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SWF Lockdown 7-19-2006

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The fine folks at Milliways offered to transport the SWF back to a time BEFORE this accursed Fictional World Tour ever began, but then all the people who bought tickets for the remaining shows would be ripped off, and we can't have angry letters coming at us from all over the sea of time, now can we?


Instead, we asked them to ship us back to Earth, present time, as our Science Fiction leg of the tour has just about run its course. It's time for some more normal, earth-based loca-


*sees the card*


God damn it!




The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents...


SWF Lockdown!

Live, Wednesday, July 19th, from the Gurubashi PvP Arena in Stranglethorn Vale, Azeroth!

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

(Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3)




Fans of the good guys will be sitting on the left, which is where the good guys will enter from. Those cheering the heels will sit on the right, which is where the heels will enter from. The audience will be entirely made up of SWF Fans, though some of them may be cosplaying their WoW characters. God help us.


Also, it's time to kick off the...




Eight names went into the hat, and these four matches came out! Note that the results were MOSTLY random - I say mostly because I didn't want to run Spike vs. Sly for the third time this month, so I made sure they stayed apart. :P


The winners of these four matches will meet on Smarkdown, in an as-yet-undetermined type of match!





"The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke vs. Michael Cross

-> OOOOOOOH YEAH, BITCHES! JAY HAWKE IS BACK! He may not have created the International Title (those honors go to a far more Dangerous fellow), but he has become synonymous with its name. Hawke's run with the IN title is legendary, and it looks like he's back for a second go!


But how did he finagle his way into the tournament you ask?


Blame that (and most everything else) on good ole' Joe Peters. He thought the team of Maddix and Stephens was DYN-O-MITE, and has used his Executive Privilege to pull Maddix from the tournament in order to team them up again! What a crazy coincidence, then, that Jay Hawke reappeared at the last show, demanding a spot in the tournament! Funny how things work out, huh?


Rules: Standard singles.





Two Skinny White Guys (Michael Stephens and Landon Maddix) vs. Kerry Staunton and Scott Rageheart

-> I was this close to using "Turn Your Head and Thoth".


Against everyone's predictions, Michael Stephens and Landon Maddix somehow managed to pull out a win over the Doomtopians on Storm! Joseph Peters was so impressed with the match (and the ratings) that he's actually yanked Maddix from the International Tournament, to open up more tagging opportunities! Tonight, Two Skinny White Guys take on the team that just fell short of capturing Tag Team gold on Storm, Kerry Staunton and Scott Rageheart!

Rules: Standard tag team match. Use the tag ropes!





Bruce Blank vs. Zyon

-> Random Pairings are awesome, because you get some badass matches like this one! A fire's been lit under Bruce Blank's ass, and if he is to be believed, then his reign with the International Title will be more awe-inspiring than even Jay Hawke's!


That is assuming he wins the title in the first place, though, and with stiff competition like Zyon in his way, Bruce had better keep his mind on the matters at hand!

Rules: Standard singles.





Wildchild vs. Tom Flesher

-> A little over/under/whatever two months ago, these two clashed at the Taj Mahal, and Wildchild came out the victor! Well Flesher's got his sights set on the Cruiserweight Gold around Michael Cross's waist, but with Cross occupied in the tournament, we needed another Cruiser to keep Tom sharp, and we imagine he's got a score to settle with this particular cruiser. Two of the SWF's finest do battle once again!

Rules: Standard singles, with Cruiser addenda. Surely you know them by now.





Charlie "Grappler" Matthews vs. Grendel

-> It's no secret that Grendel's got a score to settle with Tom Flesher, but after his demasking in the handicap match, he's also got a bit of ANGER~! left over for Grappler! Tonight they meet again, this time one-on-one!

Rules: Standard singles match.





"The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu vs. Austin Sly

-> Austin Sly has showed a great deal of interest in the International Title recently, up to earning a shot for it against Aecas! That plan has sort of fallen through, but Sly's renewed determination has not! Many are pinning Sly as a good bet to take the gold, but first he'll have to get through the freshly returned Akira Kaibatsu!

Rules: Standard singles.





Trent Hawk vs. Insane Luchador

-> Upset city, baby! Trent Hawk ends up pulling a Zyon (that is, being a rookie who rocks from the get-go) and BEATING Zyon in the same night! The same match, even! The Axis are off to a good start, and Hawk looks to make it a better start as he takes on the Insane Luchador!

Rules: Standard singles.





"Hollywood" Spike Jenkins vs. MANSONOSITY~!

-> If memory serves, these two have history. KARMA pits them against each other in the qualifying round of the International Championship Tournament!

Rules: Standard singles.





Jimmy the Doom vs. Ciro Vitale

-> DO BIG BATTEL. (better description pending)

Rules: Standard singles.



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Lockdown returns from a commercial despite the opening match having yet to be wrestled. Anyway, a big bird with a camera swoops around the Gurubashi Arena, showing off the World of Warcraft fans screaming loudly, and a few Kingdom of Loathing-ites scattered about. In particular is a very exhuberant fan waiving a sign that proclaims "BASHY HATE FETUS!". Off in a corner, Bobby Riley has stripped to his skivvies and is trying to dance for money, but it doesn't work because: A. He's not an elf and B. He's not pretending to be a woman, so he gets beaten with sticks.


"It's time for the first match of the night," beginulates the Franchise.


"However, some fucking level five paladin asshole ninja'd the ring, so we've got to wait a while for it to respawn. Fucking Alliance dipshits. Paladins can't even use rings, and if they could, you have to be at least a level forty-five!" King yells.


"However, the show must go on, so Jimmy the Doom will face off against Ciro Vitale in the Gurubashi Arena, like the gladiators of old," Mak states.


"Except it's unlikely Azeroth ever had any Roman gladiators. Also, there will be rules, and the sides of the arena will act as the ropes, at least in terms of rope breaks," King points out.


Before anything else can be said, the light goes out because some kind of wizard cast a spell of darkness, and a bunch of druid-ish people (Can't say druids because there are actual druids in the World of Warcraft) march out, all chanting one word continuously.










It would seem the wizard's mana has run out as the light returns, and a bard maybe plays "Yakety Sax" on a lute or something. Jimmy the Doom walks out, followed by Lois the Unethical, who is holding the Hardcore title. Doom stands in the middle of the arena, while Lois and the druid-ish folk climb into the stands.


"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Lockdown!" Funyon booms. "The following match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, being accompanied by Lois the Unethical, currently eating some cotton candy, he is from Doomopolis, Doomtopia, weighs two hundred, thirty pounds, and is the current Hardcore Gamers champion. The Straight-Bread Sensation, Jimmy the Doom!"


The bard guy motions for some people to step up, and the band begins playing a shitty, Renaissance fair version of Strapping Young Lad's "Imperial" (Then again, the song might be crappy on its own). Ciro Vitale walks out from the Horde section, an act that causes some uproar, as Ciro is a fucking human.


"And his opponent, from Clearwater, Florida, he weighs two hundred, twenty-four pounds and is a member of the Axis, Ciro Vitale!" Funyon shouts.


Vitale walks to the center of the arena, and he just stares at Doom, unsure of what to do.


"Damn it, where the hell is the referee?" King asks.


"Aw, shit. I just read who it is, and trust me, you'll be wishing this just breaks down into a brawl right now," Mak says.


Far off in the distance, a sound can be heard, faint at first (Not surprising, as it's far off), but growing louder each passing second.
















"Oh, fuck no," King wails.


The well-known and possibly mentally handicapped paladin runs into the arena, clad in striped plate mail, apparently the referee for the first match. Before he can check for weapons, a giant-ass bear rushes down and smacks the shit out of Jenkins, knocking him into the side of the arena.


"Damn, kid can draw aggro like a motherfucker," Mak comments. "That's a quality tank right there."


"Well, everyone hates him, so, yeah, that's what you want in a tank, I guess," King replies.


Leeroy picks himself up, pulls out a chicken leg and takes a bite.


"All right chums, let's do this!" Jenkins shouts.




Trying his best to ignore the odd referee, Vitale focuses in on the equally odd Doomtopian, who catches him off guard with a lunging jab. Ciro backpedals and Jimmy gives chase, firing off kick after kick, none connecting, but forcing Vitale towards the edge of the arena. Doom leaps forward, smashing his forearm into Ciro's chest and pinning him against the wooden wall. With his free hand, the Straight-Bread Sensation begins peppering Vitale with machine gun palm strikes.


"Jimmy the Doom, in typical fashion, wasting no time and is already taking it to Ciro Vitale with those shoteis," Francis says.


"Yeah, but he's barely got any wind up on them. They might be rapid fire, but there's hardly any force behind them," King points out.


Leeroy wanders over, thinks about admonishing Doom since the walls are technically the ropes, but is quickly distracted by the glint of his greaves. Doom continues to pound Vitale with palm strikes, but Ciro quickly counters with a knee to the groin. Jimmy stumbles away and Vitale takes him to the mat with a bulldog.


"Nice use of Trel'thazar's Bane by Ciro Vitale to get out of what was, at best, an annoying predicament," King says.


"King, it was a knee to the balls. I mean, if anything, wouldn't that be like, Annie's Bane?" Mak asks.


"You shut up right now. If these nerds find out we might have an actual female lesbian, they'll never let us leave," King mutters.


Vitale climbs up, waits on Doom, and then hurls a handful of sand into the Doomtopian's eyes. Ciro races forward and dropkicks Jimmy back to the ground. Vitale crawls over to Jimmy, grabs his near leg, and rolls to make a lateral press so that Ciro can look at the crowd while Leeroy counts.


That is, if Leeroy begins counting. However, he currently has scrawled "AFK" onto his chest plate and is staring at the sun.


"Fuckin' Rain Man," Funyon mumbles.


The massively mammoth Oregonian ring person guy (MMORPG, LOLZ~!) leans over the wall and slaps his hand on the rough wood, taking over ref duties for the time being.





With only one leg hooked, and it being the near limb, too, Ciro doesn't have much leverage, which is probably why Jimmy does the nice thing and bring his other leg up. Particularly, he brings his knee up and into the side of Vitale's head, knocking him loose.


"Vitale with the first pinfall of the night, but it barely gets a one count, and I think he's about to learn the hard way that Jimmy the Doom doesn't go down very easily," Mak says.


"Unlike your mother, who goes down for about five bucks a pop! OH, SNAP, SPICY FUCKIN' BURNSAUCE RIGHT THERE!" King exclaims.


"God damn you."


Ciro climbs to his feet and boots Jimmy in the gut. Vitale takes hold of Jimmy's left wrist and attempts an armwringer, but Doom counters by pulling Ciro in, perhaps for a short-arm something or other. However, Vitale is a young, spry guy (Which is totally different from a Fry Guy, so don't even think he's got French fries for hair or something) and he improvises, letting go of the Straight-Bread Sensation and tossing his arm around Doom's chest. Ciro sweeps Jimmy to the dirt and is about to pop back to his feet, but finds lanky Doomtopian arms wrapped around his head, trapping him.


"Ciro Vitale with a nice STO, but he's still on the ground, for some reason," Mak says.


"From what I can tell, I'd say it's an arm triangle, or a side choke. The Doomstroyer has used a standing version a few times, and I guess he taught it to Jimmy," King states.


Leeroy wanders over to the two grapplers, bends down, and asks Jimmy if he'd like to submit. Doom refuses to answer, so Jenkins turns his attention on Vitale, posing the same question to the Floridian by way of Naples. Naples, Italy, as there is a Naples, Florida. However, Ciro finds it hard to answer as some weird guy with strange personal odor is currently trying to choke him out, so Vitale just flails with his free hand. Vitale flails some more, before planting his hand on the ground and trying to simply pull his head free. It works, but a left cross from Doom practically knocks Vitale out cold.


"Ciro has managed to slip free of that arm triangle choke, but he's got to be really woozy after having blood and oxygen flow to his brain restricted," Mak says.


"Well, considering he just slumped over after that punch from Jimmy the Doom, I'd have to agree," King says.


The Straight-Bread Sensation pulls Ciro up and whips him into the wall of the arena. Jimmy races after him and grabs Vitale by the hair. Doom bends the Floridian double and drops to the mat with the Doom Factor. However, Jimmy isn't quite ready to pin Ciro and leaves him shoved against the wall. The Hardcore champ backs up ten paces and darts towards Vitale, sliding across the ground and into the side of his head with a basement dropkick. Jimmy drags Vitale away from the wall on the off chance Leeroy Jenkins remembers that the wall counts as the ropes, and makes a lateral press.


Shockingly, Jenkins drops to make the count.












A large squirrel scampers down the stands and into the arena. It kicks Leeroy in the face, clamps it's jaws around his body and rushes back to whatever dwelling a giant-ass squirrel has. Grumbling, Funyon leans over to make the final count.







"And the winner of this match, Jimmy the Doom!" Funyon yells.


A fife player strikes up "Yakety Sax" once more as Jimmy climbs up the wall and joins Lois. Suddenly, a wrestling ring appears in the air and crashes down on top of Ciro Vitale.


"What the hell ass crap?!" Mak exclaims.


"Hey, looks like a warlock summoned a ring elemental," King says.


"Oh, yeah, you're right. Should work until we find that turd who stole the real ring, kill him, and then loot his corpse," Francis replies.


Lockdown fades to commercial for Vampicorns and Uniculas Unlimited (Basically, it's a clothing store for unicorns that are also vampires and/or Draculas)

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“Tonight,” fading in, the crowd is acquainted with a face to meet Ben Hardy’s voice, “I’ve got yet another chance to speak with the Cruiserweight Champion, ‘Iron’ Mike Cross.” The backstage is shown in full view as the fade is complete and the camera pans out slightly to capture the standing body of ‘Iron’ Mike Cross. “Jay Hawke is one of the most dominant International Title holders this company has ever seen – if not the most dominant. His reign lasted longer than anyone’s in history, and tonight, that man is your challenger, your only road block on the way Ground Zero.”


“Yeah,” Mike interrupts with gusto, “He’s no roadblock, though, Ben.” Mike unzips his hooded sweatshirt down to the last link, revealing the belt gripped tight to his waist. “As far as I’m concerned, Ben Hardy, he’s just another challenger for my title, and if I lose, my own title reign is over. To me, he’s simply another contender wanting to steal what I’ve earned, and I’ve gotta tell you, that makes me more dangerous than ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’.”


“So you’re saying you’re treating tonight like it’s a must-win title defense?”


“You have to,” Mike points out, “You’ve gotta treat every match like it’s your last, and tonight, he might have the potent arsenal of submissions and maneuvers up for use, he might have the eyes on him, but I’ve got the best opportunity and a dangerous amount of determination in my corner.”


“What do you mean?”


“You don’t see it,” ‘Iron’ Mike’s face has not an emotion present as he’s all business tonight, “But I do, and that’s the problem. All these people see the name Jay Hawke in contention for the International Title, and he’s the main attraction. As much as they hate him they’re a crowd of hypocrites, they know it’s his name that sold this place out tonight, they know his return screams epic. And my name? My name’s just the one beside his, some punk from Detroit looking to scrape his way into a match that no one wants to see him in.”


“I wouldn’t go that far…”


“I would,” Mike pauses, “But what matters is my determination – not to lose, to prove the world wrong, and to never lose while holding this belt ever again. It’s as simple as this, Jay, you’re going to have to pry my shoulder from its socket – no problem, it’s something I’ve experienced. You’re going to have to tear my jaw from my face – pain I’m willing to take to win. You’re going to have to break me mentally, physically; you’re going to have to destroy my body. That’s something I’m willing to endure, because to me, all this does is put me one step closer to proving this fucking place wrong, one step closer to Sunday, and one step closer to facing Zyon.”


“Well, tonight Jay Hawke is going to need to be on his a-game, which comes expected with the kind of caliber athlete he is. Tonight though, according to this young man,” The camera shifts to the right to catch Mike Cross leaving, “he’s going to have to do more, he’s going to have to break him. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait for tonight’s match, I can’t wait!”

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“Ladies and gentleman, SWF Lockdown is back from a fake world where only people who can’t get laid go to!”


“That’s not necessarily true, King.”


“Yes, it is,” replies the heel color-commentator, “I am the Suicide King, alongside the handicapped Mak Francis!”


“Tonight, the Survival of the Fittest tournament begins! Eight men, four matches! The winner from those matches will meet on Smarkdown for the SWF International Title!”


“Up next is the first match of the tournament!” spouts off the Suicide King, “A match with years worth of back story!”


The arena is dark, silent as a pair of echoes sweep over the crowd, bringing the lights up slightly with each one, as the fans rise to their feet and thick anticipation builds…


Suddenly, a guttural howl kicks “Scientific Remote Viewing” by Cephalic Carnage into full gear, as the lights flare up and seizure-inducing strobes rapidly flash and pulse in an attempt to keep with the music.


“Here comes the man that will be facing ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins…a man that he has much hatred for due to Jenkins’ actions over the past several years.”


“Remember back in the SJL when Spike shot a fireball into Manson’s face when he was trying to prove he was hardcore enough to fight then JL-World Champion, Crowe?”


“Or when Spike stole Manson’s SWF Tag Team Title and breaking up the team of Manson and JJ Johnson?”


“Or when Spike won the SWF Hardcore Gamers Title when he hit Manson in the head with a Buddha statue…the night he became the King of Cambodia?”


“So…what has Manson done to Spike?”


“I’m assuming he is going to kick his ass tonight.”


“I hope so,” replies Francis.


To the cheers (???) of the crowd, Manson throws aside the curtain and enters the arena, the hood of his robe obscuring his sneer as he pauses at the head of the ramp and looks over the sea of Tauren and Night Elves, before heading down to the ring.


