain has dragged himself into the ring.

 

“It looked like Mike had lost the match, I mean he was moments away from being carried out on a stretcher and look at him now” Mak marvels as Mike enters the ring with the sign in his left hand making sure to keep his right arm as still as possible in the process.

 

“That’s what I like about the SWF, it can turn around in an instant” King replies.

 

Bruce has managed to get himself up in the corner, still a bit groggy from being hit with the camera as he holds on to the ropes for support. Van Siclen runs at Bruce, sign raised high over the head ready to strike his opponent with it.

 

*CRACK!!*

 

“What did I say? Turn around in an INSTANT!!” King yells out as Bruce manages to put up a foot to block the sign.

 

“He didn’t just deflect it King, the sign was kicked into Mike’s shoulder, his bad shoulder” Mak points out as Mike Van Siclen doubles over while clutching his right arm.

 

Bruce finally gets the opening he needs and takes advantage of it by grabbing his opponent by the shoulder length hair and then throws him hard into the corner.

 

“You know it’s a very different Bruce we’ve seen here tonight” King says

 

“Different? He looks like same old Bruce to me, cheap tactics and hitting his opponent with anything he can get his hands on” Mak counters failing to see King’s point.

 

“That’s not what I’m saying, I’m just saying that he’s more methodical, more focused on wearing Van Siclen’s arm down – usually he just throws everything at his opponent and hopes that it sticks, but tonight he’s more focused, less wasted attacks you know” King explains.

 

Mike staggers out from the corner, cradling his left arm, face contorted with pain, sweat pouring off him like he has been walking the Sahara desert for 40 days but instead of rushing Van Siclen and possibly making a mistake Bruce slowly approaches Van Siclen , spreading his massive arms out to try and keep his opponent trapped in the corner. Mike tries to duck under Bruce’s right arm but gets caught and then quickly tossed into the corner by Bruce’s massive paw of a hand, landing him in harms way as Bruce strikes Van Siclen right on the hurt right shoulder with the point of his elbow and then proceeds to grind down on the join with the bony point of his elbow making Van Siclen scream in pain.

 

“You may be on to something King”

 

“I’m always onto something Mak, you just usually can’t figure out what” King counters with a mouthful of steak.

 

“I mean with Bruce, he *IS* more focused, in the past when he had someone trapped like that he’d go for the gut, then maybe the head, then maybe the legs. There seems to be a method to his madness – Not a lot of method but still.” Mak admits

 

“A little method and a lot of madness” King says and then adds “Which is bad news for Bruce’s opponents

 

Van Siclen puts his right hand in Bruce’s face trying to push the big man off, when that doesn’t work he rakes Bruce’s face poking the big man in both eyes to make him break the hold and back off. The poke to the eye only stuns Bruce for a moment before he’s able to get his hands on Mike again, more specifically get his hands on Mike’s hurt right arm. In an effort to repay Mike for his dirty deed Bruce raises Van Siclen’s arm up to his mouth and then bites down hard on his opponent’s forearm causing him to yelp in pain.

 

“Spit that out Bruce you don’t know where he’s been last, that’s unsanitary” King quips as most of the guests in the restaurant lose their appetite.

 

“Oh come on King! Even you can’t approve of biting!”

 

“Hey if it works for you – do it, I’ve always said that”

 

Bruce’s teeth have left a ghastly looking mark on Mike’s forearm, something which seems to please the big man. After having focused on the arm for a while Bruce shifts gears and drives the tip of his steel tipped boot into Mike’s midsection causing Van Siclen to bend over in agony. Three seconds later and the big man has Mike flipped up on his shoulders in a power bomb position.

 

“Not another turnbuckle power bomb! If he hits that it’ll be all over for Mike” Mak says

 

“That’s not . . . “ King is cut off mid sentence as Bruce turns 90 degrees and instead of power bombing Mike Van Siclen onto the top turnbuckle he power bombs him OVER THE TOP ROPE

 

*WHAM!!*

 

ONTO THE LID OF THE DUMPSTER!!!

 

“Holy shit!” Mak yells out as the entire room and the fans watching at home witness Mike Van Siclen’s body being driven through the dumpster lid and into the actual dumpster.

 

YOU SICK FUCK!! YOU SICK FUCK!! YOU SICK FUCK!!

 

A rowdy group of aliens from Smarkterion start a chant at Bruce which seems to amuse the King of Pain but annoy most of the other patrons at the restaurant. After exiting the ring Bruce bends down and grabs the bottom edge of the dumpster and then tips it over on it’s side, spilling the weapons and Mike Van Siclen out on the floor.

 

“Good thing for Mike that there weren’t that many weapons left in the dumpster” King says as Van Siclen flops to the mat and lays there motionless, face down.

 

“GOOD THING? He still got power bombed out of the ring through the damn lid!” Mak replies angrily.

 

Bruce picks up the metal folding chair that fell out of the dumpster, then he opens it a little and slides Mike Van Siclen’s right arm through it, trapping it between the seat and the back rest before laying it flat against the ground. Referee Nick Soapdish jumps to the floor and pleads with Bruce to not stomp on the chair, he can’t legally prevent him from doing it but he’s trying to appeal to the good in Bruce.

 

“He. . . he CAN’T! This’ll definitely break Mike’s arm” Mak says in a queasy voice

 

Apparently Nick’s words have touched Bruce as he tells the referee that he’s not going to stomp on the chair, but with Bruce being Bruce that doesn’t mean he won’t STEP on the chair inflicting an enormous amount of pain on Mike Van Siclen’s right arm

 

* TAP!*TAP!*TAP!*TAP!*TAP!*

 

Bruce has only been on the chair for 4-5 seconds before Mike taps out, feverishly pounding his left hand on the mat to get the big man off his arm.

 

* DING!*DING!*DING!*

 

Once Bruce hears the bell he casually steps off the chair, releasing Mike’s arm as he raises his own in the air with a wide smirk. Soapdish is too busy with attending to Mike Van Siclen to raise Bruce’s hand but Bruce doesn’t seem to mind, especially not when Max Quordlpleen makes the announcement

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen – all I can say is that thank god this is over and thank god the bar is well stocked” Max smiled, he knew that comment would bring the drinks sale up tonight “The winner of the match, by standing on a chair while the other guy slapped the mat – BRUCE BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!!!”

 

Bruce gets up real close to the camera as he wipes the sweat off his face “Let that be a preview of Lockdown! The International title is coming my way, by hook or by crook – and there ain’t nothing anyone can do about it but bleed and lose!!”

 

“Please lord don’t let Bruce win that title, we’ll never hear the end of it” Mak pleads as we cut to another commercial break.

Edited by chirs3

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SWF Storm returns from the previous commercial break

 

“Well, we are back fans…at this restaurant place,” says King.

 

“How exciting…”

 

“It is.”

 

Every light in the arena goes to full power as the Smarktron whites out. For a moment the only sound is that of a needle scratching over vinyl...

 

 

And then *BAM*

 

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

 

“Like bringing a knife to a gun fight…

 

Like Bringing A Knife To A Gun Fight…

 

 

LIKE BRINGING A KNIFE TO A GUN FIGHT!”

 

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

 

“Coming to the ring, weighing in at a total of Two Hundred and Twenty pounds…he hails from Hollywood, California but rules the magical land of Cambodia… ‘Hollywood’ Spiiiiike Jennnnnkinssssssss!”

 

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

 

“Spike Jenkins called out the other seven competitors for the upcoming Survival of the Fittest match earlier tonight,” begins the King of Hearts, “Telling each of them to watch his match with SWF World Heavyweight Champion, Michael Stephens…sister.”

 

“AND HIS OPPONENT!”

 

The blasting opening of ‘Blitzkrieg Bop’ by the Ramones fires up, leading to a cheer from the crowd. After a few seconds, “Amy” comes out onto the stage with a can of lager in “her” hand and charges down to the ring.

 

“Umm…that isn’t Amy Stephens…”

 

“Is that…Matt Myers…wearing a wig?”

 

“Well, there goes all hope for a competitive match!”

 

Myers climbs to the second buckle, raises his lager and leads the crowd in a chorus (that none of them respond to):

 

“HEY! HO! LET’S GO!”

“HEY! HO! LET’S GO!”

“HEY! HO! LET’S GO!”

“HEY! HO! LET’S GO!”

 

As Joey launches into the first verse proper Matt drops down to the ring again, takes a few pulls from his can and then puts it down on the apron before getting ready for the match. Myers enters the center of the ring, as Spike cockily walks up to him.

 

*Ding Ding Ding*

 

“And the onslaught begins…”

 

“You never know, King,” says the optimistic Mak Francis, “Myers may pull off the upset and beat the hell out of that scumbag!”

 

Spike punches Myers in the face with a hard jab!

 

“Or maybe not…”

 

As Myers stumbles back, Spike grabs him by his wig and pulls him into a standing side headlock. Matt tries to struggle free, but Jenkins is one of the top chain wrestlers in the world and knows how to apply a headlock. In fact, he knows how to do more than that and he has no problem showing that off. Spike hits Myers with a punch to the forehead, momentarily stunning the Cosplayer. Jenkins releases the grip on his hand, leaving him one free hand to grab at the left arm of Myers. Grabbing a firm grip on the wrist, Spike releases the headlock and instantaneously glides into an arm wrench. Myers winces as Spike pulls on the wrist. Continuing with his Guides into Chain Wrestling, Jenkins positions himself behind Myers with his arm, locking in a hammerlock.

 

“Jenkins starting things off, as usual, with his mastery in chain wrestling…”

 

“Moving a lot faster than usual, though…” says a wearily Francis, “Spike isn’t keeping the holds on for long enough to do damage to Matt Myers!”

 

Spike frees one of his arms, sliding it underneath Myers free arm and up to his neck with a half nelson. He releases the hammerlock and slides underneath the arm, now standing in front of Matt. He quickly locks his fingers together, wrenching at the neck of the Cosplay Master with his favorite chain-wrestling maneuver, The Cravate.

 

“Great,” mumbles an annoyed King, “I’ve seen this a million times! Now Spike will keep this move on for the next ten minutes…”

 

But King is cut off by Jenkins quickly flipping Myers over onto his back with a snapmare. The King of Cambodia grabs a handful of (fake) hair, pulling Myers back up to his feet. He wraps his arms around the neck with another standing side headlock. Spike drops to one knee, placing his hip right into the abdomen of Myers and flipping him over with a side headlock takeover! Spike quickly places the inside arm of Myers in between his legs, locking them in place as he stretches on the neck.

 

“Side headlock takedown by Jenkins, trapping the arm of Myers with his legs and pulling back on the neck…”

 

But Mak is cut off as Spike releases the arm and begins to stand to his feet, pulling his opponent up with him with the side headlock still locked in place.

 

“What is he doing?” asks King.

 

“Jesus…” Francis mumbles, “He’s showing off.”

 

Now both back on their feet, Spike once again breaks one of his hands free and grabs at the wrist of Myers again. Spike releases the headlock, drops to one knee, and using his amateur wrestling knowledge that he learned from Mak Francis himself, pivots himself behind the fake Amy Stephens. Spike gets to his feet, locking in a rear waist lock and lifting Myers up off the ground for a takedown…but lets him back onto his feet. Instead, Spike drops to one knee, wrapping his arms around both thighs/knees of Myers and tripping him forward onto his face.

 

“Rear double leg takedown by Jenkins.”

