SWF STOOOOOORM! 9-1-2006

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EARLIER TODAY...

 

The familiar blue BMW pulls up to the Colisee Pepsi. James Matheson steps out of the passenger side, and the SWF Cruiserweight Champion, Tom Flesher, opens up the driver-side door. As he exits, he reaches into the back seat, grabbing a messenger bag and a small duffel bag, and sets them in the front seat. He opens the messenger bag and pulls out the Cruiserweight Championship belt, setting it on the dashboard for the moment as he riffles through a sheaf of papers.

 

“Got the contract?” asks Matheson.

 

“You know I do,” Tom says. “Everything’s in order, so we’ll drop it off with Peters today and get Stephens signed on. You know we have to have everything in order so someone can give the schmuck the gist of it before he puts his X on the dotted line.”

 

Flesher checks the gear bag. “Singlet... warm-up... kickpads... shoes... check. Got all the gear.”

 

He stands up, tossing the messenger bag over one shoulder and grabbing the gear bag with a free hand. He shuts the door, leaving the Cruiserweight Title on the dash. He starts to walk away, then pauses. He pats his side pocket, smirking. “Got the smokes, too.”

 

“I think you’re forgetting something,” Matheson chides Flesher.

 

“Oh, right!”

 

Tom opens the driver’s side door. Deftly, he reaches in and grabs the faceplate of his car radio, tossing it into the bag.

 

“Thanks for catching that, Jimmy.”

 

“It’s what I’m here for.”

 

With that, the pair walks away, as the camera stays focused on the Cruiserweight Championship, still laying on the dashboard of Flesher’s BMW.

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

SWF STOOOOOOOOORM!
Live, Friday, September 1st, from the Colisée Pepsi in Quebec City!
(7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings)
(Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3)



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

THE MAIN EVENT - PURE WRESTLING TEN-MINUTE CHALLENGE
Bruce Blank © vs. Jay Hawke
-> Jay Hawke managed to survive Bruce Blank's ten minute Hardcore Challenge - now the tables have turned! Fresh off a successful defense of the International Championship, the momentum is definitely in Bruce's favor. But does he have what it takes to survive ten minutes of Pure Rules with the Dean of Professional Wrestling? To sweeten the deal, the winner of this match will pick the stipulation for their Genesis VII Showdown!
Rules: Hell if I know. I always forget pure rules. Three rope-breaks, I think. And stuff. Fill me in, guys.

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

SPECIAL REPLAY - CRUISERWEIGHT MATCH
Tom Flesher vs. JJ Johnson
-> MANSON was walking along backstage at the Credit Union Centre, minding his own business, when he was attacked by an angry bee! He was so infuriated, he used the full potential of MANSONOSITY to destroy it, and as a result, there was a blackout for 48 miles in every direction, causing this match booked two shows ago to go unaired! Tonight, we replay it for you, because it was swank!
Rules: Standard, with Cruiser addenda.

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

"HOUSE OF MARVELOUS" INTERVIEW SEGMENT
---> The debut of the new interview show with SWF Road Agent Michael Anderson! His inaugural guest - none other than Mike Van Siclen!

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

HARDCORE MATCH
Michael Cross vs. Nemesis
---> So apparently, Michael Cross won #1 Contendership to the Hardcore Title a while ago, and we never gave him his shot.

Oops.

Jimmy's got Storm's off, so we're giving Lil' Mikey a warm-up match against the impressive newcomer, Nemesis! Nem's now teamed up with Bruce Blank, so maybe a little of that Ultraviolent Magick has rubbed off on him... or maybe Michael Cross will explode his brain. Only one way to find out!
Rules: NONE~!

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

OPENING BOUT - SINGLES MATCH
"The Beast" Gabriel Drake vs. "The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu
-> It's the battle of the guys whose names end in vowels! But seriously forks, Gabriel Drake has been kicking ass and taking names, but then he ran out of paper, so now he's just kicking ass. Tonight he faces his toughest challenge yet, in Akira Kaibatsu! Let's hope Akira makes it to the arena this time.
Rules: Standard singles match.

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

Opening Promo: Michael Stephens!

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

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FIVE...

 

 

FOUR...

 

 

THREE...

 

 

TWO...

 

 

ONE...

 

 

...*BANG! BANG! BANG! BOOM! BUH-BUH-BUH-BOOOOM!!*

 

The lights go up, the pyros go off and we are LIVE~ in the XXXXXXXX for SWF Storm! The cameras pan around to show thousands of screaming fans, waving signs with slogans like "FLESHER EATS A BAG OF DICKS" and "JOHNSON'S GONNA KILL YOU" and overall demonstrating that when it comes to unreasoned hysteria in the face of professional wrestling Canadians are just as rabid as their Southern neighbours.

 

"Welcome to SWF Storm," Mak Francis greets viewers as the cameras swing round to the announce table, "I'm 'The Franchise' Mak Francis, sitting next to the Suicide King as we get ready for yet another night of non-stop wrestling action from the stars of the SWF. Well, I say non-stop," the Franchise adds, looking down at his notes, "and as I see Charlie Matthews isn't booked I may actually be right..."

 

"Don't blame Grappler if you don't understand his strategy of wearing opponents down through the judicious use of painful submissions," the Suicide King interjects.

 

"King, I've got an amateur background. I know the difference between painful submissions and boring restholds, and I know what Grappler uses."

 

King opens his mouth to respond... and shuts it again as a rolling chant crashes out through the arena, the sound of a couple of thousand soccer fans in a mood for a fight...

 

"COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER 'ARD ENOUGH!"

"COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER 'ARD ENOUGH!"

 

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

The crowd rises in anticipation as the opening chord of 'Rookie' by Boy Sets Fire rings out while the Smarktron first whites out, then swiftly darkens down to black as jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan:

 

'PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG...'

