SWF GROUND ZERO 2006!

[chirs3 0]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents...

SWF GROUND ZERO!
Live, Sunday, July 30th, ALONG WITH IGNWF GROUND ZERO, IN THE GUND ARENA IN AN ALTERNATE TIMELINE!
(6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings)
(Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3)



PAY PER VIEW THEME SONG: WAR PIGS!

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

THE MAIN EVENT - SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Michael Stephens © vs. JJ Johnson
--> Long ago, these two men were in a stable together. A month ago, JJ had some very strong words for the World Champion. Fighting champion that he is, Stephens took offense, and while he didn't want to give JJ a shot, Joe Peters did. One elbow later, and there's baaaad blood between these two. JJ Johnson fights to prove Michael Stephens, and the world, wrong, but has he got what it takes?
Rules: Standard singles match.

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

SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH - LADDER MATCH
Michael Cross © vs. Zyon
--> Zyon doesn't like Cross, because some would say Cross screwed him out of his Cruiserweight Title at 13th Hour by taking Akira's place after some serious ass-kicking. Cross doesn't like Zyon because Zyon's bitching is technically unfounded, and also, because Cross doesn't like anybody. Will Zyon get revenge on Cross? Will Cross cheer up, emo kid? Whose cuisine will reign supreme? CROSS. ZYON. BIG BATTEL AT GROUND ZERO.
Rules: Standard ladder match. Belt hanging approximately 20 feet above the ring. First to unhook it wins.

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

SINGLES MATCH
"The Superior One" Tom Flesher © vs. Grendel
-> These two have been clashing for weeks on end, and it always seems like Tom Flesher gets the drop on the masked one! MatFlesh took him down in a Handicap match, then stole his mask and degraded him in front of millions! Grendel has almost reached the breaking point - is this all part of Tom's brilliant strategy to end him once and for all, or has the Superior One created a monster that even he cannot defeat?
Rules: Standard singles match.

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

SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Bruce Blank © vs. Charlie "Grappler" Matthews
-> Bruce Blank beat some ridiculously tough competition in the International Championship Open Invitational, and now that he's captured the title, he's going to have to beat some ridiculously tough competition to keep it! First up - Charlie "Grappler" Matthews, a former ICTV Champion himself!
Rules: Standard singles match.

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

SINGLES MATCH
Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix vs. "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke
-> BECAUSE, that's why! It's a Pay Per View! Pay Per View's get big matches! THIS IS A BIG FREAKING MATCH!
Rules: Standard singles match.

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

#1 CONTENDERSHIP TO THE SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP
"The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu vs. "Hollywood" Spoon Jenkins
-> One problem with the International Championship Tournament - who gets to fight for the title now that it's been claimed? We'll be working those details out RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW~! These two have a little bit of - OK, a hell of a lot of history, if memory serves. Tonight they fight for the right (to party!) to be the second man to challenge for the International Championship!
Rules: Singles Match.

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

HANDICAP MATCH
Wildchild vs. Kerry Staunton and Scott Rageheart
-> Wildchild's just itching for a shot at Mike Van Siclen, but his overzealousness may be his undoing! Mike agreed to a match only IF Wildchild can beat the team of Kerry Staunton and Scott Rageheart, and he has to beat them clean! Wildchild is certainly a force to be reckoned with, but is it possible that he's bitten off more than he can chew with this one?
Rules: Standard handicap match, tags required.

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

SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH - HOUSE RULES
STAIRWAY TO PANDA MATCH
Jimmy the Doom © vs. Trent Hawk vs. Mike Van Siclen vs. Insane Luchador
-> Considering we're double booked with the IGNWF, we figured we should try to give a classic IGN match a new SWF-spin! So tonight, one of the most infamous matches in IGNWF History, THE STAIRWAY TO PANDA, will be fought in the SWF! Let's show those losers how it's done!
Rules: There is a stuffed panda hanging above the ring, wrapped in barbed wire. Should you reach this panda, it is free to use how you see fit. There will be ladders all around the ring to use however you see fit. First pinfall wins.

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

HARDCORE MATCH
Nemesis vs. Manson
-> So, Nemesis pretty handily destroyed his first opponent here in the SWF. Now let's see if he can handily destroy THE POWER OF MANSONOSITY~!
Rules: RULES?! NO RULES!

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

OPENING BOUT
"The Beast" Gabriel Drake vs. Ced Ordonez
-> There's been much ado about something, recently, as "The Beast"'s entry into the SWF has been highly publicized. It would seem, though, that some people here aren't exactly thrilled with his arrival. One of those people is Michael Stephens. I imagine, after this message, another one of those people will be Ced Ordonez.
Rules: Standard singles match.

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

[chirs3 0]

“Hello everyone, I’m Mak Francis, alongside the Suicide King and welcome to SWF Ground Zero, here, LIVE, in what would be the sold out Quicken Loans Arena,” Mak Francis begins over the fading WAR PIGS, a quizzical look beginning to form on his features. “Err, but isn’t because… well, it’s still the Gund Arena…”

 

“And my doctor wonders why he has to prescribe so much Xanax for me…” King bemoans, holding his head as if he’s having a migraine. “I finally thought this travesty of a Fictional World Tour was over, but having seen a Tom Flesher that is straight-edge and Stubby Potts McWeed of all people, I’ve learned to just give up hope on it ever ending.”

 

“Don’t have a Paranoid Freak-out, Applewhite.” Mak says with a smirk. “Peters says this is the last stop so I believe him.”

 

“Hardy-har-har, Francis.” King says, rolling his eyes. “If this thing isn’t over I’ll give you a Paranoid Freak-out, but I don’t really know if it’ll hurt, since it could be a kick to the balls for all we know… though we all know how well that’ll go over with you.”

 

Mak’s previous grin turns to a scowl at the jibe, but he remains professional and gets back to introducing the Pay-per-view. “Right, the first match on tonight’s card is very interesting considering its participants. One of which is Ced Ordonez, who received one hell of a beatdown on Smarkdown, but is out here to show the fans that he’s no pushover.”

 

“And the other is a guy we barely know more about than the Paranoid Freak-out.”

 

“That’s a very true statement, King.” Mak says. “For such a publicized entrance into our fed, ‘The Beast’ Gabriel Drake is something of an unknown quantity. Most of what we know—other than Joe Peter’s signed him a few weeks ago—are the hard facts… at six feet four inches, two hundred fifty-eight pounds; this guy’s a true Heavyweight and supposed to have the goods. Now, after all the hype we’ll finally get to see if he’ll live up to it.”

 

“NIGHT OF FIRE!”

 

“And here’s someone who we know brings the goods!” Mak shouts as the Cleveland crowd, some of whom have just filed into their seats, stand and cheer loudly for Ced Ordonez as the lights fade darkening the arena somewhat for the capacity crowd. The audience only has to wait for a second as…

 

"FIRE!”

 

…Out of nowhere pillars of fire explode across the stage and radiate for a brief second before disappearing back where they came from. Just as soon as they leave, the crowd gets its first view of the Bemani Cross Wizard, Ced Ordonez. Ced hops about the entrance ramp in time with Niko’s high energy song, waving his hands in an upwards motion to build up the already excited audience. The crowd begins to increase their volume as Ced stomps towards the other side of the stage, repeating the process.

 

“As noted earlier,” King starts, “Ced Ordonez got the crap kicked out of him by the debuting Nemesis, who’s probably gonna’ kick the crap out of Manson after this match is over.”

 

After getting the crowd as hype as he possibly can, Ordonez heads to the ring while Funyon does his introduction.

 

“Currently making his way to the ring—from Sacramento, California, and weighing in tonight at two hundred and nine pounds, he is CED ORRRDOOOONEZZZZ!”

 

“Well King, I don’t know about all that,” Mak comments while Ced slides under the bottom ropes and pops to his feet. “But Ced is here to prove that one lost doesn’t tarnish what I’d consider a solid workmen-like career.”

 

Ordonez hits the turnbuckle to a generous wave of camera flashes and pops back down, doing some basic stretches. Tonight’s ref, Mark Hebner, wanders over, checking him quickly for illegal objects quickly with a wink, since he works with the full-time ref part-time wrestler while the crowd settles.

 

King decides to fill the void. “If Ced’s career is considered solid then mine must be diamond-encrusted.”

 

Mak just lets King’s latest jab go as the crowd waits for the match’s second participant. The dead air hangs as several moments pass creating a feeling of discomfort before an eerie blue light covers the would-be Q arena. The crowd sits on their hands, unsure what to do in the chillingly blue-filled arena as the opening twangs of a guitar echo through the Gund. The slow melody continues and is even amplified by a flash from several bright white strobe lights. The strobe’s persist, building with the song, which can now be identified by the lyrics as Rob Zombie’s “The Devil’s Rejects”.

 

“I am the bad one… Distant and cruel one,

I am the dream that, keeps you running down…”

 

And with that ‘The Beast’ makes his way through the curtain, staring out at the audience who has yet to form an opinion of him. Drake, illuminated by a mix of white strobes and the menacing blue hue stands still, letting everyone get a good look.

 

“With distraction… Violent reaction… Scars of my actions,

Watch me running out…”

 

“Hell doesn't want them.

Hell doesn't need them.

Hell doesn't love them.”

 

“Interesting choice of theme…” Mak notes, clearly a little shaken by the song, while Gabriel Drake strolls to ringside, looking out at the crowd with an amused sneer.

 

“Oh, this guy is impressive… he’s definitely here to kick some ass.” King remarks slightly put out by the song as well, while Funyon prepares to speak.

 

“And his opponent, making his SWF debut, from Athens, Georgia, weighing in tonight at two hundred and fifty-eight pounds, he is ‘The Beast’ GABRIEL DRRRRRRRRAAAAAKKKKKKEEEE!”

 

Drake climbs the ring steps and moves onto the apron, wiping his feet before swinging his legs through the ropes. Now inside the ring he stares down Ced, before going to the turnbuckle and just staring out at the crowd.

 

“The Devil's Rejects… Rejects…”

 

“The Devil’s Rejects… Rejects…”

 

Gabe hops down as the song begins to fade, standing in his corner in wait. Hebner checks him quickly, avoiding his eyes as he finishes up and asks for the bell.

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Ced dances in his corner, moving his feet as he assesses his foe with a gulp. He remembers the beating from last week all to well. And so does the Franchise as he calls the action. “Ced might be a little thrown off his game and we can see he’s banged up, but he’ll knuckle up and take the fight to ya’.”

 

Ordonez does just that, deciding to answer Drake’s signal for a collar and elbow tie-up. They grasp each other, with Gabe easily winning the strength battle pushing Ced backwards with some force, but Ced slides into a side headlock using Gabriel’s own momentum against him to regain control. Ced uses the headlock to his advantage, forcing Gabe to hunch over somewhat while he grinds it in. Gabe begins to reach up to pry Ced’s arms from his head, but Ordonez releases and spins behind him, shooting a back waistlock. Gabe squats and tugs at Ced’s hands, loosening his grip so that he can quickly execute a standing switch.

 

“And so begins the feeling out process.” Mak assesses, while Ced looks for a way out. Finding no quick escape, Ordonez, works on his opponent’s strong grip to break the hold. “Nice standing switch by Gabriel Drake there.”

 

“Drake’s probably looking to impress, so we’ll get to see some good stuff from him if that slug Ordonez doesn’t mess everything up.”

 

“Having been in the ring with Ced, I would say that he’s an above average ring technician and that’s something that has always been understated about him.” Mak responds, as Ced slowly moves turning into ‘the Beast’. “In my opinion the guy can flat out go.” Just as soon as Francis says this Ced quickly arches back in a modified overhead throw, falling into a back bridge for the pin. The fans give him a small cheer, as Ordonez winces in pain, his bridge faltering even as Hebner goes to count…

 

ONE!

 

 

T…

 

…No! Drake pushes Ced off him and rolls to his belly. “Wow, barely even a one count there.” Mak says, as Ced scampers from the mat onto Drake’s back, after his pin attempt hurriedly latching on a hammerlock to control the bigger man. “I said our notes on Drake were slim, but I did a little digging and found out he is twenty-five years old, completed his training about four or five years ago at the Blue Blood Academy down in Georgia, but has no years of pro experience. How does something like that happen?”

 

“You’re asking me?” King says in wonder, while Ced pins Gabe’s left arm to his back and wrenches upwards. “And how did you find that out?”

 

“It’s called research, King. Some of us actually like to be prepared for work.” Mak adds smugly. “I scouted opponents in the ring and it makes sense to do the same here.”

 

“I guess when you’re always sitting in a chair being a couch potato is a lot easier.” King snipes, getting his announce partner back. “Maybe young Gabriel took a break from the business, but if that last vignette we saw was any indication, I think it might have been something slightly more serious.”

 

Gabe makes his way to his feet, patting his shoulder while searching for a means of escape. After a swipe between his legs to try and pick an ankle, Gabe finally is able to slowly twirl around and behind into his own hammerlock. Ordonez pats his shoulder but his smaller size allows him more freedom and he easily twirls the arm lock back into his control. A scowl across his features now, Gabe tries to reposition himself by walking in a small circle. Ced tries to stay close to Drake, but after finally gaining some separation Gabe performs a forward roll, tumbling away from his opponent to get his arm free from the offending hammerlock. Mak sees the action and calls it. “Another in a string of nice counters; this time out of the hammerlock from Drake, King—who seems to be very technically sound.”

 

“I knew he’d be good the moment I saw him.”

 

Although Ced still has a hold of his arm, Gabe pushes them both into the ropes and shoves him away, causing Ced to release his hold and hit the far ropes. Gabe cuts off the ring and falls to the mat lacing his leg with Ced’s, pulling him down with a drop toe hold. Floating over, Drake lands in a side headlock but he’s a little out of position and Ced feels it. Rolling out from under Gabe, Ced gains wrist control and spins over onto his belly once again twirling Drake’s arm into a hammerlock. Now facing Drake, Ced pushes down pinning the Beast’s arm behind him.

 

“Oh goodie, back where we started!” King whines, while Ced slides his other arm in between Drake’s, trying to secure a keylock. “Can Ced do anything other than a hammerlock?”

 

“Drake riding high and he gets’ the tables turned on him, yet again. That’s a definite sign of ring-rust… and King, it looks like Ced’s got a keylock now… that different enough?”

 

While King harrumphs, ‘The Beast’ uses his size and strength to work his way up to a knee then his feet, breaking the keylock attempt, but Ced won’t give up on the arm so easily. He tries to bar the arm, but Gabe won’t be stopped, standing up to his feet and pushing Ced by the face to the ropes. Once again sent for the ride, Ordonez runs the ropes and rebounds back, directly into a nasty back elbow! Ced lands on the mat and Drake immediately takes off, bouncing off the near ropes and then leaps into the air, dropping an elbow—no, Ced evades by rolling to his side! Ordonez gets to his feet and rushes back into the ropes, getting a full head of steam before swinging his body down for an elbow of his own. Gabe sees it coming and rolls, but Ced gets it anyway his whole upper body striking ‘the Beast’!

 

YEEEAAAAHHHH!

 

The crowd having sat on their hands for most of the match let out a cheer for Ordonez, proud of his performance. As Ced slides to a knee, Gabe continues his roll exiting the ring with a disgusted look on his face. Hebner reaches over the ropes to give a warning, but Drake just waves him off and rakes a hand through his hair.

 

“Ced got the better of Drake in that exchange and he doesn’t look happy about it!” Mak notes, while the ref decides to start a count out on the seemingly flustered rookie. Ordonez stands and moving past Hebner – who’s just about to start his count – grabbing the ropes as he slingshots himself up and over in a plancha! Gabe sidesteps in time, but the would-be plancha is a fake-out and Ced lands on the apron! Gabe moves back towards Ced and Ordonez scores a back kick staggering Drake. Ced takes a quick look over his shoulder and leaps prepping to springboard off the ropes for a flashy Asai moonsault—no, Gabe reaches up and sweeps his legs mid-air causing Ced to crash and burn face first onto the apron!!

 

“Finally Mak, it’s a wrestler who can actually wrestle. I’m tired of seeing all the flip-foppery in our fed and Gabe’s just doing his part to curb that.” King says, as Ordonez falls to the outside at Gabe’s feet.

 

“I notice he’s Gabe now…” Mak scoffs, as Ced begins to move crawling towards his opponent. “Come on King, Drake swiped Ced’s feet our from under him and made him hit the apron face first. It may be devastating, but how is that wrestling?”

 

‘ONE!’

 

‘TWO!’ Hebner shouts from inside the ring. ‘Come on; get him back in the ring, Drake!’

 

As King attempts to come up with an explanation, Ced gets up to a knee using Gabe’s body for support. Gabe just continues to loom over him, ignoring the ref and doing nothing to stop Ced’s progress. Ced, the fighter that he is clenches a fist and weakly sends it into Gabe’s stomach, once, twice and now that he’s semi standing Ced swings a right for the face, which Gabe dodges pie-facing Ced as he back-trips him with an STO on the outside!!

 

‘THREE!’

 

‘FOUR!’

 

“Well that was certainly a wrestling move, Francis!” King says gleefully, as Ordonez starts to move on the thin padding. “I know you noticed his interesting technique.” He adds, when Ced rolls to all fours holding his neck.

 

‘FI-Damnit, Drake!’ Hebner shouts, while Gabe slides half his body under the ropes, to restart the count.

 

“Yeah, nice pie-face with that STO and it just seems so convenient that it occurred around the ring, not in it…” Mak responds, while Gabe toes Ced in the back of the head. “‘The Beast’ breaks the count and it’s clear to me all he’s looking to do is more damage on the outside. Ordonez is a guy with a history of concussions and after that Nemesis match and those last few moves, who knows how Ced’s head is doing. I think I’m starting to not like this guy, Drake…”

 

‘ONE!’

 

“Then that’s all the more reason for me TO like him, Mak!”

 

Hoisting Ced up by his hair, Gabe lines Ced up and then shoulder tackles him into the steel post back first, causing Ordonez to cry out in pain. Some fans begin to boo the assault, but Drake just picks Ced up again and measures him, before ramming him lower-lumbar first into the ring apron!

 

‘TWO!’

 

Sliding down, Ced holds his back trying to relieve some of the sting, but Gabe gives him little time, tossing him into the ring. Back inside, Gabe pursues the now crawling Ordonez and yanks him to his feet, slipping around behind and arching backwards in a tight Belly-to-back suplex! Drake covers, Hebner counts…

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

TH…

 

…NO! Ced kicks out! But Drake is right back on him with a lateral press from the opposite side!

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR…

 

…NO! Ced kicks out again! Mak begins to speak, only to get interrupted by King. “-What a Backdrop suplex!” He parrots. “Drake’s a Stud, Mak.” King adds his partners face showing how much he liked King’s lack of couth. “It’s such a joy getting to see him toss Ordonez around and he’s picked up on the fact that his opponent’s having some lower back and ribcage troubles.”

 

Surprised, Mak gives King his due. “Great point, King. I hadn’t really noticed it until now, but Ced was favoring his mid-section since this started. It must have got hurt there when the big man splashed him last week.” Mak includes, as ‘the Beast’ crawls over to Ordonez, grabbing a sleeper from behind. “Drake must have realized it when Ced couldn’t hold the bridge on that early pin.”

 

With the hold secure, Gabe wraps a leg around him rocking Ced to his side so he can slide the other one on as well. With the hold locked in, Gabe leans back and stretches Ced out zapping his energy. “And I also don’t think Drake really believed he’d get the win on those last two covers.” Mak analyses. “It was designed to fatigue Ced, just like this Rear Naked Choke with the hooks in.”

 

On the mat, Ced tries to move around to little avail. Pulling at Drake’s bicep, he attempts to get some space between his neck and his opponents forearm. “I agree with you, as shocking as that is to me personally.” King concurs snidely, as Gabe shouts for the referee to ‘Fuckin’ ask him!’ so Hebner moves in and checks on Ced’s arm, which is reaching out towards the crowd. “Gabe’s using this sleeper with body-scissors to wear Ordonez down after he’s been wearing him out on the outside. Plus, the added benefit of catching a breather from kicking his ass.”

 

Checking his hand, Hebner backs away as Ced directs the point of his elbow into the Drake’s leg. The crowd begins to cotton on cheering, clapping and stomping as he raises it once more and then drives down, again and again… and again… breaking the body-scissors! “Ced’s starting to break free and here we go…” Francis says, as now able to move, Ced forces them both’ to their feet and lands a few more elbows to sever it completely. Rushing to the far ropes, Ced flies back and ducks under a clothesline. Gabe steps forward after missing the attack and catches Ced by surprise, lifting him up on his shoulder, before turning and dropping him across the top rope!!

 

Mak makes the call, as Ordonez’s head snaps back and he ricochets to the canvas. “Some people call that a Stungun and for all I know, Gabriel Drake may call it something else, but either way that Hotshot-like maneuver did its job!”

 

Ced, struggling to breath, tries to get up and fight. Meanwhile Gabe takes off for the ropes below them and sprints back, just as Ced, still hunched over, makes it to his feet-

 

CRACK!

 

-and gets a running knee-lift to the chin!! Ordonez stumbles, miraculously staying on his feet, as Gabe strikes off for the ropes again, gaining extra momentum before-

 

WHAAAAAAM!

 

-pulverizing Ced with a huge Lariat!! Ced flops to his belly getting knock ass over elbow for the second time in as many weeks! Gabe doesn’t hesitate at all, hopping back to the near ropes and rebounding back with a knee drop to the back of Ced’s head, rolling through to a crouch! Drake shoots a half hooking the leg, Hebner counts…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THRE…

 

 

…NO! Ordonez gets a shoulder up! “What a combination.” King squeals, as ‘the Beast’ readjusts his kneepad. “He’s a different breed of wrestler from the cruisers we see all the time here. He’s powerful—agile when it counts, but most importantly he just looks like a superstar.”

 

“What a combination, indeed.” Mak reaffirms, while Ced edges towards the closest corner, but for different reasons. “After that Stungun, Drake landed a Million dollar knee-lift, Shotgun Lariat and knee drop all in succession. Impressive stuff.”

 

“And he looked like a superstar doing it.” King says again, as Ced pulls himself up in the corner. Drake, now to his feet also, moves over to Ced and lands a kick to his mid-section. Grabbing the ropes for support, he proceeds to stomp a mud-hole and once Ced is down, choke him with his boot!

 

‘ONE!’

 

‘TWO!’

 

‘THREE!’

 

‘FOUR—Break it, Drake!’ Hebner yells, causing Drake to do just that with a smirk. ‘The Beast’ walks Ced to the center of the ropes by the arm and propels him forward with an Irish whip. Gabe lowers his head for a backdrop and the rookie mistake is immediately spotted by Ced even in his current state. Stopping on a dime, Ordonez rears back and kicks Drake right in the face! Stunned, Drake is wide open as Ced clenches a fist-

 

BAM!

 

-and lands a punch to the side of Drake’s head! But Gabe answers back-

 

WHAM!

 

-nailing Ced in the jaw with a side-arm punch! The two now stand center ring, trading right-hands back and forth!!

 

BAM!

WHAM!

BAM!

WHAM!

BAM!

WHAM!

 

“Does Ced really think he can win this fist fight?”

 

…King comment looms in the air as Drake is ready to block the next punch, having gotten his timing, but Ced breaks the trend and with an impressive vertical leap, snaps off a standing huracanrana!! Ordonez stands, cradling his ribs briefly, as Gabe rushes back to his feet a little bit off kilter and Ced takes advantage kicking at his left hamstring, once, twice, three times bringing him down to a knee before-

 

CRACK!

 

-landing a sick roundhouse right in Drake’s ear-hole!! As Gabe falls, Ced takes off for the ropes, bouncing back and jumping high, crashing into his body with a senton!! Ordonez sits up with a grimace, but quickly flips over and falls into a lateral press, as Hebner counts…

 

ONE!

 

 

TW…

 

…NO! Drake forcefully shoves Ced off him! “Ced getting some good offense, especially that huracanrana, but Drake kicks out at one!” Mak mentions, as Ced stands up quickly realizing that if he lets Gabe up it could mean trouble. Ordonez smacks some forearm blows on the back of the rising Drake, then grabs him by the head and fires a forearm to his face! ‘The Beast’ answers back by shoving Ced, head over heels to the mat – but Ced bounces right back up to his feet. Drake stomps forward, clearly pissed and ready to hurt someone, but that gets interrupted by a low dropkick!

 

“Dropkick to the knee by Ced helps him keep control and now he lifts Drake back up for an Irish whip—no reversal!” The Franchise calls. “Ced runs the ropes, ducking a back elbow and…” Mak pauses, as Ced leaps onto the middle rope and springboards back with an elbow to the mush!! “Whoa, what a springboard back elbow!”

 

“It was OK…” King begrudgingly admits and Ced, while checking his mid-section, sits up looking around for his fallen opponent before crawling into a cover, trapping the near leg and hooking the far one while Hebner counts…

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO…

 

…NO! Drake thrusts Ordonez off him again! “Ced, continuing to string some solid offense together, but he still can’t get longer than a one count off Drake.” Ced runs a hand through his hair and stands, trying to come up with something to put a dent in ‘the Beast’s’ armor.

 

“That’s because he doesn’t have anything in his arsenal that can really hurt Drake!”

 

“Untrue, King.” Mak responds, as Ced grabs Gabe by the head again. “We both know Drake’s rusty and if Ced can get him down long enough to hit his Fire Soul—a devastating Corkscrew Swanton Bomb, that could definitely get it done! Or after a little bit of legwork he could tie him up in the Nagata lock for a submission.”

 

With a hunched over Drake in his control, Ced grabs a tuft of hair and goes to work-

 

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

 

-lighting up his face by force feeding Drake his white boot six times as they twirl in a slow circle of pain!! “Oh, and those Kawada kicks aren’t just for show either!” Mak adds, as Ced goes for one last kick – but ‘the Beast’ catches the foot and blinking in pain rises to his feet. Ced begins to hop trying to keep his balance, as Gabe smirks and wags his finger-

 

CEEEEEERACK!

 

-only to get BLASTED with an Enzuigiri!!! Drake slowly crumples to the canvas, as Ced pushes himself to his hands and knees, scampering into a cover, hooking the far leg so far that he’s back-first on Gabe!

 

“The quick feet and balance inherent in being a Bemani Cross Wizard have paid dividends tonight for Ced.” Mak notes, while the ref counts…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THRE…

 

…NO! Gabe kicks out, but is missing a lot of the power from his earlier ones. “And finally, Ced gets a near-fall!” Ced sits up and smiles, the pain in his ribs forgotten, having finally wounded ‘the Beast’. Nonplused, Gabe begins moving towards the ropes and lifts himself to his feet with their help, as Ced backs up into the near ropes. Just as Gabe turns and takes a few steps towards center ring, Ced launches himself at Drake in a high kick that sends Gabe tumbling through the cables and to the outside!!

 

YEEAAAAHHHH!

 

“And Ced is a house-a-fire, King!” Mak shouts, as the crowd cheers Ordonez who is waving his hands in the air. Ced, having gotten some of the crowd to its feet, pauses and looks around. “What’s about to happen here?” Mak asks no-one in particular, as Ced rushes back into the ropes against the wishes of his fellow referee…

 

“This is not happening…” King comments, while Ced continues to run, grabbing the top cable briefly, before flinging himself head over heels onto a rising Gabe in a TOPE CON HILO!!!

 

RRRRRAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHH!

 

And that officially brings the rest of the crowd to its feet!!

 

“Oh, but it is, King!” Mak rebuts, as Hebner leans through the ropes checking both men. In response, Ced sits up protecting his ribs, while Gabe shakes his head on the floor. Ced pushes himself up and walks over to Drake, who is up to a knee and lands a forearm to the face! Picking Drake up, Ced cracks him with a hamstring kick and then, after looking over his shoulder at the steel steps, yanks Gabe ahead – but ‘the Beast’ is far too strong and reverses the whip-

 

CLANG!

 

-sending Ced directly into the STEEL! The audience deflates like an untied balloon, as Ordonez sits tilted over the steps having hit them knees first-stomach second!! Gabe stands, admiring his handiwork, as Ced bangs his hand on the steps in pain…

 

“Now THAT had to hurt!”

 

King’s words tell the tale, as Gabe gets up and upon a warning from the ref about a count, tosses Ced inside the ring. Back in, Ordonez is easy picking for ‘the Beast’ as he tries to gain a vertical base. Using the ropes, Ced is able to make it up, but Gabe kicks out his left leg sending him back to the mat! Placing his leg on the bottom rope, Drake keeps it in place with his foot and bouncing on the ropes, drops back down crushing it! Ced reaches for his leg, but Gabe dragging him center ring, extends Ced’s leg and placing his foot on Ced’s gut for balance, flying overtop trying to hyperextend his hamstring! Gabe repeats the process one more time and then slowly stands to his feet.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“It seems that the crowd has finally made a decision on Gabriel Drake and the consensus is… they hate his guts!” Mak says, as after a loud reaction from the crowd, Gabe stands and poses. “Look at him—he’s taunting the crowd now!”

 

“So?” King asks, as Gabe points out a fan telling him to ‘shut his fuckin’ mouth’. “He’s cocky, which is always a good thing in this business.”

 

“He’s a smug, overconfident, son-of-a-bitch, period.”

 

“You’re one to talk, mister Franchise…” King says from his high horse, adding air-quotes. “It’s called gamesmanship… and you did it all the time too!”

 

“I could say the same for you, Brian!” Mak hisses, a dig at the Suicide King moniker. “But at least I paid my dues in the amateurs and won some SWF matches before I started acting like I was unjustly or not—pardon my French—the shit, unlike this guy!” Mak continues, lucky he’s on PPV tonight. “Oh and I didn’t make-up my nickname, Applewhite, I earned it in the amateurs unlike some people I know!”

 

“Jeez, don’t pop a wheelie, Francis…” King mutters, as Drake drags Ordonez back to the ropes and sets up Ced’s leg again. “Maybe we should see Stubby about some medicinal marijuana to calm you down.”

 

Drake bounces on the ropes and jumps again – but this time nobody’s home, as Ced moves his leg off the ropes! The audience cheers, as Gabe holds his tailbone in pain! Mak gives up his argument with King due to the sudden reversal of fortunes.

 

“Come on, Ced!” Mak yells, while Ced attempts to regroup, using the ropes to get to his feet. “Gabriel Drake making a mistake after getting too cocky and it bit him in the ass!”

 

YEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHH!

 

Ced makes his feet, just as Drake turns around and he stumbles from the ropes right into a punch! ‘The Beast’ responds in kind with his side-arm punches…

 

BAM!

 

WHAM!

 

BAM!

WHAM!

BAM!

WHAM!

BAM!

WHAM!

BAM!

WHAM!

BAM!

WHAM!

…WHIFF!

 

The riled up crowd groans as Ced swings over the ducking Drake, who laces his arms behind Ced for another backdrop suplex—no, Ordonez latches his legs around Gabe’s and in a show of grit and determination rolls forward dragging Drake down in a cross kneelock!

 

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

 

The chant starts instantaneously, but with Ced’s forward roll the ropes are possibly within reach for Drake!! Dragging Ced’s weight with him, Gabe pulls himself closer to escape as Hebner asks if he wants to submit…

 

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

 

The chants get loud the closer he gets to the bottom cable… his fingers graze the rope, as Ced torques his leg hoping for the win, but with one last tug Gabe gets in the ropes!!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Ced releases immediately, rolling away as Hebner asks for the break. As Ced awaits Hebner’s word, Gabe starts getting up to his feet and upon a clap from the referee, Ordonez hobbles in with a kick to Drake’s leg!! Trying to keep the pressure on, Ced kicks again, getting Gabe to shuffle towards the middle of the ring! Ordonez looks for the knockdown kick, swinging his leg ahead – but Drake catches the limb and this time without hesitation or taunting, wrenches him down to the canvas with a Dragon screw leg-whip!!!

 

“Oh no!” Mak cries out, while Ced holds his leg in agony! “That Dragon screw came at just the right time for Drake. He’s been rusty all match, but this was the perfect time to come up big.”

 

“Oh yes, no enzuigiri this time, Ordonez!” King says, as Gabe pushes himself back to his feet and readjusts his kneepads. On the mat, Ced brings his leg close to his body, as Drake stands tall accepting the ‘boos’. Walking over to Ordonez, ‘the Beast’ steps on his head to King’s pleasure and then toes him over so that he can choke him!! “Whoa-boy, Gabe’s got a mean streak in him!”

 

‘ONE!’

 

‘TWO!’

 

‘THREE!’

 

‘FOUR!’

 

Finally, Gabe breaks right at five, Hebner having to physically move in between him! Hebner gets in Drake’s face about his stretching the rules, so Gabe pushes him away! Hebner doesn’t take to kindly to that, pointing to the SWF logo on his referee shirt.

 

“You should DQ him, Hebner!”

 

“Says the guy that broke almost as many rules in his SWF career as me.”