“The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is a qualifying match for the Survival of the Fittest! First, making his way to the ring. Hailing from Denver, Colorado…weighing in at a total of Two Hundred and Thirty Pounds…he is Hate Personified…HE IS MAAAAAAAAAANSOOOONNNNNNNNNNN!”


He undoes his belt, letting his robe hang open, and heads up the ring steps. Through the ropes he enters, immediately heading to his corner, ascending the turnbuckles and flicking off his hood. He throws up the horns to the acclaim of the fans taking a moment to bask in the attention.


“The crowd is certainly behind MANSONOSITY~ tonight.”


“I think it has more to due with the fact…that well…his opponent isn’t very much liked around these parts…”


“But his whore of an ex-girlfriend is.”


“Oh, the humor in his pain.”


“AND HIS OPPONENT!” booms Funyon.


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…





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.




“The crowd REALLY hates Jenkins,” King reports, “This is pretty bad…”


“They might riot, King.”


“I doubt it. We don’t have any Ore or Gold.”


“Making his way to the ring, he hails from Hollywood, California but represents the Cambodian Embassy. Weighing in at a total of Two Hundred and Twenty Pounds, he is The King of Cambodia…HE IS ‘HOLLLLLLLLYWOOOOOOOOOD’ SPIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE JEEEEEEENKINNNNNNSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!”


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.




“This crowd is deafening!”


“That’s what you get when you try to blow up the Blizzard Entertainment Corporation’s official building.”


The referee checks both men for illegal objects and when satisfied, calls for the bell.


*Ding Ding Ding*


Jenkins and Manson both step out of the corner into the center of the ring where they lock up with a collar-and-elbow tie up. Both men vie for control, Manson using his power and Spike using his technique to gain the advantage. They both try to shake each other around, but we all know technique beats brute strength. Spike hooks the arm and swings behind, locking MANSONOSITY in a hammerlock~!


“Spike Jenkins starting the match off slowly with a hammerlock,” commentates Francis, “Spike showed his chain-wrestling skills on Storm by humiliating Matt Myers.”


Manson tries to shake Spike off, but Jenkins quickly slides over into a side headlock. He drops down to one knee, flipping him over with a side headlock takedown. Manson hits the mat hard, knocking some of the oxygen out of his body. Spike uses his legs to trap his opponents’ free arm and wrenches back on the neck.


“Spike now keeping the striker down on the mat. Smart ring-work by the Hollywood Superstar!”


Manson shoots his legs up, attempting the only counter that is possible. He wraps his legs around the neck of Spike, ripping him away from the side headlock and capturing him in a head scissors!


“Manson counters the side headlock with a head scissors that is turning the so-called King of Cambodia’s face blue!”


“MANSONOSITY at its finest.”


Jenkins struggles to breath as he frantically heaves his legs into the air and slamming them upon the mat. Manson uses his arm to raise his body off the mat, applying pressure to the neck of his opponent. Spike rolls over onto his side and balances himself with a headstand while still trapped in the head scissors! Manson sits up, watching as the Hollywood Superstar springs himself out of the hold and onto his feet! Before he is capable of trying to stop the King of Cambodia, Jenkins propels himself into the air and catching MANSONOSITY in the face with a dropkick!


“Dropkick out of the head scissors by Jenkins,” cries the Suicide King, “Amazing technical wrestling skills!”


Manson clenches his face as he rolls into the corner. Spike climbs to his feet, holding his arms out in a parading manner as he strides around the ring.




“What did Spike do to these poor kids in the audience to make them hate him so much? Sleep with their mothers?” asks a curious Suicide King.


“Even worse,” responds Mak, “He slept with Morgan Webb.”


“That lucky bastard.”


“But the real question here is what can Manson do to put Spike down,” Francis enquires, “Manson is a brawler, but Spike is frustrating him with chain wrestling and keeping him on the mat!”


Manson gets to his feet and charges at Jenkins…who quickly slips behind him and locks in a rear waistlock! Spike lifts Manson off the ground, attempting a takedown…but Manson fights back down to his feet. Spike, instead of trying for another, drops to one knee and trips Manson onto his face with a rear double leg takedown. Spike hops to his feet and places one foot on the back of Manson’s head, forcing him onto the mat as he poses for the booing Mages and Warriors!




“Reminiscent of his match against Matt Myers on Storm,” says the Suicide King.


But Manson isn’t Matt Myers.





He’s motherfucking MANSONOSITY~




Manson squeezes his head out from underneath the boot of Spike Jenkins, causing the New Straight Edge Sensation to stumble forward. Manson, somehow finding the powers of UFC strike Chuck Liddel, hops to his feet. Jenkins turns around to meet a now standing and free-of-headlocks Manson…who fires off a BIG left hook that knocks Jenkins back! And a second! And a third that sends Spike into the ropes!


“The ol’ southpaw to the jaw,” Francis says jokingly, “This is how Manson is going to beat Spike! He is going to use his striking to knock that bastard out cold!”


Manson grabs Spike by the wrist and Irish whips him across the ropes…but Spike reverses and sends Manson into the opposite ropes. Manson hits the ropes and bounces back, picking up a full head of steam as he charges at the straight edger and attempting to rip his face off by planting a STIFF back elbow to the face!


The impact of the blow causes the crowd to send out a “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH” as Jenkins tumbles to the mat and rolls as quickly as he can outside of the ring.


“Damn it, Manson,” cries the King, “Spike needs that face to pick up emo girls after the show! Beating him is one thing, but destroying his chances of getting laid? THAT is evil.”


“As the ways of MANSONOSITY~”


Manson follows Jenkins out of the ring, stalking behind his opponent. Spike sees Manson coming and takes a swing, cracking him in the jaw with an elbow that doesn’t really do much damage.




Manson retaliates with a left hook of his own, that sends Spike stumbling back.




He grabs Jenkins by the wrist and Irish whips him into the guardrail…but Spike reverses it and tosses Manson into the steel placing!








Spike quickly rolls into the ring and back out, forcing the referee to restart the count. Spike lines up with Manson against the guardrail and charges at him…only for Manson to backdrop Jenkins over the guardrail and into the crowd!




“Manson just tossed Spike over the guardrail and into the crowd!”







Manson hazily turns around and staggers over the railing. He reaches down, grabbing Spike by the hair and hauls him to his feet. With the support of the crowd behind him, he chucks Spike over the guardrail and back into the ringside area.






“The crowd is really behind Manson tonight!” exclaims Mak.


“It’s because they hate Spike and Manson is a freak, just like them.”


“How dare you call the power of MANSONOSITY~ a…‘freak’!”


“I don’t see the big deal of this MANSONOSITY that you speak of, Mak.”


“Well, he is beating the crap out of Spike Jenkins right now!”




Manson climbs over the guardrail, pursuing Jenkins as he climbs to his feet. Spike uses the steel post to pull himself up, as he turns towards Manson. The Raging Bull charges at full speed at Jenkins, looking for his finisher, THE RAGING LARIAT! Manson blasts towards Jenkins…who uses his speed to drop to the mat, drop toe holding Manson shoulder first straight into the steel post!!!


“Manson goes shoulder first into the steel post,” shouts Francis, “That was his left shoulder, King! How will this affect his striking ability?”


“Very badly.”




The crowd gets to their feet (and hooves, for some of them) and barrages the ringside area with disdain. Spike wallows to his feet, looking at the fallen body of Manson. He grins as he stumbles to the ring and rolls in underneath the bottom rope.


“Spike is going to win this by count out!”




Manson grips his left shoulder as he tries to get to his feet. The whole arena, face and heel side, cheer on for The Walking War to get to his feet.







Manson gets to his feet and falls over onto the ring apron…














“Manson just barely beating the ten count,” Francis barks, “The match continues!”


The crowd cheers as Manson slides into the ring…but Jenkins isn’t cheering. He charges at The War Machine, violently stomping at the left arm. Manson tries to push Jenkins away, but Spike retaliates with a swift sidekick to the arm! Manson stumbles to his feet, giving Jenkins the opportunity to pull his arm backwards into a hammerlock. He bucks his hips and lifts Manson off the ground and into the air, bringing him backwards and dropping him on the arm!


“Hammerlock Suplex!”


Spike rolls over onto his feet, as Manson shouts in pain. He turns over onto his hands and knees, attempting to get up…but Spike cuts him off with another martial arts kick to the shoulder. Manson lets out another shriek as The King of Cambodia jumps on top of him, taking him to the mat. He locks Manson’s right arm in between his legs and pulls back on the left arm in a Rings of Saturn!


“Rings of Saturn!”


Manson shouts in pain as he struggles to break free…but it is no use. Manson cries that he quits and the referee calls for the bell!


*Ding Ding Ding*


“What an abrupt finish!”


“What can you expect? Things to do.”


Spike’s music plays and he leaves the winner! Fuck World of Warcraft.

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"Fans, I'm here backstage with SWF World Champion Michael Stephens," Ben Hardy says, smiling into the camera. "Mike," he continues, turning to the man standing beside him, "last Smarkdown you had something of a confrontation with your old stablemate and the man you were a second for in his King's Road match at 13th Hour, JJ Johnson. He laid out a challenge for you and the World Title you carry, and when you stated your opinion that Va'aiga should get a shot first Johnson opened hostilities by knocking you down with an elbow smash. Do you have any comments on this situation?"


"Well yes I do," Stephens replies levelly, "and I probably should have addressed this before now but I was preoccupied with the fact I've been forced into teaming with Maddix." He grimaces slightly, then takes the microphone from Hardy and looks directly into the camera.


"JJ, I respect you as a person and as a wrestler," the World Champion says, "not because you're a particularly nice guy, but rather because you are never less than completely honest about who you are and where you stand. I know that you are one tough tough bastard, and I know that you are going to do everything in your power to take this title away from me at Ground Zero. You're the sort of person a World Champion would be very happy not to have to defend against," he continues, "but for all the fact that you suckerpunched me I can honestly say that if I have to lose this belt, I could do a lot worse than to lose it to you. You've tried to win it before and come up short each time, and I know that rather than preying on your mind that will only strengthen your resolve. You're fast, you're strong, you're harder to kill than MRSA and you know your way around the ring like few others."


Michael Stephens pauses, and a small smile appears on his face.


"The trouble is, you're now stepping into a zone where all of that means nothing, JJ. I've faced opponents stronger than me, like Bruce Blank for example, and I've beaten them. I've faced opponents faster than me, like Zyon, and I've beaten them too. Tough? They call Landon 'the Cockroach', and I put him down as well. When you get to the World Title it's not about your physical attributes anymore," Stephens says, tapping himself in the chest, "or this skinny white guy wouldn't be standing here holding this belt. It's not about what you can do, it's about how you do it, and when. Because when I seem to be cornered, I find a way out. When I seem beaten, I find a way to win. When someone seems to have my number... I find a way to prove them wrong."


He leans closer to the camera until the shot is filled with his face, his black hair hanging down beside his face.


"The fact that you jumped me... well, I'm guessing that was a reaction to the intimation that someone was better than you. You might well believe that no-one's better than you JJ, but just to be on the safe side I have a piece of advice for you.


"Prepare to be proved wrong."





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SWF returns from commercial with a shot of the grimy backstage area where ace reporter Ben stands. Really, it doesn’t matter where or how he stands, but what does matter is WHO he stands next to. The camera turns to Hardy’s right reveal the Unique Youth, Zyon!




The crowd cheer as Hardy speaks into his mic, “As you can see I am here with Zyon who is coming off a tough loss to rookie sensation Trent Hawk.”


“Tough?” Zyon interrupts, “Dude the only thing tough about that loss is everyone stating that my so called fifteen minutes of fame are up. It was just a loss to a great wrestler who made the stupid choice to hang with one Michael Cross, which is what I’m here to talk about. I personally don’t care about the Axis. I don’t care about Mr. Kobe even though I hear he is a whore. I just want to hurt one man. I want to save the Cruiserweight Division from one star. That star that burns with the blackest of flames. That star is Iron Michael Cross.”




The crowd jeers in unison as Hardy takes over once again, “But what exactly makes you deserving. You lost the title to Cross and then you’re rematch went up in smoke. And then when CC called on for you to perform…you flat out were bested by a rookie. Hell, you’re no different than Spike really.” Hardy says with a straight face while he watches his life flash before his eyes.


Zyon looks at the straight shooting reporter, opting to NOT kill the stooge, “I’m guessing Peters told you to say that. No biggy. I’ll perform when I need to perform. Like tonight when I take on Bruce Blank. I’ll perform. I may win or lose, but I’ll give the people a show. And at Ground Zero when I face Michael Cross in a ladder match, I’ll not only perform, but I’ll set a bar. A bar that nobody in their right mind could leap over. It will be glorious, cause at Ground Zero, I will save the Cruiserweight division from Michael Cross. Now you say what makes me deserving. Well, two Cruiserweight Title reigns and a Hardcore Title reign say I’m due for a chance at Cross. Numerous number one contenderships and a brilliant match with our champion, Michael Stephens says I’m hungry. And for the love of god, does it look like I would introduce my girlfriend to World of Warcraft freaks, please. I’m not Spike!” Zyon chuckles.


“While all of that may be true, what makes you think you can beat Cross when he already bested you?” Young Benjamin asks.


“Nothing makes me think I can beat Cross. Pride, morals, honor. Those codes tell me that I can’t think I can beat Cross. I HAVE TO BEAT CROSS! He’s a punk, a parasite, and for those gripping to Family Friendly television…he’s a big jerk! Here I’ll break it down for ya. Cross and I will duel for the CW title, and one of us will walk out with it. And let’s face it, I can’t lose to Cross…he’s just a bitch!” Zyon retreats back into his youth language as the camera fades to King and Mak.


“Well that just settled that. It seems that Cross and Zyon will battle once again at Ground Zero in a ladder match for the title.” Mak makes it official.


“And hopefully Cross will save me from ever having to watch Zyon again.”


Fade to whatever is next.

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Wildchild sits up abruptly in his seat. “Pardon me?”


“I’m sorry, Wildchild, but the answer is no,” repeats SWF Commissioner Joseph Peters. “I can’t give you a match against Mike Van Siclen at the moment.”


“Of all de… why de hell not?”


“I’m afraid that mister Van Siclen has negotiated some… veto privileges in his most recent contract,” says Peters regretfully. “And he has specifically stated to me that, under no circumstances, are you to be allowed to wrestle him.”


WC looks like someone just took away his birthday. “You don’ understand; Van Siclen nearly ended my career. I owe him!”


“Look, mister LeCroix,” says Peters. “I’d love to book you in a match with Van Siclen… BELIEVE me, I would; nothing would make me happier than to see that smarmy son of a bitch get his. But, unfortunately, my hands are tied at the moment; there’s nothing I can do.”


“You can’t even get me an’ him in a triple-threat, or a battle royal… or somet’ing?”


“I’m sorry,” insists Peters. “Van Siclen has made it clear that he will not accept any bookings against the Wildchild.”


Dominic stares blankly at Peters, as if he’s trying to piece together a plan in his head. “No bookings against de Wil’chil’, huh? Fine… I got t’go get ready for my match, but know dis, monsieur Peters: dis’ ain’t over; I’m gon’ get my hands on Van Siclen, by hook, or by crook!”


With that, Wildchild storms out the door of the Commissioner’s office…



As we:


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




Pyros explode from each side of the stage, launching a mix of red and gold stars towards the ceiling and cueing a change in music as Zach de la Rocha's voice once again floods the building, this time doing a cover of "Street Fighting Man". The arena lights pulse along to the beat. Fans at ringside don't seems to appreciate the obvious work that went into producing such a spectacle, instead cheering the arrival of Austin Sly as he steps out of the curtain.


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


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


“Ladies and Gentlemen this match is scheduled for one fall and is a SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST QUAAALIFYERRRR!!!!” Funyon informs. “First, from St. Louis Missouri….AUUSTIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN SLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!”


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












“He’s back, King! After a long, long month without him, former Cruiserweight champion Akira Kaibatsu has made his return for the Survival of the Fittest!”


“Oh, wonderful, Mak! Another personality devoid .500 wrestler back on the roster! How did we go on without him!”


“I’m not sure King, but I’m glad he’s back!”



Watch ya step kid

Watch ya step kid


No longer masked, the returning star and his brand new beard make their way out of the curtain. Along with the brand new look, is a brand new sense of confidence, and it shows. Akira and his new maroon and black tights run down the ramp, his chest slapped with high five like maneuvers, all the way to the ring, where he lays eyes on his first opponent back. With hardly enough time to bask in the pre match glory, the bell rings,




Akira wastes no time, he’s already wasted a month. He runs at sly, extending his arm out for a short arm clothesline. Sly had anticipated a collar and elbow tie up, as Akira normally starts his matches in this fashion, and is caught off guard. Sly gets right up though, and throws Akira with an arm drag. The Divine Wind rolls through it, and leaps up onto the second rope. He springboards backwards, spinning in mid air…





“Springboard Gamengiirrriiiiii!” Mak cries.


“Lateral press!”















Akira follows up quickly, lifting Sly by his arm, and soon there after wrenching it. Sly flips forward, un-wrenching it. He then swipes Akira’s feet from his knees, Sly tries a quick cover but Akira rolls to his left after a one cont, Kaibatsu runs towards the ropes, and bounces off. Sly is read for him though, and flips him backwards with a back body drop!








“Oh shit, King…”



“Akira’s legs just bounced off the rope, and he landed on that injured neck!”


Sly, not feeling guilty about possibly re injuring Akira, quickly jumps on him, and locks in a head scissors. Akira’s legs squirm, and referee Marky Mark asks Akira if he’s ok to continue. Like all wrestlers, he tells the official he’s fine.