 

The screen changes again, showing clips of famous matches; the All-Show Brawl against the Insane Luchador; the infamous Glass Jawbreaker on Aecas; the Caffeine Bomb on Nathaniel Kibagami; the RTF II on Landon Maddix. Finally it changes again to show Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the-

 

*BOOOM!*

 

-blast of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF's most decorated Englishman as the main riff hammers out! And through the flame and the smoke...

 

"TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC..."

 

...black hair hanging down over his face, wearing his new spiked, zipped and chained black canvas trenchcoat...

 

"TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC..."

 

...World Title hanging from his right hand, Tag Title from his left...

 

"TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC..."

 

...comes the man formerly known as Toxxic.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ring at this time," Funyon booms, "one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions and STILL the SWF World Heavyweight Champion... MIIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL... STEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!"

 

Stephens has walked slowly down to the end of the entrance ramp and stands looking up at the ring; as 'Rookie' approaches the first verse he crosses his arms for a second in the straight-edge 'X', then throws them wide with his title belts still dangling from each hand...

 

*bap-bap*

 

*BOOOM!*

 

...and igniting another blast of red flame from the top of each ringpost!

 

'I never thought this could be me

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

Like all the fun turns into shame

And all the "could-have-beens" rearrange...'

 

"It was a hellish contest on Smarkdown that saw Michael Stephens retain his title against Jimmy The Doom-" Mak Francis begins.

 

"If by 'hellish' you mean 'awful to watch' then yes, I agree," King snorts, cutting in.

 

"That wasn't what I meant at all," Francis says, glowering at his commentary partner, "it was a physically and mentally gruelling match in which Doom nearly beat the reigning World Champion; however, a top-rope Stephens Shock Syndrome was the difference maker in the end, and that is why Michael Stephens is now in the ring with the World Title."

 

"-which he's keeping warm for Flesher."

 

Stephens beckons to Funyon and receives the microphone from the veteran ring announcer, transferring the World Title to his left hand to join the Tag Title as he does so. Then he looks up and around at the fans and raises the mic to his mouth.

 

"...well bugger me, look who's still World Champion."

 

"YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

"Y'see, Jimmy The Doom was one of the toughest opponents to plan for that I've ever faced," Stephens continues as King mutters something about when did invitations of anal sex warrant a cheer, "because the bastard's so bloody unorthodox. Not to mention I'm fairly sure you could hit him in the head with a brick without it doing much to him. However, I found a way round that like I usually do, which means in the short term I'm still holding the gold."

 

"In the slightly longer term however, it means I've got the ugly face of 'The Superior One' Tom Flesher staring at me, because I know damn well that Joe Peters is wetting his pants at the thought of me going one-on-one with Tom at Genesis," the Englishman continues. "And let's face it, he's got a point. How many of you would want to see us lock it up for the World Title?"

 

"YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Stephens grins, "in which case it's your lucky day - or it will be soon - because it's official. It's signed. At Genesis VII it WILL be Michael Stephens vs Tom Flesher for the SWF World Heavyweight Title, which has got to be the biggest main event in, oh, a good couple of years," the World Champion continues.

 

"LET'S GO STE-PHENS!"

 

"LET'S GO STE-PHENS!"

 

"Can't argue with that," Mak Francis agrees, "Michael Stephens and Tom Flesher are two great competitors, and it's only fitting that a singles match of that magnitude should grace Genesis."

 

"It's only fitting that Tom should take back the biggest prize on the biggest stage of them all," King agrees.

 

"Now, about this World Title," Stephens says, holding the belt up and looking at it for a second. "When I came back and beat Landon for this, I didn't feel like I fully deserved it. Not because it was easy to beat Landon, because it wasn't. No, despite the fact that he manoeuvred me into the match, I felt like I shouldn't have been there. There were other people who'd been competing regularly who I felt had a better claim to a title shot than me. People like Zyon, who'd beaten Landon in a non-title match," he continues. "People like Bruce Blank, who'd had a massive Hardcore Title reign and been one of the most consistent competitors around. People like JJ Johnson, who'd come so close on three occasions to winning the biggest prize in the history of the sport." Stephens lowers his titles and looks around at the crowd.

 

"That's changed. I've defended the title against all three of those names, and now Jimmy The Doom as well. Believe me, there is not a shadow of a doubt in my mind anymore that I deserve this belt," the World Champion says, "and I can promise you all, I'm here to stay. Tom Flesher might be the most naturally-gifted wrestler of his generation, but he's not The Sensation. I beat Flesher in his hometown, I beat him and Janus for my first World Title, and now me and Landon have taken his Tag Titles."

 

"Flukes, all flukes," Suicide King snorts.

 

"It might be hard for Tom to admit it," Stephens grins, "but the plain fact is that he's going to be going into Genesis as the underdog, and-"

 

However, it is at this point that an explosion of blue pyro lights up the Colisee Pepsi, and the percussive opening of 'Kashmir' by Led Zeppelin kicks up over the PA system. The fans immediately begin booing as Tom Flesher struts through the curtain clad in his grey Magnificent Seven shirt with blue collar ringer, his cobalt sunglasses covering his eyes, his dark jeans and black wingtips rounding out the look. Around his waist is a plain black strap of leather, as he drags the Cruiserweight Championship belt behind him. As the crowd boos, the music fades, and Flesher flips his shades up off his eyes.

 

"Mike, Mike, Mike," Flesher says, shaking his head sadly as he walks down the entrance ramp, "I can only assume that our Doomtopian friend hit you rather harder in the head than everyone at first thought, because you're simply not making any sense. It's good to know that you're now comfortable with holding the World Title, but sadly your delusions of adequacy aren't going to help you when it comes to Genesis," the Superior One continues. "Honestly, do you really think that because you've 'justified' holding that belt by beating off a spotmonkey, a farmhand, a Danny Williams-wannabe and..." Tom pauses, momentarily lost for words, then rallies, "...whatever the hell Jimmy The Doom thinks he is, that you're going to have a prayer against me?"