 

As the announcers argue, Ced makes it to his knees and struggles to push himself up, so Drake begs off the ref and marches around him, bouncing off the ropes and implanting his boot into Ced’s face with a high kick!! Ced blinks on the mat then reaches out towards his opponent, trying to get back up. Gabe obliges him, grabbing Ced by the hair and hauling him up in a front facelock before lifting him over in a suplex! After landing, Ced’s hand gravitates between his back and leg, before he begins to favor his ribs. Turning to his belly to avoid a pin, Ced inches on the canvas towards the ropes. Stepping on Ced’s ankle as he tries to crawl away, Drake toes him in the face and then backs up and punts him in the ribcage!

 

“Well, it’s more of the same from Gabriel Drake.” Mak says, shaking his head while ‘the Beast’ hits another kick. “He’s really been taking it to Ced except for a few comebacks here and there.”

 

“Any comeback Ced makes is superficial in the grand scheme of things, Francis, because he won’t win this match!”

 

Bringing Ced to his feet, Gabe backs him up in the ropes and sends him away. Measuring for punch, Gabe stands ready as Ced comes back—no, Ordonez slides between Gabe’s legs! Surprised, Gabe turns and gets a boot to the gut, stunning him! Ced, pushing through the pain in his leg and ribs, bends and hoists all 258lbs of Drake into a fireman’s carry and then taking a step forward somersaults in a Regal Roll!!!

 

“Ced just keeps on fighting!” Mak announces, while Ced limps over to the corner. “And—hey, he might just have a shot to end this! Come on, Ced! Climb up top!”

 

“He’s taking too much time…”

 

Ordonez slides through the ropes and slowly goes up top; carefully attempting to get his balance for the Fire Soul – but Gabe suddenly jumps into the picture with a punch to the gut, so that he lands crotch-first in the corner!! Gabe lines up Ced and-

 

SMACK! WHOOOOOOOOOO!

SMACK! WHOOOOOOOOOO!

SMACK! WHOOOOOOOOOO!

 

-absolutely PLASTERS Ced with three knife-edge chops!! Chest beat red, Ced is easy pickings as Drake jumps-

 

THWACK! OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH!

 

-and pretty much DEMOLISHES Ordonez with a leaping palm strike!! The audience even substitutes a shocked sound for the commonly used chant! Hopping up onto the second rope, Gabe hooks Ced and then, throws his arm off, wagging his finger as he goes all the way up to the top rope…

 

“This is gonna’ hurt…”

 

Mak winces, sure of his words as Gabe picks Ced up to his feet and they both now stand on the top rope, before Drake leverages them both up and over so that they collide with the canvas in a certified train wreck!!!!!

 

BANG!

 

“A TOP ROPE Superplex, Francis!” King crows, as both men lay in the ring a mass of humanity. “Not just a suplex, or even a superplex, but a TOP ROPE SUPERPLEX!” As Hebner checks on them, Drake slowly moves to his hands and knees, crawling over to Ced. He hooks the leg, Hebner counts…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO! Ced raises a shoulder up! “I honestly have no idea how Ced kicked out of that one.” Mak states, as Drake looks to the ref and claps his hands three times! Standing up, Gabe stares a hole in Hebner for his perceived slow count and then toes the deceased looking Ced.

 

“I’ll tell you how… it was a slow count!” King responds, as Drake picks Ced up by the hair.

 

“Please, don’t get on the ref about that count, King.” Mak adds, while Ordonez struggles to clear his head. “Hebner’s been real consistent tonight and doesn’t need the grief!”

 

‘The Beast’ grabs Ced by the head and arm, interlocking his hands in an Arm triangle choke... "Drake's got a standing arm trap with a choke. An arm triangle choke for those interested in MMA..." Mak notes King's scoff as Drake pauses and then snaps him down onto his knee!!

 

King wasn't scoffing at that. "Damn, that's something new!"

 

Not finished, he stands back up and pauses, giving the crowd a good view before flinging Ced back in a swinging Complete shot—or would have, had Ced not readjusted his flying body in mid-air and grasping Drake’s wrist, countered with a unbelievable arm-drag!!!! Completely shell-shocked, Gabe rushes the woozy Ced who spins off a second arm-drag!!! Drake sprints forward again raising his leg for another high kick, but Ced seemingly going on instinct this entire time catches the foot and twirls to the mat in a Dragon screw!!!

 

“Ced returning the favor on Drake’s takedown earlier in the match—and the veteran Ordonez is following up, something his opponent didn’t do!” Mak calls, as Ced reaches down securing the left leg and spinning to try and pretzel it into a four!! “Could we be about to see the Cross Lightening?!”

 

RRRAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHH!

 

The crowd seems to think so...

 

...but sadly the answer to that is no. A boot to the face and one more to the side of the dome sends Ced falling into the ropes holding his head. Drake pushes himself to his vertical base, as Ced uses the ropes to gain his feet. Ced turns around, just as Gabe dashes ahead lowering his head for a spear… but he eats boot from Ordonez, snapping his head back!! Ced, body tired, doesn’t have it in him for another power move, so he falls back lacing his legs with Drake’s in a small package, as Hebner counts…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THREE…

 

…NO! Drake breaks his legs free! “Ced getting an inside cradle for two-” Mak starts as popping out, Drake gets up off the canvas only to be drug right back down in a school boy pin, which Hebner counts…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

THREE-AHNOOO!

 

“-And this time with a school boy he almost got the duke! What tenacity shown b-” Mak adds, while Gabe crawls on the mat, trying to stay away from anymore flash pins when a blur of blue dives over the top over him hooking his leg and arm for an Oklahoma roll!!! “OKLAHOMA ROLL! He may have him!” Mak shouts, as Hebner dives across the ring, sliding into position to count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWWWOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHRRREEEEEEEE!

 

 

“THANK GOD!”

 

 

The crowd can’t believe it, but Gabe Drake pushes a shoulder free!! Ced looks to his fellow ref to confirm and gets a nod and two fingers. Ced makes his way to the nearest corner trying to regroup after being so close to winning.

 

“This is like a bad dream coming to life…” King mumbles, adding to his ‘THANK GOD’ earlier. Ordonez knows he needs to stay on Drake after that series of near-falls, so when he sees Gabe pulling himself up in the opposite corner, Ced digs down and sprints across the ring as fast as a limping man can, jumping into the air for a Stinger Splash—no, nobody home, as ‘the Beast’ evades the assault!! Ced sits propped up in the corner facing out towards the crowd, who try to warn him to look out…

 

…but he can’t do anything except have Gabriel Drake chop-block his already injured knee!!!

 

“Never mind, it’s a dream come true!” King says quickly, as clutching his leg like a small baby, Ced falls back to the mat in anguish. Walking over to Ced, Gabe picks him up by the hair and points a finger in his face, saying something before whipping him towards the corner HARD…

 

 

THUNK!

 

 

…the worst part of it being Ced’s knee buckling causing him to spiral under the turnbuckles and into the STEEL POST back-first! “Oh man, that wasn’t pretty…” Is all Mak can say as Ordonez sits against the post bent around it like a bow!!

 

Pulling Ced away from the corner and into center ring, Gabe once again lifts Ordonez by the hair and double underhooking his arms, arches back in a nasty suplex!! Ced rolls on the canvas in pain, after the huge throw, but Drake pays this no mind picking him up again…

 

“Excuse my language folks, but this is bullshit!” Mak spits out, lucky he’s on PPV for the second time tonight. “Ced’s hurt. His ribs are busted up, his knee has been put through the ringer, but apparently that’s not enough! Drake probably could have got a pin on that, but he’s not even trying for them anymore!”

 

“He’s been trying alright… to not only embarrass, but really brutalize Ordonez all night. And since that last flurry of pin-fall attempts he's making sure he won't get lucky. That and he's a mean S.O.B! Personally, I’m glad he’s putting the guy back in his place!”

 

King is correct in his assessment, as Gabe pushes Ced into the corner; probably hoping his knee will buckle again as he whips him towards the turnbuckles this time following him in. But Ordonez musters some more of his reverses and hops onto the second buckle halting his momentum, before springing back in a cross-body… which Gabe catches!! Not even stumbling under the weight of Ordonez, ‘the Beast’ brings him center ring and drops him in a rib-breaker, once, twice, but on the third one Gabe walks Ced over to the ropes and tosses him overhead like a rag doll to the outside!!!!!

 

“UNBELIEVABLE!” Mak screams, as Drake turns to see his handiwork and spins right into a jumping kick to the FACE!!! “Ced holds on and gets a Gamengiri!!” Gabe falls back to the mat, holding his face, while Ced looks around from his position crumpled on the apron, trying to will up the energy to get on the top rope!! The crowd cottons on and lets loose a huge cheer, while Ced shuffles from the apron, up the turnbuckles one at a time… “Come on, Ced! GET UP THERE!” Mak says, but Ced doesn’t have the energy to hit the Fire Soul, so he stands and jumps off landing a TOP ROPE Double stomp!!!

 

Collapsing forward to the canvas, his leg burns along with his ribs. He’s too far away to just fall back into a pin so Ced pulls himself backward and lays back into a cover, Hebner sliding across and even out half out of the ring to count…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWWWOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHRRRRRRRREEEEEEEE!!

 

 

 

 

 

“He got him!” Mak screams!

 

“He kicked out!” King shouts!

 

 

They both look to Hebner, much like Ordonez and everyone in the arena, who is holding two fingers into the air!! “I can’t believe it!” Mak says his head hanging. Ced, shaking his head, rolls out of the ring knowing he has nothing left and knowing Drake hasn’t been going for the pin, he needs an equalizer to stop himself from a fate like Smarkdown. “Ced’s been trying so hard and after all that he couldn’t get the pin.” Mak adds. “He must know that he’s got nothing left in his arsenal that can put Drake away… and he doesn’t think the guy will even take a pin if he gets one considering the way the match has been going! He’s not going to let himself relive the beating Nemesis gave him after fighting so hard to prove he’s nobody’s pushover!” Grabbing a chair Ced holds the object contemplating what he’s about to do, as Gabe slaps himself in the face to clear the cobwebs!

 

“I can’t believe a ref’s thinking about breaking the rules!”

 

“Shut up, King!” Mak spits. “Ced, you wrestled a good match! You don’t have to do this!” Mak says, as he slides under the ropes with the chair as Hebner tries to reason with him. Ced looks at his fellow referee and then the chair, now sure what he’s gonna do. Hebner grabs at the chair, but Ced is quicker and swings at the now standing Gabe DQ be damned-

 

WHOOSH!

 

-who spins and ducks under the blow sensing it coming!! Hefting him up on his shoulders causing the chair to drop harmlessly, Gabe stares out at the crowd… “Drake ducks! Drake’s got him up for a Death Valley-” as he slides Ced from the carry onto his back, cradling his left leg in his arm!!

 

“-what the hell is this?” Mak asks as Drake drops down in a stunner, compacting Ced’s chin like a sledge-hammer crushing a can!!!! Ordonez’s head snaps back and Gabe releases him to fall to the mat, spread eagle. “Well, that was—honestly I don’t know… some kind of a stunner variation.”

 

“It was damn cool whatever it was!”

 

“He almost had him up there like he was giving him a piggyback ride…”

 

Dropping Ced back to the mat, Gabe slowly stands and shakes his head. Oh he’s far from done, tonight. Standing over Ordonez, Gabe lifts him once again and places him into a standing head-scissors. Ced, truly having been knocked loopy by the last move, has no fight left in him as he’s dragged up into the air with Gabe’s hands on his back holding him up only to send him right back down!!

 

BANG!

 

The Powerbomb hits with a dull thud, but Drake hoists against with a deep knee bend, dropping Ced on his battered body in a second Powerbomb!!

 

BANG!

 

Letting Ced crumple to the canvas, Drake steps away and looks out at the crowd who is booing him mercilessly. Pushing some hair out of his cold eyes, ‘the Beast’ stalks back over to Ced, brushing past the ref who is now shouting at him to make a pin. Raising Ced into another standing head-scissors, Gabe whips him up one more time and hands on his back to steady him, Drake walks in a slow circle before falling to his knees and pulverizing Ordonez with a final Spiral Powerbomb!!!

 

BOOM!

 

“God, he doesn’t need to do all this.”

 

“Well, Ced didn’t NEED to try and hit him with a chair, did he Mak!”

 

“That’s true, but I think Ced knew this would happen if he didn’t.” Grabbing the probably knocked-out Ced he lifts his left leg over his own neck and then turns slightly before practically sitting down on his head!!! “Oh my—he’s got him in a Stretch Muffler with a kind of crab and he’s just sitting on it… the pain he must be in—in that Stretch Muffler Crab. That can break a mans leg...” Mak mumbles out as Ordonez screams out in anguish, the throbbing tormenting him as his body begins to shut down from the pain!! His ribs on fire and leg being jarred at an ugly angle, Ced Ordonez looks to be passed out… but Gabe doesn’t release the hold!!!

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“That’s it! It’s over!” King crows, the crowd upset at that ending for Ced, but Hebner had to do something.

 

“Mercifully.” Mak adds, as Drake drops his opponents leg and Funyon makes the call.

 

“Due to referee’s decisions that Ced Ordonez is no longer able to compete… the winner of this match, by submission, ‘THE BEAST’ GABRIEL DRRRRRRAAAAAAKKKKKKKEEEEEEEE!”

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“Well, that was quite the introduction for Gabriel Drake, Francis!” King says, as Drake’s hand is raised to the jeers of the crowd, while his theme hits. “He’s got some interesting moves, the stunner variant for one and that—what did you call it, Stretch Muffler Crab was something else! If he put that on someone for too long it could probably break them in half!!”

 

“Yeah,” Mak starts, taking off his shades and looking at Drake as he exits the ring, ‘The Devil’s Rejects’ still playing eerily through the arena. “The Crab and that Piggyback Stunner were impressive.” Mak adds giving the move a name. “He seemed a little rusty, his opponent gave him one hell of a fight, and he made some rookie mistakes, but ‘the Beast’ is a man to be feared. Those vignettes weren’t joking folks… I saw it ground zero and we should all, definitely, fear the beast.”

 

FADE…

[chirs3 0]

Backstage at SWF Ground Zero, Ben Hardy stands in front of an interview set-up with microphone in hand. Beside him is MANSON, the hood to his robe down around his shoulders, as he strokes his chin in thought.

 

“Hello, I’m Benjamin Hardy and I’m here with MANSON prior to his match versus Nemesis! MANSON, it’s a tough challenge you’re facing and you’ve remained quiet as of late, so I want to ask about your thoughts going into tonight.”

 

“Frankly, I’m not too worried,” he says as he looks up, smirking and gripping the belt to his robe.

 

“But this Nemesis is a monster, seven foot four, four hundred and ten pounds…”

 

“I know the stats, I’ve looked at the tapes... Next.”

 

“You DID see what he did to Ced Ordonez, right?!”

 

“Let’s make something clear, Ben. I’m NOT an ordinary man. I’ve toppled giants three times my size. I’ve ascended peaks, spilled the blood of thousands and set their dismembered heads on pikes, no army I’ve ever faced has ever, EVER, FUCKING EVER done to me what I intend to do to Nemesis singlehandedly. What makes you think I’m scared?! What makes you think I’m frightened?! Ben, I am better on my worst day than Nemesis on his best!”

 

“Really.”

 

“Everyone knows that I have never backed down, especially not to anyone like him! In fact, just look at me…” he says, as he balls up his fists and holds out his arms in front of his body.

 

“Uh… okay…”

 

“Brother… running through these arms, these veins, INTO MY BLACK FUCKING HEART and and into the rest of my body is power! This is what Nemesis claims to have… the power of the gods, but there can be only one true power, man, and that’s me! MANSON is the only might that matters, a light shining brightly on everyone’s dim world, making their life just a little better… they should all feel blessed that I’m here performing tonight…”

 

“…of course.”

 

“Everything I’ve been, every face I’ve worn, above all else, I’m the true hand of god! The power I have… is MY BURDEN and my burden alone, man! I carry the weight of the world, shouldering their suffering and their sins for them! And Nemesis is a threat to all of MANSONosity by claiming what he isn’t, he intends to take what’s mine and if he takes what’s MINE, he takes what’s YOURS!! But I assure that tonight, with that power flowing through me, I’ll take him… that colossus, the roadblock standing between me and greatness, just as I’ve done before… and throw him straight into oblivion!!”

 

“You know, some like Professor Attenborough would call that heretical or a case of hubris…”

 

“I know that… great minds are always doubted when they first make themselves known, but Ben, just… trust me…” says MANSON with a crooked smile, as he reaches back and pulls his hood over his head, preparing to walk out of frame, “it’s not hubris if it’s true.”

 

“That was… something, alright,” says Mak, as MANSON exits. “Jesus, I think he’s really lost it.”

[chirs3 0]

Back to the Gund, where thousands of IGNWF fans fill the stands, as the cameras cut to Mak Francis and Suicide King at the booth…

 

“Back to SWF/IGNWF Ground Zero, where the impressive newcomer Nemesis is set to face crafty veteran MANSON in a hardcore war! Hey, King, remember when, in the IGNWF, more specifically the IGNJL, MANSON debuted as Tommy Gunn?”

 

“He is going to have your head, Mak. Regardless, Nemesis is terrifying, but he’s no MANSON.”

 

“You saw how he destroyed Ced, obliterating him with no remorse or regard for anyone in his path, and with William Attenborough at the helm, no one is safe.”

 

“The Professor has his own set of issues. But Nemesis’ inability to think for himself much less when in the thick of a match will cost him greatly. He can only react so quick to Attenborough’s commands through the Tome of the Gods… Wait, do you know how unrealistic this all sounds?”

 

“Who says kayfabe is dead?”

 

“Anyway, MANSON will win as long as he stays a step ahead of Attenborough.”

 

“Definitely, but not as long as Nemesis manages to get his hands on him.”

 

The buzz of the crowd drops to a hush, as the arena goes dark. A pair of echoes sweep over the audience, bringing the lights up slightly and illuminating the arena with each one. The fans rise to their feet and thick anticipation builds…

 

Then, 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. To the jeers of the crowd, MANSON throws aside the curtain and enters the arena, the hood of his black robe obscuring his disgusted sneer as he pauses at the head of the ramp and looks over the sea of humanity, before heading down to the ring.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” booms Funyon, “the following is a hardcore singles match, scheduled for one-fall! Introducing first, hailing from Denver, Colorado, weighing in tonight at two hundred and thirty pounds and standing six feet, one inches tall! THE RRRRAAAAGING BULL… MMMAAANNNNSOOONNNNNN!!”

 

He undoes his belt, letting his robe hang open, as he heads up the ring steps. Through the ropes MANSON enters, immediately heading to his corner, ascending the turnbuckles and flicking off his hood. He then throws up the horns to the continuing boos of the fans and after taking a moment to bask in the glow of the lights, he hops down. As MANSON removes his robe and lays it over the post, Professor William Attenborough walks out holding the Tome of the Gods. The crowd begins laying into him as he too heads up the steps, but a quick glance from MANSON sends him down off the apron immediately, as he screams at MANSON that he’s now incurred the wrath of his Hand of God.

 

“Of course, this lowlife Professor Attenborough is out first, but he didn’t appear to want to get into the ring with MANSON.”

 

“Naturally. The Professor getting knocked out wouldn’t bode well for Nemesis.”

 

Attenborough summons Nemesis as the lights in the arena drop. Then a low rumbling impact is heard over the speakers and felt by all those in attendance as it vibrates through the entire arena, even shaking the ring.

 

*BOOM!*

 

The entryway then explodes in a sea of green pyro, the aftermath of which Nemesis steps through, breathing a mouthful of smoke as he stares at the ring.

 

“AND HIS OPPONENT, hailing from Mount Olympus, weighing in at FOUR HUNDRED and TEN POUNDS, STANDING SEVEN FEET, FOUR INCHES TALL! THE HAND OF THE GODS… NNNNEEEMMMMESSSSISSSS!‘

 

The sounds of distant thunder and lightning is heard by all as Nemesis walks to the ring, the only illumination coming from a blacklight that makes Nemesis appear more skeleton than human. The crowd watches in awe as Nemesis steps up onto the apron and over the top rope, as the lights return to normal. He stares MANSON down from across the ring, literally twice the size of his opponent, as Referee Matt Kivell calls for the bell.

 

*DING DING!*

 

“I would say the size and strength advantage goes to Nemesis, King.”

 

“Funny. I would say the awesomeness advantage goes to MANSON. Jerk.”

 

Suddenly, before Attenborough can react, MANSON tugs a chain out of elbowpad and rushes Nemesis. He wraps it around his fist and pummels Nemesis’ masked face with it for all the good it does, which is nil. He undoes the chain, choosing to wrap it around Nemesis’ throat and strangling him with it, then yanking him down to the mat The back of Nemesis’ head bangs off the mat, as MANSON turns him onto his stomach and straddles him, gripping the chain and pulling back as Nemesis struggles.

 

“MANSON with the early attack, managing to take Nemesis down with some wise strategy.”

 

However, Nemesis slowly climbs onto his knees, then his feet. He reaches back, grabbing MANSON by the hair and snapping him down to the mat hard. The chain falls out of hands on impact, as Nemesis pulls him up. Punches to the gut of Nemesis have little effect, as he simply hammers down on MANSON with forearms to the back, beating him back down to the mat.

 

“…but he’s clearly no match for the size of Nemesis, as he’s thrown off and beaten down with little effort.”

 

“I think he’ll come eventually through… but no one said it’d be easy.”

 

On the outside, Attenborough screams at Nemesis to crush his skull, as Nemesis then steps on the head of MANSON and off again, bringing forth a scream of anguish. Nemesis pulls MANSON up from the canvas again, this time holding onto him by his hair and raising his free arm up. He prepares the overhand chop to MANSON, however…

 

*DING!*

 

…a boot strikes his groin, as Nemesis halts for a moment, taking a slight breather, but doesn’t release MANSON. Nemesis raises his hand for another chop, yet MANSON…

 

*DING!*

 

…strikes him once again with a kick as Nemesis goes down to his knees!

 

“I suppose that’s one way to take Nemesis down.”

 

“Conclusive proof that a couple of kicks to the nethers will hurt a two-thousand year old zombie golem thing.”

 

Before Nemesis can no-sell even that, MANSON hits the ropes and comes back, striking Nemesis with a big running knee to the face! He dives down, going for a cover, but Kivell barely gets down for a count before Nemesis presses MANSON nearly out of the ring. He then exits under the ropes, grabbing some jerk by the collar and tossing him out of the way, as he takes a chair and slides back in.

 

“KICKOUT by Nemesis!”

 

“It’s to be expected, sadly.”

 

“And MANSON has a steel chair!”

 

Just as Nemesis sits up and gets to his feet, WHAM, he eats the chair as MANSON hits him square between the eyes! Nemesis doesn’t go down, however, inciting MANSON to bash the chair against his kneecaps! Nemesis still doesn’t fall, as MANSON clips him with the chair from the side! Finally Nemesis falls, as MANSON stands over him with the chair, once more preparing a swing, but Nemesis grips him around the skull with the Claw! He gets to his feet, still holding onto MANSON, as he lifts him off his feet. His unimaginable power quickly gets MANSON up, but he prevents a Claw Slam, as he manages to knee Nemesis in the face!

 

“MANSON kills Nemesis with the chair, but it doesn’t prevent him from nearly getting MANSON up for a Claw Slam!”

 

Nemesis drops MANSON who lands on his feet and rubs his eyes with his forearm, as Attenborough tells Nemesis to go for the chair, which he does… very slowly. It allows MANSON enough time to gather himself, as when Nemesis charges MANSON, he manages to jump up and swing his leg out, getting a boot into the chair and sending it back in Nemesis’ face with a Gamengiri!!

 

“GAMENGIRI TO THE CHAIR AND TO NEMESIS!”

 

“See what I mean? Nemesis can’t keep up!”

 

He drops to a knee as MANSON throws up the horns to the boos of the crowd and bounces off the ropes, charging Nemesis. But before MANSON can lay into him, Nemesis gets his hand up and grips MANSON around the face once again. Attenborough commands Nemesis to take care of things quickly, as with his frightening strength, Nemesis takes a few steps forward and throws MANSON over the ropes, clipping them as he goes by, and out of the ring! He tries in vain to grab on as he drops, but it does no good as he collides with the ground below!

 

“CLAW SLAM! OVER THE TOP!”

 

“More like a Claw Toss, but okay.”

 

“Nevertheless, what an ugly landing!”

 

Laid out, MANSON breathes heavy, as Nemesis heads after him. He lifts MANSON up, then grabs him around the throat and by the midsection, and drops him face first onto the edge of the announce table! MANSON bounces off and seeks escape, attempting to buy time, as he digs underneath the ring. He emerges with another chair, pulling it out, as Nemesis drags him by his legs. MANSON turns onto his back and throws the chair up into Nemesis’ face, merely angering the big man as he goozles MANSON and pulls him up. He rams MANSON back into the announce table, then tosses him back first against the steps, as he cringes.

 

“Nemesis, putting our announce table to good use!”

 

“Jesus, don’t call it like a move, you know, inside the ring. Get him the hell away from here!”

 

With MANSON against the steps, Nemesis grabs the chair and charges, but MANSON drops and sweeps Nemesis’ legs out from under him, forcing him into the steps face first! Nemesis comes up dazed, as MANSON climbs up onto the apron and jumps off onto Nemesis, then takes him over into the jarred steps with a headscissors, again jamming his face into the steps!!

 

“HEADSCISSORS INTO THE STEEL!“

 

Nemesis slumps over the stairs, as Professor Attenborough attempts to get him to stand. Meanwhile, MANSON grabs the chair, setting it up in front of the steps. Nemesis begins coming to, while MANSON steps onto the chair, awaiting Nemesis. He stands, as MANSON ducks under the near arm and unsteadily lets one leg hang loose behind Nemesis, while wrapping his arm around the chest…

 

“An STO… off the chair, into the steps?!”

 

“Meh, why not?!”

 

“But somehow I get this feeling…”

 

Indeed, that’s what MANSON attempts, as he tries to sweep the leg, but Nemesis is too big, as he takes a big elbow to the temple. He’s nearly knocked off his perch, but because of his hold on Nemesis, it’s prevented. Yet Nemesis has worse in mind, as he swings his arm back over the head of MANSON and LLLAAAAARRRRIAAAAATTOOOOOSSS him over the back of the chair and down to the ground as MANSON lands on the back of his skull in a heap!!

 

“BIG LARIAT! OVER THE BACK OF THE CHAIR, ONTO HIS HEAD!”

 

“Yeesh. He’s gonna be feeling that one…”

 

MANSON lays dazed, trying to regain himself, as Nemesis takes hold and tosses him by his hair over the railing!

 

“We’re spilling out into the crowd, King!”

 

The Raging Bull gets to his feet, attempting to escape the onslaught, as Nemesis follows. He grabs fans by their collars, attempting to throw them in Nemesis’ way and halt his path, but they’re brushed away just as easily. Professor Attenborough and Kivell soon follows the two, as MANSON comes upon path to the concourse blocked by incoming fans and equipment. Nemesis soon catches up, as MANSON quickly heads up the adjacent steps in an attempt to buy time. Again, Nemesis’ huge strides catch up, as he clubs MANSON from behind, knocking him down to his knees. Below, Attenborough sets up a table below the balcony, as he commands Nemesis to throw MANSON down through it.

 

“No! No! This has bad news written all over it!”

 

“I agree. MANSON doesn’t deserve this!”

 

“No one does, not just MANSON.”

 

“No. Only MANSON.”

 

Nemesis pulls MANSON up by his hair and presses him up, as security attempts to clear fans away from the scene on both ends. He takes MANSON over to the rail, but MANSON saves himself, kicking wildly and landing behind the Colossus. Nemesis makes his way around slowly, as MANSON tries to heave him over the railing, but he’s just too heavy as Nemesis eventually beats him away. He tries for the Claw grab, but MANSON ducks. Attenborough SCREAMS his commands from down below, as Nemesis turns and tries to Lariat MANSON over the top… but MANSON ducks and with all his might and the help of momentum… HE BACK BODY DROPS NEMESIS DOWN AND THROUGH THE TABLE!

 

“HOLY SHIT!”

 

“MOTHER OF GOD!” Mak screams, as Nemesis lays unresponsive on the ground.

 

“Words just can’t describe… Brilliant counter, but…”

 

Kivell quickly checks on Nemesis, while MANSON, unsure of what to do, chooses the most direct path, stepping over the railing and looking down at Nemesis from above. He screams at Kivell to get out of the way… AND DROPS THE SAVAGE ELBOW ON THE PRONE NEMESIS!

 

“WHY!?”

 

“He figured it would’ve taken too long going down the stairs? But what adrenaline does to some,” says King, as MANSON writhes and grabs his right shoulder. “Especially someone like MANSON.”

 

MANSON finally manages to calm and throw an arm over Nemesis, as Attenborough implores and begs Nemesis to stand.

 

“ONE!!”

 

 

 

“TWO!!!”

 

 

 

 

“THREE!!!!!”

 

 

*DING DING!*

 

 

“YOUR WINNER, BY PINFALL… MMMAAAANNNNSOOOONNNNNN!”

 

 

“IT’S OVER!” shouts Mak, as the medics come rushing in to check on both. “Ugly, but MANSON got it done.”

 

“It only took a fall off a balcony to do it, but it was enough. Nasty.”

 

“What a match! We expected there to be blood, tons of it, but what we got instead was pure punishment. We’ll be back with more, and I can only hope both Nemesis and MANSON are alright” finishes Mak, as Kivell raises MANSON’s left hand and Cephalic Carnage blares over the speakers to take us out.

[chirs3 0]

As the aura of MANSONOSITY slowly dissapates and Black Sabbath's "War Pigs" winds down, the Gund Arean (Fuck Quicken Loans in its statement of cash flows) is still going crazy [Well, not so much the actual building, as that would be super-wacky, but the fans are totally being wild and crazy kids (With Omar Gooding!)]. And then, a camera man zooms in on an ominious sight: A barbed-wire wrapped panda bear plush toy, suspended some twenty feet above the ring. And then, the camera man pans over to the Suicide King and Mak Francis.

 

"It's time, it's time, it's Stairway to Panda time!" Francis exclaims.

 

"Oh hell yes!" King shouts in agreement. "Blood sport and all that jazz."

 

"Current Hardcore Gamers champion, Jimmy the Doom, is set to defend his title against three other men in an old-school stipulation that promises to reach Damnation in a Box-levels of blood and gore," Mak says.

 

"Very possible, Mak, but it'll be missing a certain element that made Damnation in a Box so great: Namely, Spike Jenkins displaying his lunch for all to see," King points out.

 

"And you can never have enough of Jenkins getting attacked, especially with lawn implements. However, as you said, Spike isn't in this match, so we'll have to settle for Insane Luchador, Mike Van Siclen, and Trent Hawk trying to prove how tough they are," the 'Franchise' says.

 

The lights dim and a single, brilliant, gold spotlight shines down on the center of the stage. And then Living Colour's "Cult of Personality" hits, and Hawk steps out from behind the curtain. And then a shower of sparks form an arch behind Trent as he walks down to the ring.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, the following is a Stairway to Panda match for the Hardcore title! A stuffed panda, wrapped in barbed wire will be suspended above the ring, and whomever retrieves it is allowed use of it, yet the match shall only end by way of pinfall. Introducing, first, from Hollywood, California, he is a member of the Axis, and weighs two hundred, forty-three pounds, TRRRENT HAAAAWWK!" Funyon booms.

 

Trent stops in front of the ring, glances at a ladder to his left, then to the panda, and slides the ladder into the ring. And then he rolls inside and sets it up. And then Hawk begins climbing, obviously intent on getting the panda now and keeping it for the entire match.

 

"And Trent Hawk is looking to capitalize in being the first man out! I don't see how that's even legal. The match hasn't started yet," Mak says.

 

"Oh, come on, Ironsides, if the match hasn't begun, then of course it's legal," King points out.

 

However, before Hawk is halfway up the ladder, Alice in Chains's "Man in the Box" kicks up, and Insane Luchador runs down the ramp. And then he slides in the ring, springs to his feet, and kips up. And then, the Ill One scrambles up the ladder behind Hawk and lunges, catching Trent in a rear naked choke. And then Hawk falls off the ladder, the extra weight too much for him to bear.

 

"Also in the ring, from Easton, Pennsylvania, at two hundred, twenty-one pounds, he is Your Psychotic Hero, IIIINSSAAAAANE LUUUUCHAAAADOOORRRRR!" Funyon shouts, perfectly rolling his Rs (Your mother likes her Rs rolled, Trebek!)

 

As Luchador continues to choke out Hawk, sirens go off, and The Team's "Hyphy Juice" blares. And then Mike Van Siclen steps out. And then he crosses himself, kisses his fingers, points to the sky (If crazy alternate timeline place has a sky and not just a giant void or something) before walking down to the ring.

 

"Next, from Harrison, Illinois, he weighs two hundred, sixty-three pounds, MMIIIIKE VAAAAN SSSSIIIIICLENN!" Funyon hollers.

 

Van Siclen saunters down to the ring and rolls inside the squared circle. And then he regards Hawk and the Ill One for a moment before folding up the ladder and slamming it across Hawk's chest.