“How did Marky Mark get a job here?” Mak ponders.


“Ugh. Marky Mark gets ALL the cool roles.”


Akira does his best to kip up out of the head scissors, It doesn’t work the first time, but the second effort is effective. Akira takes a moment to shake out his head, and loosen up the neck. This appears to be a bad idea, as Sly runs at him with a clothesline, but The Divine Wind side steps, and Sly runs through the ropes, and hits the floor.





“Akira may have lost a step or two, but he’s still so poised in the ring,” Mak praises.


“Which is particularly odd, because he’s no longer by the side of Mr. Kobe”


“Mr. Kobe turned out to be a dick anyway,”


Kaibatsu gives the fans a cocky smile, and the egg him on. He runs at the ropes, and bounces off. He picks up speed in the middle of the ring, and boom, he takes off. Leaping through the middle rope, throwing his arm out.





“Same old Akira!”


“European Uppercut Suicida!” Mak calls.


Akira comes up rubbing his neck a little bit, but he flips the hair out of his eyes, and carries on with the support of the crowd. He throws Sly back in the ring, and climbs to the apron, Austin reaches his feet, and Akira takes action. He leaps up onto the top rope, and springboards forward. Hurling his feet in front of him, going for his trademark front drop kick…



…and his falls on his back.




“Akira’s just missing a step in this match…the basics are there, but Sly’s always one step ahead of him,”


Sly points to his head, in classic heelish fashion. He grabs Akira by his quickly grown hair, and throws an overhand chop at Akira’s neck, sending a shriek all throughout the super lame arena that for some reason isn’t the Wonka Factory. Sly then shoves Akira over to the turnbuckle and hurls knife edge chops to Akira’s chest. He then runs at the ropes opposite Kaibatsu and raises his foot up for a Yakuza Kick to Akira’s head!


“Kaibatsu’s neck, likely, will never be the same. A target for everyone in matches to come,” Mak sees for the future.


Sly follows this up by lifting Akira onto the top turnbuckle. Sly grabs Akira’s head in a front facelock. Sly smiles to his side of the crowd, and drops down to the mat, slamming The Divine Wind’s face to the ground with an avalanche DDT! Cover!!


























































“Akira’s a real trooper, King.”


“There’s a World War II joke to be made there, but I wont be the one to do it,”


Sly slams the mat with his fist in rage, and lifts up Akira once again. He puts Akira in another front facelock, and lifts him upwards, going for a brainbuster, but Kaibatsu pushes off Austin’s shoulders and slides around behind him. He grabs Sly from the side and throws him backwards with a backrop driver!!!!





“Akira Advances!!”


























































Akira doesn’t let the inconvenience bother him. Instead he ascends to the turnbuckle. Kaibatsu shoots hit legs out, sliding backwards, as all the Kodaks in the arena flash. The Divine Wind’s back dives into the stomach of Sly, and the crowd erupts.































































Akira, not frustrated, (rarely is he ever, as we’ve seen), and lifts Sly by the hair. He throws a European Uppercut, and Sly falls backwards, on his ass, stunned at the power Akira’s small frame packs behind the uppercut. The Divine Wind runs at Sly, throwing his foot out, going for White Magic, but Sly lowers his head, and avoids it!


“Missed White Magic…going for Black Magic instead!” Mak cries.


And Mak’s cries are correct. Akira steps backwards and tries for a kick to the back of Sly’s head, but Sly has studied Akira’s tendencies in the ring, and avoids that as well. Akira is thrown off balance by this and falls to the mat. Sly gets up immediately and runs to the ropes and bounces off. He times his run perfectly, and just as Akira gets to his knees…







“Hooks a leg!”















































































Wait, NO! Akira rolls backwards…and lunges forward at Austin’s throat. He curls Sly’s arm backwards and hooks his arm through the whole he created!


“Akira’s got the Anaconda Vice locked in!” Mak screams. “How much longer can Sly stay in there!”


Sly reaches forward with his free hand, but this position doesn’t allow him to move anywhere…he’s got nowhere else to go…and nothing left to breathe…








“And Akira qualifies for the 4 way on Smarkdown!” Mak shouts.



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SWF Lockdown returns to the airwaves to the strains of Evanescence’s “Bring Me to Life,” because who needs an introductory paragraph for a fictional location anyway? The writer—who, for the record, is intoxicated as of this writing—has never nor will ever play World of Warcraft, so let’s just call it Azeroth and the fans Azerothians. Or just fans.


But back to the ring. With Amy Lee’s grating voice shouting along with the dude from the band from whom everyone heard one song, I forget what it is though. So, from the “good guy” entrance, the familiar masked appearance of GRENDEL appears, much to the delight of the Azerothians. He doesn’t stop to make nice with the fans though, because he’s on a mission.


“This show has been stacked,” Suicide King begins, “so it only makes sense that we throw in some filler matches in between the International Championship tournament matches.”


“Why, King, this is anything but filler!” Mak bullshits, “Grendel has a score to settle with the tag team champions, who actually unmasked him two shows back! He couldn’t get the job done in a handicap match, understandably, but now the odds are closer to even as he only takes on half of the team.”


“First of all, if we go by weight, Grendel is actually facing three-fifths of the champions. And the odds will never be even when someone of Grendel’s stature takes on Charlie Matthews.”


“Nevertheless, Grendel suffered a hard-fought loss at the hands of Michael Cross on the last show, so he also has that to make up for.”


“How many matches has Grendel actually won?”




Amidst all of this banter, Grendel has entered the ring and does many impressive athletic things, like jumps and stretches.


“This contest is scheduled for one fall!” Funyon cries, “First, in the ring, from Brooklyn, New York, weighing in at two-hundred and twenty pounds, this is GREEEEEENDELLLLL!”


“Bring Me to Life” finally ends, and is replaced by the old-school classic riff of Muddy Waters’ “Mannish Boy,” prompting jeers to elicit from one half of the stadium. The other half consists of smarks, probably, because they don’t feel the need to look like actual “fans,” and would much rather bitch about workrate and how Landon Maddix can’t work SWF style.


“Grendel, Grendel, Grendel!” a shrill voice cries, causing 90% of the fans to roll their eyes and Tom Flesher to mark out.


Sure enough, James Matheson emerges from the “heel” entrance, albeit without his main charge. Carrying his signature briefcase in one hand and a microphone in the other, he continues his diatribe to Grendel.


“You just won’t learn, will you? Granted, you may have what we call a vendetta against Charlie Matthews and, especially, The Superior One Tom Flesher. But that vendetta will just not be settled by being crushed to death week after week! Now, according to my inside sources, there’s someone important underneath that mask. Methinks you’re just hiding a hideous face that not a single person here actually wants to see. Any modicum of talent etc. etc. etc. heel promo stuff. Now! Allow me now to explain why you will not win this match!”


Matheson stoops down to open up his briefcase, and this distraction keeps Grendel’s eyes on the pencil-necked bitch, allowing-




-that to happen.


“Charlie Matthews just blindsided Grendel with his Tag Team Championship belt!” Mak cries, “what a dirty, cheating bastard!”


“And the best part is he came out of the face entrance!” King cheers. “That man knows what the fans want!”


With Matheson cackling aloud, Charlie Matthews stomps down on the fallen form of Grendel. Referee Robbie Robertson tries to intervene and stop the Tag Team Champion, but gets a huge right hand for his troubles, taking him down!


“What the hell is going on?!” Mak exclaims, “Does Matthews realize that he’s in a match tonight?”


“Well, yeah.”


Grappler forcibly brings Grendel up to his feet, locking him in a front facelock. From there he hoists the masked one vertically into the air, then quickly pivots around and brings his weight down with a jaaaaaaackhammerish move called the Wake-Up Call!


“What you people need to understand,” Matheson begins again on the house mic, “is that this man is more than just Tom Flesher’s tag team partner. Yes, he’s also a fan and a friend of The Superior One. But he’s also a monster!!”


Matthews proves this by bringing Grendel up again, this time sandwiching him in a standing headscissors. Without even doing his typical “raise my open hands in the air” taunt, Grappler hoists Grendel up…and DROPS him with a massive powerbomb!




But he keeps his hands clenched together, lifts Grendel up again…




…and hits a second powerbomb! Without even breaking a sweat, he brings Grendel right back up, spins around and




Lands a third, vicious vicious powerbomb! Grappler stays on top of Grendel and James Matheson slides into the ring, registers a three count, and calls for the bell (which doesn’t ring, because they’re heels).


“Your winner is Charlie Matthews!” Matheson declares, “and Grendel, let that be a lesson to you. Don’t come knocking on our door anymore looking for opportunities at vengeance. You blew your chances. Grap, let’s get out of here and find a Waffle House.”


Muddy Waters’ “Mannish Boy” hits as Matthews exits the ring with Matheson and his tag title belt, satisfied with his easy workday.


“Maybe he heard what you said about a filler match,” Mak groans, “but either way, Charlie Matthews has completely decimated Grendel here tonight!”


“It was really lovely,” King agrees, “Sometimes, you don’t need an actual competitive match to be entertaining. Some time, you just have to go out and kick some ass. Some people were taking Charlie Matthews lightly with his crippling—sorry Mak—neck injury, and he needed to reestablish himself.”


“And it looks like this segment is out of time!” Mak exclaims, “apparently, this writer makes a mean Mojito.”

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“We’re back on Lockdown,” says Mak Francis, “and coming up next, we’ve got Tom Flesher taking on the Wildchild! King, Tom and Wildchild faced each other just over two months ago, with Wildchild pulling out a win with an improbable reversal: do you think that lightning could strike twice?”


“Not a chance!” replies the Suicide King emphatically. “Tom was still working himself back into shape back then, and Wildchild won on a fluke. There’s absolutely no chance in hell that Tom loses to this clown again!”


“No mistake about it, Tom’s definitely been on a roll since that loss,” concedes Mak. “In fact, he hasn’t loss a single match since that loss to Wildchild back in May!”


“Exactly!” agrees King. “And that’s why he’s going to win here tonight, as well: he’s on a roll! He’s in the zone! And Wildchild is in a bit of a rut, which can’t be helped by the fact that he’s been preoccupied in recent weeks by the return of Mike Van Siclen!”


“As we heard earlier tonight,” explains Mak, “Wildchild went directly to Joseph Peters, commissioner of the SWF, and demanded a match against Van Siclen, only to be denied! And King, I know that he wants to get some payback against Van Siclen for nearly ending his career, but he’d better put that aside tonight and focus on Flesher; Tom is much too good a wrestler for him to not have one hundred percent of your energy directed towards him!”


“It doesn’t matter whether he’s focused on Tom or not,” says King confidently. “He’s not in Flesher’s league… And anyway, we already know how this match is going to end!”


“Is that right?”


“Sure is,” laughs King. “Wildchild hasn’t won back-to-back matches in months, and he won last week on Storm, so he’s definitely going to lose tonight. Mark my words, Francis: Wildchild is going down!”



“Tom’s got to be the prohibitive favorite, but Wildchild has proven time and again that he can hang with the Superior One!” says Mak Francis. “And with that in mind, we… ah jeez, here we go again!”


Mak is referring to the arrival of James Matheson on the stage, carrying a microphone in one hand, and his ever-present Halliburton in the other. “My goodness; you people here are twice lucky!” insists Matheson. “Of course, Azeroth couldn’t handle the greatness of Tom Flesher and Charlie Matthews in the ring together, so we had to bring them out one at a time. Without further ado, I’d like to ask all of you to get up out of your seat and show respect for a legend and true icon of the industry! A champion many times over, and an SWF Hall-of-Famer! One-half of the greatest team of all time, the Superior One, Tom Flesher!”


With that, the stage is showered with blue pyro as “Kashmir” by Led Zeppelin begins to play. Tom nods in acknowledgement to Matheson before making his way down to the ring, with James lagging behind him.


“Oh, for crying out loud!” groans Mak. “I like Tom as much as the next guy… well, actually, I probably like him a little more than the next guy, but that introduction was a little over the top!”


“Over the top?” bellows King incredulously. “I beg to differ, Francis! Hell, Tom Flesher is a legend! Why, he’s had to carry this company on his back ever since I retired; if you ask me, he doesn’t get half the praise he deserves!”


“Oh please!” snorts Mak, as Flesher walks up the steel stairs to enter the ring. “If he were getting any more praise, Matheson would be shouting ‘All Hail Tom Flesher’ all the way down to the ring!”


“Say,” says King, stroking his chin thoughtfully, “that’s actually a good idea; I’ll have to bring it up with Matheson after the show!”






“The following Cruiserweight Rules match is scheduled for one fall!” bellow Funyon. “Currently in the ring, and introducing first: James Matheson! He represents, from Buffalo, New York, and weighing in at two hundred twenty-nine and nine-tenths pounds, the Superior One… Tom FLESHER!” Flesher removes his warm-up suit and begins a minor stretching routine as he waits on his opponent to arrive.


“I tell you what, King,” says Francis, “we’ve been talking about how Wildchild needs to not take Flesher lightly, but I think it’s fair to ask if Tom is actually up for this match!”


“What are you talking about, Murderball?”


“Well, Tom’s conditioning has fallen off a step or two here in recent weeks,” explains Mak. “I mean, there’s the drinking and the carousing, which has never really impacted his wrestling to any significant degree… but he’s also up to a pack-a-day habit, and let’s face it: Wildchild isn’t exactly the slowest wrestler in the world!”


“Kashmir” fades out, and is quickly replaced by Mystikal’s “Bouncin’ Back.” Wildchild and Melissa make their way out from behind the curtain, saluting all of the fans from the top of the stage before making their way down the ramp.


“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 is one of the most popular performers to come along in recent memory here in the SWF,” says Mak, “as well as one of the premier Cruiserweights!”


“How dare you use that phrase to describe Wildchild!” scolds King. “I’ve got half a mind to report you to Iron Mike!”


“A half a mind is all you’ve got, anyway!” retorts Mak. WC removes his shin guards and hands them to Melissa before somersaulting between the ropes to enter the ring. He watches Flesher with a wary eye as he heads over to the edge of the ring, leaping onto the middle rope and raising his arms above his head to salute the crowd:







Wildchild quickly hops back down into the ring as his music fades out, spinning to face Tom as he feigns a move towards WC, but the Superior One merely smirks, as if to say that he was simply playing mind games with his young opponent. Referee Red Herrington signals the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match:






“Bell’s gone!” shouts Mak. “And we’re underway!” WC and Tom engage in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, and Tom muscles him back against the edge of the ring. Once they reach the ropes, Herrington demands a clean break, and the Superior One complies, but not before patting Wildchild patronizingly on his left cheek.


“I love it!” cheers King. “Tom sending a little message to Wildchild; reminding him that he’s not in Flesher’s league!” Flesher takes a few steps back towards the center of the ring, and WC heads out to confront him; they tie-up once again, with WC taking control with a go-behind into a waistlock. Flesher smirks before breaking Wildchild’s grip and reversing easily, but before he can lock his hands around Wildchild’s waist, the Caribbean Cruiser reaches over his shoulder to grab Tom by the head in a cravate, and then takes him over with a snapmare! WC springs off the canvas as Tom rolls into a sitting position, and blasts the Superior One in the back of the head with a basement dropkick! Flesher quickly rolls to his feet and charges at Wildchild, but the Bahama Bomber takes him over with a lightning-quick armdrag, and then quickly transitions into an armbar!


“This is what I was talking about, King,” says Mak. “With Wildchild’s speed, Tom may be in danger of letting Wildchild push his conditioning to the limit; and, right now, it looks like Wildchild may be frustrating him in the early going of this match!” No sooner than the words come out of his mouth, though, Tom negotiates his way back to his feet, and then steps into WC’s body, hooking his far arm underneath Wildchild’s near arm to counter the armbar with an armdrag takeover of his own! Both men return to neutral ground, with Tom looking at WC as if to say, “Not bad, but now let’s see what you’ve really got!”


“So much for frustrating Flesher!” mocks King. Tom and WC tie-up, with Wildchild taking control with a go-behind waistlock. Before Flesher can decide on the best counter, WC takes him completely by surprise, leapfrogging over Tom’s back and locking his ankles behind Flesher’s head as he sails past, to flip the Superior One to the canvas with a modified headscissor takeover! Tom scrambles to his feet, but WC greets him with two feet jammed into his midsection; the Bahama Bomber locks his hands behind Tom’s neck and arches backwards as he hurls Flesher through the air with his patented Freefall monkey flip! WC beats Tom to his feet and begins to make his way over towards his adversary, but the Superior One rolls out of the ring to take a breather.


“Look at that!” cries Mak, as Matheson rushes over to dab Tom’s head with a towel. “I told you that conditioning might be a factor; he’s already sucking wind!”


“Ah, he’s just playing mind games with Wildchild,” replies King, as Herrington begins to deliver his count. “Wildchild’s not good enough to have Flesher out of breath yet; hell, even on one lung, Flesher’s got better conditioning than ninety percent of the roster!”


“Then what’s your explanation for why he rolled outside to get some air?”


“He’s just trying to freeze the kid,” rationalizes King. Flesher climbs back onto the apron well ahead of the twenty-count, and returns to the ring. He goes behind WC and applies a waistlock, quickly moving his arms up to try and hook in a full-Nelson; Wildchild spins his body towards Flesher to avoid it, only for the Superior One to take him over with a snapmare and then cinch in a reverse chinlock.