 

"Not exactly sunshine, no," Stephens answers, "see, I'm not going to need a prayer against you, because I'm perfectly bloody capable of beating you on my own, thanks!"

 

"Cute," Flesher comments as he climbs into the ring, "you actually think you're on the same level as me?"

 

"Well, duh," Stephens grins, "name something, anything, that you've done in the ring over the last two-and-a-half years that I haven't."

 

"Wrestled."

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

"Heh! Score one for Flesher!" Suicide King chortles as the crowd boo the Superior One's razor wit. Michael Stephens raises his eyebrows slightly and regards his Genesis opponent with an expression that seems to say 'oh, so that's the way you want to play it?'

 

"So sunshine, this 'wrestling' you speak of," the straight-edger begins, "is that what you and Grappler call getting your arses kicked for the tag titles?"

 

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

"Or possibly," Stephens continues, "it's what you do when you have to retain the Cruiserweight Title by dropping a DQ against Landon Maddix? Cos-"

 

"You wouldn't know a wrestling match if one walked up and dropped it's pants," Flesher snaps, "although it's possible you might find the prospect arousing. I don't recall getting my ass kicked for the tag titles, and in fact I distinctly remember keeping you as far away from that portion of my anatomy as possible," the Superior One continues, prompting Stephens to yawn. "It wasn't me that got pinned, and you're fooling yourself if you think otherwise. As for the Cruiserweight match against Maddix, he can come back when a) he's worthy of being in the same ring as me, and b) when I've got time to waste wrestling for that."

 

"Is Tom Flesher disrespecting the title belt he holds?" Mak asks.

 

"Get with the program Francis," King sniffs, "it's nothing new. That belt's the reason we still have people like Zyon and Wildchild in the company. It's barely worthy of being a, a... salsa platter."

 

The Canadian crowd on the other hand aren't too pleased at Flesher's attitude, given that they've watched many exciting matches for the very title he's talking trash about. There is a distinct tide of hostile feeling towards the Superior One - so nothing new there then - as Stephens raises his microphone once more.

 

"So you don't think the Cruiserweight Title is worth your time?"

 

"Are you deaf, or just stupid?" Flesher asks, "no, actually, don't answer that. No, I do not consider it worth my time. Right now, there is only one thing that concerns me in this entire company, and it is taking the World Title from you at Genesis and reminding these people what a real World Champion is like instead of the ridiculous gothed-up fraud we have at the moment," he finishes with some venom.

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

"FLESH-ER SUCKS!"

 

"FLESH-ER SUCKS!"

 

Michael Stephens looks at his painted nails, his dyed hair and finally at his trenchcoat before looking up at Tom Flesher and raising his eyebrows again with a definite 'who, me?' expression. Then he raises the mic again.

 

"...wrong answer."

 

"Come again?" Flesher says with very little patience.

 

"See, there are very few things Joe Peters and I see eye-to-eye on," Michael Stephens informs the Superior One, "but one of them is about the Cruiserweight Title. He maintains, and I agree, that it would not be appropriate to have the biggest Pay-Per-View of the year, in fact of all time, without the Cruiserweight Title - the World Cruiserweight Title, if you will - being defended on it."

 

"I'm being booked into another match?" Flesher guesses. "Cheap, Toxx. And it won't help you. I'll simply dismantle Cross or Zyon or Akira Ka-whatsit as an aperitif, then come and take your title away anyway."

 

"That wasn't exactly what I meant, actually," Stephens says mildly, examining his nails, "you want to play the game, you've gotta bring something to the table Tom." He looks up, steel-grey eyes fixing on the New Yorker.

 

"There's one cruiserweight you haven't mentioned. And he's standing in the ring with you."

 

"Hang on," Mak Francis says as the crowd starts to catch on, "does he mean...?"

 

"My title versus yours," the straight-edger says levelly, "everything on the line, all or nothing, winner takes all." He starts to raise his voice over the growing volume of the crowd. "World Heavyweight Title vs World Cruiserweight Title to see which one of us is really the best! No excuses! No easy get-out clauses! No not being bothered to defend the title! If you want what I've got you've got to put yours on the line, and if you don't bring everything you have to our match Flesher, I'm going to walk all over your sorry carcass and peg you out to dry!"

 

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

Flesher pauses, fuming quietly. He glowers across the ring at his adversary, then drops the Cruiserweight Championship on the mat in front of him. "Do you want the belt, Michael? You can have the Cruiserweight Championship, for what that's worth. You can call your mum and your dud and your suster and brag about how you've brought home a title that some people consider the top belt in the company, for reasons I'm still not clear on. Go ahead. The stipend's s**t anyway."

 

Stephens maintains his even demeanor, ignoring Flesher's challenge.

 

"Come on, Michael. Take the belt. I don't care. If that's what this is about, then go ahead and take it. Because when I walk into the ring at Genesis, I'm not defending anything except a filthy piece of tin that Mark Stevens gave to Wildchild to keep him loyal when the Oat Toast came calling. If you want it, take it now, and I'll take it back from you at Genesis... but Michael, if you expect to catch me off-guard, it's not going to happen. You took my Tag Team Titles, and you took my chance at a World Title two years ago. Don't expect to get lucky again... sunshine."

 

Flesher kicks the Cruiserweight Championship toward Toxxic, who steps forward. The men stand eye to eye for a few seconds as the picture fades out.

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“So, what’s the holdup?”

 

In a hallway of the Colisée Pepsi, the SWF’s own interviewer’s face turns from a smile to a grimace. Sadly, Ben Hardy’s view of the much more palatable cleavage of Megan Skye is interrupted by the mug of Landon Maddix who is now, regretfully, speaking to him.