 

Myers lands hard on his face, knocking some of the wind out of him. Spike returns to his feet, placing his foot over the back of the head/neck of Matt and keeping his opponent on the ground that way. Jenkins looks into the crowd, flexing his muscles and posing.

 

“You have got to be kidding me,” cries Francis.

 

Spike motions for a title around his waist, yelling out into the diner, “NEXT INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION!”

 

“Ha Ha, this is great!” laughs an amused Suicide King.

 

Myers kicks his feet up and down, finally pushing Jenkins foot off of him. Jenkins watches as he tries to squirm off. He grins as he follows the Cosplay master, roughly grabbing him by his wig and pulling him to his feet. He pushes Myers into the ropes, grabbing his wrist and Irish whipping him across the ring…BUT MYERS REVERSES!

 

“Myers with the comeback?”

 

Spike bounces into the ropes and charges back at Matt…driving his shoulder into the shoulder of ‘Amy Stephens,’ knocking him to the mat.

 

“I guess not…” Francis sighs with disappointment.

 

“That was a nice shoulder block, though.”

 

The King of Cambodia looks at his opponent and charges into the ropes parallel to them. Myers rolls over onto his face, waiting for Spike to leap frog over him. Jenkins bounces off the ropes and comes charging back…stopping over the lying Myers. He grabs him by the wig and jerks his neck up. Spike leans over and begins throwing out brutal crossface forearms to the face of Myers!

 

“This is almost sickening to watch…if Amy Stephens was out here, this would not be happening.”

 

Spike viciously drops Myers onto the mat, stepping on the back of his head again as he steps in front of him. Cockily mocking his opponent, Spike wipes his feet on the mat, “wiping the dust” into the fallen face of Matt Myers. Spike shouts out “KING OF CAMBODIA” and poses for the booing crowd inside the diner.

 

“Spike told the other seven men in the Survival of the Fittest match to watch him tonight. I think he is doing a good job of putting fear into their hearts!”

 

“I hate you SO much, King.”

 

Spike walks into the corner and removes his left elbow pad. He points out to the crowd and shouts out “SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST,” causing more jeering. Myers slowly comes to his feet, still feeling the effects of those crossfaces. He stumbles into the center of the ring and Spike takes charge.

 

“A lariat? But Spike is a righty…why did he take his left arm pad off?”

 

And the answer is simple. As Spike charges at Myers, he gives off a loud yell, “MANSONOSITYYY” as he (weakly) clobbers Myers with his left arm.

 

“Are you serious?” says a stunned Mak Francis, “He just used Manson’s finisher, the Western Lariat on Myers.”

 

“Manson is one of the eight competitors in the Survival of the Fittest match and Spike stole his finisher!”

 

“Spike uses a lariat all the time! But he uses his right arm, which would have been a more powerful blow than with the left…”

 

“I guess he is a good ol’ southpaw.”

 

Myers lands on top of his head, rolling backwards onto his hands and knees. Dazed and confused (an awesome movie, btw), he pushes himself onto his knees. Spike holds his left forearm as he charges into the ropes. He bounces off them and comes flying back towards Myers…leaping into the air and connecting with a Shining Wizard!

 

“Damn it, Spike!”

 

“Spike with the Shining Wizard!”

 

“Did that Shining Wizard look familiar to you, King?” asks an annoyed Francis, “Spike just did a leaping Shining Wizard! Spike usually uses the Dangerous Wizard or a running knee strike…or hell, if anything, propels himself off the knee of his opponent! HE JUST STOLE LANDON MADDIX’S FINISHER!”

 

“He did it better than that cockroach.”

 

The crowd catches on to what is going on and begin to get louder. Jenkins gets to his feet, smiling as he grabs Myers by the hair and pulls him up, as well. Spike steps behind his opponent and locks him in a reverse front face lock.

 

“Dragon sleeper!” says Mak, “And I think I know where this is going…”

 

Spike grabs Myers by his trunks and lifts him up into the air…spinning him over and driving him into the mat with a Diamond Cutter!

 

“Michael Cross, the SWF Cruiserweight Champion’s Silent Rage Syndrome!”

 

“Is Spike doing what I think he is doing?”

 

“Yes, King…and it looks like we’re going to be sitting here for a little bit longer…”

 

Spike sits up on the mat, grinning at the booing waitresses. He stands up, walks to the corner, climbs to the middle rope and points out at them, shouting “KING OF CAMBODIA!”

 

“Is he really the King of Cambodia?” asks a curious King.

 

“Let’s just be happy Spike showed up for that match.”

 

“Very true.”

 

“But that means we would have to be happy that he showed up for this one…” sighs Mak, as The Suicide King looks at his watch.

 

Jenkins promenades over towards the beaten Myers. He reaches down, grabbing a handful of the wig and dragging the Cosplayer up to his feet. Spike drags him towards the corner, hooking his hands around the neck of Myers and clinching him into a cravate. Spike ascends up to the middle rope and then to the top, still holding onto the neck of Myers. He pushes off the top rope, back flipping over Matt and driving him down backwards, slamming his head into the mat with The Divine Wind!

 

“Sliced Bread NUMEROOOO TWO!”

 

“The Divine Wind!”

 

Myers rolls around in pain, clutching the back of his head. Spike quickly jumps to his feet, kicks Myers in the head and rolls him over onto his back. The former Cruiserweight Champion runs into the corner, steps through the middle and top rope out onto the apron and begins to ascend to the top rope.

 

“Here we go, Mak!”

 

Spike makes it to the top rope, dodging the cheeseburger that was thrown at him. Spike stands on the rope and lazily leaps off, flipping forward as he lands on top of Myers with a Swanton bomb!

 

“Final Flash!”

 

“I’m running out of commentary here, Mak.”

 

“Just say the name of the move he steals and end it at that.”

 

Spike climbs up to his feet and poses for the crowd once again.

 

“Can we just cut away from this already? Seriously, this match is over!”

 

Spike grabs the near-death Myers by his wig and pulls him up to his feet AGAIN. Trapping him in a front face lock, Spike hooks him for a suplex and lifts him straight into the air…holding Myers up for several seconds…before releasing him and bringing him down with a sit out powerbomb in the middle of the ring!

 

“Blank Bomb! Made famous by the longest reigning ‘Ultraviolent’ Champion, Bruce Blank!”

 

“Spike is really calling out every single person in the Survival of the Fittest, isn’t he?”

 

“Well, that was the sixth finisher he has stolen…only one more to go,” says Mak.

 

Spike jumps to his feet, charges towards the ropes and leaping onto the middle one, propelling himself backwards as he moonsaults back into the ring, landing on top of Myers with a Asai moonsault/Lionsault!

 

“Sky Surfer! The finisher of the man who TRULY deserves the SWF International Championship…Austin Sly!”

 

Spike laughs as he covers the now-dead Matt “Cosplay Master” Myers, driving his forearm into his face.

 

ONE!!!

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!

 

 

 

 

“Finally, we can end this massacre.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE----MYERS KICKS OUT…KIND OF! Spike pulls Myers shoulder up off the mat, surprising not only the crowd, but also the referee!

 

“What the hell is this, King? This is ridiculous!”

 

Spike stands up, holding his face in (fake) shock. He stomps around the ring, asking the audience how Myers kicked out! He (fake) groggily walks over to Myers and falls over onto his back right next to the Cosplayer. Spike reaches over, grabbing Matt’s arm and pulling him over onto Spike…MYERS COVERS SPIKE!

 

 

 

The referee looks on confused, but drops down to make the count.

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE----NO!!!!!!! SPIKE GETS A SHOULDER UP! SPIKE IS A FIGHTING MANS MAN! HE’S HARDCORE! HE’S HARDCORE!

 

“I’m really getting tired of Spike Jenkins parading around here like he owns this place! I hope his first round opponent…I HOPE ANYBODY SHUTS HIM UP!”

 

Spike rolls Myers off of him and climbs up to his feet. Cockily laughing at the crowd, Spike reaches down once more and drags Matt to his feet.

 

“It’s not over yet, Francis!”

 

“What more can he do to the kid? WHAT ELSE IS THERE LEFT TO DO?”

 

Spike pulls Matt up and tucks him in between his legs with a standing head scissors. Spike double under hooks both arms and looks around, as the crowd knows what is coming.

 

“OH COME ON! THIS IS INSANE!” shouts an irate Mak Francis.

 

Spike leaps up into the air, pulling Myers with him and coming back down. The momentum brings Matt down, driving him face first into the mat with an Endwell!

 

“Of course,” cries the infuriated announcer, “He has to end the match with HIS finisher. He couldn’t leave it alone with the OTHER SEVEN HE STOLE!”

 

Spike turns Myers over and climbs up to his feet. He places one foot on the chest of Matt, as he motions for the SWF International Title around his waist.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

*Ding Ding Ding*

 

“I can’t wait till the first round of the Survival of the Fittest! I can’t wait to see one of the seven men that Spike stole their finisher from beats the crap out of him!”

 

“I predict Spike winning the whole thing.”

 

“WHAT?”

 

“This man is a genius,” chuckles the God of Heels, “He makes me proud.”

 

Spike keeps his foot on his chest as the referee comes around to raise his hand. As he does, Spike shouts “INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION” once more at the crowd.

 

“Fans, we have an exciting night for you…and we apologize for what you just witnessed…SPIKE JENKINS BEING AN ASSHOLE!”

 

“Spike Jenkins…my predication to be the NEXT SWF International Champion.”

 

“Ugh,” Mak winces, “I really hope you are wrong, King. I don’t know what I would do if Spike was one step closer to being an SWF Grand Slam Champion.”

 

And in the ring, Spike parades around. After all the trash talking, will he survive the Survival of the Fittest and become the SWF International Champion, taking him one step closer to becoming an SWF Grand Slam Champion?

 

 

 

Only time will tell.

Edited by chirs3

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The crowd cheers loudly as the galaxy’s finest competitors have shown their all, going balls to the wall tonight. The cameras scan the crowd, many tables around the ring flashing, cameras going off. Finally, the camera settles in front of Mak Francis and The Suicide King, SWF’s play-by-play team, as they welcome viewers back to the show.

 

“It’s been a special night,” Mak exclaims, “New talent, amazing matches, and we’re not done here. But before the Cruiserweight Exhibition Match between ‘Iron’ Mike Cross and Grendel is set to continue what has been a stellar line up here tonight, we’ve been told that SWF backstage personality Ben Hardy had a sit down interview with the Cruiserweight Champion earlier today. After last week’s vague comments against the champ’s arch-nemesis and former best friend, Ben Hardy was itching to pick the mind of a very delusional and very angry ‘Iron’ Mike Cross.” Mak finishes and the mic and crowd go silent, the picture fading to black.

 

===========================

 

When the color reemerges, the view of a ring containing two chairs in its center comes into sight. The ring is oddly placed in the center of a large warehouse, dust and dirt biting the air, the heat sweltering. In the chair on the right sits Ben Hardy, legs crossed and looking intrigued by the champion, ‘Iron’ Mike, who sits directly to his right.

 

“Last week was one of the more interesting interviews I’ve given,” Ben cuts in with a slight cough, “And you’ve left me with many questions of which I’ve asked you to this interview in order to get answered.” Mike looks down, belt dangling over his knee, and then looks back at Ben Hardy with a grimace on his face. “Obviously, we’re in a warehouse of sorts, we’re many miles from tonight’s show – what is this place?”