“I told you,” King says proudly. “He just wanted to throw Wildchild off his rhythm, that’s all!” WC struggles to find a way out of the chinlock, finally getting his feet underneath him and trying to negotiate his way back to a standing position. He tries to turn away from Flesher to get out of the chinlock, only to find himself on the business end of a top wristlock! Tom begins to use his superior mass and strength to force WC backwards, only for the Tropical Tumbler to unexpectedly drop his weight towards canvas, pulling Flesher off his feet before he can get them set, and taking him over with a modified armdrag! Tom’s face shows annoyance as he gets back to his feet, and WC decides to agitate him further by pandering to the crowd; the fans respond to his salute with a hearty cheer:








“Tom has to think of some way to slow Wildchild down,” notes Mak, “or he’s in danger of letting this match get out of control!” WC and Tom engage in a tie-up, and Flesher quickly takes advantage, shifting into a side headlock and then throwing WC down to the mat with a side headlock takeover. Flesher releases the hold almost immediately and holds WC down against the canvas, grinding his forearm into the beleaguered Bahaman’s nose with a vicious crossface as Herrington makes his first pinfall count of the night:













WC kicks out at two! Wildchild rises to a sitting position, only for Tom to re-take control with an armbar. WC gets to his feet, and Flesher decides to repay him from earlier with an armdrag takeover of his own!


“There!” cheers King. “How do you like the execution on THAT armdrag?” Tom pushes Wildchild onto his back and applies a lateral press:


















Wildchild kicks out at two! Flesher pulls Wildchild to his feet and scoops him off the canvas to deliver a scoop slam, but WC hooks Tom behind the head on the way down, pulling the Superior One into an inside cradle!













Tom kicks out at two! Both men return to their feet simultaneously, but WC takes advantage, nailing Tom in the side of the head with a heavy right cross! A series of right jabs then forces Flesher back into a neutral corner; Wildchild straddles the middle ropes and prepares to deliver a ten-count punch, but Tom slips out from underneath, spinning around and hammering WC in the small of the back with a double-sledgehammer blow! He starts to push Wildchild over the top rope and out of the ring, but Herrington runs over to intervene, threatening disqualification.


“What’s going on here?” bellows King. “Herrington has no business getting in Tom’s way like that!”


“Hey,” replies Mak, “the guy’s just trying to spare Tom the indignity of being disqualified for something stupid!” Flesher brushes the referee aside and decides that perhaps a suplex is in order, but the Caribbean Cruiser knocks him backwards with a back kick to the chest, and then quickly climbs up to the top turnbuckle, springing back into the ring and toppling Flesher with a flying corkscrew body attack! WC runs to the ropes as Tom gets to his feet and explodes off the canvas as he rebounds, leveling Flesher with a leg lariat that sends him rolling out of the ring! Wildchild bounds to his feet as the Superior One is once again left to try and recover out on the arena floor!


“The pace has picked up in this matchup,” says Mak as Matheson once again rushes over to Flesher’s aid, “and that definitely favors the Wildchild!” Flesher whispers some instructions to Matheson and then moves away from him, loudly directing him to “Be ready,” as he returns to the ring apron.


“Well, King, the last time Tom bailed out to the arena floor, you said that he was trying to freeze up Wildchild, and it didn’t work; we’ll see if he has any more success this time around!” Tom ties up with WC, and takes control with a side headlock. Wildchild leads him back to the edge of the ring, and uses the ropes to help him launch Tom across the ring, but the Superior One obstructs Red Herrington’s view with his body as he grabs a handful of braids and pulls WC back into a side headlock!


“Brilliant maneuver on the part of Tom Flesher!” cheers King, as Tom grinds harder on the headlock. “Great ring generalship!” WC tries to power his way out of the headlock, but Matheson barks at Herrington to get his attention as Tom once again grabs a handful of WC’s braids to reassert control!


“Tom’s starting to dig into his bag of tricks,” says Mak. “And now he’s got his manager involved!”


“I told you, Francis, it was only a matter of time before Flesher got this match at the pace he likes!” Wildchild turns his body in towards Tom and drives an elbow into his midsection. Followed by a second, and then a third, before Flesher finally releases the side headlock! Wildchild begins to belt Tom in the face with hard right hands, backing him into a neutral corner before turning around to get a running start for a flying attack into the corner, only for Flesher to grab him by the back of the head and yank him forcefully down to the canvas with two handfuls of braids!


“Man, Tom is sure taking a lot of liberties with Wildchild’s hair!” says Mak.


“Good!” replies King. “It’s about time somebody made him pay for having that rats nest on his head!” Herrington admonishes Tom for the hair pull, but the Superior One simply brushes him aside disdainfully. He bends down to pick up WC, but the Bahama Bomber suddenly swings his legs up, hooking them underneath Flesher’s arms and pulling him forwards into a modified victory roll!


















WC beats Tom to his feet, running towards the edge of the ring and leaping onto the top rope, curling into a ball as he springs back into the ring to knock the Superior One to the canvas with a Pinball attack!






Wildchild pulls Flesher to his feet and pushes him back into the corner, where he straddles the middle ropes and once again signals for a ten-count punch!

































The fans cheer with renewed intensity as Wildchild hops back down into the ring. “Wildchild was frustrated in his earlier attempt to go for those punches,” shouts Mak, “but he got all of them that time!” WC grabs Tom by the wrist and whips him across the ring, only for the Superior One to reverse, sending him into the corner instead. Wildchild leaps into the air as he approaches the corner, landing on the top turnbuckle and flipping backwards into the ring; Tom, anticipating another corkscrew attack, rushes towards the corner to knock him off, but WC sails overhead, landing on his feet in the ring behind Flesher. Tom charges back out of the corner, but WC crouches low to grab Flesher around the knee and pull him forward into an overhead single-leg takedown! Wildchild hangs onto his leg as he rolls right through, on into a half-Boston crab!






Wildchild only stays in this hold for a split-second, though, just long enough to flip Tom onto his back and start into a figure-four, which earns an even louder cheer from the fans!






“Figure-four!” shouts Mak. “This could be upset city!” Tom still has the presence of mind to counter, however, using his trunk-like legs to propel WC back into the corner! Flesher scrambles to his feet and charges the corner, but Wildchild gets his knees up, jamming them into Tom’s face. The Bahama Bomber then leaps back onto the top turnbuckle and turns back towards the ring to launch himself…






… But the Superior One suddenly puts on a burst of speed, darting into the corner and up the turnbuckles; he grabs WC in a front waistlock and snatches him off the turnbuckle to drive him into the canvas with a tremendous belly-to-belly suplex!


“Excellent move by Tom Flesher!” cheers King. “Great counter by the best in the game!” Flesher looks outside the ring and nods almost imperceptibly at Matheson, who immediately recognizes his cue and leaps onto the ring apron to get the referee’s attention.


“Matheson’s up on the apron; come on, we don’t need this!” admonishes Mak. “All he’s going to do is prevent a possible pinfall attempt for Flesher!” Tom doesn’t seem too concerned with pin falls at the moment, however, as he takes advantage of Herrington’s distraction to pull WC to his feet and lead him over to the edge of the ring…






… Where he pitches him over the top rope and out to the arena floor headfirst!


“Hah!” snorts King. “I knew it; it was all part of the master plan!” Melissa runs over to tend to her man as Matheson drops back down to the arena floor; Herrington is somewhat surprised to turn around and discover WC out on the floor while Flesher is in the ring, but nonetheless heads over to the edge of the ring and begins to administer a twenty-count:












While Herrington is preoccupied with the count, Tom walks across the ring out of his field of vision, and over towards Matheson, who opens up the Halliburton and retrieves a Good Ol’ Memphis Chain! He hands it to Tom, who slips it into his tights while the referee is still distracted.












“Brilliant!” crows King. “That’s bloody brilliant!” Tom walks back across the ring and past the referee, just as WC is starting to get to his feet; Flesher steps out onto the apron to break up his count, and jumps off of the apron to drop down onto Wildchild’s back with a double-axe handle! Tom pulls WC to his feet and blasts him in the chest with an open-hand palm thrust, before lifting him off the arena floor and rolling him back into the ring. Tom walks nonchalantly up the steel stairs and steps between the ropes. He applies a half-hearted lateral press:
















“You know I’m getting sick of this guy’s poor counting!” grumbles King.


“What are you talking about?” asks Mak, as Tom echoes King’s sentiments, arguing about the count. “Red Herrington is one of the most consistent referees we have here in the SWF!”


“Oh, he’s consistent alright,” replies King smarmily. “One… two… PAUSE… three!” Tom turns his attention back to WC, who suddenly rises up with a surge of adrenaline and hammers Flesher in the midsection with a hard right hand! A second right knocks Tom a few steps back, and gives WC enough respite to go for a third!


“Look at Wildchild fire back,” shouts Francis, “just when it looked like Tom had this match sewn up!” WC forces Tom back against the ropes and whips him across the ring, only for the Flesher to reverse it; Wildchild dives headfirst towards the edge of the ring, planting his hands against the canvas and keeping his body straight as his back bounces off the ropes, and he launches back towards the center of the ring, springing into the air as he feet touch the mat and launching himself backwards to deliver a handspring elbow smash…


… But the Superior One counters, blocking the handspring elbow and holding WC into position as he slips on a half-Nelson, and hooks on a body scissors as he falls backwards towards the mat:


“King Cobra!” cheers King. “Tom’s almost got it hooked! If he can just get that other arm across the throat, this one’s over!”


“And Tom’s got him in the center of the ring!” adds Mak, as WC continues to try and block with his free hand. “Wildchild’s only chance is not to let Tom get the King Cobra all the way on!”


“That’s right!” agrees King cheerfully. “He’s nowhere near the corner; there won’t be any fluke counter this time!” Wildchild fights for all he’s worth, but he can’t match Flesher’s strength, and slowly but surely starts to wear down.







“He’s inches away!” King cackles gleefully. “Tom’s inches away from locking in that King Cobra, and from this match being a done deal!”


“I doesn’t look like Wildchild’s going to be able to power out of it,” says Mak, “and he’s got no leverage to make it to the ropes; it’s going to take a miracle for the Bahama Bomber to get out of this!”



A miracle…










Or a sharp set of teeth! With one final, last-ditch effort, WC pushes Tom’s hand from underneath, raising it up over his throat and to mouth level, where he opens wide and closes his teeth around Flesher’s hand, holding on for dear life!



“He’s biting him!” roars King. “That’s completely uncalled for! We don’t even know if Wildchild’s had all his shots!”









Red Herrington untangles the two combatants, forcibly removing WC’s mouth from Flesher’s hand but, in the process, freeing him from the King Cobra.


“Well, there’s a counter that you don’t see every day!” chuckles Mak. “I guess he really is the Wildchild!”


“I can’t believe that he wasn’t immediately disqualified for that!” bellows King. “Herrington needs to be brought before the review board for his ineptitude!” Tom tries to shake some feeling back into his hand as he walks over to WC. The Bahama Bomber tries to fight back with some right jabs, but he’s still a little worn down, and succumbs easily to a Tom Flesher kneelift. Flesher grabs WC by the wrist and whips him into the ropes, but the Bahama Bomber reverses, turning into Flesher’s body and lacing his leg with Tom’s as he reaches across for a side headlock, before falling back into a Side Russian Legsweep! The crowd begins to cheer as WC rolls atop Flesher to apply a lateral press:













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






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


















“Holy smoke!” shouts Mak, as Flesher gets to his feet, positioning his arms as he sizes WC up. “Tom hit that Railgun suplex from out of nowhere! He just barely missed with that pin!” Tom pulls WC to his feet and traps him in a side waistlock; he lifts him up onto his shoulders in a Canadian Backbreaker, but struggles to get a good grip to bring him back down into the Derailleur, enabling Wildchild to slip off his shoulders and land behind his back. Flesher spins around, but the Human Hurricane leaps off the canvas and whips his leg through the air…






… Blasting Tom in the face with a Gamengiri! Both men are down as Herrington begins to deliver his count:












“This is anybody’s match to win!” shouts Mak. “The next one to hit a big move will probably take it all… now what’s he doing up on the apron?”


The he that Mak is referring to is, of course, James Matheson, who lays the Halliburton flat on the apron and he begins bouncing up and down to get the referee’s attention. Herrington heads over and orders him to return to the floor, allowing Matheson to surreptitiously kick the briefcase over towards Tom.


“You’ve got to be kidding me!” exclaims Mak, as WC and Tom both get to their feet. “Is Tom really going to take the win like this?”


“Hey,” replies King, “you take it however you can get it!” Flesher stuns WC with a particularly aggressive eye-rake, and then bends down to pick up the Halliburton. He raises it above his head with both hands and begins to bring it down onto Wildchild’s noggin…


… But Herrington turns around just in time to stop him, grabbing the briefcase out of his hands!






“Good for you, Herrington!” applauds Mak. “Don’t let him get away with that; make him earn a win here tonight!” Herrington scolds Tom, giving him an abbreviated lecture about sportsmanship, all while the Superior One continues to deny that he even had the briefcase in his hand.


“Lovely!” says King. “Don’t give in, Tom; he’s wavering!” Herrington heads over to the edge of the ring and hands the briefcase to a ring attendant, confident that he’s rid the ring of all weapons…





… But he didn’t know about the chain…





“The chain!” croaks Mak, as Tom pulls it out of his tights. “He’s going to cheat to win anyway!”


“Yes!” cheers King, as Tom wraps it around his fist. “Knock his lights out, Taamo!” Flesher gets a running start and draws his fist back to deliver a tremendous punch…


… But the Human Hurricane ducks at the last second! Flesher runs past him to the ropes, hoping for one more shot before the referee starts paying attention again…






… But WC lifts him up into the air as he bounces off the ropes and slams him face-first into the canvas with a flapjack! He rolls to his feet and runs to the edge of the ring as Tom rises up on his knees, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes…






… And blasting him in the face with a Shining Wizard! Flesher collapses onto his back, and WC quickly runs to the corner, leaping onto the top rope and flipping back into the ring…






… Crashing into the Superior One with a moonsault! WC grapevines his legs as he pulls him into a pinning predicament:





















Wildchild untangles himself from the Superior One and rolls out of the ring as “Bouncin’ Back” begins to play again. He leans heavily against the apron as Melissa runs over to him. Herrington exits the ring and walks over to WC to raise his hand in victory, as the fans cheer their hearts out.


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


“He did it again!” shouts Mak. “Lightning has struck twice; Wildchild has beaten Tom Flesher again!”


“I can’t believe it!” cries King. “I won’t believe it; how can one kid be so damned lucky?”


“I don’t know, King,” says Mak. “All I know is that Wildchild has just done something that a lot of people didn’t think he could do: he’s proven a lot of people wrong with a win here tonight!”


WC pumps his fist exuberantly, accepting congratulatory pats on the back from the fans at ringside, as he begins to make his way backstage…



As we:


Edited by chirs3

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“The following contest is set for one fall and it is part of the tournament to crown a new SWF International Champion!” Funyon says the second Lockdown goes live again.










The crowd in the Gurubashi Arena come alive as “Vitamin” by Incubus is turned up high. The Unique Youth steps out of the gladiator gates with a confident grin on his face as he stops for a moment to look at the crowd gathered in the old arena.


“Introducing first a former 2 times SWF Cruiserweight champion, weighing in at 200 pounds even – “The Unique Youth” ZYYYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONN!!


Zyon sprints down the aisle towards the ring the moment his name is mentioned, covering the distance in under 10 seconds before leaping up on the apron and then bouncing over the top rope


“Zyon has had quite a history with the International champion or maybe more correctly with the longest running International champion Jay Hawke” Mak starts out revealing that he’s done his homework for this match.


“Yeah but remember he came close but never actually won the title, even if he should win tonight he’ll probably still have to contend with Jay Hawke on Smarkdown” King replies taking every chance he can to rain on Mak’s parade.


“Don’t ask me no questions” begins to play next turning the crowd from positive to negative within 3 cords of the Lynyrd Skynyrd song.


“And his opponent, accompanied by Wayne Blank, he is the former Ultraviolent champion, weighing in at 295 pounds, the self proclaimed Redneck Superman: BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!!!”




The wide doors open once again this time to allow the Blank brothers to enter the arena, Wayne leads the procession as he proudly points to his T-Shirt that states “I’m with the next International champion” and then an arrow to his right. Once Wayne realizes that he needs to be next to Bruce before it make sense he quickly moves over to Bruce’s left hand side and high fives his big brother as the two head for the ring.


“Here comes the big man!” King says with a grin, anticipating another dirty match from Bruce.


“These two are no strangers to each other King, although they’ve never faced off in singles competition they have fought before” Mak says impressing no one with this information.


Bruce jogs up the steps and then steps through the ropes as Zyon wisely keeps his distance to Bruce. Wayne takes up a position on the floor and immediately starts to applaud and cheer for Bruce, raising the amount of people cheering for Bruce to one. Referee Izzy Slappowitz quickly checks Zyon’s waistline and shoes for any illegal objects before turning to Bruce to do the same.


“This could take a while” Mak quips.


Izzy seems to be extra attentive as he pats Bruce’s down making sure he doesn’t have anything in his pockets, then when he gets to Bruce’s boots he notices something. Bruce vigorously shakes his head denying any wrong doing as Slappowitz pulls out a pair of brass knuckles from the shaft of Bruce’s boot.




Wayne yells something about it being legal on Azeroth but Referee Slappowitz is having none of that, he turns to a ring side attendant to hand off the brass knuckles. For some reason Bruce doesn’t look too upset that he’s been found out and the moment the referee turns his back it’s revealed why as the big man attacks Zyon who’s still in his corner. Zyon swiftly ducks under the oncoming assault of the much slower Blank, then he bounces off the ropes on the opposite side trying to hit a twisting arm drag on the King of Pain. Bruce stands his ground though and twists the Unique Youth around so that he has him in a wheelbarrow suplex position raising the smaller man up into the air.