 

“Just a second,” Gus responds, hefting his camera onto his shoulder. “Everything’s fixed now. Ben, I’ll count you down.” Hardy nods in approval, as Megan Skye takes her place at Landon’s side. “Okay, ready to go in three, two, one…”

 

Go!

 

“I’m here with one half of the SWF Tag Team Champion’s Landon Maddix and the always magnificent Megan Skye, who have something to say. So, Landon, what’s up?”

 

Maddix looks completely perplexed by Hardy’s less than stellar segue, but quickly recovers and brandishes a huge grin. “Y’know, Hardy, you suck at this, but I can handle it from-”

Megan’s eyes dart off camera for a second and then she tugs on the arm of her partner in crime, among other things. “-here…” Landon looks at her and then follows her eyes up and to the right, while the camera pans to the side, revealing Gabriel Drake who has just walked into the shot. After a menacing look from Drake, Hardy quickly slides the microphone from Landon to the SWF rookie.

 

“…I came to the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation for a reason-”

 

“Hey, I scheduled this interview time!”

 

Hardy’s head swivels back to Landon, who apparently doesn’t need the mike to have his voice carry. Loud is one thing this cockroach is, but he won’t allow himself to just be walked over.

 

(“Landon!”)

 

(“What Megs, this guy can’t just take my interview over?!”)

 

“Oh it’s you.” Drake says, looking him up and down dismissively. “You’re that guy with the crush on Toxx, aren’t you?”

 

Maddix’s face runs the gambit of emotions, leading off with shock, then distress, and finishing up with a somewhat queasy expression. “You okay, Landon?” Megan asks, looking a little disquieted by the thought as well but a response comes back quickly. “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little…”

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Does he really not know who I am?” La Cucaracha asks his valet, completely forgetting about the crush comment and looking very concerned that someone could possibly not be familiar with who he is. Drake on the other hand continues undeterred.

 

“Whatever your name is, you’re not it and neither is my opponent tonight, but he’ll have to do for now because I have something to prove. Apparently I haven’t made enough of an impact yet, but I intend on doing-”

 

“-Hey, aren’t you in the opener, again?” Landon interrupts condescendingly, ignoring the persistent tugging coming from his left. “Shouldn’t you be running along now?”

 

“I’m no-one’s curtain jerker and you better remember that, Maddix.” Drake says slowly, pointing a finger in the face of Landon, who was making a shooing motion.

 

(“Oh, so he knows my name now.”)

 

(“Shut up, Landon and quit doing that!”)

 

Landon’s aside and brushing off of Drake is shouted down (well really, whispered down), by Megan so he melodramatically rolls his eyes for added affect.

 

“Akira Kaibatsu, they say you wrestle like a man with no fear, but to be honest, I could give a fu-*beep* what they say!” Drake adds in a low growl. “I’m the meanest sonnuvabitch you’ll ever be in a ring with and tonight, you damn well better fear me. Tonight, I’ll make you fear my beast!”

 

Gabriel Drake finishes, pushing past Landon Maddix in a shoulder to shoulder collision that sends the smaller man back a few steps.

 

“Did you get all that?” Hardy asks as an aside, while Drake continues down the hall towards the gorilla position. “So, err… Landon, you were going to say something?”

 

Maddix looks down at his shoulder and then brushes some imaginary dirt from it. He looks at Megan who seems exasperated and then stares off down the hall.

 

“You know… I reallydon’t think I like that guy.”

 

FADE…

[chirs3 0]

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome back to SWF Storm, live from the sold out Colisée Pepsi!” Mak Francis beams, his ever present Oakley shades in place. “The one and only ‘Franchise’ Mak Francis here alongside the Suicide King and King, after those opening words from one half of the SWF Tag Team champs and our current World Champion, Michael Stephens we move on to the first match on tonight’s telecast!”

 

“We shouldn’t be worried about what’s coming up, but who is coming up, Francis.” King responds. “Who cares what happened at the start of the show, did you see what just took place?”

 

“Yeah, Gabriel Drake got a little hot under the collar at the antics of one, Landon Maddix.” Mak adds, smiling somewhat himself. “Landon does tend to act a little rashly some of the time-”

 

“-All of the time.” King amends quickly.

 

The Franchise continues, with a smirk. “And he can be imprudent at times…”

 

“Try foolish!” King crows. “I’ve never met a person with less respect for anything and everything than Landon Maddix.”

 

“But your irrational hate of him aside, that’s neither here nor there as he’s not involved in this match. Tonight’s opener involves ‘The Divine Wind’ Akira Kaibatsu and his opponent, the—and I use this term loosely, ‘undefeated’ rookie, ‘The Beast’ Gabriel Drake!”

 

“I swear you’re never going to give Drake his due, are you?”

 

“I call them like I see them and three wins doesn’t quite give you the right to call him undefeated!” Francis states. “I don’t like the guy one bit, but at least I can admit Drake’s talented unlike you and your Maddix obsession.”

 

The last comment hangs in the air, as several moments pass creating a now expected feeling of discomfort before the now familiar eerie blue light covers the arena. The Canadian crowd begins to boo in the chillingly blue-filled stadium as the opening twangs of a guitar echo through the arena. The slow melody continues and is even amplified by a flash from several bright white strobe lights. “The Devil’s Rejects” by Rob Zombie slowly takes form while the lyrics begin…

 

“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 continues to jeer. 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…”

 

“Why the hell is Gabe coming out first? The only star power Akira has involves fans of Iron Chef.” King asks his sarcasm only getting stronger as he continues to compare Akira and now walking ‘Beast’. “He really does have something to prove if Peter’s thinks, Kai-ba-whatshisname deserves top billing!”

 

“Hell doesn't want them.

Hell doesn't need them.

Hell doesn't love them.”

 

“Drake mentioned he was better than being in the opening match, but in my opinion it’s who you fight not where you fight that matters.” Mak remarks as the song comes to a crescendo, while Funyon prepares to speak.