 

"And Van Siclen is softening up Trent Hawk as well. Pretty good strategy to try and eliminate one guy from the get-go," King says.

 

"They could wait for the bell, though, in Insane Luchador's case, I can kind of understand it," Mak says.

 

As Mike wails on Trent with the ladder, the lights go out, and a bunch of marching footsteps can be heard, along with a single word, chanted over and over.

 

'DOOM!

 

DOOM!

 

DOOM!

 

DOOM!

 

DOOM!'

 

The lights snap back on to reveal a gaggle of druids (Is that the correct term for a group of druids? I know it is for geese, but not sure about druids. A loser of druids maybe? Meh.). And then, Boots Randolph's "Yakety Sax" plays, prompting Jimmy the Doom and Lois the Unethical to walk out, title belt in Lois's hand.

 

"And finally, being accompanied by Lois the Unethical, he is the Hardcore champion! From Doomopolis, Doomtopia, weighing two hundred, thirty pounds, the Straight-Bread Sensation, JJJIIIMMMEEEE THE DOOOOOOM!" Funyon shouts.

 

Doom climbs into the ring and immediately gets smashed by Van Siclen with the ladder. And then Funyon takes the Hardcore title from Lois and sits down. And then referee Bob Loblaw calls for the bell.

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Van Siclen bashes Jimmy in the face with the ladder a second time, then shoves him over the top rope. And then Mike turns around and sets the ladder up underneath the panda. And then he begins to climb the ladder, but doesn't get far as Insane Luchador shoves a nearly unconscious Trent Hawk away, springs up, and nails MVS with a kidney punch. And then the Ill One grabs Van Siclen around the waist and yanks him down, slamming Mike's jaw into several ladder rungs. And then Jimmy stands back up and rolls inside the ring.

 

"It should be interesting to see how things play out, as both Mike Van Siclen and Trent Hawk have motivation beyond winning the Hardcore title to go after Jimmy the Doom. Doom beat Van Siclen and Hawk's stablemate, Ciro Vitale fairly recently," Mak says.

 

"And, Insane Luchador, of course, sucks and can be written off completely," King adds.

 

"Not in the slightest! Luchador, while on the losing end, managed to survive Pandamonium against Bruce Blank, an impressive feat," Mak points out.

 

"Well, don't forget that Van Siclen had a match against Blank recently, though he lost as well. Jimmy, on the other hand, has a winning record against the longest-reigning Hardcore champion, but has lost in the only hardcore-style match the two had, a four-way affair much like this, if I recall," King says.

 

Insane Luchador turns his attention on Doom and gets tagged with a shotei to the chest. And then Jimmy grabs the Psychotic Hero by the shirt, pulls him in, and cracks him with an elbow. And then Doom nails IL with another elbow. And then the Straight-Bread Sensation begins crossfacing the Ill One with elbow after elbow. And then the Doomtopian chucks Insane Luchador into the corner. And then, Jimmy charges after IL and wraps him up in a side headlock. And then Doom begins to pull the Luchador out, but finds the Psychotic Hero's arms wrapped firmly around his waist. And then the Ill One lifts Jimmy off the mat and plants him with a backdrop suplex.

 

"I thought Insane Luchador might be looking for the GoreGasm as a counter to Jimmy's 73.5267.1094Q80.16, but instead went for a suplex," Francis says.

 

"Well, it's not like he had anything to smash Doom through, except, of course, the ladder," King states.

 

Luchador scrambles up, as does Doom, but before the two can exchange blows, Mike Van Siclen crashes into the Ill One with a forearm to the back. And then Mike wraps the Pennsylvanian up and slams him into the mat with a release German suplex. And then Van Siclen gets up, only to find Jimmy the Doom in the process of burying the sole of his right boot in Mike's gut by way of a spinning back kick. And then Mike stumbles backwards, prompting the Straight-Bread Sensation to charge him. And then Mike recovers enough to close the distance and trip Doom with a drop toe hold, sending his forehead into the very bottom rung of the ladder.

 

"And that should help take something out of Jimmy the Doom! Might knock out a lesser man, but you and I both know that Jimmy the Doom is made out of tougher stuff, right, King?"

 

"Yeah, sure, that's whatever you were talking about for you," King replies.

 

Doom tries to scramble back up, but he gets punted in the back of the head by Van Siclen. And then Mike tries to pull Jimmy off the mat, but finds a pair of crazy hands on his shoulders. And then Insane Luchador spins Mike around and nails him with a left hook. And then the Ill One tries for an elbow, but Van Siclen drives a knee into Luchador's groin. And then Mike grabs IL by the hair, steps under the ladder, and cinches on a cravate, using the hinge of the ladder to choke the Psychotic Hero.

 

"A cravate? Damn it, neither Spike nor Landon are in this match, so why is a fucking cravate being used?" Mak fumes.

 

"Because it's actually effective in this situation," King points out.

 

"But, come on, CRAVATE!"

 

As Van Siclen continues to choke IL, Trent Hawk finally begins to stir. And then Hawk stumbles to his feet and begins to climb the ladder. And then, Luchador plants both hands on Van Siclen's back and shoves, neatly clotheslining him with help from the other ladder hinge. And then the Ill One backs up and throws a dropkick at the hinge that was recently asphyxiating him. And then the ladder nearly snaps shut, sending Trent off balance. And then Hawk falls to the ground on his back.

 

"Insane Luchador stops Trent Hawk for a second time in getting to the panda, and it looks like he has a chance with everyone else on the mat," Mak points out.

 

"Well, he's got to set it up first, and since he is from Pennsylvania, that's a level of engineering he's unfamiliar with," King replies.

 

Luchador pulls Hawk off the mat, shoves him into a front facelock, and falls back with that Insane Luchador staple, an Evenflow DDT. And then the Psychotic Hero gets to his feet, picks up the ladder, and begins climbing. And then Jimmy the Doom rises, runs to the other side of the ladder, and starts his ascent. And then, thanks to his long limbs, the Straight-Bread Sensation gets to the top of the ladder first, only to get cracked in the ribs by the Ill One. And then Insane Luchador smashes Doom with another punch. And then IL cocks back to throw a third blow, but the Hardcore champ nails him with a two-handed palm strike, nearly shoving Luchador off the ladder. And then Jimmy grabs hold of the panda's torso, but seems to be having trouble unhooking it. And then Insane Luchador slides down the ladder and kicks it over, leaving the Straight-Breader to dangle above the ring. And then the Psychotic Hero folds the ladder up, picks it up, and swats at Jimmy the Doom with it.

 

"Looks like Insane Luchador is trying to hit Jimmy the Doom out of the park with that ladder," Francis says.

 

"I don't see how that's allowed," King mumbles.

 

"And why wouldn't it be? Pretty much anything goes in a Stairway to Panda match," Mak says.

 

"True, but that ladder is made of metal, and metal bats are only allowed in college and high school. Insane Luchador is a professional, so he should be using a wooden one," King points out.

 

"Yeah, but you just said metal bats, so what does it matter what the ladder is made out of?" the Franchise questions

 

"Hey, a whacking stick is a whacking stick!" King shouts.

 

Jimmy the Doom gets smacked in the legs with the ladder, but Insane Luchador doesn't really have that much power behind his swings, however, it still probably hurts. And then, the Straight-Bread Sensation finally manages to detatch the panda. And then he realizes that he's fairly high off the ground, which, incidentally, is moving up very fast to meet him.

 

"That's got to hurt! Jimmy the Doom just took, what, a twenty foot fall?"

 

"Perhaps, but this is Jimmy the Doom we're talking about. Besides, now he's got the panda. You know, that sounds incredibly stupid," the Suicide King mutters.

 

Insane Luchador swings the ladder of Doom's head, but the champion manages to roll out of the way. And then Mike Van Siclen (Remember him?) gets up, walks towards the Ill One, grabs him by the face and drops, driving his knee into the back of Luchador's head. And then Jimmy lunges at Van Siclen, hitting him in the face with the panda. And then Mike's hands shoot to his face, allowing the Straight-Breader to shove the bear under Van Siclen's shirt. And then Jimmy boots Mike in the gut, driving the barbed wire into his belly. And then Doom just unleashes with a barrage of kicks to Van Siclen's stomach, no doubt tearing into Mike's decidedly non-straight-bread basket. And then Doom catches Mike in a double underhook, lifts him up, and drops the big man stomach-first across the ladder.

 

"That's a very creative way to use that panda, though Jimmy the Doom doesn't really have many moves that target the midsection," Mak points out.

 

"Aside from Jimmy's Jump, yeah, but, still, that's got to hurt like shit," King says.

 

Trent Hawk slowly gets up and just barely ducks a Doomtopian kick that was aimed for his head. And then Hawk dives towards Jimmy, nailing him with a flying punch to the crotch. And then Trent tries to lift Doom up, but Jimmy wriggles free and blasts Hawk with a shotei to the jaw. And then Doom hits Hawk with another palm strike, sending him into the ropes. And then Trent bounces out, right into a double handed choke lift from Doom, who spins around and sits out, driving the Californian into the mat with a powerbomb. And then the Straight-Bread Sensation tosses his legs over Hawk's arms. And then Bob Loblaw dives to the mat to count the pin.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO-No!

 

"Nearly a two count after that Jimmy Bomb, but Trent Hawk is a fairly tough individual," Mak says.

 

"If Doom had slammed him into the ladder, then maybe that would have gotten the three count," King points out.

 

Jimmy pulls Hawk up and notices Insane Luchador on his feet. And then Doom nods to the Psychotic Hero, possibly passing him some kind of plan telepathically. And then the Straight-Breader drags Trent by the hair to the ropes and Doom steps outside. And then the Doomtopian grabs Hawk by the head and drops off the apron, slamming Trent's trachea into the ropes. And then Insane Luchador snares the stumbling Hawk by the waist, lifts, and drives him into the ladder. And then Luchador makes a cover as Doom scrambles to get back in the ring.

 

ONE!

 

 

Jimmy races towards Luchador, Hawk, and Loblaw (Attorneys at Law).

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Doom dives for Insane Luchador.

 

 

THR-No!

 

"And the pin is broken up by Jimmy the Doom! Insane Luchador might have been the new Hardcore title after that GoreGasm onto the ladder, but Jimmy breaks it up with a double ax handle!" Mak shouts.

 

"See? Smash a guy into something metal and he stays down longer," King says.

 

Insane Luchador gets to his feet and eats an elbow from Doom. And then Jimmy hits Luchador with another elbow before whipping him to the ropes. And then Doom chases after the Ill One, leaps, and knocks him flat with a flying front kick. And then Doom picks IL off the mat and throws him out of the ring. And then the Straight-Breader peels Van Siclen off the ladder, picks it up, and tosses it on the Ill One. And then Jimmy bends Mike over and slams him to the mat with the Doom Factor. And then Jimmy rolls Van Siclen over and makes a lateral press.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

Insane Luchador pushes the ladder off of himself.

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

The Psychotic Hero climbs on the apron and rolls inside the ring.

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

Luchador flies and crashes into Doom, knocking him off of Mike Van Siclen. And then Bob Loblaw stands up and signals for the bell.

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match and still Hardcore champion, the Straight-Bread Sensation, JJJIIIIIMMEEEEE THE DOOOOOM!" Funyon bellows.

 

"And Doom retains after a somewhat short, but violent match," Mak says.

 

"Yeah, I really wouldn't want to be Mike Van Siclen right about now. Well, I never want to be him, he's kind of lame, but especially not now. And it's not really the whole 'his stomach is all cut up' thing, but it's the 'he just lost to Jimmy the Doom again' thing," King says.

 

Boots Randolph's "Yakety Sax" plays as Doom grabs his belt and heads back up the ramp with Lois the Unethical. And then Ground Zero fades to something far more entertaining, probably, like, a promo package for anything else.

Edited August 1, 2006 by chirs3

[chirs3 0]

FADE IN

 

“Ever since Mike Van Siclen made his return to the SWF, Wildchild has been trying to get his hands on him,” says Mak Francis. “And, even though Van Siclen has been able to use whatever influence he has on SWF Commissioner Joseph Peters to avoid the match, he’s finally agreed to face Wildchild, but only if Wildchild can emerge victorious in our next match!”

 

“And this is a match that creates tremendous interest for me,” says the Suicide King. “I’ve been looking forward to this match since the first time I heard of it!”

 

“Why is that?” asks Mak. “Is it because Wildchild has a chance to face his demons with a win?”

 

“No, stupid!” snaps King. “It’s because I get to see Clown-Boy get his ass handed to him by two angry Canadians! Nothing like a little mercenary work to brighten my day, Francis; I tell you, it does my old heart good to know that there are still people in this world that can be bought!”

 

“And, while King exalts in the moral collapse of society,” says Mak, “let’s send you up to the ring!”

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

“The following Handicap Match is scheduled for one fall!” shouts Funyon. “And, if Wildchild wins by pinfall or submission, he will earn a match against Mike Van Siclen! However, if he does not win by pinfall or submission, he will be suspended for fifty days!”

 

Suddenly, “Exciter” by Judas Priest begins to play, and the stage lights up in a brief but emphatic burst of pyro as Scott Rageheart and Kerry Staunton make their way down to the ring.

 

“Introducing first,” says Funyon, “both hailing from Alberta, Canada, and at a total combined weight of five hundred fifteen pounds… Scott Rageheart! Kerry Staunton! The Canadian… MURDER MACHINE!”

 

“There they are,” says Mak, as Scott and Kerry swat away the hands of fans trying to touch them on their way to the ring, “Mike Van Siclen’s two hired guns! I wonder what possessed them to take on such a heinous task?”

 

“Money!” replies King gleefully. “A lot of money! Ain’t it great?” Staunton and Rageheart climb onto the apron and step between the ropes to enter the ring. Staunton removes his letterman’s jacket and hands it over the top rope to a ring attendant down on the arena floor. Referee Red Herrington inspects their kneepads and boots, and then instructs them to head over to their corner, where they review their strategy for the match as their music fades out.

 

The fans begin cheering as Mystikal’s “Bouncin’ Back” then begins to play, heralding the arrival of the Wildchild! The Caribbean Cruiser makes his way out to the stage, hand-in-hand with Melissa Fasaki, and they wave to the crowd before making their way down towards the ring.

 

“Their 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 looks a little apprehensive about getting into the ring,” notes Francis, as WC stares warily into the ring at his opponents.

 

“Well, you can hardly blame him,” says King. “The last time Wildchild ended up in a handicapped situation, it was against TKO, and he got his ass handed to him… and these guys are even bigger than TKO was!”

 

“Unfortunately for the Wildchild,” replies Mak, “he’s going to have to try and get through both of these men if he wants to get his shot at Mike Van Siclen!”

 

“I know!” chimes King happily. “He hates Van Siclen so much, he’s about to get killed for my amusement!” WC removes his shin guards and hands them to his girlfriend, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes to enter the ring. He heads towards the edge of the ring, but stops short of his traditional salute to the crowd, as he sees Staunton and Rageheart sneaking up on him from behind. WC spins around just as Herrington steps between them, and orders one of the tag team to head to the apron.

 

“Well, if there’s any good news for Wildchild, it’s that only one member of the Canadian Murder Machine will be allowed in the ring at a time,” notes Mak, as WC’s music fades out. Staunton steps out onto the apron and Red Herrington signals to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match:

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“Bell’s gone!” shouts Francis. “And we’re underway!” Rageheart circles Wildchild, getting the Bahama Bomber to follow him until his back is turned to Staunton in the corner. Kerry sneaks back into the ring and heads over to attack WC…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Only for the Bahama Bomber to spin around at the last second and nail Staunton between the eyes with a hard right hand!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

The crowd cheers as WC begins hammering Staunton repeatedly in the face, but his assault is brought to an abrupt end, as Scott Rageheart delivers a driving kneelift into Wildchild’s back!

 

“Brilliant!” praises King. “They played Wildchild like a fiddle right there!” Rageheart grabs Wildchild by the wrist and whips him across the ring, lowering his head as WC rebounds and sending him high overhead with a big back-body drop!

 

“Hell yeah!” cheers King, as Scott begins to stomp WC in the chest. “Rageheart sent him into orbit with that one!” Scott pulls WC to his feet and lifts him into a sidewalk slam position before bringing him back down onto his outstretched thigh with a pendulum backbreaker! Rageheart quickly applies a lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

TH—

 

 

 

 

Wildchild kicks out at two! Scott pulls WC to his feet and leads him over to his corner and makes the tag to Kerry Staunton. Red Herrington begins to administer a five-count as the Canadian Murder Machine both grab WC around the throat and heave him forcefully into the turnbuckles! Rageheart exit to the apron as Staunton begins to kick WC repeatedly in the midsection. Kerry then pulls him out towards the center of the ring and captures him in an arm-trap bearhug before hauling him overhead with a belly-to-belly suplex! Staunton quickly pops to his feet and measures Wildchild for an elbow drop! Upon landing, he reaches over to hook WC’s leg as he applies a half-hearted cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

TH—

 

 

 

 

Wildchild gets the shoulder up! Nonplussed, Staunton pulls him to his feet and leads him over to the corner, where he makes the tag to Rageheart. Kerry holds WC’s arm back, exposing his ribs as Scott returns to the ring and delivers a stiff kick to that very same area! Scott grabs WC by the neck and takes him over with a snapmare; he then jars Wildchild’s spine with a tremendous punt kick! Rageheart pushes him down to the canvas and applies a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR—

 

 

 

Rageheart pulls WC up at the last second!

 

 

“Yes!” crows King. “They’re going to deliver some more punishment! You’ve got to admire guys that get into their work!” Scott grabs Wildchild by the wrist and whips him across the ring into the opposite corner. He runs to the ropes as WC bounces off the turnbuckles and leaps into the air to deliver a flying shoulderblock…

 

But he takes a header into the canvas instead, as Wildchild ducks out of the way! WC rushes out to the apron and waits for Scott to get back to his feet before leaping onto the top rope; the Human Hurricane springs from the top rope, flipping forward as he extends both feet, and knocks Rageheart back down with a Shooting Star missile dropkick that sends him rolling over by the ropes!

 

“Shooting Star missile dropkick!” shouts Mak. “That’s the first real offense that Wildchild has show in this match! WC pulls Rageheart to his feet and grabs him by the wrist to whip him across the ring, but Scott still has the presence of mind to reverse. Rageheart bellies out against the canvas as WC rebounds and runs over the top of him, but Kerry Staunton drives a knee into Wildchild’s back as he tries to rebound a second time! WC staggers off the ropes bent over, giving Rageheart a chance to floor him with a charging kneelift to the face!

 

“And there’s the advantage of having a partner out there!” says King, as Scott clears the cobwebs and heads back over to his corner to make the tag. Before exiting the ring, he grabs WC and pulls him back to his feet, whipping him across the ring into the turnbuckle. Kerry then grabs Scott by the wrist and whips HIM into the corner, to blast Wildchild with a running lariat! Rageheart grabs WC by the back of the head and leads him forcefully back towards the center of the ring…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

Right into a Kerry Staunton big boot! Rageheart exits to the ring apron as applies a cocky pin, stepping on Wildchild’s chest:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR—

 

 

 

 

Wildchild just gets the shoulder up! Staunton pulls WC to his feet and then lifts him overhead in a military press position!

 

“Look at the power display by Kerry Staunton!” marvels King, as Staunton does reps with WC’s weight. “That’s two hundred and fourteen pounds that he’s throwing around like a sack of potatoes!”

 

Staunton tilts to the side and dumps WC casually to the mat. He then heads over to his corner and quickly tags Rageheart back in. Scott heads to the ropes, running directly towards his partner as he rebounds, who snatches him up into his arms and tosses him into the air, giving Rageheart a little more altitude as he comes crashing down onto WC with a flying splash!

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

… But Rageheart crashes into the canvas, as WC rolls out of the way at the last second!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Nobody home!” shouts Mak. “And I think that Kerry Staunton may have made a mistake by tagging Scott Rageheart back in so soon!” Staunton charges towards WC, who uses the ropes to pull himself back to his feet; the Tropical Tumbler sees him coming at the last split-second and falls to the canvas… pulling the top rope down with him!

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

The fans cheer enthusiastically as Staunton stumbles over the top rope and out of the ring, down to the arena floor! WC then wastes no time in taking the fight to the disoriented Scott Rageheart, hammering him repeatedly in the face with piston-like right hands! He pulls Rageheart to his feet and backs him up against the ropes; he grabs him by the wrist to whip him across the ring, but Scott still reverses easily. He extends his arm to deliver a clothesline as WC rebounds, but the Caribbean Cruiser ducks underneath and runs past him, leaping onto the top rope as he approaches the edge of the ring and curling into a ball as he springs back towards his opponent, knocking Rageheart off his feet with a Pinball attack!

 

“Look at Wildchild go to work!” shouts Mak. “He’s really done a job on Scott Rageheart since he’s managed to take Kerry Staunton out of the picture!”

 

“This is the best chance he’s got at winning,” says King, “so he’d better not waste it! If he hasn’t won this thing before Staunton gets back on the apron, he’s got no chance!” WC quickly exits to the ring apron and heads to a neutral corner, leaping onto the top rope and measuring Scott as he flies back into the ring to drive a fistdrop right between Rageheart’s eyes! He hooks the leg as he applies a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR—

 

 

 

 

Rageheart kicks out at two! WC pulls him to his feet and leads him over to a neutral corner. He straddles the middle ropes and begins to deliver a ten-count punch; the fans chant along with his punches:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

Staunton climbs back onto the apron…

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

Staunton rushes across the apron to stop Wildchild…

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

Suddenly the Human Hurricane stops what he’s doing and leaps over the top rope, extending his body to slam into Staunton with a high cross-body block, catching the bigger man off-balance and knocking them both off the apron; WC lands atop Staunton as they crash to the arena floor!

 

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

“Tremendous move by Wildchild to catch Staunton off-balance!” exclaims Mak. “That’s the risk that you take when you run across the apron like that!” WC hammers Staunton in the face with hard right hands until he notices Rageheart staggering around the ring; he quickly climbs back onto the apron and leaps onto the top rope. Wildchild springs into the ring, grabbing Scott by the neck as he flies overhead and driving him into the canvas face-first with his patented flipping neck snap!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Whiplash!” shouts Mak, as WC spins his hands overhead. “Scott Rageheart is down! And Wildchild just gave the sign for the Falling Star Press!” Wildchild scampers towards the edge of the ring and leaps back onto the top rope, flipping in a forward motion as he springs back into the ring to crash into Rageheart with his patented Falling Star Press!

 

“There’s the Falling Star Press!” shouts Mak. “This could be it!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

NO!

 

 

 

 

Staunton dives into the ring at the last second and breaks up the three-count!

 

 

“Man!” exclaims Mak. “Wildchild was so close!” Wildchild exits to the ring apron as Red Herrington orders Staunton to return to his corner; he climbs to the top turnbuckle and waits for Rageheart to get back to his feet before diving into the ring, grabbing Scott in a waistlock as he flies overhead and pulling him into a Sunset Flip!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR— NO!

 

 

 

 

Rageheart kicks out just before the three-count! Wildchild pulls Scott to his feet and backs him up against the ropes; he grabs Rageheart by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but Scott reaches back to make a blind tag before reversing the whip attempt. Rageheart lowers his head to deliver a back-body drop, but WC deftly evades him with a running leapfrog, only to be caught in a bearhug by Kerry Staunton! Staunton continues to hold WC as Rageheart runs towards the edge of the ring, leaping onto the top rope and springing back into the ring…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

… To blast Wildchild in the face with a springboard dropkick!

 

 

“Beautiful dropkick!” praises King. “Great athleticism… and Wildchild’s little insurrection is put down just as quickly as it started!” Rageheart rolls out to the apron to gather himself, as Staunton pulls WC to his feet; the Crazed Canuck traps Wildchild in a front facelock and then reaches down to grab his leg before lifting him up into the air, suspending him upside down in a stalling Brainbuster!

 

“This is how you beat the Wildchild,” says King. “You keep him from making use of his speed, and wear him down with power moves; and this is a nice display of power by Kerry Staunton!”

 

“King, that’s sound strategy perhaps ninety-eight percent of the time,” counters Mak, “but I’ve got to question the wisdom in trying to use a move like this on Wildchild. Let’s not forget that this kid spent half his life hanging upside down as a circus acrobat; I can’t imagine that this is hurting him all that much!” Sure enough, WC regains his faculties and begins to try and get out of the hold, but before he can break free, Staunton turns towards his corner and flings Wildchild forward, dropping him waist-first across the top rope!

 

“That was great!” applauds King. “It was like a slingshot suplex, only he left out the suplex!” Staunton backpedals across the ring, and then calls Red Herrington over to him, pantomiming as though he has something in his eye. While the referee’s attention is diverted from the Canadian Murder Machine’s corner, Rageheart reaches into the ring to grab WC by the back of the head…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

… And snatches him off the top rope slamming him headfirst down to the arena floor!

 

 

“Oh my god!” shrieks Mak, as Rageheart dives off the ropes to drive an elbow drop into Wildchild’s chest. “Turn around, referee! We’ve got a mugging going on outside the ring!”

 

“This is quality entertainment!” says King, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “I’m recommending to the board that Wildchild be booked in handicap matches for every Pay Per View… Hell, for every SHOW! This is freaking GREAT!” Rageheart pulls WC to his feet and carries him over to the edge of the ring, rolling him underneath the bottom rope, where his partner applies a lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

NO! FOOT ON THE ROPES!

 

 

 

 

“Ah!” groans King in disgust. “He took the cheap way out!” Rageheart shoves Wildchild’s foot off the ropes before climbing back onto the apron, and Staunton applies another half-hearted cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

FOOT ON THE ROPES!

 

 

 

 

“He did it again!” spits King.

 

“Once again,” repeats Mak, “that foot on the ropes saves Wildchild from being pinned!” Staunton gets to his feet and reaches down grabbing WC by the wrists, dragging him towards the center of the ring.

 

“Look at this,” says King gleefully. “Staunton’s going to drag him to the middle now; there won’t be no ropes now!” Kerry collapses atop Wildchild to apply a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR— NO!

 

 

 

 

Wildchild just gets the shoulder up! Staunton pounds the canvas in frustration before heading out to the apron and climbing up to the top turnbuckle.

 

“Staunton’s up in the high-rent district!” shouts Mak, as WC rolls around on the canvas. “He must be going for that missile dropkick… and Wildchild doesn’t have a clue where Staunton is!”

 

“Wildchild doesn’t know where HE is!” quips King. Staunton waits for WC to get to his feet and then steadies himself before leaping off the top rope…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But the Bahama Bomber springs off the canvas at the last second and knocks the bigger man out of the sky with a dropkick of his own!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“Tremendous counter by the Wildchild!” shouts Mak. “And it couldn’t have come at a better time!”

 

“It was a nice counter, I’ll give you that,” concedes King, “but he’s still got to deal with Rageheart out on the apron; don’t forget that this is a handicap match!” No sooner does King finish illustrating that fact, than Staunton makes it over to his corner and tags his partner. Rageheart returns to the ring and stomps WC repeatedly in the back. He then pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him across the ring into the corner. Rageheart helps his partner to his feet and then asks him to send him into the corner; Kerry whips Scott across the ring towards WC, but before he crashes into the corner with a running lariat, the Human Hurricane ducks out of the corner and charges towards Staunton…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Knocking him down with a running leg lariat! Rageheart turns back towards the center of the ring and charges towards Wildchild, but the Bahama Bomber takes him down with a drop toehold that slams him face-first into his partner’s crotch!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

WC quickly scampers to his feet and runs to the ropes, leaping into the air as he rebounds and flipping as he crashes into Scott Rageheart’s back with a somersault senton that drives Scott’s face back into Staunton’s crotch, and causes Kerry to sit straight up in excruciating pain! The fans taunt the Canadian Murder Machine’s predicament as they chant unmercifully:

 

 

BROKE-BACK MOUNT-AIN! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!

BROKE-BACK MOUNT-AIN! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!

BROKE-BACK MOUNT-AIN! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!

BROKE-BACK MOUNT-AIN! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!

 

 

Wildchild pulls Rageheart to his feet and whips him into the ropes, clipping him in the knees as he rebounds with a basement dropkick! WC quickly gets back to his feet and runs to the ropes himself, racing back towards Rageheart…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

… And blasting him in the face with a Shining Enzugiri! Wildchild applies a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR— NO!

 

 

 

 

Staunton runs over to break up the pin at the last second! WC punches Rageheart in the face as Herrington orders Staunton out to the apron. Wildchild traps Rageheart in a side-headlock, but Scott leads WC back against the edge of the ring and pushes him across the ring into the ropes. Rageheart bellies out as WC rebounds, and Staunton moves over to nail him with a cheap shot, but WC slams on the brakes, shaking a scolding finger at him. Kerry continues to hold Wildchild’s attention as his partner gets back to his feet and charges towards their opponent with a running shoulderblock, but WC sees him coming out of the side of his eye and tumbles out of the way! Rageheart crashes into his bigger partner and staggers backwards into the ring, right into a Wildchild rollup!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THRE—

 

 

 

 

NO! Rageheart kicks out! Wildchild beats Scott to his feet and ducks a wild roundhouse punch, popping up behind Rageheart and bringing his knees up as he grabs Scott by the shoulders and falls to the canvas…

 

 

BAM!

 

 

…. Driving his knees into Scott’s back with a Lungblower! Wildchild gets back to his feet and runs over to a nearby corner, quickly leaping onto the top rope to go for a moonsault…

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

… But Kerry Staunton runs over to the corner and pushes Wildchild off the turnbuckles, sending him flying out to the arena floor, where he crashes into the barricade!

 

“Quick thinking on the part of Kerry Staunton to regain control of the match!” praises King, as Staunton returns to his corner, where Rageheart is waiting to tag him in. “That’s the advantage of having a partner!” Kerry drops down to the arena floor and walks around the ring to where WC is leaning against the barricade. He pulls Wildchild to his feet and then lifts him overhead in a military press, before dropping him chest-first onto the ring barricade!

 

“I’m loving this!” cheers King. “The referee is busy checking on Scott Rageheart, so he’s not concentrating on the count, which leaves Kerry Staunton free to do damage outside the ring!” Staunton grabs WC by the wrist and pulls him away from the barricade; he whips him across the ring into the ringpost, and then runs in to follow up with a clothesline…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… But WC takes him down with a drop toehold, sending the Angry Albertan crashing into the ringpost face-first! Both men are still lying on the floor when Red Herrington turns back around, and begins to deliver a ten-count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

“So King,” wonders Francis, “who do you think has the upper hand at this point?”

 

FIVE!

 

 

“I still like the Machine’s chances,” replies King. “For the simple fact that they can tag in and out, and get a breather; I just don’t see any way that Wildchild can overcome the odds to win this match!”

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

Wildchild is first back to his feet!

 

 

EIGHT!

 

 

Wildchild rolls back into the ring!

 

 

NINE!

 

 

Wildchild rolls back out of the ring?

 

 

“He broke up the count!” exclaims a bewildered King. “He elected to take more punishment, rather than escape with a win; what the hell’s is wrong with him?”

 

“Well, it should be obvious, King,” replies Mak. “Wildchild can’t get what he wants unless he wins by pinfall or submission… so he HAD to break up the count!” Unwilling to even attempt to exert any energy to try and get Staunton back into the ring, WC instead simply rolls back into the ring and lets Red Herrington resume his count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

With Red Herrington’s attention focused on Kerry Staunton, Scott Rageheart sneaks back into the ring and levels Wildchild from behind with a running lariat! He then pulls WC to his feet and grapevines his leg from the side, trapping him in a side headlock before snapping him backwards with a side Russian legsweep! Rageheart rolls out of the ring just as Staunton returns to the apron, and Herrington turns his attention back to the action, none the wiser.

 

“I told you before,” says King, “and I can’t emphasize it enough: that extra man is an impossible advantage to overcome, especially when you’re the size of Wildchild!” Staunton stumbles over to his corner, where he makes the tag to Rageheart. Scott storms back into the ring and pulls WC roughly to his feet, whipping him across the ring and scooping him up into a bearhug as he rebounds, spinning around sharply on his heel and planting him into the canvas with a Spinebuster! Scott applies a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR— NO!

 

 

 

 

Without missing a beat, Rageheart pulls WC back to his feet and whips him into the ropes yet again, this time leaping into the air as his opponent rebounds and locking his legs behind WC’s head, taking him over with a standing Hurricanrana!

 

“Beautiful!” shouts King, as Rageheart pumps his fist exuberantly. “Not only are they putting a beating on Wildchild, but now they’re beating him at his own game!” Scott pulls Wildchild to his feet and leads him over to a neutral corner; he lifts him up onto the top turnbuckle, and then straddles the middle turnbuckles himself.

 

“What’s he going to do here?” wonders Mak, as Rageheart traps Wildchild in a front facelock.

 

“I know!” says King. “He’s going for that stalling Superplex! This could be it right here!” Scott is so pleased with himself as he taunts the fans with his strength that he fails to notice when Wildchild starts to wake up; the Tropical Tumbler rolls off of Rageheart’s shoulders, grabbing him by the neck as he falls to the canvas…

 

 

CRUNCH!