“Zyon has Bruce well scouted, he knows that the big man likes to attack before the bell” Mak interjects as Zyon flips the lift up into a Bulldog position on Bruce.


But Zyon is tossed off before he can bring Bruce down to the canvas as the big man pushes forward sending Zyon to the canvas. Zyon swiftly kips up much to the approval of the fans in the arena before he attacks Bruce Blank once more. But while Blank may not move fast enough to get out of the way he is strong enough to grab Zyon and flip him up in the air with a back body drop.


“Amazing balance by Zyon” Mak marvels as the Unique Youth manages to turn his body in mid air so that he lands on his feet instead.


“Oh shit Bruce didn’t see it, he’s walking right into a. . . “ Is all King gets to say before







Bruce staggers back a step or two but that’s all the effect that the kick has on the big man. Zyon kips up once more only to find himself in Bruce’s way as the freight train comes right at him. Zyon has two options, stay standing up and probably get his body flipped in the air from a lariat or dive through Bruce’s legs as the big man comes towards him. Zyon chooses option number two and slides between Bruce’s legs and then gets to his feet the second Bruce has passed by. When Zyon bounces off the ropes Wayne reaches in and takes a swipe at Zyon’s feet, it’s not enough to knock him over but it’s enough to stop the Unique Youth’s momentum as he turns and says something derogatory towards Wayne.


“Why is he even out there? Wayne isn’t a manager” Mak complains


“He’s not a manager? Who told you that? I happen to know that he has a manager’s license and everything” King counters


“Yeah but all he does is interfere in matches or annoy the crap out of the fans at ringside”


“Sounds like a manager to me” King says putting an end to that discussion.


Bruce has had enough of the cat and mouse game with the much faster Zyon and slowly herds the Unique Youth into one of the corners as he tries his best to keep the young man contained. With his back against the turnbuckles Zyon knows he has to try something or gets creamed so Zyon steps to the left and throws an elbow at Bruce’s forearm, then quickly spins around and tries to run right only to get caught by the back of his shirt as Bruce’s hand grips the fabric. The King of Pain uses that grip to throw Zyon across the ring, following right behind him ready to strike the second Zyon hits the turnbuckles.


“Here comes the steamroller!!!” King yells out as Bruce throws himself forward.




Much to Bruce’s chagrin Zyon is just too fast for him and manages to springboard off the top rope and OVER Bruce’s head as he charges in and hits the turnbuckle chest and knee first. Bruce takes one step out of the corner and the collapses in a heap on the ground while clutching his right leg shrieking in pain. Izzy Slappowitz rushes over to check on the big man as he’s rolling on the ground in pain.


“Oh man this looks. . . “ is all Mak says before trailing off.


“Yeah, he hit that turnbuckle really hard” King says in a very somber “this is serious” voice.


Slappowitz almost raises his hands up to make the dreaded X sign but Bruce puts a hand on his arm to stop him, saying something to him that the cameras don’t quite catch. While Bruce is on the ground talking to the referee Zyon is pacing back and forth in the background not sure what’s going on or where this is leading to. After a few more comments from Bruce the referee nods and then helps the big man back to his feet. Bruce takes an awkward step forward, limping severely but apparently ready to fight despite the obvious pain he’s in.


“Man you’ve got to give Bruce credit, he’s a tough son of a bitch” Mak is surprised to hear himself say.


“Damn right he is, I don’t know how wise this is though – you don’t screw around with your knees” King replies, wise from experience.


Zyon looks pleased that the match is going to continue but still approaches Bruce a bit wearily, making sure not to get too close to Bruce as he focuses on the knee. Zyon dives for the knee but Bruce manages to pull it out of harms way in the last second before Zyon is able to do even more damage to it. When Zyon comes at Bruce for a second attack Bruce just grins. . . then he




“THAT SON OF A BITCH!!” Mak yells out in surprise as Bruce lands a big boot right to Zyon’s nose, with his supposed bad leg and all.


“Oh you evil, evil genius” is all that King can say.


The kick to Zyon’s face totally levels the Unique Youth causing Wayne to leap up and down on the outside while hootin’ and hollerin’ about outsmarting Zyon. Bruce does a quick squat just to rub it in that his leg is 100% fine before turning his attention back towards Zyon, finally able to get his hands on his lighting quick opponent. Wayne actually applauds as Bruce picks up Zyon and presses him over his head, in fact he’s probably the only person in the entire arena that seems to support Bruce.


“It was nice knowing you Zyon, but it ends now” King quips, reminding everyone that there are indeed TWO Bruce supporters in the arena tonight.


The Redneck Superman can’t help but flaunt his strength as he begins to pumps his arms like Zyon was a weight bar










Bruce just smiles like it was nothing and considering the size of his arms 200 pounds probably isn’t that big a deal












Bruce pauses for a second, then instead of going for the customary 10th rep he just kinda walks away from under Zyon, casually dropping him to the canvas WARRIOR~! Style! The big man oozes confidence and arrogance as he pushes Zyon around with his boot, shoving Zyon back to the canvas every time the kid tries to get back up.


“Oh give me a break!”


“Spike already did that a while back Mak, one more and you’ll never move again”


“Bruce needs to take this match serious or he’ll end up being pinned and humiliated”


The arrogant redneck puts his boot on the side of Zyon’s head and gets ready to push it down again, only to see Zyon spin around, grabbing Bruce’s leg for a leg drag takedown




Bruce stands his ground, planting his leg firmly on the ground and thwarting Zyon’s hopes of a comeback. Moments later the big man punishes Zyon by dropping an elbow on Zyon driving his point into Zyon’s chest before turning his whole body around so that he can use his weight to grind the point even further in forcing the air out of Zyon’s lungs.


“That’s it Bruce kick his skinny ass” Wayne yells from the outside as he pounds on the edge of the ring.


“He’s one to talk about skinny” Mak scoffs pointing out the irony of a guy who’s maybe 175 pounds soaking way calling anyone else skinny.


With an almost unnoticeable nod to his brother Bruce gets back to his feet and drags Zyon back as well while Wayne Blank gets up on the apron and begins to complain to the referee about something, probably the amount of trash that the SWF fans in the arena are pelting him with. The moment the referee turns his back on Bruce to get Wayne off the apron Bruce lifts Zyon up in the air for an Inverted Atomic Drop. On the downward move Bruce swiftly brings up his knee and strikes Zyon between the legs before dropping his opponent with the Atomic Drop.




“It wouldn’t be a Bruce Blank match without a nut shot Mak”


“It wouldn’t be a Bruce Blank without a nut job you mean”


“I know exactly what I meant” King replies indignantly.


When Izzy turns around and sees Zyon on the ground holding his testicular area he tries to question Bruce about what happened but soon realizes it’s about as pointless as putting wheels on a tomato. Bruce just blows off the warnings and pulls Zyon back to his feet once more. With one hand on Zyon’s hair and another on his shirt Bruce rubs Zyon’s face against the top rope, running his eyes over the plastic casing of the steel wire.




“Hey cut that out!” Izzy yells, tired of Bruce’s repeated breaking of the rules. Izzy’s comments quickly get a reply from Wayne Blank in the form of one single finger being held up in the air – I’ll let you guess which.


Bruce whips Zyon into the ropes and then throws his helpless opponent up high in the air for a back drop, but instead of flipping his opponent over he just lets him drop face first from his elevated position, adding a stiff punch to the gut as Zyon drops down.


“You know it almost brings a tear to my eye when I see Bruce dismantle someone” King says and wipes an imaginary tear from his cheek.


“Yeah it is sad” Mak replies totally missing the Suicide King’s point.


Bruce picks up Zyon by the shirt and the pants and places him on the top turnbuckle with his back towards the ring. Then he reaches over the top rope and wedges one of Zyon’s feet under the ropes, trapping him before forcing the Unique Youth backwards into the Tree of Woe position.


Bruce gets a bit of distance, starts to run at his opponent coming in shoulder first and then






The crowd goes wild as Zyon manages to flip his entire body up and out of harms way causing Bruce to slam into the turnbuckles right shoulder first. Bruce staggers backwards while holding his shoulder as Zyon frees himself from the ropes and then turns around before leaping off the top rope with a drop kick.


“BRUCE CAUGHT HIM!!” King yells out as Bruce actually manages to trap both of Zyon’s legs under his armpits.


“Oh this is bad, bad mojo!”


Bruce turns around so that he has his back towards the turnbuckles and then drops backwards sending Zyon flying through the air with a slingshot. Usually Bruce’s opponents hit the top of the ringpost or something like that but Zyon is a bit more agile and alert and actually manages to land on the top rope with both feet putting his hands on the top of the ringpost to keep himself from falling out of the ring.


“Bruce hasn’t even seen Zyon, he thinks he’s in the clear” Mak says as Bruce gets back to his feet, grinning as he turns around




The drop kick drills Bruce in the right shoulder, adding to the damage already done from hitting the turnbuckles and finally manages to knock Bruce down to a HUGE pop from the crowd.




“Come on Zyon you’ve got to keep up the attack – You’ve managed to knock him down, now try and keep him there!!” Mak yells encouragingly as Zyon tries to take control of the match.


“Never gonna happen” King confidently states


Zyon jumps up on the middle rope, then uses the springboard to twist himself around and land a Guillotine legdrop right across Bruce’s throat.


“Smart, very smart. Bruce isn’t in the greatest shape to begin with so making it hard for him to breathe is a good way to go” Mak says “After all if you can’t breathe it doesn’t matter how big you are”


“True” King reluctantly admits.


Zyon grabs Bruce by his greasy hair and pulls him up, but when Bruce is on his knees he pushes the Unique Youth back off him so that he can get to his feet on his own. The push sends Zyon back into the ropes but the ropes sends Zyon back in Bruce’s direction paying the redneck back with a drop kick right to his ample midsection




“That’ll definitely knock the wind out of him” Mak says with approval


Zyon wastes no time and follows up with a flash kick on Bruce as the big man is bent over holding his stomach







The kick to the face sends Bruce backwards, knocking him into the ropes which is the only thing that prevented him from falling down again. Eyeing an opportunity Zyon leaps up on the middle of the ropes to Bruce’s right and then twists his body as he comes off striking Bruce square in the jaw with a flying forearm that takes the big man down with a thud.


“I don’t believe it! Zyon has clawed, scratched and fought his way back into this match” King says truly in disbelief.


“Zyon knows what’s on the line here, he knows that this is a golden opportunity and he’s not about to let it slip through his fingers” Mak says as Zyon points to the top rope.


Zyon doesn’t climb the ropes but leaps straight up on the top rope where he finds his balance as Bruce slowly gets back to his feet, shaking his head to try and get rid of some of the cobwebs in his brain. Zyon leaps off the top rope as Bruce turns around, still staggered and breathing heavily but able to catch his opponent mid Corkscrew and turn it into a power bomb on the much lighter opponent





















Zyon manages to lift his right shoulder off the canvas a split second before Izzy can count to 3. Wayne is besides himself on the floor, cursing and swearing up a storm after prematurely celebrating Bruce’s win. If Bruce wasn’t so winded and gasping for air he may have cared but as it is he’s focused on ending this as fast as possible while he still has a bit of gas left in the tank so he pulls Zyon up once more, lifts him up and then places him on the top turnbuckles before climbing up on the second rope himself.


“Man we hardly ever see Bruce going to the ropes, he’s pulling out ALL stops tonight in hopes of advancing in this tournament” King says.


Bruce gets Zyon in a front headlock, then grabs the youngster’s pants before lifting him up in the air for a super-plex. Bruce rarely goes to the ropes and when he does 9 times out of 10 it backfires on him. . . and this isn’t the 1 time.




Zyon manages to twist his body and flip over the top of Bruce and land on the his feet right behind Bruce’s back. Zyon then leaps a good 7 feet into the air and drop kicks Bruce between the shoulderblades in an incredibly display of vertical leaping ability. The drop kick knocks Bruce forward, his skull grazing the top of the ring post before Bruce is propelled backwards by the ropes.


“THIS IS IT!!” Mak yells as Bruce staggers backwards holding his head in agony.


Zyon grabs the staggered Bruce by the shirt and pulls him over to the corner where he quickly climbs up and then sits on Bruce’s shoulders with a leg on either side of Bruce’s head. Zyon throws all of his body weight forward while holding on to Bruce rolling the Redneck Superman up with a Victory Roll



















“Son of a bitch I thought he had him!!” Mak complains as Bruce kicks out at the very last second.


“It ain’t over till it’s over Mak”


“Yeah that’s brilliant insight King, brilliant!”


Bruce rolls out under the bottom rope and heads over to talk to his little brother, probably to plot out something underhanded. Zyon isn’t one for holding back and waiting, especially with Bruce still suffering the effects of hitting the ringpost with his head, so he decides to climb the ropes and then leaps off backwards in a stunning high elevation Moonsault that knocks both Bruce and Wayne into the guardrail






“Man he got some AMAZING height on that, Zyon must be part super ball” Mak says with approval


“Alright, alright so he got in a good move I’ll give him that” King reluctantly admits.


Zyon slides under the bottom rope and then demonstrates his amazing speed by once again running at the ropes, bouncing off for greater speed and then in a breath taking display of daring and insanity does a handstand flip into a leap OVER THE TOP ROPE onto Blank who had just gotten back on his feet


“SPACE TIGER DROP!! Holy crap Zyon just showed everyone how it’s done”





Zyon swiftly grabs Bruce by the hair and shirt and throws him inside the ring before leaping up on the apron and then climbing the ropes, raising a hand in the air as he waits for Bruce to get to his feet and in the right position. When Bruce obliges Zyon’s wishes the Unique Youth leaps off the top rope, locks his legs around Blank’s neck and takes the much bigger man down with a twisting huracanrana that also wrenches Bruce’s neck in the process.


“Does this kid not slow down??” King laments as Zyon has been nothing but movement since he caught a break earlier in the match and got the upper hand.


“That’s the smart way to fight Bruce though, stick and move, stick and move before the big man gets his hands on ya. Zyon has worn Bruce out with his lighting fast offence” Mak replies


The Unique Youth is set to take another run at the ropes when he sees that Bruce is in the perfect position for the Gouki Crossface. Zyon quickly locks his legs around Bruce’s extended arm and then reaches forward straining a bit but finally managing to lock his hand around Bruce’s head. At first Bruce tries to shake his opponent off but Zyon is hanging on like he was a bull rider going for the big prize, locking his legs tighter and tighter around Bruce’s arm with each movement.


“This could be it King! Zyon could get the victory with the Gouki Crossface!” Mak excitedly exclaims as they both watch in anticipation.





Bruce struggles against the Crossface hold, not to reach the ropes but to get up on his knees and hopefully alleviate some of the shoulder and neck pain that Zyon is inflicting on him. Even though Bruce gets up to his knees Zyon refuses to let go of the Gouki Crossface, pulling back hard on Bruce’s head as he sits there on his knees, face still pressed against the mat. Bruce’s left hand hovers over the canvas, circling it as if Bruce is contemplating tapping out





Bruce’s hand slams into the canvas




But it’s not a tap out as the hand stays on the canvas once it’s been slammed down. Instead Blank uses all his power, all his arm and leg strength to push himself up to a standing position. Zyon still refuses to release the Gouki Crossface, keeping Bruce locked on while bend over looking like some variation of the Abdominal stretch as Zyon actually stands up with Bruce’s right arm between his legs and his arms still wrapped around Bruce’s head.


“You know from the moment Bruce got to his knees this hold hasn’t been as effective as it could have been.” King comments “There is just less pressure on the body when Zyon can’t pull back as far as he can when the opponent is lying down” he adds explaining why Bruce has been able to withstand the hold longer than most opponents usually last.


“You make it sound like Bruce actually prepared for this match, that he studied his opponent going in” Mak says with disbelief.


“Stranger things have happened”


“Yeah. . . but not much”


Zyon shakes his head in disbelief as Bruce finally manages to pull himself totally upright carrying Zyon who’s still got Bruce’s right arm and head trapped in the Gouki Crossface. With one last ditch desperation effort Zyon cranks back on Bruce’s head once more hoping to maybe throw the big man off balance and back to the mat, Bruce does go off his feet but instead of falling forward Bruce LEAPS backwards driving Zyon into the mat with Bruce’s 295 pounds crashing down on his chest




“ZYON’S RIBS HAVE BEEN CAVED IN!!” Mak yells in a delightful bit of overreacting



















“Hand on the ropes” Mak yells out as Zyon barely manages to get the tip of his finger on the bottom rope to break the count.




The expression on Bruce’s face leaves no doubt about just how pissed off and frustrated he is over not being able to get the 3 count. In fact Bruce’s frustrations boil over as he gets to his feet and starts to yell at the referee complaining about a slow count with Wayne joining in from the outside.


“Hey ref watch what’s going on” Exclaims Mak angrily.


“What? What’s going on other than Slappowitz being slow on the count?” King asks pretending not to see what Mak just noticed.


The problem that Mak had noticed and gotten angry over is the fact that Bruce has his foot right by Zyon’s head, his cowboy boot firmly planted on Zyon’s hair holding the Unique Youth down while also pulling on his hair. It would seem that Bruce’s complaining is mainly just to distract the referee. Once the referee looks down Bruce just steps off the hair and pretends that he’s as innocent as a little lamb despite the fact that the crowd is yelling and screaming at the referee to tell him what Bruce has been up to. It’s obvious that Bruce has something devious in mind when he grabs Zyon by the hair and pulls the youngster’s head in between his knees and then flips Zyon up in the air, straddling across his shoulders.


“Sweet Home Alabama!!” the Suicide King sings as Bruce begins to run across the ring with Zyon in a power bomb position.