 

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall!” Funyon states. “Currently making his way to the ring, 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 tonight referee Mark Hebner, before going to the turnbuckle and just staring out at the crowd.

 

“The Devil's Rejects… Rejects…”

 

“…I think Gabe means business tonight, but then again, when hasn’t he?”

 

“The devil’s rejects… rejects…”

 

Gabe hops down as the song begins to fade, pacing around the ring with the countenance of a caged lion, waiting to be released upon prey…

 

 

“WU-TANG CLAN COMIN’ ATCHA!”

 

 

“Watch ya step kid…”

 

“Watch ya step kid…”

 

“Watch ya step kid…”

 

The previously booing crowd rises to its feet with a cheer of approval!

 

“I think Akira should be the one watching his step.” King quips as “Protect Ya Neck” by Wu-Tang Clan hits and through the curtains enters “The Divine Wind” Akira Kaibatsu, to a nice cheer from the Canadian faithful! Kaibatsu walks down the aisle, all business, but he extends both hands out receiving slaps from the crowd.

 

“And quite frankly, protecting his neck as well…” Mak chimes in under his breath. “…but here comes Akira Kaibatsu, after a tough loss in an I Quit match for the International Title!”

 

“International Heavyweight Title, Francis!”

 

“Yes, yes, International Heavyweight Title… he looks ready to get back on track and right back into title contention!”

 

“And his opponent,” Funyon states, “making his way to the ring, from Sendai, Japan, weighing in tonight at one hundred and ninety-five pounds, he is ‘The Devine Wind’ AKIRA KAIBAAAATSSSSSSUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!”

 

Kaibatsu slides through the ropes, rolling into the ring and pops up to his feet, making his way towards his corner. As Akira places both hands on the ropes to pull himself up a blur from behind races into the picture, crushing him with a…

 

“Cheap shot!” Mak shouts, as Gabriel Drake clubs Akira Kaibatsu across the back of the head, causing him to stumble into the turnbuckles! “He jumped him before the bell!”

 

Drake continues to smack the Divine Wind down with clubbing blows to the back of the neck, even as Kaibatsu attempts to get to his feet using the ropes! As he tries to turn and defend himself, Gabe strikes sending him falling down into a neutral corner.

 

“Oh a bell rung alright… it’s just that it was Kaibatsu’s instead of the time keepers!”

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“And there’s the actual bell!” Mak says in disgust, as Hebner starts the match quickly. “Akira didn’t even get to offer his ritual pre-match hand shake!”

 

“It’s probably better this way.” King reasons, as Akira attempts to pull himself out of the corner only for Drake to kick him in the chest. “Now Akira won’t have a false sense of security. He knows for certain Drake meant every word of that interview!”

 

The Beast continues to attack his opponent, grabbing the ropes for support before driving boot after boot into his midsection! After five successive kicks, Drake sticks his foot across the throat of the Divine Wind, choking him!

 

‘ONE!’

 

‘TWO!’

 

‘THREE!’

 

‘FOUR!’

 

Hebner gets ready to step in but Gabe is a step ahead of him, breaking the hold. Propping Kaibatsu up in the corner, Drake measures his opponent and-

 

WHAM!

 

-strikes him across the face with a side-arm punch! Rearing back across from the other side, Drake twists his hips and-

 

SMACK! WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

-unloads a nasty knife-edge chop to the chest of Akira! Taking his arm back again, the Beast continues to lay waste to Kaibatsu with these alternating strikes!

 

WHAM…

 

…SMACK! WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

WHAM…

 

…SMACK! WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

WHAM!

 

WHAM!

 

 

…WHAM!!

 

Gabe ends it with three straight side-arm punches to the face or would have ended it, had he not driven his knee deep into Akira’s mid-section, pushing all the air out of him…

 

CRACK!

 

…and then caught the slumping Divine Wind with a back elbow right in his ear-hole!!

 

“This is a mugging, folks, plain and simple!” Mak shouts, “Drake is just mauling Akira…”

 

“He’s just getting Akira back for Pearl Harboring us all those years ago!”

 

Though King’s comment is in bad taste this is the exact definition of a pearl harbor in wrestling and Mak knows it. Gabe grabs the Divine Wind by the hand and backpedals before flinging him across the ring into the corner! Walking back into his corner, Drake pauses briefly to gauge the distance and then takes off in a full sprint, leaping into the air with his knee raised in an imitation of the great, Harley Race!!

 

“They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but if it’s better than the original what do they say?”

 

“Drake doesn’t care what they say, remember?” Francis adds, while Gabriel continues the assault, pulling him out of the “safety” of the corner by his hair and dragging the shaky legged Akira to the center of ring. “A nice copy of the Harley Race high knee, but still just a cop-” Mak begins to say, but the image of Drake throwing Akira to the mat face first breaks his train of thought. “-he just threw him down like he’s nothing …”

 

Picking Akira up by the hair, Drake grabs the hunched over warrior by the base of his neck and fires his right knee straight up into his face! Kaibatsu’s head rockets back, but the clinch holds him in place for a left knee to the nose and another right knee to the jaw!!

 

CRACK!

 

CRACK!

 

CRACK!

 

“He’s bloodied him!” King sings out, elated at the news of the second knee drawing crimson.

 

“Those Muy Thai knees are devastating when they hit their mark and the bloody nose of Akira is proof.”

 

Backing the dazed Akira into the ropes with a shove, Drake sends him away with a whip! His opponent returning back, Gabe swings out with a back elbow—no, Kaibatsu ducks under the blow and continues running! “Looks like that bloody nose woke Akira up, King!” Mak says, as Drake preps himself for the return with a Lariat attempt—but no, Akira stoops underneath the attack once more, this time leaping onto the second cable and springboarding back in a cross-body block!! “Cross-body connects and Akir-”

 

“-Akira is an idiot for thinking that he could do that move to Gabriel Drake!”