 

 

… And pulverizing Scott’s neck with a hangman’s neckbreaker!

 

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

“The Neck Wrecker!” shrieks Mak. “He countered that Superplex with a Neck Wrecker! Rageheart’s not moving!” Wildchild crawls across the ring to a neutral corner, using the ropes to pull himself back to his feet as Rageheart crawls over to his corner, where he feebly makes the tag back to Kerry Staunton. Staunton storms back into the ring and makes his way towards WC, but the Bahama Bomber stuns him with a kick to the face! Wildchild leaps onto the top turnbuckle, twisting his body as he springs back into the ring, but Staunton catches him in midair! The corpulent Canuck charges towards the corner, slamming Wildchild’s back against the top turnbuckle before turning back towards the center of the ring as he plants WC into the canvas with his patented Calgary Stampede powerslam! He holds Wildchild down for a pin attempt:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

TH—

 

 

 

 

Wildchild kicks out at two! Staunton gets to his feet and looks out into the crowd as he adjusts his right elbow pad.

 

“Here it comes!” exclaims King. “The Axe Bomber; if he hits THIS, it’s all over!” Staunton pulls Wildchild to his feet and backs him against the ropes; he grabs WC by the wrist and whips him across the ring, backing into the ropes to get a running start before taking off after him! Staunton raises his arm as WC bounces off the ropes to deliver the Axe Bomber!

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… But the Tropical Tumbler narrowly ducks underneath, leaping off the canvas as Staunton wheels around and swinging his leg through the air to blast Staunton in the face with a Gamengiri that knocks Staunton onto his back!

 

“Shade of three weeks ago!” cheers Mak. “Wildchild’s definitely got that Axe Bomber well scouted!” WC scrambles to his feet and runs quite unexpectedly over to the Canadian Murder Machine’s corner, leaping onto the middle turnbuckle and springing over the top rope, snaring Rageheart by the head…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

… And driving him face-first into the concrete floor with a springboard Tornado DDT!

 

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

The Caribbean Cruiser scrambles back onto the ring apron and briefly raises his arms overhead, cuffing his wrists together, before he brings his hands back down to grasp the top rope as he waits nervously for Staunton to get back to his feet.

 

“Wildchild just gave the sign for Presumed Guilty!” shouts Mak. “He’s already beaten Staunton with this move once before!” Wildchild leaps onto the top rope the instant that Staunton starts to stand up and then leaps into the ring…

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

… When suddenly, Mike Van Siclen comes racing in from seemingly out of nowhere and hooks Wildchild by the ankle, tripping him up and causing him to fall on his face in the ring!

 

“Oh no!” cries Francis. “Where did Van Siclen come from?” Without warning, Van Siclen slides into the ring and begins assaulting Wildchild with kicks to the back, in full view of the referee, forcing him to order the timekeeper to ring the bell:

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “I have been informed by the referee that, due to outside interference by Mike Van Siclen, Scott Rageheart and Kerry Staunton have been disqualified! Therefore, the winner of this contest… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“However,” continues Funyon, “Wildchild was unable to win this match by pinfall or submission…”

 

Mak’s head snaps up in alarm. “What?”

 

“Therefore, as a result of the stipulations of the match, Wildchild has been suspended for fifty days, effective immediately!”

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

“What?” Wildchild’s eyes bulge in disbelief as he grabs the referee by the collar. “Dis isn’ fair!”

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” shouts Mak. “Mike Van Siclen makes the stipulation that Wildchild has to win the match by pinfall or submission, and then he gets the CMM disqualified! What kind of garbage do you call that?”

 

“I call it brilliant!” crows King. “Mike Van Siclen just played Wildchild like a Stradivarius! He preyed on Wildchild’s emotion, and suckered him into a match that he couldn’t possibly win… And then, just when it looked like Wildchild was going to catch a break, he finds out that Van Siclen stacked the deck! Beautiful, simply beautiful!”

 

Wildchild appears to be on the verge of a fit; he is still clutching onto the referee’s shirt and shaking him violently, stopping just short of causing him physical harm. Melissa rushes in to try and console him, but WC is inconsolable.

 

“What an unfortunate turn of events,” moans Mak, “as Wildchild was lured into a handicap match by Mike Van Siclen in the hopes of earning a chance to face him one-on-one, only the cheated by the final result! Now Wildchild is going to have to sit out for fifty days, but I guarantee that this thing between him and Mike Van Siclen is far from over!”

 

Van Siclen stops at the top of the ramp and turns back towards the ring with a sly grin on his face. He waves goodbye to his nemesis, who continues to cry out in frustration…

 

 

As we:

FADE OUT

[chirs3 0]

As a commercial for Genesis fades out, we return backstage to the Gund Arena, where Ben Hardy is trying to chase down Wildchild and Melissa Fasaki as they hastily depart from their locker room and head towards the parking lot.

 

“Wildchild!” shouts Ben, hustling to catch up with the couple. “Wildchild, a few words, please?” WC turns to face Ben, looking… well, looking like someone that just got screwed.

 

“Wildchild, I know that you’re disappointed,” begins Hardy. “That was a very competitive match, you looked to be holding your own… it’s very unfortunate the way things turned out… How do you feel?”

 

WC glares at Ben like he just grew a second head.

 

“How do I feel?”

 

Wildchild’s astonishment at such a dumbassed question quickly reverts to anger. Ben tries to back away, but WC grabs him by his shirt collar.

 

“HOW DO I FEEL?” he bellows. “What d’you mean, how do I feel? You saw what jus’ happened: I got screwed by dat coward Van Siclen, an’ now I’m gon’ be suspended for fitty days… how do you T’INK I feel?”

 

“I… I…”

 

“Let’s get one t’ing straight,” snarls Wildchild. “I take not’ing away from Staunton an’ Rageheart. Dey’re both tough wresslers, an’ dey gave me a proper beatin’. But de fact of de matter is dat I had dem beat, an dat snivelin’ little weasel comes out of nowhere an’ cheats me out of my victory!

 

“Van Siclen, I knew dat you were afraid to fight me,” growls WC, as he turns to face the camera, “but not even I believed dat you would stoop to dis jus’ to keep from havin’ t’fight me! Well, let me tell you dis… let me make dis perfectly clear t’everyone: I’m not t’rew wit’ you, Van Siclen, not by a long shot. You t’ink dis is over? Brotha, dis is jus’ getting’ started!” With that,

 

WC and Melissa storm out of the building, leaving Ben holding the microphone with his typically dopey expression…

 

 

As we:

FADE OUT

[chirs3 0]

“Y’know what? I reckon we can take Grappler and Taamo,” Landon Maddix says excitedly, “I mean think about it! You’ve beaten Tom, I’ve beaten Tom, I came this close to beating Grappler for the World Title that one time, and we’re clearly the greatest tag team the fed has seen in years. Those Tag Titles are as good as ours!”

 

“Yeah, but you lost to Tom a couple of weeks ago,” Michael Stephens point out over his shoulder as the pair walk through the Gund Arena, although he seems to be preoccupied. You can tell, due to the fact that he’s not a bitchy as usual.

 

“Eh, Cruiserweight rules,” Landon sniffs as if that explains everything, “just you wait, when it comes to a tag match we’ll own them. Seriously, we’ll just-”

 

“Look, Landon,” Stephens says, turning round, “I’m glad you think this team can work, I’m glad you want this team to work. I think it can work as well, and since Peters seems intent on making us tag together then I figure we might as well win as much as we can doing it.”

 

“Cool,” Landon nods, “but? I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming here.”

 

“Yeah,” Stephens acknowledges, “but right now I’ve got a World Title match to focus on. If you really want, I’ll talk to you about our team afterwards. But for now I need to focus, cos JJ’s going to be doing his best to take my head off-”

 

“Well, well, well.”

 

The voice is a new one, and comes from further down the corridor. Landon looks around, curious to see who the new arrival is. As a result he misses the faint stiffening that comes across Stephens for a moment before the World Champion turns. Coming down the corridor towards them, looking fresh from the showers, is the newcomer to the SWF known as Gabriel Drake. The look in his eye is not pleasant, and he focuses on Michael Stephens to the point where it doesn’t seem that he’s even noticed Landon.

 

“Gabe,” Stephens nods. A careful observer might notice that he swallows slightly, as if with nerves. Landon isn’t such an observer, but it seems that Drake is.

 

“Hello Toxxic,” he sneers, coming to a stop a few feet away.

 

“He prefers to be called by his real name now,” Landon chips in helpfully. Drake turns and looks at him, seemingly seeing him for the first time, then snorts.

 

"Oh, if he prefers it, then of course I'll call him Michael..." Drake sneers with a sly grin, "but take my advice,” he confides to La Cucaracha, flicking a sly glance at Stephens, “watch your girlfriend around this one.”

 

“No problem there,” Maddix laughs, “he’s gay now.” Drake’s eyes narrow, glancing at Stephens, then sliding back towards Landon.

 

“…so what are you? His boyfriend?”

 

Landon’s eyes shoot wide open, and the former World Champion looks first petrified, then angry, then slightly nauseous. Finally he contents himself with turning to his tag team partner and hissing “I don’t like this man.”

 

“What the hell are you trying to prove, Gabe?” Stephens asks. “It was you who broke Karl’s leg, wasn’t it?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Drake smirks, “from what I heard, it was some guy called the Crimson Dragon. I haven’t seen dear old Karl in years - must remember to drop by sometime,” he adds maliciously. Stephens grimaces, and Drake continues. “However, if you’re talking about trying to prove something… well, I’ll admit it’s no coincidence I ended up here where my best friend from all that time ago is the World Champion. We always had a friendly rivalry, didn’t we Toxx?” he says, “so I think it’s only right we continue it now I’m back out in the big wide world.”

 

“Gabe, you’re mad,” Stephens replies flatly. “You haven’t been in a ring for what? Four years? In that time, I’ve held the World Title four times. Bloody hell, even if I lose it tonight I’m still one of the most successful competitors this company has ever seen. And you think you’re just going to walk in and make my life difficult off the back of breaking Karl’s leg and beating up Ced Ordonez?” He leans slightly closer to the bigger man, his earlier nervousness seeming to disappear. “You’re a fucking psycho Gabe, but you’re rustier than the Tin Man after the Monsoon season. That’s my ring out there. Step into it with me, and I guarantee I’ll beat you so bad you won’t know which way is up. You think I’m scared of you? Smarten up.”

 

“You weren’t so cocky on the road,” Drake says, weighing Stephens with his eyes. “You got pretty spooked in that parking lot, didn’t you? And in your motel room.” He laughs suddenly; a disturbing, tearing sound. “You can front it around other people, but we know the truth.”

 

“That was you?” Stephens says, seemingly taken aback. The surprise in his voice seems to confuse Drake, who tilts his head quizzically. “You were expecting someone else?”

 

“Well, I actually thought it was Kibagami,” Stephens admits, which just draws a blank stare from the bigger man.

 

“Kiba-who?”

 

“-gami,” Mike tells him, “like origami, only less paper folding and more headdrops.” Drake still seems nonplussed, and Stephens waves his hand to indicate that it is of no importance. “Don’t worry about it. Had a few… arguments with him a couple of years back. Broke his neck in 2004. You probably weren’t watching much TV at the time.”

 

“Thanks for reminding me,” Drake growls, his momentary puzzlement disappearing. “You know Toxx,” he continues, “you’re partially right. It’s been quite a while since I was in the ring regularly. I’ll admit, it’s going to take a little time for it to come back to me.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. They remain as hard and cold as ever.

 

“The thing is, I’ve got plenty of time. I don’t think you’re going anywhere, Toxx. Everyone I’ve talked to says you don’t back down from fights… these days. So I want you to watch,” he continues, “and see what happens. Because every time I wrestle, and every time I hurt someone new in some interesting way, I want you to notice it. Because one day Toxx, when I’m good and ready, I’ll be stepping up to the main event where you’re sitting pretty. It won’t matter to me whether you’ve got that Big Gold Belt or not. Oh, Peters thinks the match could be huge, but either way I’ll take you, and break you, and throw the pieces away.” He sneers at the World Champion suddenly. “After what you did to me, I found my Beast. You’d better learn to fear it.”

 

“It was too much to hope for that you might have learned from your mistakes, wasn’t it?” Stephens bites out.

 

“The only mistake I ever made was trusting you!” Drake snarls back, and for a moment it looks like he’s about to launch himself bodily at the Englishman. Then he gets a grip on himself and smiles again. Like a shark. “Not yet, Toxx. I’ve had four years to think about this. I won’t let you sweat on it that long, but… you deserve a little time to think things over.” He steps back, sweeps his gaze over Landon again briefly, then turns to go. Maddix just watches him, then turns to his tag team partner.

 

“What was that all abo-”

 

Michael Stephens is halfway down the corridor in the opposite direction. As Landon watches he goes through a set of double doors without slowing down, thrusting out his palms to send both sides crashing back into the corridor walls. A member of the backstage crew in the path of the World Champion takes a look at his face and stands to one side. Stephens doesn’t even seem to notice him.

 

“Damn it, he’s the one with the World Title,” Maddix grumbles, setting off after him, “how come he’s always the moody one…?”

[chirs3 0]

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

 

 

And then *BAM*

 

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

 

“Like bringing a knife to a gun fight…

 

Like Bringing A Knife To A Gun Fight…

 

 

LIKE BRINGING A KNIFE TO A GUN FIGHT!”

 

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

 

“Making his way to the ring, hailing from Hollywood California by way of Long Island New York…HOLLYWOOD! SPIKE! JENKIIIIIIINSSSS!

 

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.

 

WU-TANG CLAN COMIN’ ATCHA!

 

“Protect Ya Neck” by Wu-Tang Clan hits and through the curtains comes “The Divine Wind” Akira Kaibatsu, to a gargantuan cheer from the Gund Arena faithful! Kaibatsu walks down the aisle, receiving slaps on the chest from fans.

 

The Divine Wind rolls into the ring, and steps up to the turnbuckle, raising his arms to the air, as Funyon booms into the microphone.

 

“Weighing in at One Hundred and Ninety Five pound from SENDAI Japan….THE DIVINE WIND…AKIRRAAAAAAAAAAAAA KAIBATSUUUUUUUUUUUUUU”

 

Akira steps off the turnbuckle, and foolishly offers Spike a handshake. Hollywood takes his hand, and pie-faces Akira, sending him back a step or two before the bell rings. Spike’s facial expression cannot be read through the blonde hair, but it can be assumed that he was smirking.

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

“And the following is scheduled for one fall with a 20 minute time limit…and is for number one contendership for the INTEEEERNATIONALLLLLL TITLEEEEEEEEE”

 

DING DING DING

 

Spike and Akira lock up, collar and elbow style, but the hold is soon broken, as Akira shoves Aries into the turnbuckle, and referee Byron Dragonson breaks it up. Both men meet in the center of the ring afterwards, and once again tie up collar and elbow style, only to have it broken up in the turnbuckle. The grapplers release the collar and elbow tie up, but Akira gets in a little something before they break up…pie-facing Spike.

 

 

 

 

 

 

OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH

 

“Haha, Akira gets a little revenge in during the feeling out process,”

 

In the center of the ring once again, they lock up, this time in a Greco-Roman knuckle lock. Akira wrenches Spike’s arm, but Jenkins rolls forward, spins around, and wraps Akira’s hips for the rear waistlock. Kaibatsu spins around behind Spike, and takes him down by the legs, causing Spike to fall flat on his face. Kaibatsu rolls up Spike, and shifts around sideways, putting a grounded facelock together,

 

“Both of these men are notorious for their mat wrestling, King.”

 

“Yeah, but Spike is notoriously better. Hollywood Spike Jenkins is the best chain wrestler in the SWF bar none,”

 

“Well I won’t disagree with that, King, but isn’t it ridiculous to say Akira can’t hang with Hollywood?”

 

“No one can hang with the King of Cambodia, Francis,”

 

Jenkins spins sideways in the facelock, and squirms out of the facelock. He rolls backwards, over Akira’s back, while grabbing Akira’s arm in the process, for a hammerlock.

 

“That right there is what I’m talking about, King. Have you ever seen a hammerlock applied that way?”

 

Akira tries to get up in the hammerlock, and Spike lets him, but not without a few paint brushes to the back of the head, completely disrespecting Akira. Kaibatsu won’t take that shit though, and he throws Spike over his shoulder, taking him down to the mat, making a quick pin attempt for only one.

 

“Told you Akira wasn’t a slouch,”

 

Both men, once again in the center of the ring, put a collar and elbow tie up on each other. Akira forces Spike into the ropes, but Jenkins over powers him, and switches them around. Spike releases the tie up, and throws a knife edge chop at Akira’s chest. Immediately afterwards, Jenkins throws an everything-but-painful bitch slap at Akira’s cheek, and this is the last straw.

 

Akira shoves Spike off of him and walks over him with a meanacing look, causing Spike to back up, and when he realizes he just ran into the ropes, Akira starts hurling his trademark European Uppercuts. Spike shoves him off though, pounces on top of him, and has Kaibatsu in a mounted position! Kaibatsu puts his arms in front of his face to protect from Spike’s menacing punches.

 

“Mounted punches? A minute and a half ago I’d a told you you were crazy,” Mak comments.

 

“That’s because all you know how to do is call moves.”

 

Akira rolls over in attempt to escape the never-ending battery of strikes, but it only makes it worse as Spike is now throwing punches at the back of his head. One more spin around though and Akira slips out of the mount, and mounts on top of Spike! Spike lifts his arms out and grab the ropes. Byron Dragonsen does his job as the official and breaks the two up.

 

Spike and Akira meet in the center, and Kaibatsu takes action right away, wrenching Jenkin’s arm. Hollywood spins around, and turns the tables on Akira, wrenching his arm, and tries to take Kaibatsu to the ground with the arm. The Divine Wind rolls forward, un-wrenching the arm, and he turns around to face Spike, but Spike is prepared and locks Akira in a front facelock.

 

“This match’s progression is rather strange…first there was a feeling out process…then they started brawling…now they’re feeling each other out again!” Mak shouts.

 

“Oh, be patient. You’re like a little kid, Francis,”

 

Kaibatsu shows his strength though, and lifts Spike up in the front facelock, and walks him over to the turnbuckle, forcing Byron Dragonsen to break up the hold. Spike does as he’s told, but grudgingly.

 

The two meet in the center of the ring once again, and tie up using a Greco-Roman Knuckle lock. It doesn’t stay applied for long though, as Spike shoots his legs beneath Akira sending him straight to the ground. Spike once again races up Akira’s body and locks in the front facelock.

 

“Spike is completely dominating on the mat,” King says.

 

“I’m going to have to disagree with that…”

 

“Course you are,”

 

Spike soon lets go of the front facelock, and mounts him once again, this time in a mocking fashion, paintbrushing the back of Akira’s head. Kaibatsu’s had enough and tries to roll over and get Spike off of him, but Hollywood has his legs wrapped around Kaibatsu’s torso. Akira scrambles trying to figure out what to do, but he doesn’t have that kind of time, and Spike grabs him by the chin and pulls back.

 

“What were you disagreeing with again?”

 

Akira shoves Spike’s legs off individually, and quickly scatters away from Spike, but then swiftly pounces back towards him, grabbing his arm, and wrenching it, and bringing him to his feet. Spike flips forward, and when that does work, he flips backwards and does a headstand, trying to catch Akira’s head with his legs, but Akira shoves him backwards. Spike tries rolling forward one more time, and then the headstand again, but this time he kicks Akira right in the chin!

 

“That one caught Akira off guard!” Mak says.

 

They circle the ring once again. Akira offers a collar and elbow tie up, but Spike shoves him aside and locks in the rear waistlock. Spike then spins around, and throws his palm at Kaibatsu’s chest sending him to the ground.

 

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

“Deplorable!”

 

…YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

 

Akira kips up! He throws one of his signature European Uppercuts to Spike’s throat, and locks in a front facelock. Spike throws his fists into the gut of The Divine Wind, breaking up the front facelock, and then puts Akira in a cravat. Spike then flips the cravat forward with a snapmare, and crosses his legs over Kaibatsu’s throat with a triangle choke. Spike rolls over in it, and tries to go for Akira’s Skull Fuck maneuver, but Akira knows the move well, and forces himself out of it. He slides up Spikes back, and goes right to that front facelock. He turns the facelock into a headlock, and throws him over his shoulder, for the headlock takedown. Spike slides his feet up, and puts a head scissors on Akira. Kaibatsu tries to kip up out of it, but Spike is squeezing tightly. He spins around, and does a handstand in the headscissors. He then pushes off with his hand, jumps through and knocks Spike’s face in with White Magic!!

 

 

YEEEEEAAAAAAH!

 

“White Magic! All that chain wrestling pays off!”

 

Spike rolls out of the ring the take a breather, and wipe some sweat out of his eyes. Akira has other plans than to take a break however…he runs at the ropes, bounces back, and jumps through the middle rope, nailing Spike in the throat with his European Uppercut suicida!!

 

 

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

“AKIRA FLIES THROUGH THE ROPES!”

 

Kaibatsu picks up Spike by his dyed-blonde hair and throws a forearm right at his cheek. Spike answers right back with a huge knife edge chop, sending Akira back a few feet. Spike turns around, and starts jawing with some fans.

 

“GO ON, DRINK YOUR BEER…I WANT YOU TO DIE!”

 

The fan plays a perfect distraction though, almost as if he were hired by The Divine Wind, as he sneaks up behind the New Straight Edge Sensation, and nails him with a huge elbow to the cheek! He throws Spike into the ring, and climbs the apron. Kaibatsu then flips over the rope, trying to hit Spike with a senton, but Spike rolls backwards! Akira rolls forward with the maneuver though, and turns around to face Spike. He runs at Jenkins and goes for a lariat, but Hollywood ducks under it. Akira then jumps over the ropes and lands on the apron. He throws a forearm at Spike, but Hollywood ducks underneath, so Akira sweeps his legs out in front of him with a kick! He then flips over the ropes, and hits that sneton!

 

YEEEEAAH!

 

“If at first you don’t succeed…”

 

“You probably suck,” King says.

 

Akira follows through with his senton and runs towards the other ropes. He bounces off and drops a huge elbow down onto Spike!

 

“Powerdrive Elbow! Cover!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEE—NO!”

 

Kaibatsu picks up Spike by the hair, and flips him forward with a snapmare. He then steps forward, and nails Spike in the back with a kick. From a sitting position, Spike turns his head to see Akira, and starts talking trash, albeit inaudibly…so Akira kicks him in the chest, and makes a quick cover!

 

“Outsmarts him!”

 

 

 

ONEE!

 

 

 

TWOOO!

 

 

 

THRE—NO!

 

“You can’t outsmart Spike…”

 

Jenkins is caught of guard a bit, and is knocked back into the turnbuckle. Akira keeps on the offensive, as is his style, and runs towards Spike, leaps up, and nails him in the head with a dropkick!

 

 

YEEEAAAAAAHHHHH!

 

 

 

 

ONEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREENO!

 

“Spike’s not lookin’ so hot right now, eh?”

 

Akira lifts up Spike by his hair, and throws a kick to the gut. He then locks Spike in the front facelock, flips his arm over, and goes for a vertical suplex, but Spike blocks it by punching Akira in the gut. He then lifts Akira over the ropes, and now has Akira in a suplex position over the ropes. He tries to suplex Akira back into the ring, but it’s no good. Kaibatsu comes back and tries to suplex Spike OUT of the ring, but Spike won’t have it. He lifts him up, and Akira fights it, so instead of a suplex, he simply drops him, gutting him over the ropes.

 

Spike runs at the opposite ropes, and bounces back. He accelerates halfway through the ring, leaps, and knocks Akira off the apron with a huge kick! Spike then slides through the bottom ropes, and lifts up Kaibatsu by his hair, drags him over to a chair in the corner, and sits him down. He pulls his arm back, and then shoots it forward with a stinging knife edge chop, knocking Akira off his chair.

 

Spike lifts Akira up to his feet once again by the hair, and throws a huge European Uppercut at him.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“Oh, c’mon, that’s an Akira trademark!”

 

“And he’s allowed to use it, Mak. Wrestling moves are wrestling moves”

 

Spike throws Kaibatsu right back into the ring, and makes a quick cover, only to get a one count. Jenkins, once again, lifts Akira by the hair, and this time locks in a half nelson. He lifts Kaibatsu into the air, and drops him down on his knee for a half-nelson backbreaker!

 

 

BOOOOOO!

 

Spike doesn’t end the move there though! He lifts Akira right back up, and lifts him into the air once again. He tilts himself backwards, and drives both of his knees into Akira’s back with the Lung Blower!

 

 

BOOOOOO!

 

 

Spike can’t go for a cover though, because Akira scrambles to the corner, and sits down. Spike follows him over there, and stands over him, talking more trash. Kaibatsu throws weak, blind punches at Spike’s gut, but they don’t do anything to effect Hollywood. Jenkins then hacks a giant lugey right in Akira’s eye, before raking it. Byron Dragonsen won’t stand for that however, as he yells at Spike telling him to get off.

 

Spike pulls Akira towards the center of the ring, and drops a huge elbow, immediately followed by a pinfall, that gets only a one count. He lifts Akira up, and sends him right back down with a snapmare. He then takes a step forward, and nails Kaibatsu in the back with a huge kick!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*SMACK*

 

“Oh, jesus, did you hear that?”

 

“Don’t think Jesus did Mak, but I’m pretty sure I did.”

 

“VERY CLEVER, HA HA HA” Mak then mutters something under his breath.

 

 

 

 

ONNEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRENOOOO!

 

 

Spike follows right up by wrapping his legs around Akira with a body scissors. Akira starts throwing elbows right at Spike’s legs in attempt to break it up, but no luck so far. He tries one more time, but Spike’s great reflexes allow him to catch Akira’s elbow, and not allow him to break up the hold. Jenkins then grabs Akira by the brand new beard, and pulls his face back.

 

“BREAK THAT UP, SPIKE!”

 

Spike does as he’s told…as far as the beard goes, but he keeps the body scissors right where it is. Spike then begins to throw punches right at Akira’s stomach.

 

“HEY! HEY! WATCH THE CLOSED FISTS!”

 

Spike does as he’s told, once again, but he refuses to break up this body scissors…until he rolls him over and makes a cover!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEENOOOOO!

 

“So close!”

 

Spike lifts Akira by the tights, and scoops him up, as if he were going to slam him back down to the mat, but instead, he drops him down at the turnbuckle, in a tree of woe. He then hooks Akira’s legs so that they are firmly stuck on that turnbuckle. He then ascends to the top, and jumps right back down, feet first!

 

 

 

 

DOOOUUBLLEEEE STOOOOOOOOMMMMP!

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

 

“Spike may have just crushed Akira’s ribs with that double stomp!!!”

 

“Damn straight, Mak!”

 

 

 

“JENKINS SUCKS! JENKINS SUCKS! JENKINS SUCKS!”

 

“COVER!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONEEEEEEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEENOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

“Akira kicked out! Akira kicked out!”

 

“Impossible!!”

 

Spike, befuddled, picks up Akira by the hair and throws a huge knife edge chop at Akira’s chest, before whipping him into the ropes. Akira bounces back, and unexpectedly swivels around Spike, going for a crucifix pin, but Spike holds his ground, not letting Akira take him anywhere…so Akira rolls upwards in stead of downwards, flipping Spike forward with a sunset flip!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEENOOO!

 

 

 

“Akira’s the master of the flash pin, King. He’ll beat you with a flash pin, don’t take that lightly.”

 

Spike is much quicker to his feet than Akira is, and runs at Akira, who is still on his knees, and throws a huge forearm. He lines Akira up against the ropes, and cocks his arm back, and hurls it forward with a huge knife edge chop! Akira’s going to go down swinging though, and he hurls a huge European Uppercut right back at Spike! Jenkins throws his arm forward for a knife edge chop once again…but then stops it, and pokes Akira in the eye.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

“Spike’s such a dick, it’s ridiculous,”

 

Jenkins locks in a cravat, and once again hits Akira with a snapmare. He then wraps his legs around Akira’s body and goes for yet another body scissors!

 

“Jenkins is reeeeaallly workin’ over that midsection.”

 

Akira once again throws elbows at Spike, trying to get the body scissors off. One after another, and the fans clap along with each elbow. Finally, Kaibatsu hurls enough elbows to get the body scissors off of him. Afterwards, he runs at the ropes, bounces back, and flips over a standing Spike Jenkins going for another Sunset Flip, but this time Jenkins stands his ground, and shoves Kaibatsu’s hands off of him. He jumps into the air, and stomps Akira’s face!

 

 

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

“Stomps Akira’s face in! Beautiful!”

 

“Not if you’re Akira,”

 

“There’s a reason he wore a mask, Francis. Look at him.”

 

 

 

 

ONNEEEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEE!!!

 

 

 

NO! NO! SHOULDER UP!!

 

“Where does Akira get it from?!”

 

“There’s an asian supermarket on the highway in the timeline portal. Maybe he stopped here, Mak?”

 

Jenkins then picks up Akira by the hair, and whips him into the turnbuckle. Spike then runs right at Akira and nails him straight in the forehard with a huge elbow, sending Kaibatsu straight to the mat. Jenkins then heads straight to the top turnbuckle once again, and leaps off. He crouches up…

 

 

“No! If Jenkins hits another double stomp it’s over!!”

 

 

 

And Spike lands!!

 

 

 

….Right on the mat! Akira rolled out of the way! Spike is annoyed, and visibly, as he picks up Akira and hurls another knife edge chop. Spike then runs at the ropes, and springboards off the second one. He turns around, and extends his leg out, going for a kick, but Akira throws his arm out and nails Spike with a hard European Uppercut!!

 

Both men get up around the same time, but Akira is the first to take action. He throws a hard elbow right at Spike’s cheek, and spit comes flying out of his mouth to the side. He throws two more, before Jenkins throws a tow kick right to Akira’s gut. He tries to whip The Divine Wind into the ropes, but Kaibatsu hangs onto his arm, and comes running back, and nails a huge elbow right at his forehead. Spike, even while fatigued, let’s his dickhead shine through, as he bitch slaps Akira.

 

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“I’m getting sick of Jenkins! Put him away, Akira!”

 

“And I’m sick of Jenkins getting held down on the card. He hasn’t had a World Title shot since November!!”

 

“Maybe he’s bitch slapping the bookers!” Mak laughs.

 

“More likely fucking their daughters,”

 

Spike backs up into the ropes, and bounces back forward. He goes for a lariat, but Akira picks him up sideways and hits a huge sidewalk slam!! Cover!!

 

 

 

ONEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRENOWAY!

 

 

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

“Akira was so close to #1 contendership right there!”

 

Both men get up at the same time again, and Spike backs up into the ropes. He runs at Akira once again going for that lariat, but Akira catches him by the throat, and hits Spike’s very own Minor Threat! He then follows it right up with an STO!

 

 

YEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

 

 

Akira then sways his body to the left, then over to the right for momentum, and back to the left with a Power Drive Elbow!!! Cover!!

 

 

 

 

 

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEENOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“The Powerdrive elbow almost puts him away!”

 

Akira doesn’t let the kickout get to him. He lifts up Spike, and hits him with a huge forearm. He forearms his all the way back into the ropes, and then whips him over. Jenkins reverses the whip though, and holds onto Kaibatsu’s arm, lifting him up, and dropping his crotch down with an inverted atomic drop! Spike then runs backwards into the ropes, but Akira spins around and nails Spike with a discus lariat!!

 

 

YEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

 

Spike is stunned, and turns around to face the ropes. He very nonchalantly rests against the ropes…but he isn’t resting for very long! Akira comes running forward, and guillotines Spike’s throat over the ropes by giving him a huge Ace Cutter over the ropes Macho Man style!

 

 

 

 

YEEEAAAAAAHHHH!!

 

 

“Akira’s really picking up now…He’s going to explode any second!”

 

 

Akira then climbs up onto the apron, and uses the ropes to fly up into the air, spinning, and landing straight on Jenkins’ abdomen with a Corkscrew Pescado!!

 

 

 

 

 

ONEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWWOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREENOOO!

 

 

Akira doesn’t let the kickout discourage him from trying other highflying moves! He immediately gets up, and runs towards the ropes, bounces off the middle rope, and flies through the air backwards, going for a Lionsault!!

 

 

…but Jenkins gets his knees up, blocking the maneuver!!

 

“Right on that midsection Spike was working on!”

 

Spike makes a cover!

 

 

 

ONEEEEEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEENO!

 

 

Spike picks up Akira right away, and throws a huge elbow at his cheek. He spins Akira around, and locks in a rear waistlock. He then flips The Divine Wind through the air, for a huge German Suplex!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEENOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“NOOOOOO! THE GERMAN DOESN’T PUT HIM AWAY!”

 

 

Spike is outraged that the German Suplex didn’t work, and he yells at Bryon Dragonson, before he once again ascends to the top turnbuckle, likely looking for one more double stomp. Akira wont have it though, and he runs towards the side rope, trying to crotch Spike on the top! He then goes towards the turnbuckle, and puts Spike on his back in a firemans carry like position. He then flips forward, planting Spike on his back! Akira rushes towards the top turnbuckle now. He doesn’t do any fancy posing or anything. He just leaps, tilts backwards, and nails Spike right in the gut with a huge back senton!