Just as Bruce is about to bring Zyon down with the power bomb the Unique Youth shifts his weight around and locks his legs around Bruce’s leg


“COUNTER INTO A HURACA-“ Mak yells out as it looks like Zyon is going to counter Bruce’s finishing move.




Bruce has had the running power bomb countered like that more than a few times in his career and this time he’s ready for it. He places both feet firmly on the ground and grabs Zyon around the waist as the Cruiserweight flips down to try to Huracanrana Bruce to the ground. The Redneck Superman stands his ground and then starts to put the pressure on Zyon as he’s trapped in an upside down bear hug.


“Oh I know what this is! He was watching a Charlie Matthews tape one night but he was drunk and on the floor so it looked like it was upside down” King says with a grin as Bruce begins to shake Zyon back and forth like he was a rag doll.


“Oh that’s funny, that’s really funny King” Mak says without actually meaning it.


“Yep, unless you’re Zyon naturally”


After having Zyon in the bear hug for no more than thirty seconds Bruce turns towards the turnbuckles and with a running start DRIVES Zyon chest and face first into the turnbuckles




Before releasing him, leaving him hanging upside down on the top turnbuckle. Bruce swiftly turns around, bends down a bit so he can put his shoulder under Zyon’s body before picking the Unique Youth up in a running power slam position.


“OH NO!” Mak yells out knowing what’s coming


“OH YES!” King counters as Bruce takes 3-4 running steps across the ring before leaping into the air






The crowd goes absolutely silent as Zyon’s head bounces off the mat, followed by Bruce dropping all of his 295 pounds of weight on Zyon’s chest and shoulders for the pin.

































Bruce rolls off Zyon and gets to his feet as the entire arena boos him, when Izzy Slappowitz tries to raise Bruce’s right hand in the air he’s pushed off by the big man who looks a little protective of his right arm after the damage it took from the Gouki Crossface. Wayne enters the ring and raises Bruce’s left arm in the air as Funyon makes the match result final.


“Ladies and Gentlemen the winner of the match, advancing in the International title tournament: BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!!!”


“This was an incredible match King, I mean your classic speed versus power match!” Mak gushes.


“Oh spare me, it just proved that a GOOD big man will beat a GOOD little man and come Smarkdown Bruce will be the only GOOD big man in the ring” King says as he makes a mental note to put money on Bruce winning the whole thing.


The last image we see before going to a commercial break is Wayne holding the very winded Bruce’s arm up in the air as he points to his “I’m with the next International Champion” T-Shirt and smirks.

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"Well, in the midst of all this International turmoil it's now time for a tag team match," Mak Francis says as the live feed comes back to Lockdown. "The two teams had differing fortunes on Storm, with Kerry Staunton and Scott Rageheart losing to Tom Flesher and Charlie Matthews courtesy of interference by James Matheson, while Michael Stephens and Landon Maddix amazingly pulled together to best former tag champions the New Doomtopians."


"Oh come on, anyone could beat those two goofs," Suicide King snorts.


"Not true I'm afraid," Mak replies, "it took teamwork and a lot of effort even for two multi-time World Champions; the oddball style of Jimmy the Doom and the Doomstroyer is capable of throwing even experienced teams off their game, so Maddix and Stephens were quite lucky in my opinion."


However, at this moment the commentators are cut off as 'Exciter' by Judas Priest starts up and the huge Smarktron on the Heel side of the arena begins flashing up 'RAGEHEART' and 'STAUNTON', interspersed with clips of the Canadians head-dropping and head-hitting and generally doing nasty things involving other people's heads. Moments later there is a brief pyro burst-




-and then Kerry Staunton and Scott Rageheart, still looking pissed about the manner of their defeat on Storm, come striding out from the back and begin to make their way down to the ring.


"Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall," Funyon booms. "Introducing first; from Alberta, Canada and weighing in at a combined weight of 515lbs, the team of Kerry Staunton and SCOTT... RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAGE-HEART!!"






The EVIL~ WoWers give their favoured wrestlers a good reception, but the Good Guys on the other side are booing for all they're worth. Staunton and Rageheart don't seem to mind, although Staunton does pause to look curiously at a sign declaring 'FUCK YOU SPIKE JENKINS, WORLD OF WARCRAFT HATES YOU TOO'.


"This is another well-oiled team," Mak says, speaking more in terms of tagging ability rather than personal lubrication, "but you've got to believe that they'll be trying extra hard to make amends for their defeat on Storm; will that give them extra impetus, or provide an opening that Maddix and Stephens can exploit?"


"Stephens and Maddix had it easy against Jimmy the Dumb and his gorilla," Suicide King opines as Staunton and Rageheart climb into the ring, "they won't be able to get the better of the Canadian Murder Machine, especially after the disappointment of that perfectly legal and legitimate loss to Tom and Charlie on Storm."


It’s at this point that a raucous, rolling chant booms out across the Gurubashi PvP Arena…





…and then, as before, drops into ‘The Game’ by Disturbed. The cameras pan around the arena, and by the technological magic of split-screen reveal that while Landon Maddix and Megan Skye are entering on the same side as Staunton and Rageheart did, Michael and Amy Stephens are making their way out on the side of the Good Guys!


‘Tell me exactly, what am I supposed to do

Now that I have allowed you, to beat me!

Do you think that we could play another game

Maybe I could win this ti-ime…’


"...and their opponents," Funyon booms over the unanimously positive reception (albeit each side of the arena cheering for a different person), "accompanied to the ring by Megan Skye and Amy Stephens; at a combined weight of 442lbs, LANDON 'LA CUCARRRRRRACHA' MADDIX and the SWF World Heavyweight Champion, MIIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL... STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!"




Maddix and Stephens reach the bottom of their respective entrance ramps at the same moment, whereupon Maddix waits for Megan to climb the ring steps and hold the ropes open for him while Mike simply rolls under the bottom rope with Amy in tow, swigging on her lager as usual. Once in the ring Maddix whirls into the middle... and nearly bumps into Stephens as he gets up off the mat. The two men stare at each other for a moment before Maddix breaks into a goofy grin and poses, waiting for Megan to take his coat. Stephens shakes his head and mounts a turnbuckle, throwing his arms wide into his palms-flat crucifix pose, then hops down and pulls off his customised England shirt which he throws out to the crowd. Two teenage girls wearing a lot of eyeliner and probably enough of a costume to make one elf outfit between them dive on it and start fighting, much to the approval of three 'wizards' sitting behind them.


"Ah, cosplay soft porn," Suicide King sighs, "gotta love it."


Meanwhile Stephens has handed his title belt to referee Brian 'Bloodaxe' Warner (dressed as an orc, God knows why) and he and Maddix have started a conversation about who's going to start the match while Amy and Megan leave the ring, studiously ignoring each other. Kerry Staunton is already standing ready on the other side of the ring, and seeing the wall of humanity waiting for them seems to help Landon's decision-making process; he slaps Stephens on the back encouragingly and steps through the ropes, leaving the World Champion to start the match again.




Instead of charging straight at his opponent as with the Doomstroyer, Stephens seems to be taking a more cautious approach; he advances slowly towards Staunton, arms raised. For his part Staunton seems to decide that this looks promising and imitates his opponent, hoping get close enough to grab the cruiserweight and then do smashy-type things to him. Unfortunately for Kerry (apart from the fact he has a girly name, which is fairly unfortunate in itself) Michael Stephens doesn't tend to let himself get grabbed much, and just as the Canadian is about to launch into a collar-and-elbow tie-up Stephens slips to one side and catches hold of Staunton's right arm. The slippery Englishman then twists an armwringer in, and when Staunton tries to extricate himself Stephens just jumps and jerks the limb in its socket, dissuading Kerry from any such attempts.


"Congratulations Toxxic," Suicide King says, "you now have a tiger by the tail. What are you going to do with him?"


Indeed, although lacking a fur coat, stripes and an impressive set of teeth Kerry Staunton could easily be mistaken for an apex predator. The big man lets out a growl of pain and starts heading for the ropes despite the 218lb attachment to an appendage; however, this proposed route of escape proves to be nothing of the sort as Michael Stephens runs past him and up the turnbuckles, then leaps off the top to come down and crush Staunton's arm beneath him with a flying legdrop!




That's clearly jarred something in Staunton's arm, but Stephens doesn't intend to let his larger opponent have a chance to recover as he instead gets back to his feet and uses the arm to haul Kerry after him. He tows the pained big man to where Landon Maddix is waiting and risks letting go with one hand for a second to tag La Cucaracha; however, instead of leaving the ring in the usual way Stephens runs up the turnbuckles again, then drops to the outside and hangs Staunton's captured arm out to dry on the top rope! Kerry shouts in pain and whips away, cradling his arm to his chest, but as Brian Warner demands that Landon enter the ring Michael Stephens jumps back up to the apron, then leaps to the top rope and springboards in to deliver a dropkick to Staunton as he turns around again! No sooner has the World Champion rolled away from his landing position then Landon Maddix has scrambled to the top rope and comes off with a Swandive Headbutt that perfectly targets his opponent's right shoulder!




Stephens rolls out of the ring as Warner starts his five-count while Landon rubs his head for a second before deciding to follow up and locking on...


...a cravate.






"Why?" Mak Francis asks in confusion, "Stephens started off targeting the arm and Landon's headbutt did the same; why now move to the head?"


"Because Maddix sucks," Suicide King responds, "and it'd serve you well to remember that."


The crowd seem to have a similar opinion to the Suicide King (a truly shocking event in itself) and are really getting on Maddix’s case for his constraining tactics. Even his tag team partner seems unsure of the logic of this move, although Mike realises it’s probably better than letting Staunton up to kill, crush and destroy. However, Kerry Staunton himself has every intention of doing just that, and with a growl the big Canadian starts to try and power upwards. Landon torques his hold tighter and stalls his opponent for a moment, but Staunton is having none of it and continues rising… so Landon tries another approach, and starts kicking him in the face!









The lightning-fast kicks drive into Staunton’s face and Maddix releases him, then poses for the crowd… but behind him Staunton rears up, rage mixing with a certain amount of humiliation on his face! Stephens yells at his partner to turn around as Staunton backs into the ropes, then rebounds off to fire a spinning kick with catches Maddix right in the face and knocks him to the mat!


“Looks like Staunton wants to one-up Maddix in the impersonation of a certain famous Japanese wrestler,” Mak Francis speculates.


“Looks like Staunton wants to kick Maddix in the face,” Suicide King replies, “KICK YOUR FACE!”


However, Kerry Staunton’s offence is not limited to such simple (if painful) fare - as Maddix struggles up off the mat the big Canadian scoops him up as if for a slam, then charges towards a neutral corner and rams Maddix’s back into the turnbuckles!




However, not being content with that he then turns around and runs clean across the ring to drive Maddix into the other neutral corner!




And just for a finishing touch he swings around and slams La Cucaracha in the middle of the ring, then hooks the leg for a cover!


















…but Maddix kicks out! Staunton doesn’t seem very disconcerted by this, as it merely gives him a chance to do more damage. So he hauls Landon up to his feet and drives a knee into his gut just to make sure the Next Generation doesn’t get any ideas about doing something springy, then grabs Landon by the throat in preparation for a Choke Suplex. However, Landon Maddix delves deep into his vast knowledge of wrestling counters…




…and pokes Staunton in the eye. Then, delving into his vast reserves of stamina that come with being a legitimately tough bastard as well as a cheating bastard, he shakes off the effect of Staunton’s knee strike to jump up and nail the Canadian with a dropsault! The blinded Staunton is caught off-guard and he falls backwards to the mat; Landon climbs back to his feet with a grimace of pain and simply jumps onto Staunton with a double stomp, then instantly falls into a back senton. Maddix pauses for a moment and Brian Warner drops to count…











-but the cover certainly isn’t textbook, and Staunton is easily able to get a shoulder off the mat. Maddix decides that he doesn’t want to hang around and gets to his feet, but pauses to rake the heel of a boot over Staunton’s face (and eyes) before heading to his corner and tagging Michael Stephens in. Stephens hops over the ropes and seats himself on the top rope, presumably waiting for Staunton to get into position for something aerial, but Scott Rageheart calls out and Kerry moves towards the sound of his partner’s voice, out of range of whatever the World Champion has planned.


“Sound tag team strategy there from the Canadians,” Francis says, “communication is all-important.”


“Well, beating up the other team is generally considered useful as well,” the Gambling Man points out.


While he’s in his corner Staunton seems to figure that he may as well tag in someone with working vision, and Rageheart quickly steps into the ring. The smaller Canadian is still built much more impressively than Stephens, but the World Champion is used to being outweighed and doesn’t display any intimidation, instead just stepping down from his seat on the turnbuckles and beckoning Rageheart towards him. The two men cautiously advance and seem to be going for a lock-up… but at the last moment Stephens ducks under his opponent’s arms, and instead of going for an armwringer he dodges behind Rageheart to grab a rear waistlock.


“Yeah, cos that’s going to work,” Suicide King sniffs.


However, whether or not Stephens had a German in mind doesn’t become clear, as Scott Rageheart instantly grabs at Stephens’ hands and starts to pry them apart, then performs a standing switch and wraps his own arms around the Englishman’s midsection from behind. He tries to lift but Mike blocks it by wrapping his leg around Rageheart’s, then just as Scott stops and gathers himself for another effort Stephens jumps off the floor, wrapping his legs backwards around his opponent and rolling forward to take the surprised Canadian over into a rolling clutch pin.


















…but Rageheart kicks out! The two wrestlers scramble to get to their feet first, but Stephens reaches out and grabs his opponent on the way up, then rolls backwards into a small package!


















…and Rageheart kicks out again! However, as he turns over onto his front to prevent another pinning predicament, Stephens dives over his shoulders and hooks him to roll him and put his shoulders to the mat with an Oklahoma Roll!



















…but Rageheart kicks out AGAIN! As the unpinned but frustrated Canadian starts getting up he finds that Stephens his upright before him again, and this time the World Champion snares his opponent in a front facelock before bringing his right arm around and down to drive Rageheart’s face into the mat with the Unfinished Business!




Stephens rolls his opponent over onto his back, then twirls his fingers to signal for the Hangover legdrop and steps through the ropes to start climbing the turnbuckles. However, Kerry Staunton runs along the apron and grabs the World Champion’s leg to stall him; Stephens kicks out and catches the big man in the face, knocking him away, but by this time Rageheart is starting to get up and is also heading for the precariously perched Englishman. He makes a grab for Stephens but the World Champion simply belts him across the face, then leans down and headbutts him; Rageheart staggers away a step, turning his back on Stephens, and the Englishman reaches down to snare a reverse facelock before leaping off the top and spinning down to the mat, driving the back of his opponent’s skull into the mat!




“Final Shine!” Mak Francis calls, “Stephens taking an opportunity to break out one of the old Toxxic classics there!”


However, Stephens doesn’t take the opportunity to go for the cover and instead heads for the ropes; presumably to bounce off for some flippy-floppy goodness. However, his peripheral vision has not registered Kerry Staunton, still lying on his back on the apron, and the bigger Canadian reaches up to pull the top rope down and low-bridge the World Champion, sending him tumbling to the outside!




“You know Mak, if only we had this sort of audience everywhere,” King says, looking around, “at least half of them cheer no matter what happens!”


“We could do without the cosplay freaks though,” the Franchise opines, “they probably e-fed as well.”


“Agreed. Weirdos.”


As this (possibly ironic) discussion is taking place referee Brian Warner is remonstrating with Kerry Staunton for his part in Stephens’ unscheduled trip to the outside. The big Canadian seems anything but remorseful though, and in fact he even climbs down to the outside area and starts putting the boot to his English opponent as Warner yells at him to cease, desist and other ‘stop’-type words. Staunton only obliges after a few seconds, then pulls Stephens up (by his hair, let’s not do things by halves) and rolls him into the ring where Scott Rageheart is starting to recover. The smaller Canadian dives on top for a cover, figuring that even if it doesn’t get the win it’ll give him a couple more seconds to get his head running at full speed again…



















…and Stephens kicks out! Rageheart shakes his head, possibly in disbelief but probably at this stage of the match more likely to try and clear it a little more, then grabs his opponent (also by the hair, damn Canadians) and starts to drag the smaller man to his feet. From there he switches to the side and wraps his right arm across Stephens shoulders while his right leg twines around the Englishman’s left, then he snaps backwards with a Russian legsweep. With Stephens on his back on the mat Rageheart rolls back to his feet and, instead of continuing his offence, tags out to Staunton.


“Great tag-teaming,” King applauds, “maintaining their advantage by keeping a fresh man in the ring.”


“Just a shame that advantage comes from cheap shots on the outside,” Mak Francis snipes.


“Your problem Mak, is that you get bogged down in the detail and fail to appreciate the bigger picture,” King replies aloofly.


“You mean ‘win at all costs’?”




Staunton comes into the ring and brings Stephens up to a sitting position (using the hair? You betcha!) then starts firing kicks into his opponent’s back.














Stephens’ face contorts in pain but Staunton proves to be anything but sympathetic, instead kneeing him in said face and driving him back down to the mat! Once the World Champion is supine once more the big Canadian runs to one set of ropes, then to the other, and finally jumps into the air to come crashing down with the running double stomp known as The Lance!




Staunton pauses to look pointedly over at Landon as if to say that payback will be a bitch, then flips La Cucaracha the bird… and winces as his arm twinges unexpectedly. Landon smirks briefly, but Staunton ignores him and turns to tag Rageheart back in before stepping back and ending up (purely accidentally, of course) on Stephens’ throat. Brian Warner doesn’t like that, of course…












-and Staunton steps out of the way just as Scott Rageheart, who had been climbing to the top rope, comes off with a moonsault! Warner yells at Staunton to leave the ring, then dives to make a count…




















-and the pin is broken by Landon Maddix with a basement dropkick to Rageheart’s head!