 

King’s interruption, rude as it is does hold water as Drake holds the SWF’s lightest cruiserweight in his hands! The Beast pauses for a second, shakes his head once emphatically and then bends Akira rib-cage across his knee in a rib-breaker!! Parading around the ring, Drake drops down in a second breaker and easily hefts the light weight back up and into position!

 

“Hey, he isn’t—is he going to-” Mak begins not quite sure why Gabriel Drake is walking towards the ropes until he turns backwards! “He’s not gonna’ do that-” Mak adds shaking his head in disbelief as Drake arches back in a release fall-away slam, sending Akira in a barrel roll over the top rope and to the outside!!! “-What the hell! THAT’S JUST RIDICULOUS!”

 

“Meh, it’s not like they’re under cruiserweight rules and it was a DQ.” King says, feigning indifference as Akira rolls to the guardrail on the thinly padded outside. “I always thought those rules were wooly by the way.”

 

As King lists the reasons he thinks cruiser rules suck, Hebner begins his count.

 

 

‘ONE!’

 

 

“First of all, who deserves a twenty-count on the outside?” King questions. “It should be ten or nothing!”

 

 

‘TWO!’

 

 

“This from the wrestling purest that thinks Flesher’s thumb to the eyes could be a legitimate part of his moveset!” Mak says seething, as Akira has yet to make a definitive move.

 

 

‘THREE!’

 

 

“Then that whole over the top rope thing… I don’t get it!”

 

“Surprises abound on that one…” Mak mumbles out the corner of his mouth.

 

“What was that, Mak, frog in your throat? Those French-Canadian’s should paying you well considering you are the best jobber this company ever had!”

 

‘FOUR!’

 

“But back to the real issue!” King says hastily, backtracking at the Franchise’s cold glare. “I mean, if their goal is to use flip-floppy moves with all those graceful pirouettes like male cheerleaders, wouldn’t it make sense for then to allow that kind of thing?”

 

“Safety of the wrestlers involved perhaps… so that things like this don’t happen, maybe?” Mak says, rolling his eyes so hard you could tell through his shades.

 

 

‘FIVE!’

 

 

“You know what, Francis?” King says, suddenly stopping his tirade and looking at Akira as he clutches his back in pain. “I don’t think Kaiba-whatshisface is going to make it back into the ring.”

 

 

‘SIX!’

 

 

On the outside, Akira finally pushes himself up to his knees and begins to crawl towards the ring apron. The crowd seems to pick up on the dire situation as well, doing anything they can to cheer Akira on!

 

‘SEVEN!’

 

 

“You’re right, King!” Mak says, shocked at himself. “He’s having some real trouble! Akira’s a tough customer but that throw hurt the Divine Wind badly!”

 

 

‘EIGHT!’

 

 

Akira continues to crawl, his left knee giving him some troubles from the fall, but he’s not going to give up and lose on a cheap count out…

 

 

‘NINE!’

 

 

“He’s got to make it…”

 

 

‘TE-’

 

Hebner waves off the count, as Akira slides half his body under the bottom rope, securing a break!! The crowd lets loose a mighty cheer, finally getting behind the Asian grappler!

 

“Akira’s not the most charismatic wrestler in the fed-”

 

“-That’s an understatement!”

 

“-but his guts and determination have drawn this crowd back into this match, King!”

 

In response to this show of will, Gabe just grabs on to the middle rope and shoves Akira back out of the ring with boots to the head! Akira, having caught a little of his second wind pushes himself back up and onto the apron, but Drake just rushes at him with a knee to the side, sending him falling back to the ground!! An emphatic ‘Stay the fuck out of my ring!’ from Gabe Drake seems to get his point across to the audience…

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“Geez, when’s he going to give up?!”

 

Kaibatsu will not give up though, as he once again pulls himself up using the apron! “Akira is tough as nails! This is a guy that went toe-to-toe with Bruce Blank in an ELECTRIFIED CAGE with TIME BOMBS, King! TIME BOMBS!” Mak adds again to get the point across. Using the ropes to pull himself into a standing position, Akira looks on wearily as Drake marches over intent to put him back on the outside, but Kaibatsu slingshots into a roll over and down the back of his would-be aggressor!! Drake stumbles into the ropes and turns around, trying to cut Akira off before he can do any damage…

 

CRACK!

 

…too late! Akira’s leg lashes out in a superkick, catching Drake on the button and sending him back into the ropes in a daze! “Superkick! Superkick!” Mak shills, as Akira chops the dazed Beast across the chest with his left hand and then his right! “Kaibatsu is rallying back now!”

 

Akira buries two forearms into Gabe’s face and then pulls him from the ropes with a whip! Moving to center ring, Kaibatsu measures Drake and then the Divine Wind winds up and-

 

THHWAAACKK!

 

-cracks him with a sick European uppercut!! The Beast hits the mat back first, as Akira takes off for the ropes and rebounds back using all his momentum to crash into Drake with a powerdrive elbow! Standing up as quickly as he can, Akira takes off for the ropes again and springs onto the middle one for a pretty moonsault!

 

“Asai Moonsault! Cover by Akira!” Mak says, as Hebner makes the count…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

T…

 

…No! Kaibatsu just gets a two count! Grabbing Drake’s left arm, Akira controls the bigger man as he tries to get up to his feet, dropping mini chops to the back of his neck to keep him down. But Drake, having the clear power advantage is still able to get near his feet! Akira twists Gabe’s arm in a wringer, which slows down the rising process and then yanks down twice trying to pull the limb out of its socket!

 

“What’s that going to do?” King questions, as Drake scowls on the mat. “He’s just going to piss Gabe off even more with this petty arm work!”

 

“In my experience, arm control is a lot like walking a dog, you give a yank or two and they listen to what you have to say.” Mak adds chuckling a little as Akira drives an elbow into Drake’s triceps. “Plus, that Anaconda Vice of Akira’s feeds off damage done to the arm!”