 

“This is my play pen, my yard,” Cross smirks, “It’s where I’ve trained alone until recently, when the SWF’s newest and most impressive rookies agreed to join my fold under the guidance of the greatest manager this federation has ever known, Mr. Kobe. Coupled with intense weather conditions both indoor and outdoor, this warehouse serves as the breeding ground for warriors like me.” Cross adjusts his belt as if to draw attention to the fact that he’s a gold-baring champion.

 

“Onto that strap,” Ben shifts his attention glancing at the Cruiserweight Title, “Several questions deserve answers here, the first being, how do you respond to critics who view you as an unworthy champion, namely Akira Kaibatsu and Zyon who’ve been openly critical of your title reign, something most people would have no trouble believing…?”

 

“Critics,” Cross again smirks, a chuckle evading the answer momentarily, “Everyone’s concerned about critics, concerned about what the public thinks of their champion. The fact of the matter is this, Ben; I am the champion, not a push over, not a failure.” Cross pats his title and glances around insecurely, the tension clearly building.

 

“W-well,” Ben breaks an uncomfortable silence with stammer, “It’s not hard to see why people are critical of you - since you won the belt under questionable pretences you’ve not actually defended it, even losing to Landon Maddix, something many wrestlers backstage viewed as unfitting for a champion. Tonight you’re not defending your belt, and many look to the likes of Tom Flesher, Landon Maddix, or even Zyon as more worthy of your belt and it’s hard to question that kind of a blatant statement. Rumors are circulating that you’re attempting to finagle out of a possible rematch against Zyon who you took to a no-contest not a week ago. What’s your response to all of this, as champion; surely you’ve got something to say.”

 

“First off, Ben,” Cross pauses and his face shifts from insecure to anger and delusion, “I haven’t defended my belt because the guys in the back haven’t called for me to do so.”

 

“That’s a lax way to look at things,” Ben rebuts in defiance, “Many view your inactivity as a result of your finding guys like Trent Hawk and Ciro Vitale to surround you and thus protect your back – understandable, but in spite of their debuts, you took a week off. Scouting talent was the official reason given, but many continue to question even that, going so far as to suggest that you were dodging Zyon in order to get ready for such a match.” This response immediately grabs the champ’s attention, almost sending him into a fit of rage before he settles and shifts in his chair.

 

“And as champion am I not warranted to prepare for such a match,” Mike Cross’ face becomes stern, “Even if that were true, I came out and defended my belt against Zyon, someone I’ve proven I’m capable of beating in the past.”

 

“True,” Ben’s composure switches from that of critical to understanding, “However, that doesn’t clear the rumors circulating that you’re again possibly attempting to dodge Zyon.”

 

“You know what, Ben,” Mike turns and faces his interviewer, “How’s this for a dodge – if Zyon’s got the balls to face me, has the balls to challenge me, we’ll do it in an environment that will leave us with a definite winner. No more of this unfinished business, because at Ground Zero, I think it’s time to shut the mouths of the critics. Hey Zyon,” Cross shouts, turning to the camera, “If you want to run your mouth, if you want to bitch about me being the champion, if you want to believe that I’m dragging the name and value of this title through the mud,” Mike holds the belt up, “Then step up and take this from me, take this belt. In fact, it seems appropriate that if you want to win this thing back so badly that you should seize the opportunity, an opportunity that, should you accept this challenge, will be dangling from a cord some 20 feet in the air at Ground Zero.”

 

“A ladder match,” Ben turns to the champion, impressed by the audacity of such a bold challenge, “Sounds incredible. If I know Zyon, and I know Zyon…” ‘Iron’ Mike cuts off Ben before he nearly accepts the challenge for Zyon.

 

“If you know Zyon,” Mike grapples his belt and then throws it over his shoulder as he stands, “Then you can take this message to him, roll this footage for him, and watch him cower.” Ben looks up at he champ now slightly impressed as ‘Iron’ Mike walks off belt over shoulder as the video feed fades to darkness.

 

===========================

 

The camera feed fades back to the arena, the crowd cheering at the sounds of a ladder match between Zyon and the current Cruiserweight Champion, Mike Cross, at Ground Zero. Panning the crowd, the camera once again settles on Mak Francis and his partner The Suicide King.

 

“Mak,” King cuts in, “I can’t wait to see Zyon’s reaction after he sees what he’s gotten himself into. The little spot monkey can only hope he’s got a prayer’s chance against ‘Iron’ Mike.”

 

“Well, King, this might be just the match Zyon needs to prove that he is worthy of the Cruiserweight Title,” Mak quickly replies informatively, “Zyon is indeed one of the king’s of the spot, King, magnificent to watch and always thoroughly impressive, I think we’ll see a response as early as tonight! If this match doesn’t scream DANGEROUS I don’t know what does, I can’t wait King, I can’t wait!”

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The crowd is loud having just heard ‘Iron’ Mike Cross’ challenge to Zyon for Ground Zero, cameras flashing as Funyon enters the ring cueing to the crowd the start of the next bout. The lights around the ring fade slightly and focus towards Funyon, who stands in a spiffy tuxedo he no doubt rented.

 

“Ladies and gentleman, our next bout for the evening is a Cruiserweight Exhibition, Non-Title match,” Funyon straightens as he turns towards the entrance ramp, “It is scheduled for one fall. Entering first,” Funyon’s voice bellows just before the cash register noises in the opening of Pink Floyd’s ‘Money’, “Weighing in at 228 and standing at six feet even. He is the current SWF Cruiserweight Champion; he is ‘IRON’ MIKE CROSS!”

 

The crowd gives of an overwhelmingly negative response to ‘Iron’ Mike Cross who steps out and into plain sight with his mentor and manager, Mr. Kobe. “Clearly a negative response,” Mak Francis exclaims bluntly, “And you can’t blame the crowd – the disrespect, the negativity, the genuine distaste for the Cruiserweight Champion his been all of his doing.”

 

“What,” demands King openly aligning with ‘Iron’ Mike, “Are you joking? I think we’ve covered this ground a million times – ‘Iron’ Mike Cross was looking out for his own self, he did what he had to for his family so that he could put money on the table, Mak.”

 

“Well,” Mak replies with a slow follow up as ‘Iron’ Mike makes his way down to the ring, shoulders tense and face determined, “I think it’s been said before, and I hate to say this, but the man’s a bastard – he has no family, he had no one to put food on the table for, and he literally lives with Kobe and his training partners The Axis. He wasn’t looking out for anyone else but himself, that makes him greedy, it makes everything he did more wrong than what that bastard Ken Lay did!”

 

“Haha,” King shouts, “If that’s the way you look at it then we shouldn’t be saying that Zyon was screwed, but rather Lay’d!”

 

“That’s disgusting,” Mak spits back, “All those people were ruined and you can crack a joke like that – I usually disagree with everything you say, but this time, you really take the award for absolute prick.” Mak turns his head just as Cross and Kobe are finally in the ring. ‘Iron’ Mike hands off the belt to Kobe as he unzips his red and black striped zip up hooded sweatshirt and begins to stretch.

 

“I might be a prick, but I’m rich and successful prick,” King finally replies as the lights focus back to the entrance and Funyon who stands by ready to welcome ‘Iron’ Mike’s opponent, Grendel.

 

“Now entering,” Funyon again bellows as Evanescence’s ‘Bring Me to Life’ begins to bring the crowd to life, “Hailing from the Manhattan section of New York City, New York, weighing in at 220 pounds and standing at six feet one inch, he is ‘THE ASSASIN’ GRENDEL!” The crowd lights up for tonight’s opposition against ‘Iron’ Mike.

 

“This man could pose a real threat down the line,” Mak implies proudly, “With the upcoming challengers of possibly Zyon, Tom Flesher, and Landon Maddix, a match against Grendel might not be far off if he can manage to defeat the champion similar to the way Landon Maddix did. You have to believe that an opportunity like that would surely be icing on the cake, as he stands a prominent chance of facing his current rival, Tom Flesher, if he does indeed win some sort of contendership”

 

“That’s right,” King agrees confidently behind Tom in spite of Grendel, who now stands before the ring, “Tom Flesher has declared his dominance in the past, it’s not shock that in the current line up of challengers that he is indeed the favorite.”

 

In the ring, ‘Iron’ Mike looks down at his opponent and then loses it as he chucks his hooded sweatshirt, inciting the referee to step in and pull the champion away from his non-title challenger here tonight. The crowd continues to boo until Grendel picks up the hooded sweatshirt and zips it up over himself, forcing laughter from the crowd as he does his best physical portrayal of the angry 21 year old.

 

“Brilliant mind games by Grendel who has a very loose composure about him,” Mak Francis replies with a chuckle and tone-approval, “While he’s revered certainly for his physical abilities in the ring by the crowd, tonight they’re behind him 100% for his physical abilities to portray a man who they so solemnly hate. Brilliant tactic, I almost guarantee this will effect the way ‘Iron’ Mike wrestles against his opponent, which may or may not be a good thing for Grendel.”

 

“What a moron,” King slumps back into his chair with a frown like a child denied a spiffy new toy, “The only thing you should be guaranteeing is the beating that ‘Iron’ Mike hands this twat for that little stunt there.”

 

Back in the ring, Kobe calms Mike down in the corner. Mike eyes Grendel as he steps into the ring, a grimacing frown showing his remorse for the act displayed earlier by his opponent. Grendel unzips the sweatshirt and tosses it to the crowd outside the guard rail who throw it back with laughter as Grendel plays to them, raising his hands in question silently. Across from him, Grendel’s opponent stairs him down and then charges full force throwing fists that knock down ‘The Assasin’ placing him in a fetal position in the corner as ‘Iron’ Mike lays on a series of uncalled for and vicious boots.

 

“See,” King holds out his hand with his other on his hip, “There was nothing ‘brilliant’ about those mind games, Mak, now he’s on the receiving end of the wrath of ‘Iron’ Mike!” King’s words seemingly persuade the Cruiserweight Champion to take it to the next step, dropping down and thrusting his opponent out of the ring with a hard dropkick. The referee signals the time keeper to ring the bell.

 

DING.

 

DING.

 

DING.

 

“Hey,” Mak shouts out almost in glee, “We’re now officially under way. And in regards to your comment, King, this ‘Iron’ Mike, while offensively more dangerous, leaves him far more prone to errors the can lead to his downfall – we’ve seen it before, when you can knock Mike out of his game plan, he’ll fight you fist for fist, even if you have a size and power advantage. It’s definitely his Achilles’ Heel, and if Grendel can seize even a moment’s opportunity, he’ll take care of ‘Iron’ Mike in one fell swoop.”

 

Back to the action, and ‘Iron’ Mike awaits Grendel inside the confines of the squared circle. Outside that very ring, Grendel takes a knee, getting back his baring before taking on the very tough, ‘Iron’ Mike Cross.

 

“What’re you waiting for, kid,” King shouts aloud, questioning the Champion’s tactics, “Get going, knock that little spot-monkey out!”

 

And just like that, Mike follows up, running at the ropes and launching through them with a masterfully performed Suicide Dive, thrusting his elbow into the masked face of Grendel, sending him folding backward and into the guard rail with a metallic…

 

CLUUUUUUUNK!

 

“Yes,” shouts the Suicide King, “Yes, now throw him back in the ring and knock him around some more, kid!”