 

 

 

 

YEEEEEEEAAAHWHAAAAT?!

 

 

Spike gets the knees up!

 

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“Spike got his knees up! Spike got his knees up!” King screams happily.

 

Once again, Spike Jenkins makes a cover.

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONEEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEENOOOO!

 

 

“Akira shows some real heart, King!”

 

“Yeah, whatever, it wasn’t even a real move.”

 

 

 

 

ONNEEEE MINUTE REMAINING IN THIS MATCHUP!

 

 

“Only one minute?!” Mak shouts.

 

 

Spike realizes that he know has to hurry, and he picks up Akira, going for The Ratings Crash!

 

“Hit it Spike!!”

 

 

“C’mon Akria, fight out of it!!”

 

 

Akira’s going to go down swinging if he goes down…he’s throwing punch after punch at Spike’s legs. Akira finally works up the strength to do a sit up, and he begins to through punches at Spike’s head from up top. Spike tries to shake him down, but to no avail! Akira keeps punching! Finally, Kaibatsu goes down…

 

THIRTY SECONDS

 

With a hurricanrana!!

 

YEEEEAAAAAHHH!

 

“Akira just sent Spike down with a hurricanrana!!”

 

Akira can’t get up right away though…so he uses the ropes to help him up. He yells for the crowd to get louder, and they do just that

 

 

YEEEAAAAHHHH!

 

 

 

15

 

 

14

 

 

 

13

 

12

 

11

 

10

 

9

 

 

Akira finally manages to get to the top rope, but there’s so little time left! He leaps off, and flips forward…and then flips forward one more time with a 450 splash!!!!

 

8

 

7

 

 

5

 

4

 

 

“FOUR SECONDS LEFT COUNT DRAGONSON COUNT!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DING DING DING

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

 

 

“Ladies and Gentleman this match has been rules a DRAW!”

 

 

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“A draw? That’s so gay! We need a winner! Five more minutes!”

 

FIVE MORE MINUTES! CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP!

 

FIVE MORE MINUTES CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP!

 

Before Byron Dragonson can even ask either one if they want five more minutes, Spike Jenkins has grabbed a microphone.

 

“You want five more minutes?!” He screams. “We just gave you twenty! And a damn good twenty!”

 

Then, a fat fan drinking a beer screams at Spike Jenkins “YOU SUCK DICK!” which immediately gets Spike’s attention. Spike turns around, and says “What was th”—DING DING DING!

 

Akira jumps towards Spike right away, and gets him in a crucifix! He leans to the side, and drops Spike on his head with the crucifix bomb!!!

 

 

 

 

 

ONEEEEEEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEE!

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

“I NEVER AGREED TO THAT!”

 

“Ladies and Gentleman, your new #1 contender to the International Title….AKIRA…KAIBATSUUUUUU!

Edited July 31, 2006 by chirs3

[chirs3 0]

SWF junior associate road agent Michael Anderson sits on a crate inside the Gund Arena, looking calmly at his bodyguard, Tracey Bruner.

 

“You sure he’ll call, boss?” booms the massive Bruner.

 

“Of course he will,” replies Anderson. “He’s definitely going to want to do business. In fact, I expect him to ring me up any second now…”

 

RING! RING! RING!

 

Anderson grins slyly, as if to say, “Didn’t I tell you?” He flips open his cell phone. “This is Anderson.”

 

“…”

 

“As a matter of fact, I was just sitting here waiting for your call. I take it that you’ve changed your mind about doing business with me?

 

“…”

 

“No need to get hostile with me,” replies Anderson to the unknown voice. “After all, I had nothing to do with it. However, if you want what I have to offer, I’m afraid that I’m going to have to renegotiate the terms of our association.”

 

“…”

 

“Yes,” replies Anderson, “I’m aware that you got me this job. However, I’ve decided that I want a more prominent position with this company, and I want you to pull your strings to help me.”

 

“…”

 

“That may be true,” replies Anderson. “But I’d like to bring one thing to your attention.”

 

“…”

 

“As you may recall, only one person in the SWF besides me is aware of your secret, and that person no longer holds the same position of prominence within the company. That means that, unless you want me to compromise that information, I’d say that I have quite a favorable bargaining position, wouldn’t you?”

 

“…”

 

“I thought you’d see it my way,” says Anderson, with a conniving smile on his face. “Now, when do you want to make the exchange?”

 

“…”

 

 

“I’ll be expecting him,” replies Anderson. “Yes… Yes… I’ll be in touch.” With that, Anderson hangs up the phone and looks up at his bodyguard. “It’s like I told you, mister Bruner: chance favors the prepared mind. Now, it’s time to put my plans in motion.”

[chirs3 0]

Maddix vs. Hawke to be edited in.

[chirs3 0]

“The following contest is set for one fa-“

 

“Oh no, no, no you don’t” James Matheson says, cutting off Funyon’s introductions the second the manager enters the arena to a deafening round of boos “No man on god’s green earth is worthy of introducing my man here! No one but me: the Manager of Champions James Matheson”

 

The manager actually stops for a moment as if he was expecting people to give him an applause or something.

 

“As this Cro-Magnon was about to tell you all this match will be for the SWF International champion with the SOLE purpose of crowning my man here the International champion” Matheson says while pointing to the Grappler as the big man steps through the curtains.

 

Mannish Boy by Muddy Waters stars up as Charlie “Grappler” Matthews walks down the aisle, a focused look on his face and one of the World tag-team titles slung over his shoulder.

 

“Introducing to you all, one of two reasons why the SWF is such a success – the Missouri Mauler! the Kansas City Krusher! A man who has not suffered a single loss since his return to this federation, I give you the guy who should already be the International champion CHARLIE “GRAPPLER” MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATHEWS!!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

“What’s this about Grappler being the International champion” Mak asks as the big man walks up the ring steps, ready to enter the ring.

 

“I’m sure you remember his match with Aecas right?” King says but before Mak can reply James Matheson has something else to say.

 

“We are here tonight to right a wrong, to make sure justice is done, to ensure that this man gets the International title that he should have rightfully won a few weeks ago!” Matheson starts out as the boos rain down over him. “I mean he had Aecas beaten, he was done for! See for yourself”

 

Matheson points to the SWFtron which begins to show the closing moments from the June 21st edition of Lockdown.

 

Charlie Matthews quickly underhooks the arms of Aecas and falls backwards, planting him head-first onto the concrete with a double-arm DDT!

 

*THUD!*

 

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

 

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

 

“SEVEN!”

 

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

 

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

 

“EIGHT!”

 

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

 

*BAM!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOORT!”

 

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

 

 

“NINE!”

 

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

 

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

 

 

“TEN!”

 

 

-but it’s too late.

 

 

*DING DING DING*

 

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

 

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

 

“The Grappler had the match won, he had the title in the palm of his hand when that coward Aecas intentionally got himself counted out”

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

 

“I know for a fact that Aecas didn’t do anything like that!” Mak interjects angrily, but of course James Matheson can’t hear his commentary.

 

“Oh the signs were subtle, but they were there – would James Matheson lie to us after all?” the Suicide King says, toeing Matheson’s line

 

“Now I’m here tonight because I want to insure that this new champion this. . . “ Matheson waves his hand in the air as if he’s trying to figure out who the champion is “Bruce Blink or Blank or whatever, I want to insure that he doesn’t take the cowards way out and gets counted out as well. Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice. . . well you’re not going to fool me twice” James says with a crooked smile.

 

While Matheson is talking Charlie is getting in the zone, stretching out in the corner, getting ready for his opponent.

 

“So, Mr. Slappowitz, Izzy. . . pal” Matheson says as he approaches the referee “Can I rely on you giving my man a fair shake? Can I trust that you will not let Bruce get away with a cheap count out?”

 

James Matheson holds out his hand for the referee to shake as he does his best to look both innocent and sincere. Izzy looks down at the hand for a moment, then he smiles and nods before shaking Matheson’s hand

 

“Oh come on!” Mak moans as the manager obviously handed the referee something in that handshake.

 

“Hey I think that’s only fair, he was respectful and just asked that Slappowitz not count Bruce out too quickly” King says feigning total ignorance over whatever it is that the referee just put in his pocket.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

 

“Thank you Mr. Slappowitz, it’s good to know that there are still a few honest people in the world that want everyone to have a fair shake” Matheson says with a grin.

 

BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!!

 

The fans are about to riot when suddenly head referee Matthew Kivell appears in the ring looking straight at Izzy Slappowitz with an angry look on his face. Kivell says something to Izzy who just shakes his head in denial. Two more shakes of the head and Matthew resolves the issue the way all issues are resolved in wrestling

 

He punches him in the face

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!

 

Then he reaches into Izzy’s pocket and pulls out a wad of hundred dollar bills that James Matheson just gave to him.

 

“Hey be fair now, that could be Slappowitz own money” King argues

 

“He’s a referee, he’d be lucky to make half that in a month”

 

“Fair enough” King concedes

 

Matheson looks extremely pissed off as Matthew Kivell uses his position as head referee to dismiss Izzy, sending him to the back while Kivell takes over as the official of the match. When Matthew holds up the wad of cash Matheson tries to play innocent, shrugging his shoulders like he doesn’t know where it came from.

 

“Alright then I may as well give it to the people at ringside” Matthew replies

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!

 

*sigh* “Alright, alright it’s my money, Slappowitz was just. . . erm . . . keeping it safe during the match, I didn’t want it stolen. Yeah that’s it, I didn’t want it stolen and well if you cannot trust a referee who can you trust?” Matheson says while trying his best to look innocent.

 

Kivell gives Matheson the wad of cash back and then tells him to get the hell out of the ring before he has him banned from ringside. That comment lights a fire under the manger’s ass as he quickly leaves the ring and then puts the wad of cash inside the steel briefcase he’s always carrying with him.

 

“Matheson’s plan just backfired! This is awesome” Mak says with a grin, happy that justice is done.

 

“This is terrible! I mean we need a new referee this guy is totally biased against Matheson and Grappler now” King fires back.

 

“Oh give me a break”

 

The Grappler seems a bit less upset than Matheson as he adjusts the tape on his wrists while awaiting his opponent.

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAND HIS OPPONENT!” Funyon says in his trademark booming voice “Hailing from the Dirty Tornado Trailer park in Mobile Alabama, weighing in at 295 pounds, here is the current and defending ESS DUBAYA EFF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION: “The Redneck Superman” BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!!!

 

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

 

Funyon grins, he nailed that introduction and he managed to get it in before anyone else interrupted him, and just in the nick of time it would seem as Bruce cuts off Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Don’t ask me no questions” the second he steps into the arena.

 

“EXCUSE ME!!” He says and then stops for a moment, almost as if to pose for a picture with his newly won and newly polished SWF International title around his waist.

 

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

 

“Winning the title seems to have only made Bruce even LESS popular” King points out.

 

“Probably more the way he won it King” the Franchise replies

 

“EXCUSE ME! The International Champion has something to say” Bruce continues taking great pleasure in saying International champion. “Now I’m from Alabama right here in good old US of A and my opponent is from Missouri which is also here in the US of A. . . So we have a problem. See this title isn’t called the United States title, or the Southern Title or the Missouri-Alabama title – it’s the In-ter-national title, and you’re just not international enough”

 

“What the hell is he going on about?” King asks genuinely confused.

 

“I think he’s trying to get out of actually defending the title” Mak says as he suspects that Bruce is up to no good.

 

“But being the resourceful International champion that I am, I have a solution for you, Wayne if you will?” Bruce says with a smirk and then waves his brother out from the back.

 

The much smaller Blank brother steps out in the spotlight with a giant sombrero on his head, a giant fake bushy black moustache on his face and a half drunken bottle of tequila in one hand. The Blank brothers head to the ring as everyone in the arena scratch their heads trying to figure out what the hell Bruce is up to tonight. Bruce enters the ring while Wayne remains on the apron, handing Bruce the giant sombrero.

 

“Tonight Chuck you are the designated Internationalist of this match. From Mexico, my opponent tonight: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL GRAPPLERO!!” Bruce says with a smirk and then puts the sombrero on Charlie Matthews’ head.

 

“Ha!” The Suicide King guffaws at the sight of Charlie Matthews with a giant sombrero on his head.

 

If the Grappler is pissed off he doesn’t show it, giving Bruce the stone face treatment tonight as he looks at the International champion. Then he slowly raises one of his hands and takes the sombrero off his head, Charlie looks at the hat, then he looks at Bruce and then casually and without a hint of emotion tears the hat apart before throwing it away.

 

“El Grapplero wants to be a gringo tonight” King quips.

 

“Oh don’t tell me we’re going to have to listen to you make Mexican jokes all night?” Mak groans.

 

The confident and arrogant smile hasn’t left Bruce’s face, after all he’s the International champion he’s got a lot to be confident and arrogant about. But his eyes tell a different story, his eyes are focused on his opponent’s every move, he doesn’t even take his eyes off Charlie as he unstraps the belt and then hands it to the referee.

 

After the traditional raising of the belt to signal that it’s on the line tonight Matthew Kivell calls for the opening bell.

 

*DING!*DING!*DING!*

 

Bruce and Charlie go head to head as they both start talking trash to each other, jawing as they stand there face to face, nose to nose like a couple of bulls ready to hit each other. The tension between the two is palatable as everyone in the arena are waiting for the two big men to hit each other.

 

“You can tell the crowd has been waiting for this one for a while, they’re on the edge of their seats here waiting for a hard hitting fight – not a wrestling match but a fight!” Mak says possibly transferring some of his own anticipation onto the crowd as he’s eager to see the two big men go at it.

 

“Oh it’ll be a fight alright Matthews wants the belt and Blank wants revenge for the Dead Precedents loss at 13th hour, this will be hard hitting and it won’t be pretty” King says as they both watch the two men getting themselves more and more worked up for the match, just waiting for the other to make the first move.

 

Grappler starts off by putting a hand on Bruce’s face and then pushing the big man backwards, his way of saying “Get out of my face hayseed”. The shove is quickly repaid with a forearm shot to the chest. The Grappler’s massive, furry chest takes the impact without the big man even stepping a full step backwards before he retaliates with a forearm of his own that knocks Bruce back a step, Bruce uses his momentum to fall back into the ropes like a kid pulling back on his slingshot and then he sprints forward (well “sprints” for him) and then tries to bowl over the Grappler with a running shoulder tackle

 

*THUD!!*

 

“OH MAN it’s like a Mac and a Semi hitting each other on the Interstate” Mak exclaims as the two men collide but with no noticeable effect on either man as Grappler braces himself and takes the impact full on.

 

Bruce points to the ropes, inviting the Grappler to give it his best shot. The Grappler appears to be taking the invitation as he runs towards the ropes while Bruce takes a step forward instead of waiting for Matthews to come at him and then raises his foot looking to drive his cowboy boot into the side of the Grappler’s face as he bounces off the ropes.

 

DENIED!!

 

Grappler ducks under the big boot, bounces off the ropes on the other side and then takes Bruce down with a flying shoulder tackle / clothesline combo that knocks the big man from Alabama off his feet. Grappler follows up with two massive elbows to Bruce’s chest hoping to keep the big man down and under control. When that’s not enough to stop Bruce from trying to get back up Grappler grabs Bruce by the hair and. . .

 

*BONK!!*

 

“RIGHT ACROSS THE NOSE!! Man that sounded sick!” King says as the Grappler strikes Bruce square on the nose with enough force to bloody it.

 

Grappler follows the headbutt with a kick to the side of the head before he pulls the staggered Bruce Blank back to his feet and whips him into the corner with FORCE! Bruce strikes the corner back first with enough impact to shake the entire ring, the ring is shaken once more as Charlie Matthews runs at Bruce and drives his massive shoulder into Bruce’s ample mid section. Grappler puts his big paws around the middle rope to trap Bruce in the corner and then he proceeds to drill Bruce’s mid section with his shoulder over and over

 

If the Grappler had been well liked the fans might have even counted along.

 

But he’s not so they don’t, but that doesn’t stop him as he delivers a good 6 or 7 heavy blows to Bruce’s midsection and chest as James Matheson yells encouragements such as “Hit the bastard again” and “He ain’t nothing Grappler”. After he’s satisfied that Bruce is much worse for wear he stops the onslaught and instead drags Bruce into the middle of the ring where he quickly applies the dreaded, the devious, the boring Bear Hug

 

*CLAP!*

 

The Grappler hardly gets a chance to lock his hands together before Bruce brings his hands together behind Grappler’s head slamming his arms against Matthews ears forcing the big man to let go of the old.

 

“I feel like I should be sitting next to Bobby Heenan or something” Mak jokes after getting an old school vibe from the match.

 

“Yeah you should, right now he’s in California if you hop on a train now you can be there soon”

 

Sensing an opportunity Bruce rushes in and grabs the Grappler by the trunks and the throat, lifting him up chest high as he goes for a gorilla press slam on the 306 pounder. Bruce manages to lift Charlie Matthews up over his head, resting the weight on the top of his skull before attempting to lift the Grappler all the way up. The strain to lift the big man is obvious from the expression on Bruce’s face, the bulging of his arms and the shaking of his entire body, all it would take to make Bruce mess up is a small distraction, anything really – like James Matheson reaching in and tapping Bruce on the leg when the referee isn’t watching.

 

“Oh bullshit!”

 

Bruce drops Matthews back to the canvas where the Grappler lands on his feet but if the man from Missouri thinks he’s gotten the advantage Bruce quickly proves him wrong by planning his size 16 cowboy boot right upside Charlie’s head

 

*BAM!!*

 

“He may not have been able to lift him up, but he could definitely put him down!” King says as Matthews hits the canvas like a sack of bricks.

 

“He was close King, I think Matthews was struggling against it a bit too much” Mak replies.

 

“So you’re saying “too early in the match” then Mak?”

 

“Yeah basically” Mak admits.

 

Making sure to not give his opponent even a momentary break Bruce drops a knee to Charlie Matthews’ shoulder and then drives the boot of his heel in for added effect. Bruce drags his opponent back to his feet, then quickly rakes the Grappler’s face the moment it looks like he’s about to make a comeback

 

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

 

After running his fingernails down Charlie Matthews face Bruce hits the far side ring ropes and then leaps into the air for a massive flying clothesline that tears into the Grappler and knocks him down hard with Bruce landing on top of him.

 

ONE!!

 

 

 

 

 

TWOO!!!

 

 

 

 

 

TH-NO!!

 

Charlie Matthews kicks out with enough power to show everyone that he’s far from out of this match even though Bruce is dictating the pace right now. Not deterred by the lack of a three count Bruce quickly pulls the Grappler back to his feet and then lifts him up on his shoulder in preparation for a shoulder breaker. With most of the SWF superstars Bruce would have no problems executing the move, but the Grappler is 306 pounds of pure muscle and he’s fighting the move, which causes Bruce to drop backwards with the Grappler slamming down on top of him.

 

“That’s it Grappler!! Use your brains in there!! Keep it up, keep it up” James Matheson yells like a football coach yelling plays to his team.

 

“God he’s so annoying I just want to kick his ass” Mak says

 

“You can’t argue with success Mak, Flesher and Matthews have cut a path through the SWF after they’ve returned” King counters.

 

The Grappler seems to be taking Matheson’s advice (and why shouldn’t he?) as he impatiently waits by the ropes for Bruce to get all the way back up after having the Shoulder breaker countered. The moment Bruce gets up Charlie Matthews runs at him, right hand clenched ready to Lariat the hell out of Bruce

 

DENIED!!

 

Instead of landing a giant lariat the Grappler finds himself thrown up in the air as Bruce ducks down and back drops his onrushing opponent to regain the momentum in the match. Not eager to repeat the Grappler’s mistake and wait for him to get back to his feet Bruce grabs Matthews with the right arm and pulls him back up, then he twists the arm around in a wristlock before dragging the helpless Matthews forward against his will.

 

*POW!!*

 

“What impact!” King yells out as Bruce knocks the Grappler down with a short arm clothesline.

 

“These two are the picture definition of high impact offence” Mak says as Bruce pulls the Grappler back to his feet.

 

“Well thank you JR, next you’ll call it a slobberknocker and then I’ll be forced to hurt you” the Suicide King says as they watch Bruce circle around the groggy Grappler.

 

After sneaking up on the Grappler from behind Bruce tries to hook both his arms under Matthews so that he can apply a Full Nelson on the challenger. The second Charlie Matthews feels Bruce’s arms reaching up from behind his hands shoot to the back of his neck, intercepting Bruce’s hands trying to prevent the International champion from getting the move fully locked in.

 

“So close” Mak says “And it doesn’t look like Bruce is ready to give up on the Full Nelson either”

 

“Considering Matthews’ well documented neck problems this is the perfect hold to apply – IF he can apply it” King adds.

 

Bruce’s left hand slips out of the Grappler’s and clamps onto the back of Matthews’ neck but his right hand is still being held off by Matthews as he struggles against the Full Nelson. In an attempt to shake Bruce off the Grappler lunges forward but Bruce manages to hold on to the Half Nelson causing both wrestlers to flip through the ropes to the floor.

 

ONE!!

 

With Bruce on top of him Matthews has a really hard time fighting off the Full Nelson but he’s never been one to give up and keeps trying to spin out of the hold while keeping Bruce’s right hand from reaching the other.

 

TWO!!

 

Bruce manages to lock his hands together, but only for a split second as the Grappler’s right arm shoots backwards and strikes Bruce in the head causing him to release the grip.

 

THREE!!

 

The second the Grappler is back on his feet Bruce tries to lock the Full Nelson on once more with the Grappler frantically trying to escape it

 

FOUR!!

 

In his eagerness to apply the Full Nelson Bruce trips and sends both men forward into the ringpost

 

*SMACK!*

 

FIVE!!

 

“Oh man they both hit that ringpost!” Mak says with a wince.

 

“This is bad Mak, this is really bad” King quickly adds

 

SIX!!

 

Bruce slumps over against the apron of the ring holding his head after having his brains scrambled. Charlie Matthews holds on to the ring post to keep himself from falling to the ground after making contact with the steel.

 

SEVEN!!

 

“I don’t want to jinx this but we may see a double count out”

 

“Ah great, thanks Mak now you’ve gone and done it” King replies angrily since neither he nor anyone else wants to see this match end in a double count out.

 

EIGHT!!

 

At eight Wayne comes to his brother’s aid and helps the International champion roll under the bottom rope into the ring.

 

BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!!

 

NINE!!

 

“No one wants to see this King!!”

 

And no one will either, as James Matheson follows Wayne’s example and helps Charlie Matthews get up on the apron and half way under the bottom rope to break the count before he is counted out.

 

“That was a little too close for comfort Mak” the Suicide King says while breathing a sigh of relief.

 

“Bruce would have retained on a double count out, but honestly NO ONE wants to see that”

 

“Well Bruce might not have minded, I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded winning by count out either – as long as he keeps the title” Says King

 

“You know I can believe that King. When he held the Hardcore title he couldn’t get counted out or get intentionally disqualified to keep the title but now he can” Mak deducts

 

“And that’s what’s most important to Bruce, to keep the title”

 

Both the Grappler and Blank have taken a couple of moments to regain their senses and regain their breath after taking a hard knock on the head, but now they’re both back on their feet, circling each other like a couple of tigers ready to pounce. Bruce raises his right hand in the air, wiggling his fingers as he invites Charlie Matthews to accept his challenge to a test of strength. Matthews looks at Bruce for a moment, hands on his hips looking like he’s thinking about accepting it, he looks at his manager who’s nodding in approval and pounding the mat to get the Grappler to show Bruce who’s the stronger man. Then he looks at Bruce, he looks at the arrogant smirk as Bruce holds a massive arm up in the air

 

“Go on, you know you want to” King says as if he’s trying to convince Charlie to take the challenge.

 

“I’m not so sure King, Bruce may be about the only guy in the federation stronger than him. . . well not counting Nemesis of course”

 

“And pretty soon I think we’ll ALL have to count Nemesis” King adds thinking of just how huge that colossus is.

 

Charlie Matthews seems to have finally made up his mind as he raises his left hand, fingers spread, slowly approaching Bruce’s hand, slowly interlocking fingers with his opponent. Then Matthews raises the other hand, causing Bruce to follow suit. The moment both hands are locked together the two combatants flex their muscles and try to power the other one down.

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRHHHAAAA!!”

 

It’s not clear which of the two let out the guttural roar as the two clash chest to chest arms out to the sides as they strain against each other. They back up and then once more clash in the middle of the ring hairy chest to t-shirt as they pour every ounce of strength they have into this test of strength. Their knuckles go white, their skin red as they both struggle against the power of their opponent. Slowly, ever so slowly they raise their arms up in the air, still locked together it becomes apparent that Bruce is about to gain the advantage as he gets the Grappler’s hands bent backwards

 

“No, no, no, no!!” Matheson yells as he pounds on the canvas “He’s cheating referee!!”

 

Except for once Bruce isn’t cheating, it’s a rarity but it does happen and right now he’s playing it by the book as he forces the Grappler’s hands down, locking the wrists, putting the pressure on his opponent’s hands.

 

“Bruce has the slightest of power advantages, but once you get the upper hand it’s easier to control” Mak says regaling everyone with his expertise on the good old test of strength.

 

“And it’s hard to come back from” King barely manages to get out before

 

*THUD!!*

 

Charlie Matthews head butts Bruce in the chest and then drives a knee into Bruce’s ample mid section to give himself the advantage over his opponent. Now Matthews is in charge, now HE has Bruce’s hands locked back, forcing his opponent down, making him kneel down on one knee before him.

 

“YES!! That’s it champ! I knew you were the stronger man, you’re an ox! You’re a total ox!!” Matheson yells out after his mood turned from frustrated to elated quicker than you can spell it out.

 

The Grappler uses all his power and the leverage advantage he got by kneeing Bruce in the midsection to force Bruce’s hands down on the ground, releasing them a split second before he stomps on both hands with his right foot. Grappler grins and raises both hands in the air like he won something while Bruce is on the canvas in agony. The big man turns around just in time to see Bruce roll under the bottom rope, to the floor where his younger brother quickly rushes over to see if he can help Bruce.

 

ONE!!

 

“Ah I see the problem, Bruce’s blood alcohol levels are just too low tonight” King jokes as Bruce grabs the bottle of tequila from Wayne’s hand and then has a drink from it.

 

TWO!!

 

“I seriously think that the SWF needs a wellness program” Mak says without a hint of jocularity in his voice.

 

THREE!!

“Are you serious? We’d all be jobbing to our kidneys by now”

 

FOUR!!

 

After handing the bottle back to Wayne Bruce begins to pace back and forth on the floor trying to work out a plan, trying to find a way to get back in control of the match

 

FIVE!!

 

James Matheson looks at Matthew Kivell with a worried expression on his face, each time Matthew raises another finger in the air he gets more and more desperate.

 

SIX!!

 

When the count hits six and Bruce still doesn’t look like he’s ready to go back inside the ring James Matheson takes matters into his own hands as he walks up to Bruce from behind and smacks the big man on the shoulder. Now Matheson isn’t really a strong guy so the smack doesn’t do much damage to Bruce it just gets his attention instead as the big man turns around and looks at him.

 

SEVEN!!

 

“He just flipped off Bruce? Does he have a desire to see his teeth on the ground or something?” the Suicide King wonders as Bruce begins to chase after James Matheson who’s running for his life.

 

EIGHT!!

 

“He’s lost it, he’s finally lost it King”

 

NINE!!

 

Matheson slides under the bottom rope and then crawls through the ring hoping to get out of Bruce’s way, the big man quickly follows the manager into the ring, breaking the count at nine. Bruce breaks the count and then

 

RUNS RIGHT INTO A CLUBBERING LARIAT!!!

 

*POW!!*

 

“Man alive! He just blindsided Bruce” King yells out as the Grappler’s lariat almost takes Bruce’s head off in the process.

 

“He fell for Matheson’s ploy, literally”

 

The Grappler is quick to cover the International champion hoping to take advantage of the surprise move on Bruce

 

ONE!!

 

 

 

 

TWOO!!!

 

 

 

 

 

THR-NO!!

 

Wayne reaches into the ring and pulls Bruce’s foot up on the bottom rope only moments before Matthew Kivell can count to three thus saving his big brother’s bacon. While James Matheson is besides himself and about to have a heart attack over Wayne’s actions the Grappler seems to be taking it more in his stride, not letting the frustration get the better of him inside the squared circle. Matthews picks Bruce up and then plants the champion with a body slam.

 

*BAM!*

 

“That’s almost 300 pounds and he threw it around like it wasn’t that big a deal!” Mak marvels.

 

Charlie Matthews just stands there and looks at Bruce for a moment before he figures out what to do. He flips Bruce over onto his stomach, then he lifts Bruce up by the arms and locks the Camel Clutch in.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING!! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING!!

 

But the fans boredom is quickly alleviated as Wayne once again saves his brother by pulling his leg up on the bottom rope. Matthew Kivell informs Charlie Matthews that he’ll have to break the hold but the Grappler pretends to not be able to hear what he’s saying over the roar of the crowd.

 

That’s not really roaring right now wink.gif

 

ONE!!

 

The Grappler just keeps the hold locked in, pulling back on Bruce’s chin as much as he can.

 

TWO!!

 

Wayne is jumping up and down on the floor pointing feverishly to Bruce’s foot even though Matthew Kivell has already seen it.

 

THREE!!

 

James Matheson on the other hand seems to be more appreciative of the Grappler’s tactics and nods in agreement as the big man keeps the hold on.

 

FOUR!!

 

At four the Grappler casually drops the hold and lets Bruce flop to the floor as he walks away from his opponent, he can’t win the title on a disqualification and he’s well aware of it. After walking around the ring for a moment or two to underline his total innocence Matthews goes back on the offensive once more.

 

“The Grappler likes to keep a slow deliberate pace, not a wasted move, not a wasted gesture” says the Suicide King.

 

“Not a wasted hair pull” Mak adds as Matthews pulls Bruce up to his knees by grabbing two handfuls of hair.

 

The second Bruce gets to his knees he fires off an elbow to The Grappler’s midsection and then a second one as he tries to fight his opponent off so that he can get a moment to recover. But a moment is all he gets as Charlie Matthews counters with a forearm smash to Bruce’s back before taking half a step back to add a little more momentum and impact to the knee that Matthews drives into the side of Bruce’s head.

 

“Get that weasel off the apron!” Mak yells out as Wayne Blank jumps up on the edge of the ring and begins to complain loudly about some perceived injustice.

 

Grappler turns around and grabs Wayne by the shirt, right hand pulled back so that he can smack the annoying little rat. When the Grappler turned around he took his eyes off Bruce, something which the champion takes advantage off by rushing his opponent ready to hit him from behind.

 

GRAPPLER MOVES!!

 

Instead of hitting Charlie Matthews Bruce strikes his brother with full force, clotheslining the younger Blank brother off the apron much to the delight of the crowd. Before the shock of what he’s done can subside Bruce finds himself rolled up from behind as Charlie Matthews gets Bruce in a pinning predicament after a good old fashioned School Boy.

 

ONE!!

 

 

 

 

TWOO!!!

 

 

 

 

THR-NO!!

 

“He had the International title in his grasps!! Matheson was literally on his way over here to get the belt!” Mak says as Bruce kicks out at the last second.

 

“You talk like it’s all over for the Grappler Mak” King complains.

 

Grappler reasserts his control over Bruce Blank by punching the champion with a stinging right the moment he gets back to his feet, driving Bruce into the corner with 2 well placed fists to the jaw. With a hand on each side of Bruce Charlie Matthews rams his wide shoulder into Bruce’s ample mid section with a shoulder thrust, then follows up with a second one.

 

“THAT CHEATING BASTARD!” Mak yells out as Wayne reaches out from his position behind the ring post and pokes the Grappler in the eye as the big man thrusts forward again.

 

“Cheating? What? Huh?” King says totally unaware of any rule breaking “I mean did the always alert and always attentive Kivell see anything?” King asks knowing full well that both Bruce’s and Charlie’s bodies blocked the referee’s view of what happened.

 

“Well”

 

“Exactly, it’s only cheating if you get caught”

 

The finger to the eye causes Charlie Matthews to back off while holding a hand over his eye trying to get his vision back. Bruce quickly runs the 3 or so steps between them and hits Matthews in the chest with a clothesline, it’s hard enough to stagger the big man but Bruce just didn’t have enough of a running start to knock Matthews down.

 

“It’s like watching two bulls clash, neither is ready to back down from the fight!” Mak says drawing once more on the cliché machine.

 

“That’s what makes this so intense Mak, you can feel both of them just going for broke here” King says “You want hard hitting action? There it is right in front of you!”

 

The King of Pain picks up the staggered Charlie Matthews and then places him on the top turnbuckle, sitting down with his feet on the middle rope. When Matthews tries to move Bruce strikes the big man in the midsection with a back elbow that drives the air out of the Grappler.

 

“What the heck does he have in mind now?” Mak questions since Bruce hardly ever uses the turnbuckles.