 

Gabe finally makes it to his vertical base, but Akira has led him over towards the corner by tugging on his arm. Drake attempts to break free, but Akira slides into a hammerlock, placing the limb near the turnbuckle, before he whips around and clotheslines Gabe sandwiching his arm in the process!!

 

“What smarts’ by Akira! He knew he probably couldn’t take Drake down with his normal clothesline so he used the ring to his advantage and pinned his arm!”

 

“What’s that goo-err—goof up to now?” King says, his tongue nearly slipping as Akira walks away in a circle and then rushes forward springing off the second rope and BLASTING Drake in the face with a straight kick!! Gabe falls out of the corner and Kaibatsu covers, taking care to pull him away from the ropes…

 

“Springboard Gamengiri! The offence just won’t stop!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH…

 

…NO! Akira gets two! The Divine Wind knows he needs to stay on his opponent and even that second wind is starting to disappear; Akira lifts Drake up to his feet using a front facelock for leverage! Taking a deep breath, Akira raises a fist in the air for the crowd and then grabs Drake’s tights…

 

“Akira’s got a front headlock,” Mak calls, always the amateur wrestlers, “could he be going for his Divine Backbreaker or maybe a Brainbuster?!”

 

Sadly, we don’t get to find out as Drake reverses the suplex! Akira feels himself being pulled into the air and then in a genius display, links his legs with Drake’s pulling him down to the mat in a inside cradle!!

 

“Inside Cradle! The master of the small package pulls one off when he really needs it!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

…NO! Only two says Hebner as they spring apart! “I thought he had him!” Mak says, as Drake tries to get to his feet, but Akira is back on him with another front facelock! “Akira really wants that move, whatever it is…”

 

Breathing heavily, the Divine Wind once again attempts to lift the Beast but he, once again, blocks the suplex landing back down on his feet! “But he ain’t gonna’ get it tonight!” King crows, as Drake picks up Akira, this time pulling him over the top…

 

 

…but Akira lands on his feet! Back to back with Drake, Akira grabs him by the neck and falls into a neckbreaker drop!!

 

“A falling neckbreaker! The counters keep on coming and now Akira’s looking to follow up!”

 

Drake sits up and Kaibatsu scoots around and grabs at his wrist looking for the Anaconda Vice!! Akira struggles against the strength of the much larger Beast! Akira’s muscles strain and his breath becomes ragged as he doggedly attempts to put on his move and is suddenly thrown off as he tries to interlock his hands!! Surprised by the power, Kaibatsu falls back into a roll, clutching his ribs, as he sucks in air!

 

“Akira’s gassed?” Mak questions, as Drake gets to a knee and Akira charges, only to receive a punch to the gut! “I’ve seen this guy put on a ten minute sprint match with Mike Cross! Now way he’s tired!”

 

“Ah, but how did Cross attack, Mak! This is where Gabe strength compared to a cruiser and the work on Kaibatsu’s midsection paid off!” King gloats, while Akira gasps for air. “Tossing him to the outside was the main blow, but the cruiser pushed himself too hard going for power moves and now he can’t breathe!”

 

Kaibatsu tries to stand, but Gabe just kicks him in the gut and smiles. Pushing the worn-out Akira into a standing head-scissors, Gabe slides his arms around the Divine Winds mid-section and hauls him up into the air with ease! Holding him in place as he turns in a circle about the ring Drake readies to drop him through the canvas, but suddenly Kaibatsu re-awakens, finding a third wind from somewhere, raining down overhead chops to the neck of his opponent!! Drake staggers slightly under the assault and that’s all the opening Kaibatsu needs, arching his body and swinging his legs about the head of Drake in a twisting huracanrana!!!

 

Gabe bounces off the canvas, but hurries to his feet, only to see Kaibatsu already up and running towards him, jumping and locking his legs around the Beast’s neck, spinning him right back down to the canvas with a head-scissors takedown!!

 

“This is ridiculous!” King screams, as Akira pushes himself up to his feet and measures the Beast who is stumbling to his feet, clearly dizzy from all the spinning! “He should be done!” Akira takes off planting his foot on Drake leg, but Drake’s seen this before and is able to lower his head under the oncoming right foot-

 

CEEEERRRRAAACCCKKK!

 

-but he had no clue the left one was coming!!!

 

“Black Magic! BLACK MAGIC!” Mak yells, like he’s Rick James. “Akira’s found a THIRD wind and he’s got Drake on the ropes!”

 

Gabe is miraculously still standing, albeit hunched over, so Akira immediately knows what moves he’s going for next! Straddling the head of his opponent, Akira pauses for a second to reach underneath and grab both of Gabe’s arms!!

 

“It Came From Sendai!” Mak bellows. “This could do it!”

 

But Mak’s bellows were premature, as the Beast within the ring lets loose a guttural roar and frees his arms, standing up straight with such force that Akira is thrown clear off him and overhead in a back body drop WHERE HE ROTATES COMPLETELY AND LANDS FACE FIRST!!!!!!

 

“Jesus! Did you SEE that, King?”

 

“You’re damn right I saw it!”

 

Looking at his opponent with pure disdain, Gabe Drake grabs him by the hair and knees him directly in the nose, causing the earlier gusher to be re-tapped!! The blood flows as Gabe rears back and-

 

THWACK! OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH!

 

-DEMOLISHES Akira by palm striking the hell out of him and causing the crowd to moan in simpathy!!

 

‘You think you’re good, Toxx!’ Drake shouts, before shoving the stunned and loopy Akira into center ring and rebounding off the near ropes, PLASTERING him with a sickening Lariat that spins him onto his face, once more!!!