 

“I can’t argue with that strategy,” exclaims Mak, impressed by the high-risk offensive move by Mike, “If you can keep Grendel grounded and maintain offensive dominance, this will be a cake-walk for the champion – continuing with this high impact and high risk offense is a major risk for the champion.”

 

Outside the ring, Mike hops back to his feet, going so far to proclaim his greatness as arguing with a fan directly in front of him, nearly coming to blows before a security official lugs the fan off into the distance. The altercation gives Grendel just enough time to recover from the dive, pulling ‘Iron’ Mike back from the fence and into the steal steps just feet in front of him. Grendel stumbles back up awkwardly, gaining a new position over his opponent as he takes it to him with multiple strikes rendering him momentarily paralyzed against the steps. Mike pushes his opponent forward, stumbling slightly, allowing Grendel to rebound delivering a swiftly placed jumping side kick that up-ends the champion over the steps awkwardly, much to the crowd’s delight.

 

“What a strike,” proclaims Mak Francis with zip in his tone, “A clean kick sends ‘Iron’ Mike up and over the steps, sending him to the right of the ring. Grendel better hurry up and get his opponent in there, the referee is now up to 15 on his count,” Mak, the crowd, and the competitors now acknowledging the 20 count being in effect, “Don’t be fooled, while this bout might not be a title match, the Cruiserweight Rules are still in effect – that means a definite 20 count and no dumping your opponent over the top.”

 

“It’s a good thing this think isn’t an over the top rope battle royal,” King sits back in his chair, upset as he watches Grendel roll the champion into the ring, “Stupid spot monkey with his kick…”

 

The crowd cheers as Grendel plays to them, the referee backing off the action as both men are now into the center of the ring. ‘Iron’ Mike gets to his knee before Grendel is back on him throwing more kicks and more punches, only stalling the champion as he rises back to his feet. Both men are face to face now, exchanging blows back and forth. Grendel’s come off faster as he backs Cross up a step before he’s caught with a cheap blow to the nose that sends him stumbling back in aid of his injury. Mike takes the advantage and presses forward, continuing to throw strikes as he presses him against the ropes. He grabs his and, pulling it away from his nose, throwing him across to the set of ropes directly in front of them. Grendel turns mid-throw and launches Cross hard into them. ‘Iron’ Mike bounces back as Grendel hits the mat, Cross forced to jump him as he rebounds again, only to be met with a drop toe hold, sending his face hard into the mat. The crowd applauds, but Grendel isn’t done, continuing to force the action as he turns and grabs hold of his opponent’s head, holding him tightly in a front headlock. Grendel steps up to his feet, bringing up ‘Iron’ Mike with him. He pulls hard, constricting the neck, as he leans back and slings the champion over his head for a nice looking suplex aided by the front headlock. He holds the lock and bridges, rotating backward into a sitting position as he folds his legs over the head of his opponent and drops him into a seated Triangle Chock, the crowd cheering loudly now as the hated of the two is put into a precarious position.

 

“What an amazing show of flexibility there by Grendel,” exclaims Francis, “And this sort of strategy is one we did not expect to see from him – unique, though, it has the potential to ground a more offensively dangerous ‘Iron’ Mike.”

 

“I though Mike Cross was the one who was supposed to ground his opponent,” King frets slightly, bringing up Mak’s previous strategic suggestions, “C’mon Mak, we all know it doesn’t matter what strategy is used – spot monkeys will be spot monkeys, and in the end, the man who was supposed to win will win! And that man is always going to be whoever faces Grendel!”

 

“Well, that’s one incredibly close-minded way to look at it,” Mak replies as Cross grapples with his predicament in the center of the ring attempting to break the hold, “But if you don’t have strategy, King, then it’s almost impossible the be the best man. But I don’t expect you to understand that.”

 

THUD!

 

“WOW,” Mak shouts in response.

 

“What a counter!”

 

Despite being driven down via a powerbomb, Grendel’s legs continue to constrict around the head of ‘Iron’ Mike, the head now starting to die as the blood continues to cut off from the brain. ‘Iron’ Mike stumbles before dragging Grendel back up into the air, his legs still constricting. He stumbles forward again, faster this time as he rolls towards the corner. He drops Grendel down and smashes his head against the second turnbuckle, nearly obliterating himself in the process of nearly decapitating his opponent. Still, Grendel clutches to the submission hold and yet again Cross fights fainting, dragging him back into the air. He turns and faces the center of the ring, stumbles yet again until he catches his stability in the center of the ring, Kobe shouting outside of the ring. Cross holds Grendel up for a second before he gives in and drops him down onto his own knee, sending his head whip lashing backwards as both men go limp in the center of the ring, breathing hard.

 

“Simply amazing display there,” Mak breaks the silence as the crowd stands anxious to see movement, “Both men refused to give in until both were damaged stamina-wise to the point of giving in!”

 

“Stamina ain’t a problem,” shouts King anxious as ‘Iron’ Mike moves, “This man is a machine, Mak!”

 

Back in the ring, Mike stands to his feet holding a hand to his head as Grendel squirms, rubbing his back. The referee backs away as ‘Iron’ Mike moves in for the kill, pulling Grendel’s mask as means to get him back to his feet. He whips Grendel against the rope, but on the way he falls to his knees, warranting a cocky pose from the Cruiserweight Champion who holds up his arms in self-glory. He walks behind Grendel and smacks him upside the head, only to be met with a digging elbow in the gut that sends him stumbling back, Grendel hopping to his feet as the crowd erupts in cheers.

 

“GRENDEL!”

 

“GRENDEL!”

 

“GRENDEL!”

 

Grendel stalks over to Cross, stops for a moment to pose and point at the crowd, and then continues over to his opponent, the crowd laughing and cheering in response. Grendel pushes him back into the corner and holds him back with one arm before digging in with several elbows that force him into a defensive shell. ‘Iron’ Mike wards off the offensive strikes from his opponent and then pushes him forward, only for Grendel to jump at him in another attempt to behead him with his favorite jumping side kick. ‘Iron’ Mike scouts it well, ducking and sending his opponent into a crotched position over the top rope.

 

“Ouch,” exclaims Mak loudly, “Mike Cross better be careful, his opponent is in a position that could render a disqualification!”

 

Ignoring the regards of Mak Francis, ‘Iron’ Mike walks up behind Grendel, whose mask hides the pain no doubt leaking out of him through his expression. Mike cheap shots Grendel in the back of the head and then pulls him back, quickly draping his arm over his neck. The Champion signals with a cut throat before he lifts Grendel in the air awkwardly turning and then sitting. Grendel’s legs catch on the ropes, slanting his body as his head as nearly snapped off with what appears to be a nastily botched Silent Rage Syndrome, rendering him limp.

 

“OOOOOOOOH!”

 

“NO WAY,” Mak shouts aloud in shock, “An utterly dangerous drop, I’m surprised Grendel still has his head!”

 

“Make the cover! Make the cover!”

 

Following the guidance of The Suicide King, ‘Iron’ Mike Cross leans backward, draping his arm over his opponent’s body as the referee slides down and slaps his hand to the mat for the count.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“HOW THE HELL,” shouts King in shock, “HOW THE HELL?!”

 

“HE GOT HIS FOOT ON THE ROPE,” Mak’s voice echoes aloud, “Grendel shocks the crowd and anyone who is watching – words can’t describe the kind of heart a man has to have to continue after taking a move like that. ‘Iron’ Mike has now got to get it together and continue to work towards a three count that he has failed to move his opponent away from the ropes – he is livid!”

 

In the ring ‘Iron’ Mike Cross gives the referee an earful, making sure he hears every grievance and foul word he can get out. Kobe runs to the action and shouts at ‘Iron’ Mike who fails to listen, his opponent Grendel being given ample time to get his bearings and stability back. Grendel utilizes it, managing to drag himself out of the ring.

 

CRAAAAAACK!

 

While the referee was distracted, Kobe snuck over and laid out Grendel with a well placed shot with the Cruiserweight Belt, dropping him.

 

“THAT SON OF A BITCH,” Mak yells out in anger as Kobe drags Grendel back to his feet, rolling him back into the ring, “He just couldn’t stay out of the contest, and he couldn’t keep his god damn hands off of Grendel!”

 

“PIN HIM,” shout both King and Kobe, grabbing the attention of ‘Iron’ Mike who turns his attention back to Grendel, unaware of the action taken outside of the ring. Mike flops down onto Grendel as the referee drops down onto his knees for the count.

 

 

ONE…!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO….!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE….NOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“DAMNIT,” shouts King just before Kobe loses it outside the ring kicking the Cruiserweight Belt into the ground and stomping in anger.

 

“GRENDEL, GRENDEL, GRENDEL!”

 

“Again,” Mak says taking a deep breath in relaxation, “A near fall that Grendel managed to evade, what heart, what athleticism, smiling in the face of failure at the hands of that son of a bitch, Kobe!”

 

Kobe picks up the belt and remains cool as ‘Iron’ Mike is now distracted by Kobe’s presence, confused as to what just happened. He looks at the belt and back at Kobe, curious, and again making the mistake of leaving his opponent time to regain composure. Kobe looks up and shouts at his warrior to get back to work. Before ‘Iron’ Mike can turn around, Grendel is already backing to his feet, albeit wobbly, but still back to his feet and moving. Mike turns and is grappled into a Northern Lights Suplex that shakes the ring. Grendel holds ‘Iron’ Mike there for a moment before popping his hips and getting back to his feet, ‘Iron’ Mike and all. Before Grendel can drop Cross with another Northern Lights Suplex, his opponent drives several knees up and into the gut. Grendel loosens his grip and Cross manages to lift him up into a powerbomb, balancing Grendel over his shoulder. ‘Iron’ Mike turns to the center of the ring, but is already fought off by ‘The Assasin’ who slips over the shoulder and lands on his feet. Grendel steps forward and then rears his heel into the back of ‘Iron’ Mike, sending him stumbling into the ropes. Mike hits the ropes and stumbles backward into Grendel, who turns and lifts him up onto his shoulders.

 

“VENGEANCE,” shouts Mak, “This is all it takes, Grendel can put Cross away for the three count!”

 

But before Grendel can figuratively assassinate his opponent, he slips off his shoulders and lands on his feet behind him. ‘Iron’ Mike returns the favor, driving his boot back into Grendel who stumbles in a similar manor. Mike refuses to wait as he runs at his stumbling opponent, charging him into the ropes and rolling backward. As he rolls back around to his feet he quickly pulls Grendel up with him, The Assassins’ legs catching around his opponent’s waist. ‘Iron’ Mike wraps his right arm over the top of Grendel’s right shoulder and goes under his left with his other arm, meeting below the chin and pulling up.

 

“What is that,” King demands to know, “It’s like an abdominal stretch from a wheel barrow position!”

 

“That’s exactly how I’d describe that move,” Mak replies in shock, “That hold is perfectly applied, and Grendel’s ribs and back are being stretched beyond human limits!”

 

Pulling harder, Grendel grunts, the referee in his face, asking if he wants to give up. Grendel neglects a response as Cross continues to torque back, bending the body of Grendel with him, arching his back gruesomely. Grendel continues to endure, kicking his legs helplessly as all of his limbs are stuck, useless in aiding him to break the hold. ‘Iron’ Mike loses his patience and switches his hold on Grendel, looping his arm up and over the back of the neck of Grendel, locking him in a full nelson. Grendel’s back appears to be disgustingly arched, the referee looking concerned as he seriously considers stopping the bout. But before he can signal to the time keeper, Grendel manages to loosen his leg, dropping down to his feet as ‘Iron’ Mike struggles to keep up with his opponent who stumbles forward. As he follows slowly behind, ‘Iron’ Mike has yet another deep-digging elbow driven into his sternum that sends him stumbling back. Grendel continues going forward, followed at a distance by his opponent. ‘The Assasin’ springs onto the ropes and turns in mid-air, springing forward at ‘Iron’ Mike who is caught and then buried into the canvas with a DEVISTATING DDT that shocks the crowd.