 

Bruce’s plan is quickly revealed as he lifts the Grappler off the top rope and holds him in a gorilla press position, now all he has to do is extend his arms to execute the move.

 

“He took the first heavy lift out of the move! Maybe now he’ll actually be able to lift the Grappler up in the air!” King blurts out.

 

Last time Bruce tried to Gorilla press his opponent it was too early in the match but now the timing seems to be perfect as Bruce slowly but surely manages to extend both his arms raising the 306 pound Charlie Matthews over his head in an awesome display of power that momentarily silences even the most rabid Bruce hater.

 

He even holds him there for just a second before throwing the Grappler forward, slamming him to the ground with a loud thud!

 

“Bruce’s power is . . . damn!” Mak says as he is at a loss for words right now.

 

The International champion grabs the Grappler by the hair and manages to pull him up to his knees, but Matthews is sagging, not willing to get back to his feet as he leans forward against Bruce’s legs looking like he’s out cold. The Grappler’s manager looks a bit worried, so worried in fact that he gets up on the apron and starts to yell to Charlie to get an idea of how he’s doing, but being on the apron is a major no-no for a manager which Kivell naturally turns to tell him.

 

*BAM!!*

 

“You dirty bastard!” Mak yells out as Charlie Matthews took the opportunity to land a low blow on his opponent while the referee is distracted.

 

“I’m sure it was an accident, Matthews was probably just trying to look at his wrist watch to find out what time it is”

 

“He’s not wearing a wrist watch!!”

 

“Ah now you’re just splitting hairs.”

 

After the low blow Charlie Matthews takes control of the match with a couple of swifts, sharp fists to the jaw and then a headbutt that knocks Bruce back in the ring ropes. Moments later Bruce finds himself whipped across the ring with an Irish whip from the challenger but in a break from tradition Bruce doesn’t just bounce back off the ropes, instead he hooks the top rope with his right arm to break his momentum. Then as the Grappler comes at him he steps through the ropes to the floor with a frustrated look on his face

 

ONE!!

 

The Grappler holds back, knowing that he’ll only run the risk of a double count out if he follows Bruce to the floor.

 

TWO!!

 

The two Blank brothers seems to be discussing something, laying a strategy maybe as the crowd boos loudly

 

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

 

THREE!!

 

After conferring for a moment or two Bruce walks over to the time keeper’s table where he grabs the International title belt and then heads for the exit.

 

FOUR!!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

“Where the hell is he going?” King asks as Bruce angrily makes a sorta “forget this” motion towards the ring

 

FIVE!!

 

“No, no, no, no not like this, not like this!” Mak moans as it becomes apparent that Bruce is trying to get counted out.

 

SIX!!

 

James Matheson complains to Matthew Kivell, begging and pleading with him to do something before Charlie Matthews’ golden opportunity walks out the door.

 

SEVEN!!

 

Kivell stops the count at seven then he turns around and tells Funyon something.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen head referee Matthew Kivell has informed me that if Bruce Blank does not return to the ring before the 10 count he will forfeit the title!!”

 

While Kivell didn’t take the bribe before the match and resents Matheson for even trying something that underhanded he’s not about to let Bruce walk out of there with the second richest prize in wrestling.

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!

 

Bruce’s face turns completely pale as he sees Matthew Kivell raise eight fingers in the air.

 

EIGHT!!

 

Bruce runs as fast as he can with Wayne racing ahead of him down the aisle back towards the ring hoping to make it back inside the ring before the fateful ten count

 

NINE!!

 

Wayne leaps up on the apron a couple of steps ahead of his brother yells out that Bruce is here, stop counting.

 

TE-

 

Bruce manages to slide under the bottom rope just before Kivell reaches ten. Unfortunately for Bruce the Grappler is on him the second he enters the ring, kicking the champion in the back before pulling the big man up to his feet again where he locks on a front headlock. But this isn’t another one of the Grappler’s rest holds, instead he drapes Bruce’s right arm over his neck and then grabs hold of Bruce’s jeans.

 

With a wide stance and by using all the power available to him the Grappler suplexes the 295 pound Bruce Blank with force~!

 

*BAM!!*

 

After hitting the suplex Charlie Matthews goes for broke as he pulls Bruce back to his feet and then goes for the Bear Hug.

 

“Well I’m off for a cup of coffee” Mak quips as Charlie Matthews wraps his arms around Bruce’s ribcage and then manages to lock his hand behind Bruce’s back, since Bruce is so wide Charlie isn’t able to grab his wrist like he usually does but has to be content with locking his hands together as he squeezes with every ounce of power in his body.

 

“Don’t look away, something is going to happen any minute now” King admonishes Mak.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING!”

 

“Any minute now” King repeats almost as if he’s trying to convince himself.

 

The Grappler squeezes tighter each time Bruce takes a breath, constricting the chest, slowing pushing Bruce into a state of oxygen deprivation. The strain of holding on to the big man as he tries to break free of the hold is obvious as Matthews face is all red and he’s sweating profusely from the strain but he’s not about to give up

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING!”

 

“Yep any minute now something. . . anything will happen” King mumbles

 

Bruce lifts his hands into the air, no doubt looking to go for another ear ringer but is interrupted when Grappler uses his grip on Bruce to lift the big man up in the air and then throws him down with a Spine Buster. Grappler quickly covers the big man hoping to take the International title by a surprise cover.

 

 

ONE!!

 

 

 

 

TWOO!!!

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

 

The referee stops counting as he sees Bruce’s foot on the rope. Charlie Matthews gets to his feet, massive arms raised in the air, thinking that he’s won the match – a misconception that Matthew Kivell clears up by pointing to Bruce’s foot that’s still draped over the bottom rope. Matheson yells to Matthews that he needs to get his head back in the game and keep on attacking.

 

“You can tell Matheson is feeling the pressure tonight, he wants the Grappler to bring home the International title this time”

 

“You say that like the Grappler doesn’t want that Mak, I happen to know that Charlie Matthews would like nothing more than to win the title tonight” Says King

 

“Except winning the World title”

 

“Well obvious you moron!” King fires back.

 

With Bruce still on the ground Charlie Matthews takes the easiest way out possible and drops a massive elbow to Bruce’s sternum, then another one and finally a third one to complete the trifecta of elbow drops each designed to drive the air out of Bruce’s lungs. Matheson looks happier and more confident now as he struts around outside the ring singing the praise of the Grappler, meanwhile the Grappler demonstrates that he’s very finely tuned in to what the fans want to see inside the squared circle as he locks on a dreaded rear chin lock

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING!”

 

“Oh will you come off it!” King says annoyed with the fans resorting to the boring that this quickly.

 

“It’s hardly a scintillating move though is it?” Mak points out trying to defends the audience.

 

“Yeah but it’s VICIOUS! Flash moves is for the Cruiserweight division – this is the International championship we’re talking about, it’s about being effective not being flash”

 

“You’ve just described Charlie Matthews to a T”

 

Matthews has dropped to one knee while pulling back on Bruce’s jaw driving his knee into the back and the neck of the International champion demonstrating just how total his control is at this point in the match. The Redneck Superman tries his best to pry Charlie’s hands off his jaw but the Grappler has the leverage advantage so it’s not that easy. On the outside of the ring Wayne starts to bang on the canvas while chanting for Bruce, probably hoping to get the crowd behind Bruce so that he can break out of the hold.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING!”

 

“Silly Wayne don’t you know that only works if the audience likes the guy? I mean who here actually LIKES Bruce?” Mak says pointing out the futility of trying to rally the crowd behind Bruce Blank.

 

After holding the rear chin lock on for what feels like forever but is probably just around a minute Charlie Matthews releases the hold, gets back up on his feet and then stomps Bruce right across the back with his size 17 foot. If The Grappler was a charismatic man he’d probably throw the crowd some sort of signal to show that he’s going for his finisher but as it is he just drags Bruce back to his feet and then quickly traps Bruce in the vice like Bear Hug

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING!”

 

“Again?”

 

“If it works Mak, use it”

 

“Yeah but it hasn’t worked so far” Mak replies pointing out the flaw in his logic.

 

“Hasn’t it? It’s worn Bruce down, I think he’s about done in – and The Grappler has beaten bigger men than Bruce with the bear hug” King says sweeping any and all suggestions that he could be wrong off the table.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING!”

 

The Grappler has his hands locked tightly together, squeezing Bruce so hard that if you took his t-shirt off right now you’d see a deep red mark all the way around his ribcage. First the champion tries to headbutt Charlie but the Grappler expertly moves his head out of striking distance and then gives the Bear Hug such a hard tug that Bruce forgets all about head butting his opponent

 

Every squeeze he makes he prevents Bruce from breathing, every second he holds it on he deprives Bruce’s lungs of even more oxygen.

 

Even a big man like Bruce eventually falls prey to that, with Bruce that moment has come as his arms sink down and Bruce’s head drops forward onto Charlie Matthews shoulder.

 

“You’ve got him champ! Keep it up, keep it up!” James Matheson yells excitedly feeling the International title coming their way.

 

“Will the Grappler stop Bruce’s run with the title after only 6 days?” Mak asks rhetorically.

 

Referee Matthew Kivell raises one of Bruce’s massive arms up in the air before releasing it – it drops down without any signs of Bruce struggling against it.

 

ONE!!

 

Then he raises the hand a second time and for the second time in a row it drops.

 

TWO!!

 

Matheson runs over and takes the International title off the time keeper’s desk as the referee raises Bruce’s hand in the air for the third time, then he releases it

 

And it drops

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSS!!” James Matheson yells out as he races into the ring with the International title in tow.

 

Matthew Kivell taps the Grappler on the shoulder to get him to let go of the Bear Hug, which Matthews does without protest and then turns towards his manager just in time to catch his manager jump into his arms holding the International title up in the air.

 

“I don’t believe it! We’ve got a new champion!” Mak yells out getting swept up in the excitement.

 

“Hold your horses Mak, Kivell seems to disagree” King says as Matthew Kivell takes the title belt from the Grappler.

 

Kivell tries to explain something to the Grappler, indicating that he’s not the champion, in fact the match isn’t over yet at all. Both Matheson and Matthews question the head referee who explains matters quickly by indicating that Bruce’s hand dropped on the top rope on the last attempt.

 

“WHAT? That’s ridiculous!”

 

“King we’ve got a replay lined up here, let’s have a quick look at what Kivell is talking about.” Mak says as they go to a split screen with the live shot on the left and the instant replay on the right.

 

+=+=+=+=+=+ Instant replay +=+=+=+=+=+

 

The replay clearly shows that Bruce Blank’s hand landed on the top rope when Kivell released it for the third time, thus causing a rope break instead of a submission victory.

 

+=+=+=+=+=+ End Instant replay +=+=+=+=+=+

 

“I’ll be damned, Bruce held on to that one by the skin of his teeth” King says

 

“By the film of his teeth probably” Mak adds giving into the temptation to riff on Bruce.

 

Kivell hands the belt off to the time keeper and then makes James Matheson leave the ring, the match is still officially under way after all. The talking and wondering has given Blank enough time to regain his senses enough to exit the ring.

 

“This is getting ridiculous Bruce is on the floor AGAIN!” Mak complains as Bruce rolls to the floor once more hoping to catch his breath after being locked in the Bear Hug for an extended period of time.

 

ONE!!

 

“What are you talking about? He’s toying with the Grappler” King says.

 

TWO!!

 

“You mean like the nerds toy with the school yard bullies by giving them money?”

 

THREE!!

 

Bruce grabs the tequila bottle from Wayne and takes a long drink from it as Charlie Matthews follows Bruce to the floor tired of waiting each time Bruce takes to the floor. The moment the Grappler leaves the ring James Matheson gets up on the apron to distract referee Matthew Kivell, breaking the count and allowing his man a free shot at Bruce. Matthews grabs Bruce by the shirt and spins him around ready to lay in a massive right hand.

 

*FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSHHH!!*

 

“TEQUILA MIST!!”

 

The Grappler is blinded by a fine mist of tequila mixed with Bruce’s spit in the eyes trying his best to wipe the alcohol from his eyes as he staggers around. Bruce throws the tequila bottle over his shoulder causing Wayne to leap to catch it before it hits the ground. With Matheson still distracting the referee Bruce snatches the International title off the time keepers table and strikes Charlie Matthews over the back of the head with it

 

*CRACK!!*

 

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

 

Grappler drops to his knees, his hands holding his head and neck as he screams in agony from the belt shot. It’s not until the Grappler yells out in pain that Matheson realizes that he’s miscalculated and actually allowed Bruce an opportunity to cheat.

 

“That bastard! That cold, sadistic bastard he tried to re-injure Matthews neck!” Mak says outraged over the blatant attempt at crippling an opponent.

 

“What are you talking about? He hit him with a fist” King says totally ignoring the fact that the fist was wrapped in the International title.

 

When Matthew Kivell turns around Bruce holds his hands up in the air looking as innocent as a little lamb while the Grappler is on the floor holding his neck fearing that his neck has been injured again. When the referee starts to count Bruce grabs Matthews by the trunks and the hair and tosses him back inside the squared circle.

 

“See he’s a fair man, he wants this to end in the ring” King says

 

“Yeah we saw that earlier when he tried to walk out on the match!”

 

Bruce slides under the bottom rope, gets to his feet and then slowly drags his thumb across his throat to indicate that he’s ready to put the match to bed. The Grappler is in no position to properly defend himself as Bruce lifts him up in the air, placing him over his shoulder.

 

WHITEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

 

“No, no, no don’t do it Bruce, Don’t do it!!” Mak yells out as Bruce takes a step forward

 

One step is all Bruce takes though, he’s just not able to run with the big man over his shoulder, not after such a long and hard fought match. After the single step Bruce falls to his knees almost in exhaustion dropping the Grappler into a tombstone

 

*CRACK!*

 

Bruce slumps forward on top of Charlie Matthews after barely pulling off the Broken Dream

 

ONE!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOO!!!

 

 

 

 

 

THREEE!!!!

 

* DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

It takes a moment or two after the three count is made before it actually registers with Bruce and he pushes off the canvas while Funyon makes the announcement.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen the winner of the match and STILL INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!!!”

 

Bruce looks half way out of it as he waves for Wayne to enter the ring, getting his younger brother to join him in his celebrations. After catching his breath for a moment Bruce takes the fake bushy moustache from Wayne and then bends over putting it on Charlie Matthews upper lip.

 

“There!” *gasps for air* “Come on people – USA!! USA!! USA!!” Bruce chants without much of a reaction from the crowd at the Gund Arena.

 

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

 

“The Grappler is just as American as Bruce is!”

 

“SHHHHHHHHHHH!! That’ll be our little secret” the Suicide King whispers with a grin.

 

After chanting “USA” a few more times Bruce gives the microphone back to Funyon and then exits the ring, heading over to the time keepers table to get his belt.

 

“I really thought we had seen the end of those damn belt shots after Jay Hawke was dethroned” Mak says as Bruce passes by the announcing table.

 

Bruce is close enough to actually hear what Mak just said and it doesn’t sit well with him at all, in fact it pisses him off so much that he reaches over the announcers table and grabs Mak Francis by the shirt and then drags him out of his wheelchair and half way across the table.

 

“Don’t you ever mention that name again in my presence, NEVER!!” Bruce yells out as he gets up in Mak’s face “This isn’t about the past, this is about the current champion, it’s about Bruce! Not some guy that used to hold the title, some guy that used to matter!”

 

After the tirade Bruce pushes Mak back in the wheelchair and then stomps off with the International title in hand.

 

“Wow you sure showed him Mak” King says with a sarcastic grin.

 

FADE

[chirs3 0]

We cut backstage where Bruce Blank is in his locker room, slumped back against the wall still exhausted from the hard hitting war he had with Charlie Matthews not that long ago. He’s not even changed his clothes yet as he just sits there, sweaty and exhausted but still in a great mood since the International title is still in his possession.

 

“I told you” he says to no one in particular just venting his insecurities at all those that continually predict his downfall.

 

*Knock*Knock*

 

The knock on the door is followed by Joseph Peters entering the room without waiting for Bruce to reply

 

“Can I have a little privacy! I could have been naked or something here!” Bruce complains as the head of the SWF barges in.

 

“Trust me when I say that no one wants to see that” Peters says with a deadpan expression before sitting down across the table from Bruce.

 

“You come to congratulate me on keeping the title Joey?” Bruce says with a grin, feeling pretty confident right now. And why shouldn’t he? He’s on top of the world after all.

 

“Yeah congratulations. . . now we have a problem” Peters says

 

“Who has a problem?”

 

“We do Bruce, you and me” Peters elaborates.

 

“I got the title, I got what I want – I don’t see the problem at all” the champ replies while putting his hands behind his neck, leaning back to get comfortable.

 

“I got an image problem and therefore YOU’VE got an image problem” Peters says and then quickly follows up on that statement before Bruce can ask any other questions “You’re the International champion now! You’ve got standards to uphold, you represent the SWF!”

 

“So? I did the same thing as the Ultraviolent champion yet you ain’t never said boo”

 

“Well no, but the Hardcore title has a certain. . . image that you pulled off well. The International title thought is a whole different beast, it’s a new level for you Bruce and I need to know that you’ll appear in a manner becoming of the title”

 

“A manner bec. . . “ Bruce starts off looking totally confused.

 

“You’re the number 2 man in the federation, you’ll be asked to do publicity appearances and everything.”

 

“So?”

 

“So you look like a cow crapped you out!” Peters says with frustration clearly visible on his face.

 

“Now wait a minute!” Bruce says slamming his hands down on the table “A cow has only ever crapped on me once alright?”

 

“It was a figure of speech Bruce. But this can’t go on, we have to do something about your image” Peters says with a solemn voice.

 

“What happened to all that “Just go out there and be yourself” talk that I was served up when I joined? I’ve been alright until now, ain’t had no complaints!”

 

“Well now you’re the International champion” Peters says and then takes a deep breath “Look it’s quite simple, you HAVE to give off a certain appearance now that you’ve gone mainstream with the title, all champions of that level are forced to make concessions if they don’t fit the image”

 

“Forced?”

 

“Contractually I’m afraid Bruce” Peters says and pulls out the contract Bruce signed for the International Title tournament “It’s in here, I could fire you if you don’t go along with the “creative decisions” of the company” he says and points to the particular paragraph.

 

“You’re bluffing” Bruce says with a bit of uncertainty in his voice “I mean Aecas didn’t exactly fit the image now did he”

 

“No he did not. . . and he did not listen either” Peters reluctantly admits.

 

“So why should I?” Bruce replies with a self-satisfied grin.

 

“Where is Aecas now?” Peters asks

 

. . .

 

“Are you saying that he was fired for not doing this?” Bruce asks

 

“I’m not saying anything, I’m asking you where he is” Peters says with a stone face, not giving off a hint of deception.

 

“It’s a bluff” Bruce says

 

“Then call it, worst that can happen is that you lose that title and your paycheck.” Peters replies and gets up to leave.

 

“Alright, alright it can’t hurt to listen to your suggestions” Bruce concedes, he wants to keep the International title and his job after all.

 

“I’ve hired an image consultant to help you out” Peters says and makes a motion for someone outside the locker room to come in.

 

“Image consultant? What the hell” Bruce says as he stands up and stares down at a skinny, pale man wearing an immaculate dark brown three piece suit with a bright red handkerchief tied around his neck and his hair looking neatly groomed.

 

“Bruce this is St. John Smith” Peters says pointing to the image consultant.

 

“Sinjin? Is he some sort of Indian or something?”

 

“He’s from England Bruce”

 

“’Scuse me” St. John interjects with a slightly “bitchy” attitude “I don’t believe it’s nice to talk about someone like they’re not here”

 

“You can’t be serious Peters!” Bruce says as the skinny man eyes Bruce making various disgusted faces, especially when he gets a whiff of Bruce’s pit stains

 

“Oh dear mother of pearl!!” St. John says while trying not to gag “We’ve got a lot of work to do”

 

“I’m serious Bruce, just give it a chance” Peters says before he leaves the room, leaving Bruce alone with the probably homosexual image consultant who’s busy spraying Bruce down with a bit of emergency eau de toilette that he always keeps on him.

 

“Don’t you worry poppet we’ll soon have you looking the business. Now how are you for colors? I can see you in some strong earth tones maybe?”

 

“What?”

 

“No you’re right, it’s just not right for wrestling is it? Never mind we’ll work on it” St. John carries on like Bruce didn’t say anything, just speaking out loud about what he has in mind “Manicure definitely, oh and that hair – GOT to go” he says as he eyes Bruce’s mullet.

 

“Now wait a minute”

 

“Don’t worry big boy, we’ll take it nice and slow. Oh and someone needs to waaaaaaaaaaaa-ax” St. John adds in a sing-song voice as he sees Bruce’s hairy knuckles.

 

“Just shoot me now” is the last thing we hear from Bruce as we fade out.

[chirs3 0]

Flesher vs. Grendel to be edited in.

[chirs3 0]

Cross vs. Zyon is about to go on, but the cameras all exploded! WATCH AFTERSHOXX TO SEE WHAT HAPPENED!

[chirs3 0]

As Ground Zero’s theme music 'Warpigs' continues to roll around the Gund Arena the Smarktron suddenly changes, throwing up a new graphic. On one side of the screen is a hard-faced young man with dark, curly hair and wearing a red-and-white track jacket. He folds his arms and glares at the camera as writing flashes up underneath him.

 

‘JJ JOHNSON’

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

On the other side of the screen is another young man, although a rather paler one. His straight, blue-black hair hangs in curtains down to his chin and frames a face with steel-grey eyes and thin, faint scars that catch the light as he cracks his neck from side to side. Over his shoulder is a familiar heavy gold belt.

 

‘MICHAEL STEPHENS’

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

The same belt that currently rests over Stephens’ shoulder now flashes up, momentarily obscuring the two men before receding to take its place on the screen below them and exactly equidistant from them both.

 

‘SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT TITLE’

 

“Well SWF fans, it’s time for our main event,” Mak Francis says, “we’ve had an evening of top-quality action and entertainment so far, but now it’s time to kick things up another notch as two of our most respected competitors do battle for the greatest prize in the business today.”

 

“Most respected by you perhaps,” the Suicide King snorts, “personally I view it as a travesty that Tom isn’t wrestling for this title.”

 

“First of all King, you’re starting to sound a little like Bobby Riley,” the Franchise informs his commentary partner, “and secondly, you know as well as I do that Tom Flesher is perfectly capable of getting into the main event as and when he chooses to. I may have had some issues with my old friend’s conduct over recent weeks and months, but I won’t deny that he is still as great a wrestler as he ever was.”

 

“It’s the new style,” King laments, “schooling people on the mat is all very well, and perfectly justifiable, but Peters wouldn’t know a wristlock from a wristwatch. To impress the top brass I think Tom really needs to start head-dropping some bitches again.”

 

‘I do that rather well…’

 

“Here we go,” Mak says, looking around as Lord Worm’s voice comes over the PA system.

 

‘…don’t you think?’

 

…and Cryptopsy’s ‘Crown of Horns’ suddenly rages through the arena, all screaming vocals, brutal guitars and jagged drums. Most of the crowd start booing, although a few openly display their admiration for a man who while hard to like is easy to respect (if you know what’s good for you). The man who appears at the top of the entrance ramp doesn’t really seem to give a damn what anyone thinks of him; he pauses for a moment to look at the ring, then starts striding down towards it without looking right or left.

 

“This is JJ Johnson’s fourth attempt at scaling the mountain and winning the World Title,” Mak Francis reminds viewers, “he came up short twice against El Luchadore Magnifico after some rather questionable tactics on the World Champion’s part-”

 

“Oh come on, as if anyone would have been able to beat Magnifico,” King snorts, “Johnson’s good, but he’s not on Magnifico’s level.”

 

“-you may believe that, but I’d beg to differ,” Francis replies. “Magnifico was so worried about Johnson that he even hired TKO to protect himself from the Canadian, and had to use a chair to beat Johnson in their second meeting. Then of course Johnson faced off against former stablemate Landon Maddix for the vacant World Title after Wes Davenport left the SWF and came within touching distance of the belt, but Landon just edged him out.”

 

“Now that one I will give you,” King nods, “complete fluke. Johnson should have had him.”

 

“We know that Michael Stephens has said that he doesn’t expect those defeats to give Johnson anything except a greater desire to win,” Mak Francis continues as the Canadian starts to mount the ring steps, “but King, I have to ask; more so than the memories of his former failures, would you agree that is perhaps Johnson’s most recent loss to Va’aiga, the Maori Badass, that could hinder him tonight?”

 

“OK, so Va’aiga put him out of action for a bit,” the Suicide King replies, “but if Johnson could come within an inch of beating someone that much bigger and stronger I don’t think he’ll have any problem kicking Toxxic around tonight.”

 

“I was more referring to the injury the Va’aiga left him with,” Francis explains, “as the Va’aiga Stinger left Johnson requiring some minor surgery. This is the first time he’s been properly cleared to wrestle, and I know from personal experience with my knee that once you’ve had an injury of that sort it isn’t just a physical weakness; it’s a psychological one. Johnson isn’t a Flesher who plays a low-risk, high-percentage game; he’ll hit you with everything he has from the word go, but that means he can sometimes leave himself open. He’s tough enough that normally it won’t matter, but not only will he have to consider a possible weakness he hasn’t had before, but he’s going up against Michael Stephens who bases his entire gameplan around his opponent’s neck and head. So I put it to you King; in this situation, does Johnson go for his normal balls-to-the-wall approach and hope he can take anything Stephens dishes out in return, or does he, in the biggest match of his career, try and wrestle a new style that he’s not familiar with?”

 

“To be honest Mak, that’s a question that only Johnson can answer,” the Suicide King responds, “but I have a lot of confidence in him. He’s still the longest-reigning Cruiserweight Champion of all time, he’s tough as nails, punches above his weight and while his game will never be complete for as long as he doesn’t cheat, he also doesn’t go in for remorse or compassion. After taking the belt from Toxxic tonight, I think he’ll prove a worthy opponent for Flesher when Tom wins the World Title for the third time.”

 

JJ Johnson is in the ring now and has stripped his track jacket off. The Canadian raises both arms, although it seems more for his own benefit than in any interest of the crowd’s reaction. He tries a couple of practice kicks and it seems that Johnson is ready for anything. Which is just as well, because someone’s coming to test that theory:

 

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

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

 

The lights all hit full and the Smarktron whites out as the raucous, rolling chant is suddenly drowned out by the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire. The Smarktron starts to fade down to black again, and as it does so jagged white letters flash up a familiar phrase one word at a time, almost as if it was a response to the Suicide King’s last statement:

 

‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

The crowd rise to their feet as the Smarktron starts flashing up clips from matches; the All-Show Brawl with the Insane Luchador in Philly; the infamous Glass Jawbreaker on Aecas; a Caffeine Bomb on Nathaniel Kibagami; bringing Landon Maddix down with the RTF II. As the song starts to build the shots change once more, to Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the-

 

*BOOOM!*

 

-blast of red pyro that signals the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman as the main riff thunders out! And through the flame and smoke…

 

“TOXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

…with the World Title strapped around his waist, over the top of his customised England soccer shirt…

 

“TOXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

…head down, black hair hanging down over his face and his eyes hidden in shadow…

 

“TOXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

…comes the man once known as Toxxic.

 

“He’s had more wins in World Title matches than anyone else on the roster,” Mak Francis says, “and that includes Tom Flesher. He was the first SWF wrestler to come into the company after the SJL folded, and he was the first non-SJLer to win the World Title. He holds singles wins over SWF legends like Tom Flesher, Danny Williams, El Luchadore Magnifico, Sacred and Nathaniel Kibagami, and history suggests that on the right day he’s nigh-on unbeatable… BUT tonight Michael Stephens faces a man who has the potential to outgun him in so many different areas, a man who has a hunger for the title like few others we’ve seen, and perhaps most importantly a man who travelled and teamed with him for several months. It remains to be seen whether JJ Johnson’s time in Revolution Zero will give him the insight to beat this new, more conservative Michael Stephens, but in my book he has a good a chance as anyone else in this company at the moment.”

 

“Even Tom?” King snorts in disbelief.

 

“Even Tom,” Mak Francis repeats stubbornly. “Tom isn’t used to facing someone who’s beaten him one-on-one without a victory of his own to balance it out. To be honest King, I’m not sure how his ego would handle it. Johnson’s never faced Stephens in any form of match, so they’re both working from a blank slate.”

 

Michael Stephens has paused at the bottom of the ramp. He crosses his arms for a second in the straight-edge ‘X’ sign, then immediately throws them wide into his trademark crucifix position with the palms flat to the floor; as he does so the ringposts erupt with more red pyro, and the first verse kicks in!

 

*BOOOM!*

 

‘I never thought this could be me

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

Like all the fun turned into shame

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

 

Johnson doesn’t blink as the fireworks go off around him, and Stephens rolls into the ring before getting back to his feet and unbuckling the World Title. Matthew Kivell takes it from him and the World Champion strips off his England shirt before wadding it up and hurling it into the crowd, where two heavily-eylinered girls in the second row start fighting over it. Funyon advances from his corner and raises his microphone to begin proceedings…

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest will be presided over by SWF Head Referee Matthew Kivell. It is the main event of the evening, and is for the SWF WORLD… HEAVYWEIGHT… CHAMPIONSHIP!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Introducing first, in the corner to my left,” the veteran ring announcer continues, “from Windsor, Ontario, Canada, he stands at six feet one inches tall and weighed in earlier today at 228lbs; he is still the longest-reigning SWF Cruiserweight Champion of all time, this is JAY… JAY… JOHNSON!!”

 

Johnson gives a slight nod as if to confirm his identity, but otherwise doesn’t remove his gaze from the man standing across the ring from him; former team-mate and associate, if not friend, but for tonight nothing more than an enemy to be defeated.

 

“…and his opponent,” Funyon declares, “in the corner to my right; from Nottingham, England, he stands at six feet even and weighed in earlier today at 218lbs; he is your four-time reigning and defending SWF World Heavyweight Champion… MIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

With his duty discharged until the end of the evening Funyon steps out of the ring. Matthew Kivell shows the belt to both men, who nod in acknowledgement, then the referee hands it out to a member of the ring crew and signals for the bell…

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

…and both men charge as soon as it sounds! Stephens lays in with a right hand that catches Johnson on the jaw, but the Canadian takes it without flinching and fires back with one, two, three elbow smashes that not only stop Stephens in his tracks but drive him back onto the ropes. Johnson grabs his opponent’s wrist and starts an Irish whip but Stephens reverses the momentum, sending JJ into the far cables instead. As Johnson rebounds Stephens leaps up and hurdles the onrushing Canadian, then as Johnson bounces off again the World Champion hits the deck. Johnson manages to avoid the tripping hazard but as he comes off the ropes for a third time Stephens, already back to his feet, leaps up and wraps his legs around Johnson’s head to take the challenger over with a hurricanrana! Johnson’s momentum sends him skidding across the ring on the back of his neck, finally coming to rest as he slides underneath the bottom rope. He grabs on and prevents himself falling to the floor, then starts to get back to his feet on the apron; however, Stephens has other ideas and runs for the corner nearest to his opponent, bounces off the second rope and leaps clean over the adjacent top rope to catch Johnson with another hurricanrana, this one taking both men to the outside!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“What a start!” Mak Francis exclaims, “both men are going hell for leather… and they’re not slowing down yet!”

 

Indeed, Stephens is up first from the fall he engineered and quickly rolls under the bottom rope back into the ring. He looks around to check on his opponent’s position, then starts sprinting for the far ropes and rebounds off to come hurtling across the ring. JJ Johnson is just getting to his feet on the outside when Stephens leaps into the air and goes sailing over the top rope once more, this time coming down onto his opponent with a somersault senton!

 

*WHAM!*

 

“HO-LY SHIT!”

 

“HO-LY SHIT!”

 

The crowd are eating up this high-octane start to the match and Michael Stephens doesn’t see any harm in encouraging them to have a good time; it takes him a couple of second to get himself together and get back up from his dive to the outside, but once he’s back on his feet the World Champion waves his arms to coax more noise!

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

With the now-famous chant ringing through the arena Stephens bends down and pulls Johnson up, then rolls the challenger under the bottom rope and into the ring. However it’s going to take more than a few bumps to put JJ Johnson down for any length of time, and as Stephens rolls in after him Johnson lashes out and kicks him in the face!

 

*SMACK!*

 

This understandably stops Stephens in his tracks, and Johnson takes the opportunity to scoot around on the mat and grab a front facelock, then threads his right arm underneath his opponent’s left one and hauls Stephens to his feet. From there the Canadian abruptly snaps backwards, bringing Stephens over with a half-hatch suplex and bridging for the pin…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Stephens kicks out quickly, although he’s not able to escape his opponent’s clutches. Johnson drags the champion up to his feet again but keeps him bent double, then changes his grip to Stephens’ hair with his left hand before driving the point of his right elbow into the back of the Englishman’s skull! Stephens staggers and Johnson hits another, but as he raises his right arm for the third Mike reaches up and grabs Johnson’s hand that’s holding him, then before the challenger can react he twists behind him and comes up with a hammerlock! Johnson reacts instantly and lashes backwards with his right elbow, but Stephens leans back out of the way and then transitions the hammerlock on JJ’s left arm into a chickenwing before grabbing the back of his opponent’s tights with his right hand and lifting Johnson off his feet, then sitting out and driving the Canadian into the mat with a facebuster!