“Who cheered that one,” King wonders, looking around, “the good guys or the bad guys?”


“Whichever it was, we’re seeing further proof that Maddix and Stephens can co-exist as a tag team,” Mak Francis replies. “Neither wants to lose this match, and if that means Maddix saving Stephens from a pin, then that’s what he’ll do.”


“Granted, but so far Landon’s the only one I’ve seen with anything approaching team spirit,” Suicide King replies, “I reckon Toxxic will leave him hanging out to dry… which will be amusing. And of course,” he adds, “if this team keeps losing then interest in them will probably wane and Peters will have no reason to put them together anymore, so that might actually encourage Toxxic to lose!”


“You’re suggesting that Michael Stephens voluntarily loses?” Mak Francis asks incredulously.


“…OK, not gonna happen,” King agrees after a moment’s thought.


Meanwhile, in the ring Scott Rageheart is getting back up, holding his head after Landon’s intervention and glaring at the Spanish-American who is now stepping back out to the apron. With a little bit of aggression to take out he drags Stephens up to his feet and lays in a knife-edge chop on the hapless World Champion.






Stephens sucks in air in the aftermath of the stinging strike, but something seems to fire up inside him and he lunges forwards to deliver a European Uppercut to his startled opponent!






However, he knows that his strength doesn’t lay in exchanging strikes, so instead of waiting for Rageheart to hit back he keeps piling in and delivers three elbow smashes to the side of the head, then rears back for a headbutt… but only gets fingers, as the wily Rageheart snatches an eyerake to break the World Champion’s momentum!




Stephens swipes at his eyes, but moments later he’s snatched up into the air and then driven back down with a spinebuster!




Rageheart goes for the pin again…



















-but Stephens kicks out! The Canadian casts an annoyed glance at referee Brian Warner, but hauls Stephens up to his feet and grabs a front facelock, then throws Stephens’ arm over his shoulders and lifts. Stephens comes up, is brought vertical…


…and stays there, while the Heel Section count along!
















…and Rageheart topples backwards, completing the stalling suplex and driving Stephens down onto the canvas again. Scott gets up to his feet and walks to his corner where he tags Kerry Staunton in. The bigger man steps into the ring and brings Stephens up to his feet, then turns to address the crowd.




Half of them cheer, half of them boo; Kerry Staunton doesn’t care, and hooks Stephens up before hoisting the World Champion into the air one more time. The Heel Section starts counting again, and the tight grin on Staunton’s face implies that he’s trying to beat his partner…




















-and Landon Maddix has seen enough, running into the ring again and delivering a superkick to the back of Staunton’s head! Kerry Staunton topples forwards; an unfortunate side effect is that Michael Stephens receives what is essentially a front suplex, but it’s probably better than being dropped on your head.




Regardless, Brian Warner once more ushers Landon Maddix from the ring, but La Cucaracha refuses to go quietly and instead starts banging on the turnbuckle, trying of all things to start a chant for his tag team partner!






However, Michael Stephens himself is in no real position to take advantage of the crowd’s faith in him, being that he’s struggling to even get to his feet. He landed and slid very close to the Canadian corner off the aborted stalling brainbuster, and as the referee checks on Kerry Staunton Scott Rageheart sees his chance; he drops down to the floor, grabs one of Stephens’ feet in each hand and hauls as hard as he can, pulling the World Champion groin-first into the ringpost!




“That’s not necessary!” Mak Francis roars, “my money would be on Staunton getting up first anyway, the Canadians would still have the advantage!”


“No harm with a little insurance,” King smirks as Michael Stephens curls up into a foetal position on the canvas. Brian Warner suspects foul play, but he has absolutely no proof, and the referee reluctantly allows the match to continue as Kerry Staunton pushes himself up to his feet, rubbing the back of his head but still ready to continue. The big Canadian grabs Stephens (do I need to tell you by what?) and hauls him to his feet, then drags him to the middle of the ring and delivers a knee strike to the gut. Stephens doubles over, wheezing, and Staunton just watches him for a second. The moment the Englishman starts to straighten up again Kerry adjusts his elbow pad…




“Axe Bomber coming up!” Mak predicts.


…and the Canadian turns and runs for the ropes, rebounding with his arm angled outwards for what will surely be the knockout blow.


However, the Canadians always were shite at soccer. Which may explain why he’s so surprised to find his feet taken out from under him as Stephens dives into a last-minute tackle!






Kerry Staunton topples down to the mat, clutching at his shins, and Michael Stephens gets back to his feet. He’s on the wrong side of the ring so he turns around… then turns back, springs off the second rope adjacent to the Canadian’s corner and uses the momentum to dropkick a surprised Scott Rageheart in the head!






With one Canadian now in a sitting position on the apron holding his head Stephens evidently thinks the time is right to try and make a tag, but as he attempts to dart past Kerry Staunton to get to Landon Maddix the big Canadian twists with deceptive speed and grabs him, surging up to his feet to lift Stephens completely off the ground and into what is effectively a bearhug, although the purpose is much more a desperate attempt to prevent the World Champion tagging his fresh partner in than to deliberately work the ribs. Staunton shouts for help and Rageheart shakes the effects of the dropkick off, stepping into the ring and brushing Warner aside before grabbing Stephens from behind. Staunton helps him transfer the weight, and then the smaller Canadian drops backwards with a back suplex to ruin any hopes Stephens had of escape!




“It’s good teamwork,” Mak Francis sighs, “they’re not always fair, but they are a good team.”


“And you tell me what’s fair about the fact I have to watch Landon Maddix week after week?” Suicide King complains. Meanwhile Staunton has dropped to make a cover, but Brian Warner is concentrating on getting Scott Rageheart out of the ring. Even when the smaller Canadian is halfway through the ropes Warner is still berating him not only for interfering but also laying hands on him; Rageheart starts arguing back, and with the realisation that he’s not going to get a pin counted anytime soon Kerry Staunton gets back to his feet, holding Stephens by the throat. He looks to be setting up for the Nodowa Otoshi… but he should have learned by now about turning his back on Landon Maddix, because with Brian Warner’s attention diverted La Cucaracha races into the ring and charges up behind Staunton, then simply kicks a field goal between the big man’s legs-






-before turning around and scurrying back out again!


“OK Mak, you tell me that’s fair!” Suicide King demands angrily.


“It’s not,” the Franchise shrugs, “but payback’s a bitch.”






The chants are starting to ring out across the Gurubashi PvP Arena; the man himself is on one knee, trying to recover from the battering he’s been taking. Meanwhile Kerry Staunton has collapsed to both knees, both hands clutching his crotch in a futile attempt to ease the pain brought on by Landon Maddix’s attempt at population control. Seeing his opponent only a couple of feet away seems to fire Stephens into action and he lets rip with a European uppercut that rocks Staunton back onto his haunches!




However Staunton, even when in the grip of genital pain, is still a tough customer and he fires back with a forearm to the jaw!




The blow nearly floors Stephens, but it doesn’t have as much behind it as usual and the World Champion pushes himself back up to his position on one knee, then immediately hammers a right hand into Stanton’s temple and before the big man can react to that he reaches out, grabs Staunton’s head in both hands and delivers a headbutt!




Staunton lets out a yell of pain, and with no other options presenting themselves Stephens tries again!




And again!












“He’s breaking him down!” Mak Francis yells, “just like he did with Bruce Blank!”


Sure enough, the non-stop barrage of headbutts seems to be having a worse effect on Staunton than Stephens, and with one final shot the big Canadian topples backwards!




Stephens stands, wobbles… and takes a step towards his corner!






Scott Rageheart steps into the ring behind him, intent on cutting him off, but Landon Maddix shouts a warning and Stephens fires a superkick backwards to catch Rageheart right on the jaw!




The crowd are going wild as Rageheart slumps down into a seated position in his own corner, and Stephens turns around to set his sights back on Maddix, who’s now jumping up and down in eagerness to get the tag. However, to get there Stephens has to walk past and over Kerry Staunton, and just as it seems that the World Champion will be able to do it the big Canadian reaches up and grabs his ankle, then starts to get to his feet!


“He’s got him!” Mak Francis says in frustration, “what does Michael Stephens need to do to make a tag?”


Staunton is dazed, but he still knows tag wrestling like the back of his hand and he keeps a firm hold on Stephens ankle as he reaches a vertical base again. Stephens himself has gone from heading towards his tag team partner to now facing his opponent and hopping on one foot, trying to keep his balance… and then he answers Mak Francis’ rhetorical question.


What does he need to do to make a tag?




An enzuigiri should do it.




The boot connects with the back and side of Kerry Staunton’s head, Staunton releases his grip and the crowd cheer… but as Michael Stephens looks up from the mat he sees that the big Canadian is still standing, however wobbly he may be! And Michael Stephens is never one to leave a job half-done.








“KIP-UP ENZUIGIRI!” Francis roars as Stephens drags some last resources up from within him and springs up to his feet, then leaps into the air to deliver another kick that does put Staunton down! For a moment the World Champion collects himself, then he scrambles up from the mat, lunges for his corner and tags in Landon Maddix!






…and Landon ‘La Cucaracha’ Maddix, two-time World Champion, egomaniac and long-time object of the fans’ hatred, gets one of the biggest reactions the Gurubashi PvP Arena has ever heard.


“Listen to this!” Mak Francis exclaims in amazement, “just listen to this!”


Landon’s grinning, but the Next Generation doesn’t pause to bask in the crowd’s adulation; instead he delivers a running double stomp to the back of Kerry Staunton, then rather than dropping into his usual back senton he continues running and leaps into the air to come down with massive air into a dropkick that crushes Scott Rageheart’s face against the bottom turnbuckle with the Get Licked!






Maddix gets back to his feet amidst massive chants and heads back for Staunton and goes to grab him for the Land of Nod… but the big man reaches back to get a handful of hair and drags Landon over him with a rather illegal snapmare! Staunton shows his toughness by staggering to his feet, then rips his elbow pad off and hits the ropes, rebounding for an Axe Bomber… but Landon takes him down with a drop toehold!




Staunton almost bounces off the mat, then braces both hands against the mat and starts to push up. He manages to get to one knee…


…and Landon Maddix rushes past him, then rebounds off the ropes and heads straight back for him. Kerry Staunton doesn’t stand a chance of getting out of the way.






“SHINING WIZAAAAAARRRRRRRD!” Francis roars, “it’s over!”


Landon, scrambling into a cover, certainly hopes so.







Scott Rageheart staggers up to his feet, intent on breaking the pin.











Michael Stephens runs the other way, driving his shoulder into the Canadian’s gut with a desperation spear. It’s not that effective.







But it was good enough.






“Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners,” Funyon booms, “the team of Michael Stephens and LANDON ‘LA CUCARRRRRRRRRRR-ACHA’ MAAAAAAAD-DIIIIIXXXXXXXX!!”


“…no,” Suicide King says in disbelief as ‘The Game’ rings out across the Gurubashi, “no, that can’t be right! It can’t be!”


“I can hardly believe it either,” Mak Francis admits, “but it’s true! Landon Maddix and Michael Stephens are 2 and 0 as a tag team, and they’ve beaten the Canadians!”


Brian Warner raises Landon Maddix’s right arm; La Cucaracha is grinning so widely you’d think he might be World Champion again, and he pumps the air enthusiastically with his left arm. Meanwhile Michael Stephens has disentangled himself from Scott Rageheart and leaves the Canadian crushed with disappointment in the corner. The Sensation looks from Landon down at the semi-conscious Kerry Staunton, raises his own right arm in victory… and a faint smile passes over his lips.


Two Skinny White Guys, my arse.








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“It’s finally time,” the voice of Mak Francis bellows as the camera fades back, panning the audience in attendance, “The critics have weighed in their opinions, the odds makers in Vegas have collected the bets, and the crowd, well, they’re as ready as ever – it’s our main event, it’s ‘Iron’ Mike Cross vs. ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ Jay Hawke, and I can’t wait!”


“Oh, God,” King lets out a sigh, “I can’t make up my mind – Jay Hawke or Mike Cross!”


“Well,” Mak inputs his opinion, “If I were a betting man I’d have to say the edge goes to ‘The Dean’ in this case, King, and edge is a lax way to put it, because the advantage is more of a balcony. He’s got a significant amount more experience and infinite wisdom on the sport of Professional Wrestling. He was the longest reigning International Champion – some say the best. ‘Iron’ Mike Cross has a great opportunity here tonight to prove the critics wrong, but I just don’t see the upset happening – the only feasible shot ‘Iron’ Mike’s got in this bout is if his opponent has a serious case of ring rust, and I don’t think all the ring rust in the world will save this young man.”


“There’s a definite shot that Jay Hawke has hit a rocky part of his career,” King fires back, “He left after falling from the highest note possible, and now he’s looking to reclaim his throne atop the International Title picture – but don’t discredit Mike Cross, he himself is looking to claim yet another throne, and as he’s stated tonight, he’s ready to take all the punishment Jay Hawke can dish out in order to show these people he’s ready!”


“That’s one thing to also look at,” Mak doesn’t seem done with analysis of tonight’s main event, “Mike Cross is known for his vitality, he’s got strength, he’s got speed, he’s got a presence in the ring and a mind to match it that have made him hot these last couple of weeks. We’ve seen it before, when he was first starting, he had that presence, it wasn’t well-developed, but it was there. He knows where he’s at every moment he’s in that ring, and he knows how to use that and his opponents position against them – last week Grendel’s multiple attempts to use springboard type moves landed him in the Devil’s Soul Snare, if ‘Iron’ Mike can so much as hit that move on his opponent, he can win this match. He can attribute this festering talent to Mr. Kobe, that son of a bitch, because since his return and guidance under the master general of the ring, he’s improved ten-fold.”


“Mike Cross is a snake in the grass,” King smiles with a tone that makes him sound affectionate, “He’ll wait and wait on an opportunity, picking you apart, and then when you give it to him he’ll take it faster than you know what hit you. He’s great at that, and if he can apply that tactic against someone like Jay Hawke, you better believe he’s got a legitimate shot, it’s only a matter of making a master of the ring slip up that appears to be the problem.”


“Yep,” Mak agrees quickly as the lights begins to dim and Funyon enters the ring, “Don’t discredit Mike Cross, he’s got all the tools to be a great wrestler, it’s just a matter of applying them in a calm and rational sense that have left him in a pickle the last couple of matches – look for Jay Hawke to exploit that, use it against this young man. As we talk about these tools he’s got, the danger he is, you’ve got to keep in mind that Jay Hawke is practically mistake-free inside that ring, he’s a general, he takes control. Don’t expect many mistakes, if any at all, and thus, don’t expect a win from this young man, ‘Iron’ Mike Cross.”


Mak Francis finishes just as Funyon forces the microphone up and towards his lips. Despite the dim lighting provided by the SWF, the natural lighting begins to fade to almost complete black, the night winding down as the crowd is utterly hot for the main event and the return of ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ Jay Hawke. The crowd simmers, still clearly active in some small chants, cameras flashing, a murmur of sorts. That sound is forced out of everyone’s ears as the bellowing voice of Funyon kicks in and demands the stage.


“Ladies and gentleman,” He turns, panning the audience for himself, “Humanoids and Beasts, this is your MAIN EVENT!” The crowd explodes with cheers in anticipation, “The following bout is scheduled for one fall and is for a spot in the International Title four-way!”


“Here we go,” Mak interrupts Funyon for a moment.


“Introducing first,” the sounds of cash registers opening in the beginning of ‘Money’ by Pink Floyd signal the entrance of the current Cruiserweight Champion, ‘Iron’ Mike Cross, “Hailing from Tokyo, Japan by way of Detroit, Michigan; weighing in at 228 pounds and standing at 6 feet even, he’s the current SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION; HE IS ‘IRON’ MIKE CROSS!”








The crowd lets out a boo, very cold for the champion who neglects their attitude and makes his way down to the ring decisively. The crowd jeers and shouts at him, but their attempts to get a rise out of Mike go unfinished, as his determination and integrity take over, pushing the urge to scream and shout back out of his system.


“Well this is different,” Mak points out sounding slightly impressed, “Mike Cross is out without The Axis or Mr. Kobe, and he’s not getting into it with a crowd that seems very antagonistic. He appears determined, but will this attitude follow him into the ring and the match?”


“If he wants to win it has to,” King follows up as ‘Iron’ Mike manages to finally make his way into the ring, “He needs to be perfect tonight if he wants a win, the biggest thus far in his run with the Smarks Wrestling Federation.”


In the ring the lights focus on the champion whose presence appears to be none, his typical pre-match charades and quarrels with his opponents and the crowd seemingly non-existent. He throws his hooded sweatshirt aside and unsnaps his belt, placing it carefully in the hands of the ring-side time keeper as he goes back to his pre-match warm up regimen. Funyon stops to have some words with Jay Hawke’s opponent before turning his attention back to the entrance ramp and stage. The crowd brews with excitement, despite Jay Hawke being ultimately a villain; they’re still pleased non-the-less to see his return here tonight.


“Introducing second,” the former entrance music finally winds down giving back the octaves to the voice of Funyon, “Making his way to the ring by way of the city of the Hall of Fame – Cleveland, Ohio; weighing in at 215 pounds and standing at five feet nine inches tall – HE IS THE LONGEST REIGNING INTERNATIONAL TITLE HOLDER, HE IS THE DEAN OF PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING; JAAAAAY HAWKE!”


There’s a long pause while anticipation for the return builds among the audience, sweeping everyone into the adrenaline as the lights seemingly focus on the stage. The crowd’s getting hotter, louder before it all comes to a halt as the conjunctive sounds of ‘Learning to Fly’ by Pink Floyd take over and send the crowd into frenzy. Out onto the stage steps the former International Champion, ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ Jay Hawke, the crowd warm despite his alignment before leaving.