 

THUUUUUUUUUUUUUD, OOOOOOH!

 

“NO WAY,” Mak Francis’ voice nearly cracks, “What a move, what a move!”

 

“Spot Monkey!”

 

Grendel uses his new found wind to his advantage, rolling back to his feet before his opponent can stumble back to his own. He charges at Cross, now leaning in the corner. Holding his arms out in defense, Cross pushes the charging Grendel up and over the ropes. Thinking he’s out of trouble, despite Grendel landing on the apron, a dizzy ‘Iron’ Mike stumbles forward to the center of the ring. Grendel springs up and onto the third rope, launching forward and rolling, catching his arm around his opponent’s neck and sitting HARD onto the mat.

 

SNAAAAAAPTHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!

 

“OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!”

 

The crowd’s shouts warrant the response, Grendel managing to spring over his opponent, flipping forward and catching his opponent with his finisher in BLOCKBUSTER~! form.

 

“That’s gotta be it,” Mak’s voice rings in desperation, “Grendel showing his ability to fly there, I still can’t believe he hit Grendel’s Curse from that position with such a range!”

 

Grendel takes a second to regain his composure, his aching chest not letting up, his tailbone nearly broken from the last move, body tired all over. He finally turns and rolls over ‘Iron’ Mike to make the cover. The referee slides into position as cameras flash rapid fire around the ring.

 

 

 

 

 

ONE…!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOO……..!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“YES,” the voice of King shouts aloud, “YES!”

 

“There’s just no way!”

 

“FUCK YOU CROSS!”

 

“FUCK YOU CROSS!”

 

“FUCK YOU CROSS!”

 

Kobe slumps, almost having had a heart attack from the near fall. Grendel looks over to the referee in the aftermath, almost confused that he was still unable to put away ‘Iron’ Mike. He looks around before sitting up and getting back to his feet, leaning back against the ropes as he catches his breath. Finally he goes back over to ‘Iron’ Mike, lifting him by his sweaty hair, his body also appearing to be tired. The referee turns to the action in time as ‘Iron’ Mike sweeps a leg on Grendel and turns him backward into a roll up, sliding down for the count.

 

 

 

 

 

ONE…!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOO…!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEENO!

 

 

“HOW CLOSE,” Mak breaths a deep breath, again a near fall catching almost everyone off guard, “Mike Cross nearly put away his opponent with a roll up!”

 

Grendel springs back up to his feet as if the pin never took place and then waits for his opponent to catch up, which he eventually does. ‘Iron’ Mike stumbles slightly as Grendel runs at the ropes. He springs onto the second and then dives back with an elbow. ‘Iron’ Mike throws caution to the wind and manages to oddly catch his opponent in mid flight, stumbling back and tossing him backward and onto his head.

 

CRAAAAAAAAAAACK, OHHHHHH!!!

 

“That’s gotta be all,” Mak says yet again, “How in the hell do you stop ‘Iron’ Mike Cross, he’s still stumbling around the ring, performing as best as he’s ever, after taking what most would consider a knock-out capable move that nearly broke his neck! Of course, the same could be said for Grendel!”

 

Grendel stumbles back to his feet and into the arms of ‘Iron’ Mike who also quickly stumbled back to his feet, Grendel’s head wobbling as he does so. ‘Iron’ Mike lets him fall into his arms before locking in a Full Nelson and dropping him down to his stomach, mounting him and stretching out his stomach.

 

“That’s it,” King shouts, “THE IRON CROSS!”

 

“I can’t imagine Grendel can keep going much longer, he’s been worked on in a previous submission that took a lot out of him; I can’t imagine he’ll find an escape,” Mak’s voice lowers, “What a match, though, King!”

 

But just as Mak finishes his sentence, Grendel begins swatting with his forearms, catching ‘Iron’ Mike’s eye and causing him to shrill aloud. The referee misses the call and Grendel manages to squirm up and back onto his feet. Mike keeps up, the former Suicide Machine refusing to let go. Grendel makes a run at the ropes and manages to get both feet on them, the referee demanding that Mike break the hold. But Mike refuses; he drags Grendel backward, his legs caught in the ropes. He slows for a second, and then thrust back, pulling Grendel free and folding back, dropping him on his head.

 

“DEVIL’S SOUL SNARE,” Mak shouts in a high-pitched tone, “A THROW-BACK!”

 

“YES, THIS IS IT!”

 

The referee slides into position and slaps his hand to the mat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE…!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

 

The lights focus on the center of the ring as Funyon and Kobe both make their way into the center. ‘Iron’ Mike lets go of his opponent and then manages to get dragged back to his feet. Kobe hands Cross his belt and dirty sweatshirt, lifting his arm into the air as beads of sweat roll down his chest.

 

“HERE’S YOUR WINNER,” Funyon’s voice bellows behind cash register noises, “THE SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION, ‘IRON’ MIKE CROSS!”

 

“Damn,” Mak relaxes, the crowd giving a resounding boo to the champion, “What a match, King, what a match, and to think we’ve got more to come!”

 

“I can’t say enough about ‘Iron’ Mike,” King’s voice replies with a tone of happiness, “This win should showcase what he’s really about – power offense, hard hitting moves; the man’s a machine! Zyon better watch his back, I think accepting this challenge could be the end of his career!”

 

“Maybe,” Mak replies quietly, “Maybe…”

 

Fade out!

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“I’m telling you Mak, all those stars over there went nova and spelt out the word ‘penis’,” Suicide King is saying as the show comes back from commercial break, “I’ll show it to you next time arou-”

 

“HEY, and welcome back to SWF Storm,” Mak Francis greets the returning viewers to interrupt his commentary partner, the ever-present ice-blue Oakleys shielding the Franchise’s eyes from the world and proving that even half-paralysed in a wheelchair, it’s still possible to be damn cool, “coming up next we have a tag team bout that’s sure to be something to remember, although whether for the in-ring action or seeing one team self-destruct… well, we’ll have to see.”

 

“I have to tell you Mak, I’m a little confused about this whole affair,” the Suicide King says.

 

“You mean why Joseph Peters has apparently taken a dislike to Michael Stephens, not only forcing him into defending against JJ Johnson at Ground Zero when the World Champion stated that he feels Va’aiga deserves the first shot, but also now making him team with his enemy Landon Maddix based solely on rather suspect ratings figures dredged up from a couple of years ago?” the Franchise queries shrewdly.

 

“No. The New Doomtopians suck, Maddix sucks, and Toxxic’s fooling the morons by playing a wishy-washy shadow of his former self,” King responds, “I can’t decide who to be biased in favour of.”

 

“Well, you could try calling it down the line,” Mak suggests, a hint of eyebrow movement suggesting that he’s rolling his eyes behind the shades.

 

“Sorry, no can do,” the Gambling Man laments, “it’s in the contract. Maybe I can be biased in favour of me.”

 

With that, the lights turn green and Incredibad’s ‘Just 2 Guyz’ starts up while the crowd rises to its feet in appreciation of the former Tag Team Champions; moments later, Jimmy The Doom and the Doomstroyer (accompanied as ever by Lois the Unethical) make their way out. Doom seems a little morose following the loss of his title and the resulting drop in national recognition for Doomtopia and as a display of mourning is wearing his knee socks at half-mast; the Doomstroyer, in contrast, is simply striding down to the ring like a big angry man wearing a mask.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall,” Funyon booms, “introducing first, from Doomtopia and accompanied to the ring by Lois the Unethical; weighing in at a combined weight of 515lbs, they are SWF Hardcore Champion Jimmy The Doom and the Doomstroyer… THE NEEEWWWWWWWWWW… DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM-TO-PI-AAAANNNNNNSSSSSSS!!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Jimmy The Doom smiles and waves to the fans while shouting encouraging phrases in mangled English; the Doomstroyer stomps up the steps and into the ring, then strides around like a veritable monolith of destruction just waiting to be unleashed. Or, then again, like a big angry man in a mask.

 

“OK Francis, I’ve gotta admit,” King says, “it’s teams like this that make me question the SWF’s drug policy.”

 

“You’re saying you think the Doomstroyer’s on steroids?” Mak queries, appalled at the notion.

 

“No,” King says, looking thoughtfully into the Styrofoam cup beside him, “I wanna know who’s been spiking my damn coffee, and with what.”

 

However, barring a complete molecular analysis the Heartbreaker’s curiosity is destined to go unanswered, because he’s cut off by a rolling, raucous chant that echoes out through Milliways…

 

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

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

 

…but then instead of segueing into ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire it instead jumps to ‘The Game’ by Disturbed!

 

‘Tell me exactly, what am I supposed to do

Now that I have allowed you, to beat me!

Do you think that we could play another game

Maybe I could win this ti-ime…’

 

Half the audience react positively and half negatively, and as a result the SWF’s newest tag team comes out to a rather mixed reaction. On one side of the entrance ramp is Landon Maddix, posturing and smirking at the fans while Megan Skye primps beside him; on the other is Michael Stephens with the World Title around his waist and his sister Amy hovering behind him, swigging from a can of Stella Artois in the hope that it’ll heal some of the bruises she took from Spike Jenkins earlier this evening. As the two former-and-possibly-still enemies stand side-by-side on the ramp Stephens catches Landon’s eye and jerks a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the music coming out of the speakers. A trained lip-reader might be able to make some words out…

 

(‘OK, that sounded bloody shite.’)

 

…and with that, the pair start to make their way down to the ring, not looking at each other any more than necessary. Once at the bottom Landon hops up to the apron and waits for Megan to climb the steps and hold the ropes open for him; Stephens just rolls underneath the bottom rope while Amy leans on the ringpost, clearly not bothered enough about her brother’s match to get in the ring again this evening.

 

“And their opponents,” Funyon booms, “accompanied to the ring by Megan Skye and Amy Stephens and at a combined weight of 442lbs, the team of Landon ‘La Cucaracha’ Maddix…”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“…and the SWF World Heavyweight Champion, MIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Maddix glares over at his partner as the crowd cheers, while Megan removes his coat; Stephens hands the World Title over to referee Brian Warner and then removes his personalised England soccer shirt, not paying his tag partner any mind.

 

“I think this match could come down to a question of slick teaming abilities vs. individual skill,” Mak Francis notes, “the New Doomtopians are former tag champions and have been teaming for some time; Maddix and Stephens have never tagged together before in any situation and quite possibly still hate each other, but if they can get along then two men with six World Title reigns between them are nothing to take lightly.”

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

The opening bell goes… and finds the Doomstroyer ready to start for the New Doomtopians, but Stephens and Maddix both still in the ring. Both go to step outside… then stop, and both go to approach their hulking opponent… then both stop again and glare at each other. Maddix gestures angrily first to the apron and then towards the Doomstroyer, indicating that Stephens should make up his mind; the World Champion responds by shrugging, implying that he doesn’t really care who starts the match, but that Maddix should hurry up and do something soon.