 

*WHAM!*

 

“We’ve seen Stephens use a half-nelson facebuster before,” Mak Francis says, “but he adapted it to a chickenwing there and turned defence into attack.”

 

“He needs the practice,” Suicide King sniggers, “because when you face Johnson you get to do a lot of defending!”

 

However, Stephens has no plans for letting Johnson regain his advantage yet; instead the champion goes into a back mount and transitions the chickenwing back into a hammerlock which he now controls with his right hand. While doing that he reaches over with his left arm and tries to hook that under JJ Johnson’s right to get a ¾ nelson. Johnson is caught by surprise and Stephens secures the hold, then twists to one side and brings Johnson over onto his back for a pin.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Johnson manages to get a shoulder off the canvas! However, he can’t go very far and Stephens forces him back down again…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…and once more Johnson manages to escape the pinning predicament. Figuring that perhaps this isn’t going to work just yet Stephens uses his grip to bring the challenger up to a sitting position, then immediately swings behind him and threads his legs under Johnson’s arms to apply his seated double-leg nelson, while the crowd applaud.

 

“…and this goes back to what I was saying about the more conservative Michael Stephens,” The Franchise remarks. “He went for the high-risk offence at the start, probably to try and steal a march on Johnson, but the moment it looked like JJ was getting his measure he got a takedown and has now gone back to basics. I doubt I’ll ever be praising Michael Stephens as a technical workhorse or model of mat wrestling form,” Mak adds, “but he’s rounded his game out since his sabbatical.”

 

“He’s lost his edge,” King argues, “he’s trying to play jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none; now he’s in the ring with someone like JJ Johnson instead of the Insane Luchador, or Landon Maddix, or Zyon, he’ll realise that his only hope of winning would have been hit-and-run-and-hope. I’m telling you Mak, Johnson will destroy Toxxic on the mat or in a stand-up brawl.”

 

However, at the moment Johnson doesn’t appear to be in a position to destroy very much, except perhaps his own posture as Stephens applies the pressure and bends his neck forwards. JJ doesn’t seem to appreciate having his neck targeted and starts to fight against it; for a moment it seems that it’s a futile gesture, but then as the challenger digs in and starts to straighten his body out he begins to first compress Stephens slightly, then rock the champion backwards!

 

“We saw Zyon try this trick, and he nearly got a pinfall out of it,” Mak Francis notes, “JJ Johnson isn’t too proud to learn from his old enemies!”

 

Zyon didn’t have a bum neck though, and Stephens responds to this new challenge in a way that is almost quintessentially British; he punches Johnson in the back of the head until the Canadian’s pain threshold is breached and he ceases his efforts. With Johnson returned to a fully seated position Stephens decides he might as well try and press his advantage and starts to straighten his body again, sloooooowwwwly forcing JJ Johnson forward and down into an ever-more uncomfortable position…

 

…and then suddenly rolling to one side! A startled Johnson is dragged with him, and ends up stacked on his shoulders as Stephens finishes on his front…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Johnson kicks out! He manages to roll backwards out of the pin and lands on his knees, freeing himself from Stephens’ hold; it also puts him behind Stephens and the World Champion isn’t quite quick enough to his feet, because Johnson explodes up and drives an elbow into the back of his head, then as Stephens staggers and turns to face his attacker the challenger unloads with punishing kicks to the body!

 

*CRACK!*

 

*CRACK!*

 

*CRACK!*

 

Stephens is driven back into the corner by the force on the onslaught, and referee Matthew Kivell has to intervene as Johnson seems intent on kicking the Englishman’s ribs out through his spine, ropebreaks be damned!

 

“You see?” King asks as Johnson smoulders beyond Kivell while Stephens sinks down into a half-crouch, clutching at his chest with his face screwed up in pain, “if Johnson can catch Toxxic napping, which he will more and more as this match goes on, he’ll pummel him to a pulp.”

 

Michael Stephens takes a couple more breaths and then rises back to a vertical position; Matthew Kivell signals that’s good enough for him and steps aside to let JJ Johnson approach, but the moment the Canadian comes within reach Stephens drops and grabs his legs, falling backwards and pulling the challenger down facefirst into the second turnbuckle. From there Stephens gets back to his feet (not without a wince at the pain in his chest mind you) and proceeds to jump onto Johnson’s upper back, then moonsault off and land on his feet behind the downed Canadian! With Johnson still resting on the middle buckle Stephens runs up to the corner and leaps over the top rope while keeping hold of it…

 

…then swings back in, coming in feetfirst between the top and middle ropes and delivering a devastating basement dropkick to the side of Johnson’s head!

 

*SMACK!*

 

“OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“I’ve never seen that before!” Mak Francis exclaims as Johnson comes to rest a couple of feet away from the ringpost, “Michael Stephens taking his improvisation to a new level here tonight!”

 

“It was just a dropkick to the head,” King snorts, “no matter what he did to get there. Toxxic is style over substance, and Johnson’s the complete opposite. That’s why JJ will murder Toxxic in there tonight.”

 

Stephens seems to have other ideas though, and the World Champion slips out from the sitting position he ended up in between the ropes, then grabs his opponent by the head. Johnson seems slightly dazed from the impact of the kick and Stephens is able to get him into a reverse facelock, then drops to one knee and drives the back of his opponent’s neck into the other. He then covers Johnson and hooks the leg…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Johnson kicks out despite the pain in his neck. Stephens takes hold of his opponent and brings him to his feet again, then draws back and-

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

-delivers a headbutt! Johnson staggers back clutching his neck instead of his forehead, but then grits his teeth and starts firing back; the Canadian delivers a kick to the ribs with his right leg; then with his left; then he nails his winded opponent with an elbow to the jaw before lashing out with a roundhouse kick that staggers the World Champion, before turning around and bouncing off the ropes, rebounding with an Emerald Lariat that knocks Stephens off his feet and sends Johnson spinning onto his stomach! However, the impact seems to jar his vertebrae again and instead of following up with a pin the challenger grabs at his neck.

 

“See?” King asks jubilantly, “Toxxic just tried to go toe-to-toe with Johnson and got creamed.”

 

“But I hope you’ll notice that Michael Stephens’ targeting of his opponent’s neck is already bearing fruit,” Mak adds, “Johnson can take the champion down, but if his own moves slow him up too much he won’t be able to take advantage.”

 

Indeed, by the time Johnson has decided he’s ready to enter the fray again Stephens is starting to sit up; far from being back on the offensive, but no longer so easy to pin. Accordingly JJ waits for the right moment when Stephens is back to his feet, then moves in unhurriedly and takes the World Champion back over with an Ippon Seoi, dumping Stephens onto his backside. The Canadian swiftly raises his opponent to a sitting position before-

 

*CRACK!*

 

“OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

-unloading with a cowboy kick to the Englishman’s spine! Stephens cries out in pain and Johnson clearly decides that this is a good reason to continue…

 

*CRACK!*

 

“OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

*CRACK!*

 

“OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

…then, with the World Champion at a clear disadvantage, Johnson applies a headscissors and seats himself behind his opponent. Stephens grabs at his opponent’s legs and tries to prise them apart, but with little to no success.

 

“JJ Johnson showing his own tactical awareness here,” Mak Francis points out, “Stephens’ offence has had an effect on the challenger’s neck, but with this hold applied he can hopefully weaken his opponent with minimal effort and give himself a chance to recuperate.”

 

“Plus he’ll prevent Stephens from replacing the oxygen he’s just had kicked out of him,” Suicide King adds, “it’s good, solid wrestling from Johnson. As if you’d expect anything else.”

 

“LET’S GO STE-PHENS!”

 

“LET’S GO STE-PHENS!”

 

The chants are starting to ring around the arena, but at the moment it doesn’t look like Michael Stephens is in much of a position to answer them. Johnson leans back and puts as much effort as he can into making his opponent’s forehead turn purple, while referee Matthew Kivell leans down to check on the World Champion. Stephens waves him away and grabs at Johnson’s knees, but he has no more luck prying them apart now than he did a few seconds before; however, it seems that the Englishman has another plan as he starts rocking to one side, trying to turn over onto his front. Johnson braces his arms to either side of him to try and prevent Stephens from succeeding in this endeavour, but the Englishman brings his own legs up into the air to add momentum and finally manages to roll over, bringing Johnson with him over onto their collective stomachs. From this position it’s easier for Stephens to try and work himself free, and after some effort he manages to remove himself from the headscissors that Johnson is still holding on to.

 

“LET’S GO STE-PHENS!”

 

Johnson tenses, ready for an attack now he’s lost his controlling hold; however, rather than leap forward into an all-out assault Stephens instead grabs his opponent’s legs and tries to thread them together. Johnson is caught slightly off-guard by this approach, and as a result Stephens gets his opponent’s right leg trapped in the crook of his left knee before the challenger realises quite what’s going on. Mike anchors that with his own legs, then reaches forwards and tries to secure a ¾ nelson facelock!

 

“He’s going for the Regal Stretch,” Mak Francis says, “and I can tell you from experience that this is a severely painful move!”

 

However, JJ Johnson knows better than to allow his opponent to lock him into any sort of full-body submission, and he’s aware of the weight shifting on his back; as a result, when Stephens leans forward he starts firing elbows backwards and catches Stephens in the temple, then in the jaw. Stephens clutches his head and falls sideways, losing the leglace as he does so. This gives Johnson a chance to pivot around on the mat, and he uses it to kick Stephens in the head!

 

*CRACK!*

 

Stephens collapses backwards and Johnson seizes his opportunity to regain the offensive, quickly piling on top of Stephens and beginning to rain elbows down on the unfortunate World Champion. Matty Kivell is about to start counting on instinct, but the elbows are legal strikes and he lets it go. Johnson persists with his attack, and despite Stephens being able to block a few with his raised arms several slip through to strike him in the head. Johnson looks like he’s considering just keeping going with this but it’s a fairly exhausting method of attack and if there’s one thing the Canadian knows it’s a multitude of different ways to kick your ass. As a result he grabs the woozy World Champion and hauls Stephens up to his feet, then slips behind the Englishman and tucks his head under Stephens’ arm before grabbing his opponent around the waist. From there he hoists Stephens up off the ground, then literally throws his opponent up into the air. Stephens hangs there for a moment at the apex of his climb and Johnson just has time to flip him off, then catch the suddenly descending Englishman and drive him into the mat with the second part of the Jumbo Backdrop!

 

*WHAM!*

 

Johnson drops to cover for two and Kivell dives down to make the count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Stephens kicks out! However, Johnson allows the World Champion to roll over onto his front only to grab the Englishman’s right arm and apply a Kimura; Stephens quickly starts thrashing and manages to scramble his body across the mat to the ropes, where he rests his right boot the bottom cable. Kivell starts counting-

 

‘ONE!’

 

‘TWO!’

 

‘THR-’

 

-and Johnson breaks, but doesn’t give his opponent the luxury of resting in the ropes as he quickly pulls Stephens up and kicks him in the gut, then applies a Tiger neck chancre before snapping backwards with another half-hatch suplex. Kivell chastises Johnson for not respecting the fact that his opponent was in the ropes; Johnson flips him off and pulls Stephens up once more, then applies a double underhook!

 

“It looks like JJ Johnson’s going for the Tiger Driver!” Mak calls…

 

…but Michael Stephens has his own ideas on that front; he’s had far too much experience of people trying to place him in double underhooks lately, and he forces his body upright, back bodydropping Johnson over his head and down to the mat!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Stephens rests on the ropes and shakes his head, then his right arm, trying to dispel some of the aches that Johnson’s recent attacks have left behind. However, he has no time to rest on his laurels and he finds this out when he turns around-

 

*CRACK!*

 

-straight into a rolling elbow from JJ Johnson!

 

“JOHN-SON SUCKS!”

 

“JOHN-SON SUCKS!”

 

Johnson glowers at the crowd who are refusing to acknowledge his toughness despite the fact that he just got up from being dumped unexpectedly on his back, then elbowed the guy who did it in the jaw so hard that dentists around North America are rubbing their hands expectantly. However, he has more important things on his mind. Namely, winning this damn match. Accordingly, he makes a cover of his dazed opponent…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…and Stephens kicks out again! Johnson once more allows the champion to roll onto his stomach, then stands firmly on the back of the Englishman’s legs and locks them into place before leaning forward and grabbing Stephens’ arms. The World Champion is stuck with nowhere to go as JJ Johnson leans back to bring them both upright, then onto his back so Michael Stephens is suspended above him in a Mexican surfboard!

 

“Brilliant,” King smirks, “if he can’t pin him, Johnson will make him submit; he’s evidently been watching and learning from Tom about always using your opponent’s ring position to your own advantage.”

 

Michael Stephens is clearly in a lot of pain, but that doesn’t mean that JJ Johnson can sit back and relax. The Canadian has to keep his arms and legs rigid to keep Stephens in place, and that’s without the added difficult of having his shoulders so near the mat. In fact, as he holds Stephens up both shoulders do touch down and Matthew Kivell leaps into action…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TW-

-but Johnson jerks his shoulders away from contact with the canvas; however, in doing so he seems to overbalance and the trapped Stephens topples to one side, landing hard on the canvas. This doesn’t seem to faze Johnson; he simply rolls with the motion and positions himself on top of his opponent once more, then rolls backwards again to hoist Michael Stephens into the air for a second time!

 

“Johnson needs to be careful here,” Mak says, “he could lose the match without realising!”

 

“Pish,” King snorts, “the chances of him being counted down are miniscule, and the risk involved is far outweighed by the potential gain of sticking Toxxic in this submission hold. Johnson’s a pro, he won’t be caught out.”

 

Matty Kivell checks the World Champion, who grimly shakes his head and insists he will continue. Kivell checks on Johnson’s shoulders, asks Stephens again, the Englishman still says no… and Johnson’s shoulders are on the mat again!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…and JJ releases the grip with his arms, getting his shoulders off the mat and causing Stephens to flop forward onto his face, not really being able to get his arms up in time to break his fall! Johnson then releases his opponent’s legs, but before Stephens can make his aching body take any evasive action Johnson is up and straddling his back where he pulls the World Champion up as if for a camel clutch, then tucks the champion’s head down and rolls forward in a Gedo clutch pin!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but Stephens kicks out!

 

“LET’S GO STE-PHENS!”

 

“LET’S GO STE-PHENS!”

 

“JJ Johnson lost to Landon Maddix for the World Title via a Gedo clutch pin,” Mak Francis points out, “and he nearly won the World Title with it there. Michael Stephens is a wily competitor, but it’s still worth trying a surprise rollup every now and then.”

 

However, where that approach fails JJ Johnson is more than happy to fall back to his main plan; kicking ass, plain and simple. Accordingly he grabs Stephens as the World Champion makes a bid to find his feet again, but is caught off-guard as two black-nailed hands suddenly snake up to grab his head, and then the Englishman sits out with a jawbreaker! Johnson whips back like a wounded animal and instinctively turns his back to his opponent, clutching his jaw; this gives Stephens a chance to scramble back to his feet and, back-to-back with his opponent, reach up as if for a neckbreaker before twisting around to sit out with the Pressure Drop, driving Johnson’s face into the mat with one of his facebuster variations!

 

*BANG!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“This is the first time that Stephens has really had a chance to regain control of the match since he tried to go toe-to-toe with Johnson in an exchange of strikes,” Mak Francis says, “can he do it, or will Johnson’s aggression prove too much for the World Champion?”

 

Johnson is getting up rather quicker than Michael Stephens might have hoped, but with his opponent still on one knee the champion sees his chance and lunges to grab a double underhook… however, any ideas of the RTF II are dashed as Johnson forces his arms downwards, breaking his opponent’s grip and then grabbing Stephens behind the knees. A quick push with his shoulders later and Stephens topples backwards to the mat, allowing Johnson to stand with his opponent’s legs tucked firmly under his arms. From there it’s an easy matter for the grinning Canadian to fall backwards, getting his legs under Stephens’ body and launching him at the turnbuckles with a slingshot manoeuvre. It’s never a good idea to underestimate the agility of Michael Stephens though, and the World Champion manages to make an emergency landing on the second buckle!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Johnson is no fool, and that noise indicates to him that something’s wrong; he scrambles back to his feet and turns around to look, but at he does so Stephens steps up to the top buckle and then leaps backwards, flipping and twisting in the air so that he ends up planting his feet square in Johnson’s chest with the Corkscrew Dropkick! The Canadian is blasted backwards but Stephens lands hard and doesn’t seem able to rise, coughing weakly.

 

“OK, Toxxic improvised well on the fly there,” Suicide King admits grudgingly, “but there’s no way he can hang with Johnson. The longer this match goes the more the balance swings into JJ’s favour; look, he’s getting up first!”

 

Indeed, JJ Johnson is up with a nasty expression on his face and advancing on his opponent and former stablemate. However, given that he is a former stablemate of Michael Stephens he should possibly remember that the World Champion can still be dangerous even while on his back. He won’t take you down and make you tap like Tom Flesher would, but he has an approach that is similarly startling and if anything a little more direct.

 

*whump-CRACK!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

He’ll kip up and immediately leap into an enzuigiri; an enzuigiri that on this occasion, targets the back of the neck.

 

“He was playing possum,” Mak Francis marvels, “Michael Stephens actually managed to sucker Johnson in! That’s not easy to do.”

 

“Goddamn cheating Limey bastard,” Suicide King seethes quietly as Johnson grabs the back of his neck on the mat, what can be seen of his face showing an expression of considerable pain. Stephens scrambles over and rolls the Canadian onto his back, prompting Kivell to make the count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Johnson kicks out! Stephens grabs him and hauls the challenger up, then goes for an Irish whip into the ropes; however, Johnson ducks under the arm to pull himself up much like a jiver from the 50s, except that it’s not a particularly common dance move to use your grip to pull your partner into an elbow to the jaw!

 

*CRACK!*

 

Stephens staggers and Johnson follows up with a palm strike!

 

*SMACK!*

 

Then another!

 

*SMACK!*

 

Finally he delivers a spinning back kick to the chest that clearly winds Stephens before hitting the ropes and rebounding to deliver a blistering elbow to the jaw that knocks the World Champion clean off his feet!

 

*CRACK!*

 

Johnson wastes no time in dropping to cover, and Kivell wastes no time in starting to count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Stephens kicks out, not yet ready to relinquish his World Title! Johnson simply gets up, absently rubbing the back of his neck as he does so, then back off and crouches in the corner of the ring to wait. It takes several seconds, but Michael Stephens starts to get up. He’s facing the wrong way, and as he struggles upright the lack of an opponent seems to dawn on him. He turns around… and Johnson barrels across the ring, delivering another running elbow smash to the head!

 

*CRACK!*

 

Once more Johnson drops to make the cover, taking care to hook the leg, and once more Kivell makes his count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…and once more, Michael Stephens gets his shoulder off the mat before three! JJ Johnson seems a little less than happy about this development and stands up again, then rips his right elbow pad off and lets out a roar!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The crowd make their displeasure clear, but the challenger pays them no mind; he simply drops into a crouch again and waits for his prey to rise. Michael Stephens is a little slower up this time, but get up he does and turn groggily to look for his opponent. Johnson rushes forward…

 

…pirouettes gracefully for a moment, as if about to take up a career in ice dancing…

 

…and then sticks out his right arm to offset his nimble footwork with a brutal running rolling elbow smash!

 

*KER-RRACK!*

 

Stephens goes down and Johnson drops, anticipation writ large on his face…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

JJ Johnson looks at Matthew Kivell with considerable astonishment - not quite disbelief, but the Canadian challenger is clearly very surprised. He thought he’d got his former leader, and won the World Title. However, Johnson isn’t the type to let a surprise to derail him, and he grabs Stephens before starting to haul the champion up for some more punishment.

 

“Johnson’s basically trying to lift a dead weight there,” Mak Francis notes, “Stephens is pretty much out, although not quite beaten yet.”

 

“Not for much longer,” Suicide King predicts, “this match is clearly proving that Johnson is the better man.”

 

It takes Johnson a couple of seconds to bring Stephens upright, but then he clasps the Englishman firmly around the waist before hoisting him off the canvas, spinning and dumping him back down with a belly-to-belly suplex. With his opponent repositioned back on the mat, and with the wind knocked out of him to boot, Johnson turns and starts to make his way towards the corner of the ring.

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

The Canadian steps through the ropes and begins to climb towards the top buckle as the fans chant and Michael Stephens stirs weakly on the canvas. Once there he pauses for a second to get his balance…

 

…and pauses for perhaps a second longer. JJ Johnson’s neck is not the strongest part of his body now. The Stinger did genuine damage, and any jarring or shock to it runs the risk, no matter how small, of re-injury. Johnson has to be sure that the potential damage to his opponent is weighed against the damage to himself.

 

He decides.

 

He straightens up on the top buckle.

 

He leaps off into the air, plummeting down towards Michael Stephens with a Swandive headbutt…

 

*BANG!*

 

…that doesn’t connect.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“He took too long,” Mak exclaims, “and Michael Stephens had the chance to move out of the way! Whether through luck or judgement, the World Champion has caught a break and now has a chance to get back into this match.”

 

However, Stephens is still pretty beaten down, and with Johnson not getting immediately back to his feet either referee Matthew Kivell has no option except to apply the dreaded double ten-count.

[chirs3 0]

‘ONE!’

 

 

‘TWO!’

 

 

‘THREE!’

 

 

‘FOUR!’

 

 

JJ Johnson, one hand still gripping the back of his neck, places one hand firmly on the mat and starts to push. Kivell eyes him, ready to cease counting at the right moment…

 

‘FIVE!’

 

…and as Johnson starts to rise, Stephens follows suit. The World Champion is clearly having trouble breathing but he starts to struggle up as well, keeping an eye on Johnson.

 

‘SIIIXXXXX…’

 

…and just as Johnson gets up to two feet Stephens lunges forward, grabbing a front facelock. The impact on his neck causes the challenger to grunt in pain and gives Stephens a chance to spin to one side, bringing the Canadian down on the back of his neck with a spinning neckbreaker. However, Stephens doesn’t stop there as his slowly rolls back up to his feet, dragging his opponent with him, then twists around before sitting out with a Hangman’s neckbreaker.

 

“That could have been it,” Mak notes, “the mistake that turns the match; Johnson took a gamble with the Swandive Headbutt attempt which didn’t pay off, and now Stephens has a virtual bullseye on his opponent’s neck.”

 

The World Champion hasn’t ceased his assault either; as Johnson grabs at his neck and grits his teeth in pain Stephens is bringing him back up to his feet again, but this time grabs Johnson’s wrists - right hand to right, left hand to left - and pulls him into a headbutt.

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

The impact clearly shakes Johnson, but Stephens was using it only to guarantee that his next move isn’t opposed - and that move is to twists around so that he’s back-to-back with his opponent and JJ’s arms are crossed over his throat, then drop down with a Goku-Raku neckbreaker!

 

“Toxxic is a coward and a pussy, targeting the injury like that,” Suicide King declares haughtily, “who the hell does he think he is? He should stand up and fight Johnson like a man, not take cheapshots!”

 

“…says the man who holds up scorecards to rate lowblows,” Mak Francis sighs, “King, you know as well as I do that if you go into the ring with an injury you can expect your opponent to focus on it. The difference comes when someone isn’t focusing on it to win but to inflict further injury, and I’ve not seen any evidence of Michael Stephens doing that.”

 

“Yet,” King mutters darkly. However, as the commentators bicker Stephens starts to roll over onto his front, keeping hold of Johnson’s wrists and trying to bring the Canadian over with him… but Johnson spreads his legs, stopping the roll and keeping himself on his back.

 

“I think Stephens might be looking for that inverted Snowflake Clutch he picked up-”

 

“-stole from Scott Pretzler,” King snaps.

 

“whatever,” Mak says, “but either way, Johnson’s wise to it!”

 

Indeed, the challenger has no intention of having his vertebrae stretched and is doing everything he can to avoid being turned over; accordingly Stephens gives up on that plan, releases his opponent’s wrists and just scrambles on top to make a cover:

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Johnson kicks out! He rolls over onto his front to try and push himself up… and Stephens scoots off him, grabs the wrists again and locks the Goku-Raku in, then rolls forward down the length of his opponent’s body and bridges up to apply the hold he was looking for in the first place!

 

“Now who’s been learning from Tom?” Mak smirks, looking sideways at King.

 

“Even a blind squirrel finds some nuts,” King replies, possibly rehearsing for his other job as a wildlife documentary narrator.

 

Meanwhile, JJ Johnson is in quite a considerable amount of pain; however, although he wasn’t able to block the move this time he is still aware of its nature, and its limitations. It looks fantastic, but Johnson knows that his opponent can’t hold the bridge for as long as Scott Pretzler could keep the Snowflake Clutch applied for. It is perhaps this that gives the Canadian the fortitude to hold on and stubbornly refuse to give up as Matthew Kivell asks him… and finally Stephens has to concede defeat, release the bridge and allow Johnson to flop forward to the mat. It’s something of a phyrric victory for JJ as his neck has been damaged still further, but at least he didn’t submit. Mind you, Michael Stephens has plans to change that, and the World Champion quickly grapevines his leg around Johnson’s before bridging back again, this time to grab a reverse chinlock. However, the Englishman then rolls over onto his front, elevating Johnson off the mat with an Inverted Muta Lock, removing his own need to hold a bridge and stretching Johnson’s body still further!

 

“TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!”

 

The fans are firmly behind the World Champion, but JJ Johnson never spent much time listening to the fans anyway; after a couple of seconds of agonised thrashing he reaches up and starts clawing at Stephens’ fingers, finally managing to unlatch the chinlock before slumping to one side and rolling away to try and put some distance between himself and the champion.

 

“Stephens needs to capitalise here if he’s going to put Johnson away,” Francis notes, “JJ’s shown that he’s adept at fighting his way out of submissions but they’ve taken their toll, and a big move from the champion could be the key to retaining.”

 

“That right Mak, encourage Toxxic to go break some necks,” Suicide King says bitterly, “that’s all we need.”

 

“I strongly doubt Michael Stephens will resort to those sorts of tactics,” Mak replies, bringing a snort of derision from the Gambling Man, “Lord knows he’s not perfect, but I think he’s beyond that now.”

 

Neck-snapping tendencies aside, Stephens is certainly not letting up on Johnson and he grabs the rolling Canadian, drags him up to one knee and then takes him over with a snapmare. Johnson grabs the back of his neck again in pain, and this gives Stephens the time he needs to hit the ropes, rebound and plant both of his feet square into the challenger’s face with a running basement dropkick that fires Johnson onto his back.

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

Stephens seems to be starting to raise the tempo now he has Johnson on the ropes (or indeed, on the mat) and he heads for the nearest turnbuckles. Once there he quickly climbs to the top, twirls his fingers above his head in a little signal to the crowd, then leaps off forward with the somersault guillotine legdrop known as the Hangover!

 

*WHAM!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

With Johnson spasming on the mat Stephens piles onto him for the cover, hooking the leg…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…and Johnson kicks out! Stephens doesn’t waste any time expressing disbelief to the referee, and instead drags Johnson up, then nails him with a European uppercut that staggers the wheezing Canadian. With that done Mike turns around, grabs a ¾ facelock and heads for the ring corner for the Sunny In England… but Johnson has enough wits left to shove him forwards, sending the World Champion chestfirst into the turnbuckles with winding force! And as Stephens staggers back JJ ducks his head under his opponent’s left arm and reaches round to cradle the leg…

 

*BAM!*

 

“Regalplex!” Mak Francis shouts.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Johnson can’t hold the bridge! His neck gives way and he falls back, releasing the pinning cradle and rolling away, clutching at his neck again. Stephens just got dumped on the back of his head but he’s been having the better of it in the last few minutes and seems slightly stronger; he sits up, shakes his head groggily, then starts getting up even as JJ is struggling to fight through the pain. With both men getting back to their feet at about the same time it appears that the first person to strike a blow will gain the advantage… and Stephens nails a European uppercut to stagger Johnson backwards into the corner, then grabs hold of his opponent’s wrist and Irish whips him across the ring before following the Canadian towards the far corner. However, whatever scheme Stephens had in mind will not come to fruition, because Johnson leaps to the second buckle, then to the top, then corkscrews backwards to paste the onrushing World Champion in the head with a gamengiri!

 

*CRACK!*

 

“Johnson calls that the Dragon Flip,” Mak Francis exclaims, “and I think Michael Stephens just found out what it’s like to be on the receiving end of the Role Reversal that he used to use!”

 

“Only Johnson’s version is much, much better,” King says simply, “because instead of a wimpy clothesline or stupid spinning dropkick he KICKS YOUR FACE!”

 

“King, stop saying that.”

 

“KICK YOUR FACE!!”

 

That one does slow Stephens down, unsurprisingly, and now with the match starting to swing his way again JJ Johnson seems to be starting to shake off some of the ill effects he’s been suffering. The Canadian pushes himself up off the mat with more vigour than he’s displayed for some minutes, then grabs Stephens as the World Champion manages to achieve a rather wobbly sitting position and hauls him to his feet. From there Johnson seemingly uses Stephens’ arm to place himself in a front facelock…

 

“I’m not sure if that’s such a good-” Mak begins.

 

-and Johnson snaps backwards, taking Stephens over with a Northern Lights Suplex…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…on which the bridge collapses again! Johnson rolls to one side clutching his neck and Stephens lays on his back staring up at the ceiling with the breath knocked out of him, but it is Johnson who starts to get up first… and he looks furious.

 

“To be fair, I don’t know what JJ Johnson is so mad about,” Francis remarks, “it’s been his own moves that have meant he’s needed to hold bridges and has failed.”

 

“But he’s still failed at something,” King points out as the rampaging Canadian grabs Stephens and starts to haul him up, “and he doesn’t take failure well. Toxxic weakened Johnson’s neck, so Toxxic has to pay for those failures.”

 

“To be fair, Va’aiga played his part,” Mak reminds his partner.

 

“Va’aiga,” King tells him, “ain’t here.”

 

JJ Johnson brings Stephens into a standing headscissors, then reaches down for a double underhook. The World Champion automatically tries to wrench his arms free but Johnson has him locked tight and grins as he holds on…

 

“You know, I’m not sure if this is such a good-” Mak begins, but he’s cut off as Johnson suddenly wrenches upwards, hauling Stephens off the canvas and into position for the Tiger Driver… but at the apex of the move as Johnson is releasing his opponent to drop into the powerbomb Stephens wraps his legs around the Canadian’s head and snaps backwards, hurricanranaing his way out of the move!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“Unbelievable!” Mak Francis shouts as the crowd rises in response, “I thought Johnson had him there, but Stephens manages to escape again!”

 

“He’s riding his luck,” King snaps, “he won’t be so lucky next time!”

 

As the crowd chant and the commentators argue it’s easy to miss the fact that Matthew Kivell has got to ‘THREE’ on the double count. Johnson is still favouring his neck whereas Stephens has just taken an all-over kicking - but this was Johnson doing the kicking, so damn. However, as Kivell bellows out ‘FOUR!’ both men start to stir…

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“You notice they’re not chanting for ‘Stephens’ now, are they?” Suicide King points out, “what do they know that we don’t, do you think?”

 

“When to shut up,” the Franchise mutters.

 

‘FIVE!’

 

…and both men are up! Michael Stephens falls back onto his trusty European uppercuts, delivering one to Johnson and staggering him back onto the ropes before grabbing the Canadian’s wrist and Irish whipping him across the ring; he jumps up for a leapfrog, but Johnson holds onto the top rope to kill his momentum meaning that Stephens ends up jumping over precisely nothing, and the moment his feet touch the floor again Johnson hurtles towards him, leaving the mat to introduce Stephens’ jaw to a running high knee!

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

Stephens goes down, and Johnson drops to cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…and Stephens kicks out, still not willing to relinquish his title! That’s fine by JJ Johnson, because he has plenty of other ways of getting the belt off his former leader; however, at the moment you seem to get a two-for-one on massive head trauma at Canadian General Stores, because when he drags Stephens up to his feet and hooks him up you just know that you’re not going to be getting a plain ol’ vanilla vertical suplex. Not from my man JJ Johnson, oh no.

 

“Brainbuster?” Mak asks.

 

“Damn straight.”

 

Johnson takes a firm grip on his opponent’s pants, grits his teeth because the fact that he has Stephens’ arm draped over his shoulder is going to hurt his neck, and lifts…

 

…and brings Stephens more or less vertical…

 

…and Stephens, as he has a tendency to do these days in these sorts of situations, knees his opponent square in the head! The shot staggers Johnson and he loses his grip, meaning Stephens’ feet fall back to earth before his head and on the way down he swings into a small package!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHR-

-but Johnson kicks out!

 

“THAT WAS THREE!”

 

“THAT WAS THREE!”

 

“Good God, I thought Johnson just lost to another rollup there,” Mak breathes, “I was expecting carnage and possible genocide to ensue.”