“Well, certainly a surprising reaction by the crowd,” Mak reflects intuitively, “He was not someone you’d want to have cheered for prior to leaving, but love him or hate him, it’s certainly refreshing to see Jay Hawke, and that’s gotta be the way the crowd’s reacting.”


“How can you hate him,” shouts King forcefully.


Jay Hawke struts down to the ring looking slick in his purple and black robe, the spotlight emphasizing his gleam as he smirks at the cameras that follow him. The crowd’s excited, but no one is jumping out of their seats to welcome back ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ as he walks down the ramp and finally makes his way into ringside. He looks up at his opponent who refuses to acknowledge his presence. Jay Hawke frowns at the serious looking Mike Cross who continues to stretch out, awaiting the conclusion of his opponent’s entrance. Finally ‘The Dean’ makes it up to the ring apron where he slowly removes his robe, folding it and handing it to the ring attendant. He stalks over to the ring post, steps up on the turnbuckle, and then raises his arms into the air, this time being cheered rather than booed.


“He looks impressive still,” remarks Mak, very impressed by the shape that Jay Hawke managed to keep up in his absence, “He appears to not have missed a single beat, but I guess we’ll have to wait for the verdict inside that very ring. It’ll be interesting to see how Jay Hawke fends off a very neck-oriented offense from his opponent, what with major moves such as Silent Rage Syndrome, The DSS, and the Iron Cross - all of which focus on driving and pulling the victim’s neck. If he can avoid those maneuvers I’d say he won’t have much trouble putting away his opponent.”


In the ring, both men are now standing across from one another, the crowd hot as ever as the two look at each other, preparing to face off. Jay Hawke rolls his neck as the referee looks at both men, having a word with them before he signals to the time keeper to ring the bell.








“The crowd is really behind ‘The Dean’ in this one, King,” Mak reports almost challenging it, “It’s interesting, it’s also understandable that the fans would be reasonably excited about such a high profile return in a time where there is no crowned champion! You gotta believe he’s going to put in his all to go after the International belt.”


The two face off and meet in the center of the ring, looking each other over before hooking up after a lengthy circling of the squared circle. The two test each other’s strength, starting it slowly as they back off and then hook up again. The crowd cheers the two men on as they continue to get a feel for one another before Jay Hawke shoots in looking to take down his opponent early. Mike side steps the attempt while holding onto his arm. Jay Hawke stands back up with a smile having been caught with his hand in the cookie jar as ‘Iron’ Mike uses his new found leverage to slide under the arm of his opponent and take his back, wrenching the arm up as ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ smiles just before managing to turn out of it, putting the two back in their position like dancing partners.


“So just a feeling out period here by these two men – video footage and strategic planning can only go so far, physically you have to know your opponent, and that’s what these men seem intent on doing.”


Again Jay Hawke attempts a short shot, this time letting go of his opponents hand and snatching a leg. He quickly reverts back to his feet pulling up his opposition’s leg with him. He sets it up onto his shoulder like he’s carrying a log and then forces Mike back against the ropes, controlling the match now. He turns slightly before throwing his opponent’s leg outward and over the rope, crotching him uniquely much to the crowd’s pleasure.


“A very clever maneuver by ‘The Dean’,” Mak exclaims, “Highly impressive and much creativity on his end, he doesn’t appear rusty in the least bit in the opening parts of this match!”


Just as ‘Iron’ Mike attempts to be rocking his way over and off of the ropes, his opponent jumps into the air and spins, driving a slow and massive roundhouse kick into his chest. He falls back and then awkwardly lands on his head, narrowly managing to evade a seriously dangerous fall down and onto the mats several feet bellow. The crowd applauds as Jay Hawke moves back and away from the ropes.


“Great strategy early on,” Mak lets out, “This appears to be more of a goading attempt by ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ to push his opponent into making more high-risk efforts, if he wants to make mince-meat of this young man then that’d be the strategy to follow – make him take bigger risks and he’ll make more mistakes!”


“He could waste valuable time attempting such a strategy,” reminds the Suicide King, “If this doesn’t work it’s going to where out Hawke’s ability to successfully stop his opponent from keeping up with him – you don’t want someone like ‘Iron’ Mike Cross to be given a lot of time to find an opening, especially with such an offense geared towards the weakness in Jay Hawke’s neck.”


On the apron, ‘Iron’ Mike picks himself up and dusts himself off, blushing slightly as the crowd begins to close in on him, heckling coming from the front most rows. Feeling pressure, ‘Iron’ Mike springs to the top rope, looking to fly across the ring and hit his opponent with what he’d assume would be an unexpected high-risk maneuver, however, Jay Hawke has him well scouted, moving out of the way to the right, and then backing into the ropes in an attempt to knock his opponent from his perch atop the ropes. Mike Cross also has Hawke well scouted; performing a brilliant fake out knowing full well he’d expect a high risk attempt after his goads to push him into using such an offense. He hops from the ropes before tumbling, and then charges his opponent into the nearest corner.


“Despite the control we thought Jay Hawke had, Mike Cross resists the urge to fly around the ring and do what he’s well known to do,” Mak reflects, “It looks like ‘The Dean’ is going to have to pursue other strategies or keep pushing his opponent until he breaks – remember, Mike Cross declared he wouldn’t mentally break before this match, he said tonight he will shock the world! And after that fake out, I’d say he’s well on his way, shifting the momentum back in his favor.”


Mike pushes his opponent back with one arm, using his size and strength advantage to hold Hawke in the corner. He presses hard until Hawke’s attempt to free himself subsides, and then he rears back and drives a blunt elbow into his face, thrusting again and again until significant weakness shows. Mike withdraws his attempt to hold his opponent and then he lets him fall BUTT first into a sitting position, head leaning against the middle turnbuckle.


“So now, Mike Cross has control of the match,” Mak describes, “It’ll be interesting to show which route he’ll go – will he continue to show good determination and resistance to not go to the air and work high risk, or will he throw caution to the wind?”


Mike throws caution to the wind, springing up onto the second rope, then springing off that and hand standing onto the third. He holds there for a second as the showman inside of him takes over, the cameras flickering in the distance around the ring. Mike then drops down, feet looking to drive a nasty drop kick into the face of Jay Hawke, who rolls forward in time to escape a possible concussion, leaving Mike to smack his BUTT hard into the middle turnbuckle, folding backward awkwardly.


“And so he couldn’t resist the attempts to show off what he’s so good at doing, giving the match momentum back to his opponent in the process.”


“What a terrible move,” King adds, “The rookie in him is really showing – he makes a great move early on to win back position in the match and his attempt to maintain it is one that he blows, giving the momentum gleefully back to his opponent as if it was a gift.”


“Well, I can say one thing,” Mak Francis’ voice hits a high note, “I know for a fact that it’s not Jay Hawke’s birthday!”


The crowd is once again behind Jay Hawke who gets back to his feet, shaking off the rough and consistent elbows thrown by his opponent just moments earlier. Jay takes his time before setting his attention back on his foe that lies there holding his BUTT. Hawke pulls him back to his feet and then presses him into the corner returning the favor. ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ slaps his opponents upside the head once and then drives an elbow just behind it, almost forgetting the kick at the end. ‘Iron’ Mike walks past his opponent, stumbling out into the ring after the quick striking combo from Jay Hawke, turning around…




“BLOCKBUSTER,” shouts Mak aloud, “What a move!”


“That’s how you work a high risk offense, Mak!”


Hawke rolls to his feet and turns, falling on ‘Iron’ Mike, looking to steal a quick pin fall. The referee sees it late and quickly makes up for the time delay, sliding to the mat and into the first count, slapping his hand to the mat.










Mike manages to get his shoulder up, no surprise to the crowd, as he quickly rolls from his opponent and takes a knee near one of the turnbuckles. He angrily gets back to his feet and charges Hawke anxiously, who drops down and pulls Mike with him, slamming his face hard into the mat with a drop toe hold. Wasting no time, Hawke turns on the caught ankle and grapevines it with his other leg, taking an arm and head locking his opponent into an STF submission.


“Again Mike Cross shows his Achilles heel to an opponent who knows how to take advantage of such a downfall,” Mak exclaims, “You have to wonder when he’ll learn.”


“He’s only been wrestling for a solid year and a half professionally,” King inputs following his broadcast partner, “There’s a near 9 year difference as Jay Hawke has been successfully working the circuits of professional wrestling since 1996, for those willing to take a history lesson.”


“The difference is notable,” Mak says as Jay Hawke begins to wrench back on his opponent, stretching out the neck, back, and abdomen areas, “Rarely will we ever see Jay Hawke make a mistake as crucial as some of the one’s Mike Cross has given up here tonight.”


“Unfortunately that seems to be part of his routine, though, if he could work these problems out he could be a dominate force in this company.”


In the ring the referee continually asks ‘Iron’ Mike Cross if he wants to submit, each time getting shaken of by the victim caught deep in ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’s’ trap STF. He continues to pull as the pain finally escapes from the nerves and into the eyes, the grip strengthening as he continues to work over the back and neck of his opponent. Mike reaches for the ropes, inching forward, now just centimeters away from the bottom rope. His finger touches it and then his hand grabs it, the crowd sighing as the fan favorite’s foe narrowly escapes submission. The referee begins counting as Hawke takes his dear old time to break the hold.














Just before the referee counts to five, Hawke stands and steps his other foot onto the lower thigh of his victim, leaning down and stripping his hands from the ropes. He hooks the legs around his and then takes hold of the arms. He pulls back slowly before rolling to his back, pulling his opponent up and into a Mexican Surfboard Stretch that renders his opponent’s limbs useless, wrenching now the back, arms, and neck, needless to mention the abdominals and pectorals.


“It’s just clockwork now, folks.”


“Yep,” King exclaims, “Jay Hawke can just sit back and work his opponent down to the bone. As much as Mike Cross can say he’ll take the pain, his mind can only go so long before he passes out.”


Hawke moves his legs and arms, shaking his opponent’s strength out one drop at a time like he’s wringing a towel with his hands. Mike dries up and begins to grunt in pain as the ref stands over him, asking if he wants him to submit. Mike shakes limp, folding downward as the referee signals to Hawke to break the hold. He walks over to Mike who appears limp on the map, Hawke standing and backing from the sight. The referee lifts Mike’s hand, ready to drop it, only to find out he’s faked out ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ yet again.


“Wow,” Mak exclaims, “What guts, playing possum and throwing off his opponent, I can sense the frustration building among the crowd and Jay Hawke!”


Hawke charges ‘Iron’ Mike intently and mistake-free, catching him against the ropes and stopping him before he himself can catch his breath and get back into the match.


“Hawke might have to start taking more risks if he wants to put ‘Iron’ Mike away,” King exclaims, “The youth, stamina, and vitality in this 21 year old is top-notch, I’m not sure he’s going to have much success breaking this kid down.”


Hawke throws ‘Iron’ Mike across the ring and then runs towards him, maneuvering around him and taking his back. He continues running with his opponent and then charges him front first into the ropes, rolling backward and letting go. Hawke stands in time for his opponent to stumble right into the trap, catching his arms tightly around Mike’s waist and dropping him back onto his head with a magnificently placed and performed German Suplex.


“What a move,” Mak shouts, “Great hip movement and strength allows ‘The Dean’ to get air under his opponent, sending him hard onto his neck and back!”


Hawke swivels on his bum and turns to face his opponent, who appears already ready to get back to his feet. He crawls up behind him and then grabs hold of his waist and pops his hips yet again, sending him flying back and onto his head.




The crowd cheers loudly as they feel the end nearing closer, Mike stumbling back to his face, only to be met with another thunderous German Suplex.






Mike attempts to stumble back to his feet but falls to the mat, giving his opponent the niche he needed to propel up and defeat his opponent, leaving him in his dust. He swivels on his hips again and catches his opponent’s arm, pulling back and into an armbar that sends his opponent into a flailing fit, his arm and shoulder be stretched out.


“Mike Cross his has several shoulder injuries in his past, his right arm – his bad arm – is caught in an armbar and now it’s not looking nearly as bright for the Cruiserweight Champion as it was just minutes ago!”


‘Iron’ Mike manages to get his arm out of a serious predicament, rolling away and aiding a possible serious injury, his shoulder, back, neck, and now arms having been now worked over. Mike leaves himself prone to yet another submission, this time Hawke following him to the center of the ring and clinging to his arm yet again, rearing back after trapping his other, locking him into the Rings of Saturn.


“And yet another submission,” Mak exclaims excitedly as the crowd flashes a camera, “Hawke is an animal out there, he’s capitalizing on mistakes, he’s got absolutely no ring rust, and he’s ferocious, working over every part of Mike’s upper body in an attempt to slow him down and keep him from allowing some kind of a finish here.”


Mike flails and again averts submission after a lengthy moment of uncertainty while trapped in the Rings, some how managing to loosen Hawke’s grip on his arm letting way for one devastating elbow, knocking him almost completely off his game. Hawke rolls away, holding a somewhat swollen upper eye, the crowd in awe at the damage that appears to have been done by such a powerful elbow from ‘Iron’ Mike. Once Mike is back to his feet, Hawke looks him over, looking furious at his opponent. He runs towards the ropes. He springs to the third and then springs back off of it, turning in mid-air and holding out an arm for a springboard lariat. ‘Iron’ Mike shifts slightly to the right smoothly and throws his opponent down to the mat with a…




Using Hawke’s arm, Mike dropped him down face first into the mat. He holds onto his prize and hooks his arm up and over his opponent’s neck, sitting before locking his other arm up and over the neck, locking in a tight full nelson as he sets back, stretching out a previously injured neck.


“THERE IT IS” shouts Mak loudly in excitement, “That CRUCIAL mistake has been made, and Mike Cross has got his foot in the door! What does Jay Hawke have to do to put this kid away?!”


“Amazing,” says King almost breathless, heart beating, “The Iron Cross is synched in, he’s locked it into place, there’s nowhere for ‘The Dean’ to go – this match COULD be over!”


The referee falls in front of Jay Hawke on the mat, looking him in the eye as Cross dials back, ignoring the sharp pains throughout his body as he continues to torque the back and neck of his opponent with his patented finishing move. After several moments of being stretched, Hawke begins showing signs of giving up, the pain breaching the inner parts of his body and easing out of his pours like sweat as he grunts and yells in pain, the referee asking if he wants to give up. ‘Iron’ Mike rears back, in total control as he continues to work his opponent over.


“Minutes of utter inactivity and lack of offense by the Cruiserweight Champion have been made up for in just moments,” screams Mak Francis, “The pain has been thrown out, it’s all adrenaline for ‘Iron’ Mike, he’s gotta keep this going with absolutely nothing left in the gas tank if he wants to secure his place in history!”


‘Iron’ Mike lets out a war cry, stretching still as his opponent brinks on the edge of sanity, the pain subsiding and turning into shock. He continues to stretch, but nothing gives, Hawke fighting for consciousness. Hawke struggles, flailing his arm as he Cross edges so far back that he tips, awkwardly and painfully bringing his opponent back with him, Hawke’s legs meeting the ropes as the referee stands suddenly, yelling to break the hold. ‘Iron’ Mike, with almost nothing left in the gas tank, unlocks his hands and gives his opponent the freedom, both men lying on the mat utterly drained of stamina.






The referee holds up a one as both men aren’t moving.
















Finally, the slightest bit of movement from both men, who reach for the ropes to take back leverage.
































“This is what the International Title was about, Mak!”


Both men turn to each other, exhausted, having expanded their energy in their attempts to one-up the other’s submission attempts. They chop once, making their way back to the center. Chop, chop, SMAAAAAAAACK, back and forth now, one chop is met with another, and then another. Mike rears back in an attempt to catch Hawke with one hard chop, but is ducked, Hawke swerving around his opponent and then hoping up, catching his right arm in a chicken wing and grapevine his legs around the other, dragging Cross to his back. He synchs in the crossface and that’s it, the crowd loses it as cameras go off, ‘Iron’ Mike nearly passing out from the pain of the hold. The referee holds his hand up once, and it drops.




He grabs the hand again, holding it up.




“Yes,” shouts Mak, “This has got to be it!”


The referee again picks up the hand, looking to the left and the right as the crowd jumps up and down in anticipation for the final verdict.









































The crowd can’t believe it as they begin to rally behind their man. But that doesn’t work, as Mike snaps back into it like he’s lost it, total strength taking over as he rolls through the cross-like hold and gets to his feet, Hawke propped up on his shoulder. He turns towards the corner and slowly walks, turning and facing the center before running and lunging onto his side, driving Hawke’s head into the mat with a SICK thud.






The referee slides to make the cover as Cross just lays on top of Hawke.









































A bit wobbly, Hawke stands back up, both men back to their feet. Jay neglects to mind where he is, and stumbles right into ‘Iron’ Mike Cross who drags him back suddenly without caution or even thinking about it into a Dragon Sleeper. He locks it, slowly drags up his opponent with almost no stamina or arm strength left, and drills him into the mat with a sloppy and unprotected…



















































“Ladies and gentleman,” Funyon bellows as Mike Cross sits on his BUTT, tired beyond imagination, “HERE IS YOUR WINNER, ‘IRON’ MIKE CROOOOOOOOOSS!”


Someone throws Mike his belt as he sits there near Jay Hawke, the camera panning in on him, “WHO CAN STOP THIS MAN ON HIS WAY TO GROUND ZERO, WHO CAN KEEP THIS MAN FROM THE INTERNATIONAL TITLE!” The company logo and copyrights roll as the footage fades out with Mike Cross hugging his Cruiserweight Title.

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