 

“Great teamwork,” King says, “fantastic. I can almost smell the gold already.”

 

The Doomstroyer is now just standing watching the two cruiserweights discussing matters between themselves while Brian Warner has apparently decided to waive the five-count for the moment in the hope of getting some sort of consensus. Finally it appears decided, and Stephens steps out to the apron while Maddix turns around to approach the Doomstroyer.

 

“Here we go,” Mak Francis says… and Maddix stops.

 

He looks up at the big masked man in front of him.

 

He looks from side-to-side, as if to check that yes, he really is that wide.

 

Then he turns around and heads back to his corner, reaching out to tag the bewildered Michael Stephens before stepping out to the apron. Stephens looks at him in confusion with a side order of fed-upness (it’s a word, damn it), and Maddix gestures for the World Champion to ‘go get him’! Stephens rolls his eyes with some mouthed imprecation that the lip-reader from earlier would do well not to look too closely at, and steps through the ropes while Landon applauds noisily.

 

“Finally,” King sighs, “let’s get this over with.”

 

The Doomstroyer stands there, waiting for the carnage to commence, but Michael Stephens has beaten Carnage in the past and isn’t going to be intimidated by another masked monster; instead of circling cagily and looking for an opening the Englishman simply accelerates without warning before leaving his feet to smash a basement dropkick into the Doomstroyer’s right knee!

 

*CRACK!*

 

The huge man staggers, caught off-guard by the speed of his opponent and unbalanced by Stephens’ attack on his leg, but the World Champion gives him no time to recover and scrambles back to his feet before leaping up to deliver a dropkick of more conventional height into the Doomstroyer’s chest. Again Mike’s big opponent staggers but doesn’t leave his feet, prompting the Englishman to get back up and run for the ropes, rebounding to leap into the air and hit a spinning heelkick that catches the Doomstroyer on the jaw… but again fails to knock him down! However, the cream of Doomtopia’s special forces appears rocked by the flurry of high-speed offence and unable to respond, meaning that Stephens can get up from his vulnerable position on the mat and run for the ropes one more time, again bouncing off and accelerating before leaving his feet to deliver another spinning heelkick.

 

Sadly, this time the Doomstroyer catches Stephens’ legs as they strike his chest, and instead of being knocked off his feet the huge man falls forward and partially sideways to crush Stephens beneath him with an ugly but hugely effective spinebuster!

 

*CONGLOMERATE!*

 

Given that he’s landed on top of his opponent, the Doomstroyer evidently decides that it would be churlish not to make a cover while he’s there…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TW-

-but even with the wind knocked out of him, it’s going to take more than a spinebuster to keep the World Champion down for long. Opinions may vary over whether Brian Warner got the second count or not, but whatever the truth Stephens was certainly out very shortly afterwards and the match will continue.

 

“Small man hits big man to no effect,” Suicide King smirks, “gets squashed.”

 

“Big man runs away and tags out,” Francis counters as the slightly-dazed Doomstroyer rolls towards his corner and reaches up to tag in Jimmy The Doom.

 

“He’s not running,” King argues, “that was a highly-reasoned tactical… wait, what the hell am I saying? He’s not running, no, because he hasn’t got the sense to run! Yeah, that’s it!”

 

“So you’re saying that he should be running from Stephens?” Mak asks, “that the World Champion is that impressive?”

 

“…leave me alone,” King sulks, trying to work out who he’s cheering for. Meanwhile Jimmy The Doom is in the ring, and the Straight-Bread Sensation wastes no time in circling and looking for an opening. Instead he strides straight in and, with Stephens now up in a sitting position, clamps on the dreaded HEAD VICE~!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Michael Stephens’ face screws up, not in extreme pain but rather in extreme annoyance. The SWF’s resident lipreader may be able to discern something along the lines of ‘Ow… what the bloody hell?’ emanating from the World Champion’s mouth, while Jimmy spreads his feet wide to get the maximum leverage on his hold (or something). As the Hardcore Champion nods his head vigorously looking around at the crowd , clearly anticipating a submission any moment, Mike reaches up to try and detach Doom’s hands from his skull… and at that moment Landon rushes in, delivering a forearm shot to the back of Jimmy’s head to break up the potentially match-winning situation! Doom staggers, involuntarily releasing his grip, then rounds on Landon who suddenly realises that Jimmy’s head is probably the hardest point of his body. Faced with a bristling moustache Landon retreats a step, then recalls his last match against Tom Flesher and thumbs Jimmy in the eye!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Warner intervenes and Landon scurries back to his corner, then starts pounding on the top buckle and desperately stretches out his hand, trying to motivate his partner to make a Herculean effort and get there to make the tag… and Michael Stephens, who’s now got up from the floor and looked at the blinded Doom with vague confusion, strolls over to Landon while shaking his head at his partner’s antics, and tags him.

 

“LAN-DON SUCKS!”

 

“LAN-DON SUCKS!”

 

Whatever the crowd’s mixed opinions on the team of Maddix and Stephens, they know that they definitely don’t like Landon. Not that La Cucaracha minds all that much, as he advances on Jimmy the Doom’s unprotected back and… shoves him. Doom turns around, focuses with his non-watering eye on his opponent and lashes out with a palmstrike, but Landon ducks and counters with the Complete Shot!

 

*BANG!*

 

“Maddix demonstrating his speed and technique there,” Francis says, “but he could have utilised that opportunity much better. Instead he showed off by making Doom take a swing so he could counter it, instead of taking the sensible route and-”

 

“-attacking from behind,” Suicide King nods, “glad to see you’re talking sense, Mak.”

 

With Jimmy the Doom facedown on the mat and momentarily immobilised, there’s only one thing that Landon’s going to do.

 

You know it…

 

 

 

You love it…

 

 

 

Yup. A Cravate.

 

“BORRRRRR-ING!”

 

“BORRRRRR-ING!”

 

Landon grins as he cinches the hold in, flashing an encouraging smile at his tag team partner who glances at the ceiling in despair. Maddix’s face takes on a vaguely hurt expression… which is rapidly replaced by a surprised one as Jimmy starts to surge upwards! La Cucaracha tries to lock his hold in tighter but his efforts are in vain as Jimmy proves resistant to the pressure on his skull and continues his progress towards a vertical base. In desperation Landon tries to halt him when he gets to the ‘bent double’ position, then lashes upwards with a kick to the face!

 

*SMACK!*

 

It seems to work, so Maddix grabs the back of Jimmy’s head and fires off a few more for the hell of it!

 

*SMACK!*

 

*SMACK!*

 

*SMACK!*

 

*SMACK!*

 

*SMACK!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“They don’t like restholds, now they boo high-impact strikes,” King sneers, looking around at the crowd, “do they know what they like?”

 

“Yes they do,” Mak counters, “and it isn’t Landon Maddix.”

 

“Can’t fault them then,” the Gambling Man shrugs.

 

Jimmy has been rocked by the kicks, but he’s a Doomtopian hardass and he’s not going over. Landon’s response is to place the still doubled-over Doom into a standing headscissors, then underhook both arms…

 

‘OI!’

 

Maddix looks around to see Stephens glowering at him, and with his tag team partner insistent that that’s his move, thank you very much, Maddix releases the arms and instead of delivering a Maddix Shock Syndrome just jumps on the spot to wrench Jimmy’s neck. He then opens his legs (easy tiger) to allow Jimmy to extract his head, then as the Hardcore Champion straightens up rubbing his neck Landon pastes him in the face with a superkick, finally dropping him to the canvas! La Cucaracha dives on top for a cover as Megan applauds at ringside…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Jimmy kicks out moments after two! Landon grabs Jimmy’s moustache and starts dragging him up to his feet by it to the consternation not only of Doom but also the referee, then fires off a knife-edge chop!

 

*SMACK!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Landon looks around in confusion, expecting a slightly different crowd response. With an air of experimentation, he does it again.

 

*SMACK!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Nope, still no ‘WHOO!’ for the perplexed Cockroach. Landon seems to give it up as a bad job and turns to run for the ropes, bouncing off them to charge back at Jimmy The Doom… but the Hardcore Champion suddenly explodes into life, scooping up the onrushing Dakotan and twirling him through the air before dropping him down into a TILT-A-WHIRL INVERTED ATOMIC DROP~!

 

“Lame,” King sighs as Landon hops backwards, clutching at his groinal area, but Doom isn’t going to let up and fires a sharp jab to the throat!

 

“Hand of Doom!” Mak barks.

 

“Not as bad as Manos: Hands of Fate!” King counters. Landon is definitely staggered now and Jimmy reaches out to grab La Cucaracha around the neck with both hands before hoisting him off his feet, then sitting down and driving Maddix backfirst into the mat with the Jimmy Bomb!

 

*EPIGLOTTIS!*

 

Since he’s there and Landon’s shoulders are on the mat, Jimmy figures he might as well apply a pin and so he does; hardly a textbook cover, since it consists of leaning forward and pressing down on Landon’s chest with both hands, but you never know your luck…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but on this occasion luck is not with the Straight-Bread Sensation and Landon kicks out. Doom, despite his truly odd dress sense, is still a consummate mat tactician (honest) and knows that the secret to successful tag wrestling is keeping a fresh man in the ring at all times. As a result he gets up, grabs one of Landon’s arms and hauls the winded Cockroach towards the Corner of Doom where the Doomstroyer is waiting. The big man reaches out for the tag, which Jimmy duly provides, then as he gets into the ring he scoops his fellow Straight-Breader up into what appears to be a scoop slam position. However, once Doom is upside down the Doomstroyer instead positions him over Landon’s chest, then drops to his knees and piledrives his tag team partner into Maddix’s sternum!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“…OK, that’s gotta be one of the oddest doubleteams I’ve ever seen,” Suicide King says, looking suspiciously at his coffee once more.

 

“But effective,” Francis returns as Landon rolls away clutching his ribs and Jimmy, seemingly none the worse for wear for the impact, steps out through the ropes. Meanwhile the Doomstroyer casually drops one massive leg over Landon’s throat and then stays there for the pin…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Landon kicks out again, causing the Doomstroyer to make an annoyed growling noise. The big masked man hoists Landon to his feet and Irish whips the former leader of Cucaracha Internacional into the corner, then follows him in with a crushing avalance!

 

*BAMBOOZLE!*

 

Landon staggers out, swinging phantom punches; the Doomstroyer sees his chance and hurries to his corner, then tags Jimmy in. No sooner has the Straight-Bread Sensation stepped into the ring than the Doomstroyer picks him up and charges straight at Landon! Doom lashes out with a snap kick, and Maddix takes it full in the chest!

 

*EPICENTRE!*

 

Landon lands flat on his back and Doomstroyer roars in delight, turning around to milk the crowd for applause. However, after a second or so a tapping on his arm reminds him that he’s still carrying Jimmy, so he puts his fellow Doomtopian down and steps out of the ring. Meanwhile Doom heads over and covers Landon again…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but Landon kicks out once more!

 

“Well King,” Mak Francis theorises, “it looks like the New Doomtopians are focusing on Maddix’s chest, possibly to set up their heart punch/rollup finishing move.”

 

“Or they could randomly be doing moves that happen to target that area,” King points out, “don’t forget the possibility that they haven’t got a clue.”

 

Jimmy The Doom seems to be intent on proving King wrong and demonstrating that he does have a clue; enough clues to win a game of Cluedo? We shall have to see. Whatever, he picks Landon up and delivers a headbutt that staggers the former World Champion, then steps back and spins in a circle before finishing with another one that takes Maddix right off his feet!