 

However, the challenger isn’t out of the woods yet; as he scrambles up from the mat he’s greeted by Michael Stephens’ black-nailed fists swung with a

 

RIGHT!

 

“YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

LEFT!

 

“YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

RIGHT?

 

NO! Johnson knows this game, and ducks under the third swing before deciding to show Stephens how it’s done and nailing him with a left-armed elbow smash-

 

*CRACK!*

 

A palm strike!

 

*SMACK!*

 

And another!

 

*SMACK!*

 

A left-footed kick to the ribs!

 

*THWACK!*

 

And a right-footed one!

 

*whump*

 

…which Stephens catches under his left arm, then reaches out and piefaces the startled Johnson to the ground before twisting his opponent onto his back and locking his legs together!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Regal Stretch!” Mak yells above the din, “JJ went to the well once too often and if Stephens can get this locked in…”

 

Johnson is thrashing around, but Stephens isn’t going to make the same mistake as he did before. Conscious that Johnson is aware of his shifting weight he feints one way, then the other, then as Johnson lashes out backwards with his right elbow Stephens snakes his left arm underneath his opponent’s and traps it before managing to get a ¾ nelson facelock in place!

 

“TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!”

 

“He’s got it!” Francis exclaims, “this has won Stephens the World Title before, and take it from the Franchise ladies and gentlemen, it hurts like a bitch!”

 

JJ Johnson is tied up with nowhere to go; legs crossed and grapevined by Stephens’, right arm bent up uselessly at an angle and left arm scrabbling at the mat, unable to get enough of a purchase to do anything like drag over 400lbs across the canvas towards the ropes. All the Canadian can do is hang on grimly and somehow hope for a respite. Stephens is wrenching at his neck as hard as he can, but Johnson has always been and will always be a fighter. He grimly hangs in there, refusing to give…

 

…and as Michael Stephens has found before, the Regal Stretch is not a comfortable hold to apply. Against a suitably worn-down opponent it can be very effective, but against someone determined to hold on it has its own risks - after a hard-fought match you can be prone to cramping up, and with your body twisted around to apply the hold it’s a real danger. Stephens knows that he can’t risk an attack of cramp in a match like this against an opponent like this, and so he makes his decision. And releases the hold.

 

“Hah! Johnson outlasted him!” King scoffs.

 

“For the moment,” Mak says, “I don’t think Stephens is done yet.”

 

The Franchise is in the right of it, because as Johnson tries to get some life back into his body the World Champion grabs him and drags him to his knees, then quickly slaps on a double underhook. A second later and Stephens rolls back, applying a bodyscissors and locking in the RTF II!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Oh, damn…” King mutters.

 

Matthew Kivell leans down to check on JJ Johnson and see whether the Canadian wants to quit, but Johnson isn’t finished yet. Shaking his legs out to try and get some of the aches out Johnson starts scrabbling on the mat, trying to bull forwards… but not to push Stephens into the ropes. Instead the wily challenger is trying to rock the Englishman back onto his shoulders and force him into a pinning predicament. Meanwhile Stephens wrenches on the hold as much as he can, trying to beat JJ to the punch… but his shoulders go down…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHHHR-

-but Stephens releases his hold at the last moment! He gets his shoulders off the mat and rolls away, disentangling himself from Johnson who seems grateful for the break; however, Johnson knows that he won’t win the World Title lying on the mat and he forces himself upwards. Stephens seems shocked at his opponents persistence and JJ tries to add to this surprise with a roundhouse kick… but Stephens ducks, then headbutts Johnson in the back of the head!

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

Johnson staggers forwards… and Stephens runs past him, grabbing a ¾ headlock as he goes and heading for the turnbuckles as the crowd explodes! The World Champion pushes off the first buckle, the second, the third… he arcs backwards, looking to come down and drive the back of Johnson’s head into the mat…

 

…and JJ Johnson manages to break his opponent’s grip and takes a sidestep, then catches Stephens on his shoulders in a fireman’s carry!

 

“What?” Mak barks.

 

“YES!” King yells exultantly.

 

But Johnson’s work is only half-done; he strides forward into the middle of the ring then shoves Stephens off his shoulders, and as the World Champion plummets towards the unforgiving canvas Johnson helps him out by kneeing him in the fucking head!

 

*WHAM!!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“That was the Oyasumi Nasai,” Mak Francis gasps, “and Michael Stephens… he could be unconscious, King!”

 

Indeed, the body of the World Champion doesn’t look to have a great deal of life in it and Matthew Kivell leans down to check on him, but is then shoved out of way by JJ Johnson! Kivell turns to remonstrate with the Canadian, but instead of making a cover Johnson is heading to the outside of the ring, stepping through the ropes and then starting to scale the turnbuckles…

 

“Bad plan, BAD PLAN!” King shouts, “just pin him!”

 

But JJ Johnson isn’t listening. He’s reached the top rope now and he looks down at Stephens, then narrows his eyes. The Englishman is within easy reach of the headbutt and the Damage Done… which to use…

 

“He’s taking too long,” Mak Francis says to anyone who’ll listen.

 

JJ Johnson reaches his decision.

 

He straightens up on the top buckle.

 

He leaps off…

 

 

…Michael Stephens rolls to one side and scrambles to his feet…

 

 

…and JJ Johnson lands no more than three feet from the ringpost, rolls to break his fall, and comes up to drive a knee into the gut of the startled World Champion!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“He suckered him in!” Mak exclaims in amazement, “Johnson thought Stephens had one trick left, and he drew it out of him!”

 

Stephens is bent double, gasping for air. Johnson doesn’t need a second invitation. Standing head scissors: check. Double underhook: check. Hoist your opponent off the ground, flip them over and drive them down onto their fucking back…

 

*WHAM!*

 

…check.

 

“TIGER DRIVAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“WHAT!?” King yelps. “That… that’s not right! Dammit Francis, that’s not right!”

 

OK. So maybe Stephens isn’t quite out of tricks yet.

 

“King, I’m as shocked as you are!” Mak Francis exclaims as JJ Johnson looks up at Matthew Kivell with sheer, unadulterated disbelief written on his face, “I can’t remember the last time I saw Michael Stephens kick out of a hit like that! You’re going to have to go back very nearly two years, in the run-up to Genesis V when he faced Johnny Dangerous for the World Title and kicked out of the MI Slam!”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

The chants are growing now, swelling to fill the Gund Arena.

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

It’s hard to tell whether they make JJ Johnson any more annoyed than he already is, but a couple of seconds after the shock has worn off the Canadian is clearly back into furious mode. No-one does that to him on an international Pay-Per-View. Accordingly he grabs Stephens by the hair, ignoring the words of Matthew Kivell, and drags the wobbly World Champion back up to something approaching a vertical base. He hooks a double underhook again… and Stephens manages to squirm his right arm free!

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

Johnson pounds on Stephens’ back with a couple of forearm shots, then reaches down and rehooks his opponent. The Canadian’s eyes are narrowed and his scowl is something ferocious, and this time he manages to hoist Stephens off the mat either for the Tiger Driver or for the much more dangerous and fearsome Tiger Driver ‘91... but we’ll never know which, as Stephens swings both feet up into Johnson’s face!

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“You won’t catch Michael Stephens like that more than once,” Mak Francis says as King covers his eyes, “and-Sweet Baby Jesus!”

 

Stephens has dropped back to the floor, just about managing to land on all fours, and as Johnson staggers back he reaches up and grabs a ¾ facelock then turns around and heads for the ringropes - not the turnbuckles, the actual ropes - and runs up them, then backflips off the top one to drive the back of Johnson’s head into the mat with the Sunny In England!

 

*BANG!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“He got it!” Mak roars, “he finally got it!”

 

Stephens doesn’t have the energy to hook the leg, he simply reaches forward and rests one arm and part of his chest across JJ Johnson, hoping that will be enough as Matthew Kivell drops to make the count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

 

It was.

 

 

 

 

 

…NOT!

 

“THAT WAS THREE!”

 

“THAT WAS THREE!”

 

“King, I’m not sure if I can take much more of this!” Mak Francis says, displaying a very un-Franchiselike rufflement and Matty Kivell shakes his head and brandishes two fingers to the world, “what the hell does one of these men have to do to get a win?”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“LET’S GO JOHN-SON!”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“LET’S GO JOHN-SON!”

 

There are now warring chants inside the Gund Arena rather than the partisan support for the Englishman that was audible before. Whatever their views on the respective natures of the competitors taking part in the match, enough of the crowd have developed enough damn respect for JJ Johnson to chant his name.

 

“JJ Johnson is tougher than boot leather,” King claims, “he’s harder than nails, he’s goddamn superhuman, Mak!”

 

Leaving aside King’s possibly slightly extravagant claims, Johnson certainly is tough. The Sunny In England seems to have taken most of Stephens’ remaining energy and although both men are stirring, neither one is doing it quickly. Kivell checks to see if he needs to do another double count but as he starts to raise his hands Stephens wobbles upright, hesitates for a moment to make sure that he can stand properly before he tries to move, then heads towards his opponent. Johnson is on all fours and Stephens brings him up, then locks his arms around the Canadian’s chest for a Side Effect…

 

“LET’S GO JOHN-SON!”

 

…but Johnson elbows his way out, repeatedly ramming his right elbow into Stephens’ head to break the Englishman’s grip before grabbing his opponent’s left arm and threading it between Stephens’ own legs, then securing it on the other side with his left hand and throwing his right arm across the champion’s chest, ready for a wrist-clutch Exploder…

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

…but Stephens elbows his way out of that, and knees Johnson in the gut!

 

“LET’S GO JOHN-SON!”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

The challenger is wheezing, desperately trying to snatch some oxygen into his lungs, but Michael Stephens doesn’t intend to give him a chance to recover. He places Johnson into a standing headscissors, and now it’s his turn to apply a double underhook.

 

“No,” King says, shaking his head, “not that! NOT THAT DAMN YOU!”

 

Whatever it is Stephens is planning, JJ Johnson wants no part of it. He struggles to free his arms… and fails. He plants his feet and tries to backdrop his way out of the move… and the screaming pain in his neck cuts that off at the pass as well. Before he can try again Stephens lifts, hoisting him up and over, then dumping him down on his back with a butterfly suplex…

 

*BANG!*

 

…before rolling backwards, the arms still locked in place…

 

“LET’S GO JOHN-SON!”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

…and coming up into a sitting double-underhook with wraparound bodyscissors.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“RTF II!” Mak yells, “or as near to it as makes no difference… the only difference being that this time JJ Johnson has nowhere to go!”

 

JJ Johnson’s legs are splayed out uselessly to either side, weighed down by his opponent. His arms are bent up behind his back, his chest is slowly being constricted by Stephens’ legs and most importantly of all, his neck is being crushed downwards. Stephens leans back, throwing every ounce of weight he can into the move, and this time JJ Johnson has no choice. He can’t force a pin. He can’t find the ropes. He can’t even move, and he certainly can’t outlast Michael Stephens on this one.

 

Sometimes, the most important part of being a fighter is knowing when to admit that, this time at least, you are beaten.

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms as Stephens releases his hold and collapses backwards, looking nearly as exhausted and hurt as JJ Johnson (who slowly unfolds in the other direction) while ‘Rookie‘ crashes out through the Gund, “the winner of this match and STILL SWF World Heavyweight Champion… MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

Referee Matthew Kivell takes possession of the SWF World Heavyweight Title from the timekeeper and helps Michael Stephens to his feet, then hands the Big Gold Belt to the Englishman and raises his right arm in the air. Meanwhile, JJ Johnson is now sitting in the corner of the ring, one hand nursing the back of his neck.

 

“King, we’ve seen yet another memorable battle for this title,” Mak Francis says, “and I think that Ground Zero this year has proven to be just as exciting, just as action-packed and just as controversial as last year, but I have to ask you; where now, for the SWF?”

 

“Hopefully off this fucking Fictional World Tour,” Suicide King responds on instinct, “but if you mean in terms of the World Title Francis, I’d have to say that I’m expecting either Tom Flesher or possibly Charlie Matthews to throws their hats into the ring anytime now.”

 

“Fans, we’ve seen newcomers in the forms of Nemesis and ‘The Beast’ Gabriel Drake - and what’s his agenda? - as well as amazing cruiserweight action,” Mak Francis says, “plus a throwback stipulation to the days of the IGNWF, and now we’ve finished with two of the top talents in the world today battling for the biggest prize on the table… but this is only just the beginning, because in just over a month we will have the biggest show of all time! That’s right… THE ROAD TO GENESIS VII STARTS HERE!”

 

Michael Stephens, battered, bruised and exhausted, stops in the middle of the ring and catches the eye of JJ Johnson. The Canadian is still sitting in the corner, crushed as much by disappointment in his failure to achieve the World Title again as by any painful submission hold applied by the Englishman. Stephens nods in acknowledgement… and after half a second’s hesitation, Johnson nods back. Then turns his head and looks the other way.

 

Stephens throws the title belt over his shoulder and eases his way out through the ringropes before starting back towards the dressing rooms. He’s fought off stiff competition, he’s retained the greatest title and he’s proved once more that he’s the top wrestler around… but he knows only too well that for every challenger defeated there’s a couple more waiting in the wings. As well as the possibility of other, less pleasant people.

 

The last camera shot of SWF Ground Zero 2006 is one from behind of Michael Stephens walking up the entrance ramp, head down, paying no attention to the cheering and whooping fans on either side of him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

 

©2006 Smartmarks Wrestling Federation

‘Raising Workrate By Attracting N00bs”

[chirs3 0]

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, it's time for IGNWF GROOOOOOOOOOOOUND ZEEEEROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

The fans, having just sat through a 4-hour PPV, aren't exactly cheering their heads off... BUT THEY WILL NOW~!

 

"Here is the card!"

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

MAIN EVENT - IGNWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH

SPECIAL REFEREE: JT Playa

Angel vs. Tokyo X ©

-> Tokyo X is, without a doubt, the IGNWF's rookie sensation. He rose through the ranks even faster than the drug-addled Toxxic fell. Meanwhile, Angel has been consistent, if nothing else - he holds victories over Blanku-san, Cutthroat and Ghost Machine 1.0, as well as the usual smattering of victories over scrubs like Dancin' Charlie Matthews Doin' The Charleston All Night Long, and Frost. Meanwhile, JT Playa lies in wait to take on the winner of the match, his Money In The Bank briefcase conspicuously by his side the whole time. And where does the man JT beat to win that briefcase fit in? Only Flyin' Ryan Dustin knows for sure!

Rules: Standard.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

IGNWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP CONTENDERS MATCH

Jack the Ripper vs. T-Bone vs. Lucky vs. Grahf

-> A fed-wide tournament, involving all 400 active wrestlers in the IGNWF, will finally be coming to a close at Ground Zero! Jack the Ripper took the first bracket, overcoming stiff competition like Rane, Fallout, and Stubby "Potts" McWeed! T-Bone handily destroyed the second bracket, with decisive victories over Molock, Xstasy, and GOAT! Lucky did not need any luck, as it was his mad skillz that toppled The HVille Fellow, Decent Bo, and Mr. Sarp! And Grahf, a former IGNWF World Champion himself, survived a hand-piercing at the hands of El Luchadore Magnifico, outlasted a really long promo from Outcast, and no-sold a cruicifixion by Madrac! These four are four of the best we have to offer, and tonight they fight for a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship!

Rules: All four men in the ring at once - first pin wins!

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

IGNWF LIGHT HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP / CAREER MATCH - LADDER MATCH

Monsoon Meteor vs. The Diet Pepsi MAX-imorphing Cyclone Comet Mobile ©

-> Former best friends, now bitter enemies. The Pepsi Max machine, serving faithfully as Cyclone Comet's sidekick for many years, had Cruiserweight Title aspirations. After successfully transitioning to "Diet" mode, the soft drink dispenser climbed the Light Heavyweight Ladder, and at Genesis VI, defeated his partner and best friend, Cyclone Comet, to claim the title!

 

Though they had agreed before the match that the outcome would not change them, the loss deeply affected Comet. The night after Genesis, he disappeared for many months, and a maniacal supervillain named the Monsoon Meteor began to wreak havoc on the IGNWF! At Clusterfuck 2006, the Monsoon Meteor had a shot at the Pepsi Machine's Title... he lost, and the Pepsi Machine unmasked him to reveal it was none other than Comet himself!

 

Since then, the Monsoon Meteor has continued to hound the Maximorphing wonder - attacking him backstage, filling him with Cocacola products when he was sleeping, even attaching "Out of Order" signs to his back, and the Pepsi Machine has had enough! TONIGHT, AT GROUND ZERO, these two men-... er... entities do battle for a third and final time! The winner will be the undisputed Light Heavyweight Champion... the loser will leave the IGNWF forever...

Rules: The Light-Heavyweight Championship Belt will be suspended above the ring - the first man to scale a ladder and claim it for himself wins!

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

IGNWF STABLES CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH

The Inmate Carnival © ("Aryan Brother" Edwin MacPhisto, "Assisted" Suicide King, "Tightlips" Mark Stevens, and "Prison Bitch" Spark)

vs.

Y4Chris (Chris Storm, Chris Raynor, Chris Wilson, and Christopher Walken)

-> Shortly after the timeline-split, the Midnight Carnival was arrested for blowing up FAO Schwartz! Eventually their names were cleared, but their time in prison hardened them, and when they returned, they were no longer the fun-loving wise-cracking prank-playing ne'er-do-wells we remember.

 

Not entirely thrilled with the proposition of being Second Prison Bitch amongst its ranks (Spark being the first), Chris Raynor split from the group and reformed Y2Chris with Chris Storm... who had reformed Y2Chris with Chris Wilson... who had reformed Y2Chris - well, you get the idea. The Inmate Carnival is looking for a fight, and you know what we say to that?

 

"WILSON shine on you? I doubt it, cause you can't stand the RAYN, and you won't survive the STORM - you'll just be WALKEN in a winter wonderland!"

Rules: Elimination style. Eliminated Carnival members will be shackled and led to a holding center backstage. Eliminated Chrises will be given a dollar and sent to the vending machine to get a pretzel for Curry Man.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

LUST FULL OF RAGE CRUISERWEIGHT MEMORIAL TOURNAMENT 2006 FINALS

Rane vs. G0R0

-> After NTD passed away in 2004 (a freak accident involving a Levi's truck), the IGNWF considered cancelling the Lust Full of Rage Tournament, but the wrestlers would not allow it! Out of respect for the Pantless Wonder, all of the IGNWF's heavyweights toned down to below 195 (the new cruiser limit), and they all entered the tournament! In its final match, Rane, whose transformation seemingly occured overnight, takes on the man whose third and fourth arms have him almost tipping the scales, G0R0!

Rules: Standard, with Cruiserweight Addenda.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

BATTLE FOR BOBBY RILEY'S AFFECTIONS MATCH

Annie Eclectic vs. Mistress Sarah vs. Sydney Sky vs. Andrea Montgomery

-> You know that "John Tucker Must Die" movie? About the dude dating three chicks at once? Riley's got FOUR, motherfucker! FOUR! But all of these women have been so taken with Bobby's MANLINESS, that they'd rather off the competition than get mad at Bobby for cheating! So tonight, his four lovers will do battle to determine who is worthy of Bobby's affections!

Rules: Four long, slender poles will be erected on the ringposts. On three of them will sit a Bobby Riley lookalike, and on the fourth will be Bobby himself! The first woman to scale a pole and kiss the correct Bobby will win his love (for a night or so, until he picks up another half-dozen lady friends).

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

HOLY RULES MATCH

Scott Pretzler vs. Pope Benedict XVI

-> At Apocalypse 2005, Scott Pretzler and Manson were engaged in a grueling non-violent protest to claim the IGNWF Pacifist's Championship, until Pope Benedict XVI rushed to ringside and threw holy water in Pretzler's eyes! The referee claims Pretzler said "Son of a bitch!", violating the non-violent rules of the matchup, but it was later revealed that the referee had been paid off, as revenge for Pretzler's victory over the Pope in an thumb-wrestling match backstage at 13th Hour in Vatican City! Tonight, they go head to head once again, but this time it's Pope's Rules!

Rules: Standard singles, with Holy addenda - should Pretzler make any violent moves or threats against the Pope, he will burn in hell forever.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

SINGLES MATCH

"The Philanthropist" Pastor Dan Sarp vs. Mercury

-> After years of climbing through the ranks to earn a shot at the IGNWF World Heavyweight Championship, Mercury fought a long, grueling match against then-champion Ghost Machine 1.0, before finally coming out on top... but refusing to accept the Championship because he felt he didn't truly deserve it. That led to Angel's extended title reign. Ever since, Mercury has been trying to rebuild his credibility, while Mr. Sarp has been watching from afar, in admiration of his skill. Every time Mercury wins a match, Sarp makes a donation to the local ASPCA. Tonight, will Sarp forsake the kittens to advance his own agenda? ... probably not.

Gentlemen's Agreement: Regardless of who wins, we all go home winners.

Rules: Standard singles match.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

IGNWF INTERCONTINENTAL-TELEVISION CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH

Wes Davenport vs. "Bollywood" Santosh Jeevan ©

-> After winning an Academy Award for BEST DOCUMENTARY: A Day In The Life Of Tony Danza, amateur filmmaker Wes Davenport began working on his new project, focused on the SWF! However, one man in the SWF takes issue with this - "Bollywood" Santosh Jeevan! A conniseur of Indian Cinema, Santosh was angered by the lack of villains sporting Zappa mustaches in the Tony Danza piece. Additionally, Santosh just hasn't been as docile since he gave up opium to go straight-edge. Will he take his chemical dependences out on Davenport, or will Wes defeat him to begin a climb to the World Championship?

 

 

HA! An actor winning the World Championship? What do you think we are, STUPID?

 

 

Rules: Standard.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

US TITLE MATCH

Ash Ketchum vs. "The Accountable One" Tom Flesher ©

-> Shortly after the timeline diverged, Ash Ketchum broke through to the top of the IGNJL. Then, he became the only wrestler ever to hold an IGNJL Title at the same time as an IGNWF one when he won the Hardcore Championship. (The timelines didn't totally diverge.) Around the same time, rookie Tom Flesher joined the fed but was subjected to a lengthy losing streak due to the wild success of other rookies - the IGNJL just wasn't big enough for the lot of them. However, Flesher worked his way up through the ranks, and today, he's proud to be a 12-time IGNWF United States Champion (although anything higher continues to elude him)! The fans know what they wanted to see - these two best friends finally facing off after two years of never meeting in the ring.

Gentlemen's Agreement: Ketchum and Flesher will be accompanied by their valet/girlfriends, Misty and Annie Eclectic (respectively). If at any time either wrestler breaks the rules, his girlfriend will throw in the towel immediately. This one's not about winning, it's about sending the fans home happy.

Rules: Standard, but there's no need for a referee. These two aren't going to mess around.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

IGNWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH - TABLES, LADDERS, AND BEARS

"The Bouncing Souls" (Outcast © and Sacred ©, accompanied by their wives)

vs.

"Glass Joe" Nathaniel Kibagami and Thoth

vs.

VHS (Dan Vigilante and HamSauce)

vs.

"Proud To Be American" (El Luchadore Magnifico and Mohammed Koran)

-> Outcast and Sacred, with the support of their loving (and totally alive) wives and their optimistic outlook on life, harnessed the power of their positive attitudes to quickly ascend the tag team ranks, eventually capturing the IGNWF Tag Team Titles from The Harmonix Cross Wizards! Tonight, they defend against three of the best the IGNWF has to offer! Can their sunny dispositions and support from loved ones see them through?

 

VHS - After Divefire left the WF to pursue his dream of becoming a vaudeville sensation, DVD was no more, and Dan Vigilante held the first ever "Be my tag team partner!" tournament. He's not very good at naming things. A number of impressive contenders entered the tournament - "Prozac" Joe Flyer, Landon "El Gorgojo" Maddix, Mormon Fury... but one stood above them all. HamSauce, now tired with the ICTV division after his record-setting 394-day reign, looked for new ground to conquer, and he took the tournament with ease. Tonight, we put their newfound partnership to the test!

 

Nathaniel Kibagami and Thoth - With Skull Radio having such a proven track record, and as a personal favor to Toxxic, Thoth decided to take the next step and implant one into the brain of Nathaniel Kibagami. Teaming up with Kibs has proven to be an excellent strategy, as the opponents get so tired breaking his bones and bleeding him dry, that when Thoth enters the match, it's pretty much won for him. The SWF spends more on Kibagmai's medical bills than the rest of the roster combined, but he insists on remaining active, if only because he is the official sponsor of most of the fed's ex-drinkers and substance abusers.

 

Proud to be American - After impaling Chris Wilson's hands with the Mexican flag, Magnifico immediately requested transfer to the Hardcore Gamer's division, in order to have a legitimate excuse to do it again... and again... and again. After he put An Octopus into the hospital with six of his eight tentacles pierced, PETA demanded that Magnifico be deported. The SWF, desperate to keep the star power, convinced Magnifico to apply for US Citizenship in order to stay, and it was in studying for the tests that a passion for American history awakened within him. At the same time, Mohammed Koran was just finishing up his training at West Point, when he was contacted by Magnifico through a pen-pals service. The two became fast-friends, engaging in novella-sized conversations about American history, politics, economics... when Koran was all set to begin a tour of duty, Magnifico convinced him to stay, so they could enlighten others as they had been enlightened!

 

Rules: The belts will be hanging above the ring, roughly 20 feet. Around the ring, ladders and tables of various shapes and sizes will be set up. If there has not been a winner after 20 minutes, a hungry grizzly will be released into the ringside area.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

SWF HARDCORE GAMERS CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH

Exploding Chicken © vs. "Carless" Mark Jindrak

-> It was Frost's generous donations that allowed The Gund to remain The Gund in this universe - but those donations did not come from his booming contraceptives and niccotine patch empire, oh no. Frost bought the rights to a rival wrestling federation, then began to use and abuse its talent for his own amusement. One man managed to break free from his contract, and he unicycled all the way down to the IGN offices to ask for a job! Amazed at his committment (and amused at his transportation), the IGNWF signed "Carless" Mark Jindrak, and tonight, he has a shot at the Exploding Chicken!

Rules: Parking lot brawl. The parking lot contains one brand spanking new Bentley Continental, which will be given *** to Mark Jindrak if he wins.

 

 

*** by given, I mean he will be offered a chance to lease it at a killer rate. Provided he first pays off all the damage it suffers during the match.

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

BEST OF SEVEN TIE-BREAKER - PURE RULES MATCH

Neilsen of the Hamptons vs. The HVille Fellow

-> After being recruited by Chris Wilson's face stable, Five Men and a Baby, The HVille Thugg abandoned his shit-wrecking ways - after all, with an infant in their charge, swearing and excessive violence were strictly forbidden. But when Family Services shows up and snatched the baby, indirectly causing Five Men and a Baby to lose Wargames to the Inmate Carnival, the stable was disbanded, leaving HVille at a loss for where to go.

 

Around the same time, Neilsen sold the rights to his jungle home to a lumber company, and took some time off from the IGNWF to get settled in a posh neighborood on Long Island. Upon returning, Neilsen was a changed man. He happened upon HVille after the Wargames debacle, and in an attempt to keep him from sliding back into his Thugggggg lifestyle, Neilsen of the Hamptons extended a most curteous challenge - seven pure rules matches in seven shows! They stand tied at three apiece, so tonight, these two upstanding citizens will engage in a most splendid contest of strength and cunning!

 

Rules: Only three ropebreaks are allowed for each wrestler, although they won't use them. Breaking a hold by grabbing the ropes or throwing a closed-fist punch will cost a wrestler his rope-break. Conceivably, so would a kick to the groin, but that's purely in the realm of speculation for these two. If a wrestler throws a punch and has no ropebreaks, he will be disqualified; if he grabs the ropes to break a hold with no ropebreaks left, the rope-grab has no effect and the submission remains until he submits or the hold is broken. The winner of the match will receive a certificate good for a bespoke Savile Row suit.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

BURIED ALI-... WELL... UH... BURIED DEAD... MATCH...

Mr. Galatea's Ghost vs. The Ghost of Mayor McCheese

-> The victims of the IGNWF's most notorious unsolved murders collide! Exactly 3 years after his crucifixion, Mayor McCheese tried to come back and tell everyone the whole thing was staged, as a way for him to leave the world of pro-wrestling... but he couldn't, because he was dead! Mr. Galatea laughed at him, and that's all the heat this match requires!

 

Rules: Before the match, the ghost's of Galatea and McCheese will be allowed to possess one (1) body of their choosing. First man to bury their opponent's body wins.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

TAG TEAM MATCH

"The Mahayana Machines" (Madrac and Fallout)

vs.

"We're Pretty Good, I Guess" (Decent Bo and GOAT {Generally OK At Times})

-> Haunted by their actions when Prime Evil crucified Mayor McCheese, Madrac and Fallout have turned to religion to appease their guilt. Now they follow the tenets of Buddhism, attempting to attain pure spiritual and wrestling enlightenment, but that may not be enough to save them against the thoroughly mediocre team of Decent Bo and GOAT!

 

Rules: Standard. The tag ropes are mandatory, whether or not there is a spoon.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

BY ALL MEANS, PLEASE, FEEL FREE TO GET ON MY LAWN MATCH

Toxxic vs. ELK vs. Heat vs. vs. Leonard Dangerous vs. Aardspark vs. Ejiro Fasaki vs. William Hearford vs. X-"Insert Gimmick Here"-stasy

-> The time-honored tradition of taking all our bottom feeding jobbers and tossing them into a random multiman lives on!

 

Oddly enough, alternate-timeline Heat is just about as successful as real-timeline Heat... that is, he never really did conquer the lawn. Tonight, he gets his seventeenth shot, along with all the other riffraff showing up just to collect a paycheck.

 

This marks ELK's first appearance in the opening jobber match, which makes the presence of Aardspark all the more interesting - it was three years ago to the day that marked ELK vs. Aardspark main eventing a house show. It was meant to be a pre-title-match warmup for ELK, but the two ended up wrestling to a time-limit draw, and since that time, ELK has gone on a 137 match tying streak. Unable to win, unable to lose, stuck in limbo. Aardspark went on to feud with Tom Flesher for the US Title (which led to six of Tom's US title reigns), but recently took some time off due to an injured snout. Tonight marks his first match back, and the first chance for ELK to finally turn his luck around!

 

Another convenient pairing in this match is that of Ejiro Fasaki and William Hearford. Working as a Mall Cop during Mall Brawl XIV, William Hearford busted Ejiro Fasaki in mid-match for attempting to shoplift some Tupac CD's. Ejiro vehemently denied this, but security camera footage and testimony from Hearford himself were enough to slap Ejiro with a $687 fine. Hearford was subsequently hired to keep the boys backstage in line, but after a number of wrestlers began showing up with black eyes and bruised faces, it was decided Hearford should be signed as a wrestler instead, so he wouldn't be allowed to carry his flashlight anymore.

 

After Xstasy's first bout with amnesia, the guys in the front office thought it would be funny to convince X that he was really a sea-faring cannibal named Longdogger EAT. X's memory never returned, and the IGNWF was able to get away with paying him a jobber's salary, convincing him that he just joined the fed! Every time X has come close to being bumped from the JL, another head bump was arranged, and a new personality invented. There's no telling who he'll be tonight!

 

After it was revealed that Johnny Dangerous (who suffered a massive headbump at Genesis IV and has been in a coma ever since) really was a Secret Service Agent after all, the IGNWF has been making it up to the federal government ever since. Latest intelligence suggests that Jimmy Hoffa may in fact be buried beneath the Gund Arena's lawn, and so the SS sent Johnny's brother Leonard (with a fool-proof cover story) to investigate.

 

As for Toxxic - this match is a direct response to his refusal to stick with his 12-step program.

 

Rules: Last one on the lawn's a rotten egg.

[chirs3 0]

"WELCOME EVERYONE, TO IGNWF GROOOOOOOOOUND ZEEEROOOO!" shouts Curry-man, over the dull roar of the fans too tired to sit through another four hour Pay Per View. "I'm Curry-man, and alongside me as always is Matt Myers -"

 

No...

 

"-and first up, a real battle for the ages, as eight of our top competitors race for the lawn!"

 

No... no, please...

 

"-irst ever TLB - Tables, Ladders, and BEARS-"

 

For the love of God, please...

 

"-Pastor Dan Sarp-"

 

No! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Brimstone's eyes snap open, and he leaps out of bed and curls up in the fetal position in the corner, whimpering loudly. After a few seconds, he seems to regain his bearings - a hotel room. Raining outside. Late at night. 3:14 AM.

 

The phone rings, nearly causing Brimstone to leap out of his skin. After catching his breath...

 

"Hello?"

 

"..."

 

"Hey Iceman... no, no, I'm fine, I just... I just had the strangest dream..."

 

"..."

 

"We were on the World Tour, but then we started going to all these wierd places... Jurassic Park... that ReBoot show... it was fucked up, man..."

 

"..."

 

"Yeah, heh. Just a dream."

 

"..."

 

"Alright, I'll see you later. And hey, good luck against Bollywood tomorrow."

 

Dun dun DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!