 

“Discus headbutt,” Mak Francis says, impressed despite himself, “that takes a good sense of balance to pull off.”

 

“God, this is some of the lamest stuff I’ve seen since ‘Secrets Of The Ring’ with Candace Okimurra,” Suicide King mutters, covering his eyes.

 

“How did that one go?” the Franchise asks.

 

“Well, broadly; ‘I’ve found that to not get beaten, don’t go in the ring’,” King recalls.

 

Jimmy The Doom seems to be getting into his stride now and he scrapes Landon up off the mat before Irish whipping his opponent into a neutral corner. Landon hits hard and slumps there, clearly gasping for breath; Jimmy takes this cue to showboat a little and mimes placing a phone to his ear…

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“It looks like Jimmy’s about to dial home,” Mak Francis says in all seriousness, and sure enough the Straight-Bread Sensation charges in towards Landon, looking for the splash/headlock takeover combo that is named after the international dialling code for Doomopolis, Doomtopia!

 

“73! 5267! 1094Q-ah crap, he’s missed it,” Francis says, only getting halfway through the move’s name in the time it takes Jimmy to run in and Landon to move, sending the Doomtopian crashing into the turnbuckles chestfirst! Maddix sees his chance and as Jimmy staggers back, grabs his lanky opponent in a ¾ headlock and runs straight up the turnbuckles before flipping backwards to land in a seated position and drive the back of Doom’s skull into the mat with Laberinto’s Revenge!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Jimmy grabs the back of his head in pain and Landon desperately scrambles for his corner, finally getting there and reaching out for the tag… only to find Michael Stephens glowering at him.

 

‘What the bloody hell was that?’ the Englishman can be heard to say. Landon looks back over his shoulder at Jimmy the Doom, then back at his partner.

 

‘…what?’

 

‘That was my move AGAIN, tosser,’ Stephens grumbles, finally tagging Landon and stepping into the ring with bad grace. Landon, breathing hard and with a rather sore head, pulls a face at his partner’s back before stepping through the ropes to the apron.

 

“I don’t think Michael Stephens likes Landon using the Laberinto’s Revenge, which is an altered version of the Sunny In England,” Mak Francis points out.

 

“Yeah, but the Sunny In England wins matches, whereas Laberinto’s Revenge doesn’t,” King replies, “so Stephens should stop worrying; his version is evidently superior.”

 

Jimmy The Doom is now starting to get back to his feet and Stephens grabs him, then sends his head forward with a headbutt!

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

However, this is Jimmy The Doom, and the Straight-Bread Sensation only takes a half-step back before letting out a high-pitched shriek of defiance! The crowd get in on the act…

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

…and Doom fires back with a headbutt of his own!

 

*CEPHALAPOD!*

 

However, Michael Stephens is well used to using his head to hit things with and takes Doom’s shot with barely a flinch, then tries again!

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

*CEPHALAPOD!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

*CEPHALAPOD!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

*CEPHALAPOD!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“…and this is why it’s never a good idea to watch Puro unless you’ve got a whole lot of spare time,” Mak Francis notes as Doom and Stephens continues trading shots. Finally one of Doom’s headbutts seems to rock the World Champion more than usual and he staggers back… but as Jimmy moves in to follow up Stephens fires up and starts using his fists, lashing out with a

 

RIGHT!

 

 

LEFT!

 

 

RIGHT!

 

 

LEFT!

 

 

Windup…

 

 

…DISCUS CLOTHESLINE!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Holy crap, it hit!” Suicide King says in amazement as Stephens takes his opponent down, “normally everyone ducks it!” However, Jimmy The Doom is not like most other people in the SWF (ain’t that the truth). Stephens elects not to cover, instead bringing the lanky Straight-Breader up to his feet and Irish whipping him into the ropes; Doom rebounds to find Stephens dodging to one side and snaking his left arm up underneath Jimmy’s, then using his right hand to grab the back of the Doomtopian’s jean shorts and hoist the Hardcore Champion clean off the mat before sitting out and driving Jimmy’s face into the canvas with a half-nelson facebuster!

 

*BANG!*

 

Now Stephens decides to cover, using the half-nelson he has applied to roll Jimmy over onto his back and hooking the leg for a cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Jimmy the Doom is too tough to be taken down so easily, and the Hardcore Champion kicks out! The Doomstroyer evidently doesn’t like the way this match is turning out, as he steps through the ropes into the ring and lumbers towards Stephens, but the nippy World Champion jumps to his feet and then slices a soccer tackle towards the big man’s shins, cutting his legs from under him and causing him to topple forward and involuntarily headbutt Jimmy in the testicles!

 

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Traumatised and possibly ashamed, the Doomstroyer rolls sideways under the bottom rope as Brian Warner starts to administer a five-count; meanwhile Jimmy is in his own private world of pain as Michael Stephens hauls him up to his feet and starts dragging him towards the corner where Landon Maddix is waiting. La Cucaracha reaches out for the tag and amazingly Stephens obliges him; the World Champion then drives Jimmy’s face into his knee with the facebuster that used to be the first half of the Sobering Thought combo, but this time as Doom rears up holding his face in pain Landon leaps up and then drops backwards, taking Jimmy with him into a Lungblower!

 

*BANG!*

 

Stephens steps out through the ropes and Landon makes a cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Jimmy kicks out. Landon looks annoyed, but a black-nailed hand waves into view as Stephens wants back into the ring. Figuring that hey, teamwork is a good thing, Landon duly tags and the World Champion directs him to drop The Doom again. Maddix brings the Straight-Bread Sensation up into a rear headlock then, as Warner counts, spins around with his right arm outstretched to drive the back of Jimmy’s head into the mat with a Landon Eye. Moments later a shout of ‘move!’ causes Landon to do just that, and Michael Stephens comes off the top with a Hangover!

 

*WHAM!*

 

Now Michael Stephens makes the cover, and Warner drops to count once more…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR-

-but Jimmy kicks out again!

 

“Well, it looks like Maddix and Stephens have finally figured out how to tag effectively,” Mak Francis says, “they’ve got Jimmy The Doom trapped on their side of the ring and are hitting him with a variety of potent moves.”

 

Landon is now reaching out again, calling for another tag; Stephens obliges him, then scoops Doom up before slamming him down and stepping out to the apron. Maddix starts to ascend to the top rope, then jumps off pumping his arms and legs as he looks for a Frog Splash…

 

*HISTRIONICS!*

 

“Only knees!” Mak Francis shouts, “Landon only got knees on that one!”

 

Sure enough, the Hardcore Champion got his long legs up to provide a shield from Landon’s body splash and La Cucaracha bounces off; crucially, towards the Corner of Doom and away from his tag partner! Meanwhile the fans are going wild!

 

“DOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

 

“DOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

 

“It’s time to see who wants it more,” Francis declares, “Jimmy’s been taking a beating but he just got Landon in the ribs, and Maddix’s midsection was the target for the New Doomtopians earlier in the match!”

 

“Um, I don’t want this at all,” King puts in, “as in, I don’t want it to continue. Does that count?”

 

Apparently not, because with the chants of the fans ringing in his head (or maybe that’s just a concussion, who knows) Jimmy The Doom is fighting his way to his feet! Lois the Unethical looks on dispassionately knowing that whatever it is, her husband’s fate is already determined by the Doomtopian Gods; meanwhile Megan Skye is alternatively sobbing and trying to cheer Landon on. Michael Stephens is taking a slightly more relaxed attitude to his opposite number the Doomstroyer, because while the big man is reaching out in preparation for a tag Stephens seems to have decided that he’ll hold his arm out when Landon’s actually somewhere near him and not a moment before, sunshine.

 

“DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

 

“DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

 

Jimmy is up… but so is Landon! The two men meet each other’s eyes and then, with pain twisting their features, see the saving grace of their tag team partner past the other man’s shoulder! Jimmy lets out another high-pitched warcry and charges, but Landon has the presence of mind to drop and take him down with a drop toehold! Jimmy slams into the canvas, still several feet short of his corner, and Landon grabs his opponent’s leg and starts hauling the Hardcore Champion back towards where Michael Stephens is waiting. Jimmy’s not done yet though, and he rolls over onto his back before kicking at Landon’s hands. La Cucaracha leans down to try and re-establish his grip, and Jimmy kicks him in the head!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

With the connection between them broken, both men forget about the other and lunge wildly for their tag team partners!

 

*smak!*

 

*smak!*

 

“It’s breaking down now!” Mak Francis yells as Michael Stephens hops over the top rope at the same time as the Doomstroyer steps through from the apron on the other side. Stephens ducks under a wild swing from the big man and heads for the ropes, but Jimmy the Doom (still on the mat) makes a grab for the World Champion’s foot as he rebounds; Stephens stumbles, and runs straight into a crushing two-handed choke from the Doomstroyer! Brian Warner starts to count, but Stephens is already turning blue… and Landon breaks it up with an elbow to the back of the head! The Doomstroyer releases his grip and Stephens staggers back, then nods at Landon and they paste the big man with sandwich superkicks!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

The crowd gives a mostly positive response to that, while Lois wails as she sees a fellow straight-breader’s beliefs violated in front of her. The Doomstroyer staggers, and as Stephens grabs a ¾ facelock Landon runs around to stand in front of him; the World Champion jumps up, Landon helps him on his way and he rises up…

 

…hangs vertical for a moment…

 

…then comes down with the Sunny In England!

 

*BANG!*

 

Landon dives to block Jimmy as Warner drops to count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners,” Funyon booms as Landon and Stephens stare at each other in amazement at the fact they just worked together, “the team of Landon Maddix and MIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!”

 

Brian Warner simultaneously raises the arms of the winning team who still look confused… before Landon erupts into a massive grin and starts jumping around the ring, pumping his fists! Michael Stephens shakes his head in despair as we…

 

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

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DING DING!!!!

 

 

“We’re back,” says Suicide King, as the show fades back in from a commercial for Major League Baseball’s 2006 All-Star Game. “And by the way, Mak, what was up with that? Did the network just forget that the all-star game was last week?”

 

“Hard to say,” says Mak. “I assumed that it had to do with the beaming and the speed of light and such.”

 

“Well, it’d take a lot more than a week to get it out here to the end of the universe,” King protests.

 

“Obviously we don’t care that much about continuity,” Mak replies. “After all, we’re out here, aren’t we? And King, I don’t see a handicapped ramp anywhere. Not one.”

 

With that, the lights go dim and “Thunderkiss ’65” starts to play over the sound system. As the assembled fans cheer and boo in roughly equal numbers, Kerry Staunton and Scott Rageheart step out from backstage. As the two walk to the ring, King notes, “Look at the intensity on the faces of these two. They’ve been fighting their way up the tag ranks, and they’re getting their shot at Flesher and Matthews today.” Staunton and Rageheart enter the ring, and Funyon begins the announcement.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag-team contest is your main event for this evening. It is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS!” He pauses for a crowd pop, and then continues, “Currently in the ring, at a total combined weight of 515 pounds, are the challengers... the team of Kerry Staunton and Scott Raaaaaaaagheaaaarrrrrt!”

 

The challengers get a pop. After a moment to absorb it, the lights go down once again.

 

“And their opponents...”

 

“Their opponents,” shouts the brash voice of James Matheson, “are one of the hottest tag teams ever to hit the SWF. Between the two of them, you have the best big man ever to step into the ring, and the most brilliant technician the world has ever seen. Both of them are former SWF World Heavyweight Champions, with too many other championships between them to even bother counting. When they came together, the entire tag team division looked up at them, said ‘You can’t expect us to compete with that,’ and crumbled. Now, they’re going to take apart another team of so-called challengers when they defend their SWF Tag Team Championships. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for the team of ‘the Superior One’ Tom Flesher and Charlie... ‘GRAPPLER’... MAAAAAATHEEEEEWS!!!!!”

 

With that, the stomp-and-start opening of Muddy Waters’ “Mannish Boy” starts playing over the sound system. Matthews walks out, his slow, methodical walk quickly overtaken by the excitable, caffeinated strut of his tag team partner, accompanied by the mask of Grendel on a pole. Matheson follows behind, his briefcase in hand as always.

 

“Keep in mind,” says King, “that Tom Flesher is suffering from a repetitive-use injury of the left thumb, probably from training such a wide variety of submissions. As a result, he has the thumb heavily taped to brace it into the extended position, where it’s the most useful for the sorts of submissions that Tom uses.”

 

“Oh, come on,” says Mak. “All he wants to do is make it easier to thumb someone in the eye.”

 

“I can’t believe you’re making those sorts of wild accusations,” says King. “I mean, I know you’re bitter about not being able to return to the ring, but that’s no reason to crap on the in-ring style of a technically brilliant wrestler like Tom Flesher.”

 

“Grendel’s not too happy with Flesher either,” says Francis. “I think if Grappler wasn’t looking over Tom’s shoulder, Grendel would have that mask back by now.”

 

As the champs enter the ring, Matheson takes stands outside. Flesher strips off his warm-up suit, and each man hands his title belt to referee Eddy Long. Long walks the belts over to Staunton and Rageheart, then holds them in the air before calling for the bell.

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

“It looks like Flesher and Staunton are going to start this one off,” says King, as Rageheart and Matthews take their respective corners.

 

Flesher circles around Staunton, examining the Albertan powerhouse from head to toe as he tries to formulate a game plan on the fly. Staunton looks down at him, watching the way Flesher adjusts his stance.

 

“Staunton,” say Francis, “has a Greco-Roman background that, while it might not be as intensive as Flesher’s, is probably going to help him avoid some of the traps most big men get caught in. Taamo’s aim is always to put the guy on the mat and work him over from there, but what does he do to a guy like Kerry Staunton who can hold his own?”

 

Flesher eyes Staunton and lowers his body, bending his knees in the classical amateur style to adjust his center of gravity, and then reaches out one arm. Staunton greedily snatches it up, teasing a knucklelock to start off the match. Flesher steps in, grabbing at Staunton’s opposite hand... but Kerry merely knees Flesher in the stomach, doubling him over! From there, he grabs the stunned Flesher and hoists him into the air before falling back with a gutwrench suplex! Shocked, the two-time World Champion rolls out of the ring to collect himself as he looks back at his adversary.

 

“Staunton catches Flesher with a gutwrench,” Mak says, “and he’s taking control of this one early on. It’s been a long time since Flesher faced someone this big, and even though he might have come out on top, the last time he had a high-profile fight with a big lug like Kerry was probably two years ago when he faced Janus at Ground Zero 2004, and even then, Toxxic was in the ring with them. He’s not used to dealing with guys this size.”

 

“Oh, come on. Frost, the Boston Strangler...”

 

“Almost three years ago, King. That’s a lifetime in wrestling.”

 

“Yeah. Three years ago you could dance.”

 

Flesher shakes off the impact and starts to roll back into the ring. Kerry Staunton waits for him, and as Tom sticks his body under the bottom rope, he’s immediately assaulted with a series of stomps to the back! Flesher flops out on the mat, and Staunton grabs him by the singlet straps to pull him back into the ring. Flesher starts up to his feet, and Staunton sends him to the ropes with an Irish whip. As Tom rebounds, the monster from Alberta charges at him and takes him to the mat with a shoulderblock! He makes the cover.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

NO! Flesher gets a shoulder up.

 

“Kerry Staunton draws first blood for the challengers,” says Francis.

 

“Oh, you can go on all you want about moral victories and that kind of crap,” says King. “What matters is who has his hand raised at the end of the night, and when that happens, no one’s going to remember the one-count.”

 

Staunton, however, is currently coming straight off that one-count, and as a result he keeps his opponent under control by hooking him into a front facelock. “Looks like he’s going for a guillotine choke,” says Francis. Not to be deterred, Flesher reaches through the facelock and calmly grabs one of the clamped elbows. As he passes the elbow by, Flesher throws Staunton off-balance by tossing the elbow past and then drops down, grabbing him by one of his meaty thighs. Lifting the leg off the mat, Flesher drives forward and takes Staunton to the canvas with a textbook high single-leg takedown! Staunton lands on his side, and as Flesher covers him to keep control, he bellies down to the mat to avoid getting caught on his back. Trying to keep control, Flesher quickly grapevines Staunton’s left leg and plants his right knee in the small of his back. From there, he reaches across Staunton’s body and hooks his own head under Staunton’s left arm, then arches his back to lever Staunton’s shoulders toward the mat!

 

“Interesting variation on the crossface,” says Mak Francis. “By grapevining Kerry Staunton’s legs, Flesher can pull Staunton’s head one way and keep his hips going the other. It’s incredibly painful.”

 

Staunton, however, merely grits his teeth as he cocks his controlled left arm and clasps his hands together. He pulls Tom’s head down, angling the Buffalo native’s shoulders to the mat. Flesher feels the impending near-fall and bails, releasing his guillotine crossface just in time to avoid the pin. He rolls away, and from his knees, Staunton snags Flesher by the leg and stands up. In an unusual position, Flesher thrusts the leg down and wraps himself around Staunton’s body, trying to counter the single with the same grip and frustrate his opponent into releasing it. Much to Tom’s chagrin, however, Staunton merely reaches out and tags in Scott Rageheart.

 

“And here’s the first time Rageheart’s been able to get into the ring,” says Francis. “The match is still young, but the challengers are doing a good job of keeping Flesher and Matthews separate. No matter how talented Rageheart and Staunton are, they can’t let themselves get cocky, because Flesher and Matthews are going to take advantage of it ten times out of ten.”

 

Rageheart steps in as Staunton leans against the ropes, avoiding being taken to the mat by Flesher again. As Flesher tries to balance, Rageheart helps him out of his predicament by way of an elbowdrop to the middle of the spine! Flesher arches his back, in obvious pain, as Staunton exits the ring and Rageheart takes over.

 

“Smart move by Rageheart here,” Francis adds, “by taking Flesher out from behind. There are two opponents in this match, and with a man of Flesher’s caliber, you need to use every advantage you can against him.”

 

Rageheart pulls Tom to his feet and quickly takes him back to the mat with a Russian leg-sweep. Flesher, stunned, writhes on the mat for a few seconds before Scott grabs him by the head and thrusts him back into the corner before swatting him with a forearm blow. He reaches up, tagging Kerry Staunton back in.

 

“Quick tags by the challengers,” Francis notes, “keeping a fresh man in the ring as they continue the assault on Flesher.”

 

“It’s an assault of mosquito bites,” sneers King. “What are they going to do when it comes time to go for a pin?”

 

Staunton hammers Flesher with another forearm blow, then grabs him by the ribs. He ducks down, bracing his head under Flesher’s arm, and arches back with a Northern Lights suplex! Eddy Long counts

 

ONE!!

 

 

but no more, as Flesher kicks out and bellies down quickly. Staunton falls out of his bridge on top of Flesher and immediately goes to work grabbing Tom’s stomach. When he gets a solid waistlock, Staunton stands up, then immediately arches back with a released German suplex that sends Flesher onto his neck and shoulders in the corner! Staunton swaggers over to the corner and tags Rageheart back in.

 

“How can anyone withstand this sort of assault?” asks Francis. “It’s just inhuman.”

 

As Rageheart steps into the center of the ring, Flesher crouches down, trying to cover up from any further assault. Rageheart steps back, measuring him up... only to have Flesher pop back up to his feet and thrust his thumb straight into Scott’s right eye! Scott covers up the eye, reacting to the illegal blow, but Eddy Long merely admonishes Flesher, who promptly relocates to a neutral corner.

 

With Long thus occupied, Charlie Matthews steps into the ring and wraps his meaty paws around Scott’s neck, throttling him in a style reminiscent of Andre the Giant! Angered by the blatant attack by the illegal man, Staunton sprints into the ring, just in time to see James Matheson hammer Scott Rageheart with his Halliburton briefcase! Rageheart crumbles to the mat, and Grappler charges at Staunton, nearly taking his head off with a lariat! James Matheson pulls Rageheart out of the ring, looking on as Grappler grabs the briefcase from Matheson, hammering Staunton as well. Satisfied, Flesher finally admits his guilt to Eddy Long, who lets him off with a warning only to turn around and see Kerry Staunton inexplicably face-down on the mat. Matthews shrugs as James Matheson quickly recovers his briefcase.

 

“Oh, come on,” shouts Mak Francis, “how can he let that go?!”

 

“Let what go?” grins King. “I didn’t see a thing.”

 

Flesher swaggers over to the corner and slaps Grappler’s hand. Immediately, Long begins his five-count, but Matthews steps into the ring and Flesher steps out quickly. With Staunton stunned, Grappler knees him in the stomach, then applies the standing headscissors that never bode well for an opponent and always draw a round of boos from the crowd. He quickly turns the 270-pound monster upside down, as Flesher climbs to the top rope. Then, grabbing Staunton by the boots, Flesher leaps off the top rope just as Grappler sits out. Staunton hits the mat head-first in a sickeningly stiff spike piledriver, and the crowd goes wild with boos!

 

“That spike piledriver is lethal!” shouts King, as the camera picks up a barely-conscious Rageheart on the outside. Grappler, the legal man, covers Staunton, and Eddy Long makes the count.

 

One.

 

Two.

 

Three.

 

 

DING DING!!!!

 

 

“The winners of this match,” announces Funyon, “and STILL SWF Tag Team Champions... Charlie Matthews and TOM FLESHER!!!!!”

 

As Flesher and Matthews celebrate in the center of the ring, James Matheson retrieves their belts from the timekeeper, snapping, “I’ll take those. Yeah, just hand them right over!” He enters the ring and hands them to his charges, and each man grabs a belt. Flesher slings his over his shoulder, and Grappler fastens his around his waist.

 

“Quick match from the champions,” says King, “but what can I say? It was effective.”

 

“Of course it was,” Mak snaps. “With Matheson on the outside, it’s practically a handicap match. What do you expect Staunton and Rageheart to do?”

 

“If they were smart,” King says, “they’d bring someone with them, but you can’t expect that level of thinking from a couple of guys from Alberta. The Tag Team Champions soundly defeat a team that got rocketed to the top – what can I say? They were just outclassed, and no one – no one – gets up from that spike piledriver.”

 

“Outclassed and nailed with a briefcase,” spits Francis.

 

“I saw nothing,” says King in a cheerful singsong. “We’ll see what the future has in store for Staunton and Rageheart, but one thing remains the same, night in and night out: your tag team champions are MAGNIFICENT~!”

 

=-=-=-=-=

 

SWF Storm, July 14, 2006

© Acid Rayn Productions. All rights reserved.

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation: Raising workrate by typing faster.

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