 

‘You’re nothing but a traitor!’ Gabe barks out, as he toes Akira in the back of the head and then he flips him over and grabs him by the face, whispering something that make his drowsy eyes go wide…

 

“This is the second match where Drake has forgone a cover, on a move that might have gotten him the win.” Mak mumbles, before Drake picks Akira up into a fireman’s carry!! “Here comes that Mark of the Beast piggyback stunner, and I he's been released from jail and everything, but I honestly think that this man could be a psychopath with the way he’s acting in the ring right now…”

 

‘Nightie, night Toxx…’ Gabe says in a low growl, while on his back, Akira catches Drake with a knee to the head as he tries to transfer him into the Piggyback, sliding down his back!! Gabe turns shouting in surprise as the Divine Wind, uses the last of his reserves to land a toe kick!!

 

“I don’t know where he’s getting this from…” King mutters, as Kaibatsu turns his back to Drake. “What this, his fourth wind?!”

 

Akira latches to his neck with a three-quarters facelock and lunges towards the ropes for his only salvation!!!

 

 

 

 

THUNK!

 

 

 

 

…But there’s no salvation here, as Drake forcefully shoves him off with an evil scream and Akira hits the turnbuckles sternum first!! Kaibatsu tumbles backward from the force, easy pickings as the Beast pounces off the near ropes and MAULS him with a Spear!!!!

 

Standing over the Divine Wind, the Beast stalks his sputtering prey!! Grabbing Akira by the leg as he coughs on the mat, Drake lifts Kaibatsu’s left leg over his own neck and then turns slightly before practically sitting down on his head!!!

 

“Spite and Malice! The Stretch Muffler Crab! After that Spear its-”

 

The tap out is pretty much instantaneous.

 

“-over.” King finishes for him, as Hebner signals for the bell.

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Drake stands up and flings Akira off his neck like a rag doll, waiting for the ref to raise his hand.

 

“He just dropped him to the mat like a toy he was done with…” Mak notes uneasy as Funyon makes the call…

 

“The winner of this match, by submission, ‘THE BEAST’ GABRIEL DRRRRRRAAAAAAKKKKKKKEEEEEEEE!”

 

“That’s because he was a means to an end, Mak.” King chimes in, while Drake exits the ring to boos. “Drake wants up the card, and Akira Kaibatsu just got in the way.”

 

Francis just lifts his shades and watches the Beast exit, not bothering to answer King’s comment.

 

“I think it’s time to face facts, Mak.” The Suicide King continues. “After that dominant ending and win, Gabriel Drake is officially undefeated.”

 

Mak can only nod his head as we…

 

FADE…

[chirs3 0]

“We’ve still got a lot of great action to come here on Storm,” says Mak. “We’ll be airing a replay of the Cruiserweight Rules match between the World Cruiserweight Champion, Tom Flesher and JJ Johnson!”

 

“That’s right,” adds King. “That’s a match that creates tremendous personal interest for me: we’re going to see two of the top mat wrestlers of all time show the world what REAL cruiserweight wrestling is all about!”

 

“And also,” continues Mak, “We’ve still got the debut of the House of Marvelous, with Mike Van Siclen appearing as the guest, as well as the main event, which will feature Bruce Blank taking on… wait, wait just a second, King… something appears to be going on out in the crowd!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

A rousing cheer goes out in the arena, as the SmarkTron shows Wildchild in the midst of the crowd!

 

“It’s Wildchild, King!” exclaims Mak. “What’s he doing out there?” The fans part as WC and Melissa Fasaki make their way to the ringside area.

 

“He’s headed this way, King,” says Francis. “Do you think he’s come to violate his suspension?”

 

“Well, if you believe Mike Van Siclen, he’s been violating his suspension for weeks now,” replies King.

 

“King, of course, referring to Mike Van Siclen’s allegations that Wildchild has been masquerading as Birdman,” explains Mak, as Wildchild and Melissa stop short of the ring barricade, and come to rest in two unoccupied seats. “Perhaps that’s what he intends to talk about tonight on the House of Marvelous?”

 

A cameraman rushes over to zoom in on WC, who flashes a pair of tickets for the camera. “Maybe he just got tired of sitting at home,” ponders King.

 

“Or maybe he found out that Mike Van Siclen was going to have an interview today, and decided to come up and respond to it.”

 

“Well, I think it goes without saying that this definitely raises the interest level in that interview,” says Mak excitedly. “I’m really looking forward to what happens in the House of Marvelous tonight. We’ll be back after this!”

[chirs3 0]

"Hey JP, what's up?"

 

Apparantly, what's up isn't Joseph Peters' opinion of the SWF Tag Team Champion, sat sternly at his desk as Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix enters his office. With no response to Landon's greeting, Peters simply signals for him to sit down. Maddix raises an eyebrow as he does so, having to manoeuvre himself carefully into the seat so as not to drop either of his title belts (OAOAST 24/7 and SWF Tag, word.).

 

"Nice of you to show up this time." Peters deadpans, clearly going somewhere with this. "Even though you're not booked, obviously."

 

"Yeah, about that..."

 

"How was your Monday?"

 

Leaning back into his chair, Maddix rolls his eyes. He guessed this was where the conversation was heading.

 

"Mine was pretty chaotic to tell you the truth, Landon. You know how it is, running a wrestling promotion, trying to keep track of all the company's employees, what they're doing, where they are. It's made even more complicated when they magically disappear from trace. You were supposed to face Akira on Lockdown Monday night. Correct?"

 

"Yeah, about that..."

 

"So, naturally when the road agents all informed they hadn't seen you since Sunday, I was a little confused. Imagine my surprise then when they saw you on Sunday, in Miami."

 

"Yeah." Landon admits, realising he has little defence.

 

"Now I'm not going to bust your chops about working other dates for other companies. I realise you guys have to make your money and obviously, I approved you getting the contract with the OAOAST. I also approved Bruce's. He worked the same show in Miami apparantly...I dunno, I don't keep up with the competition. If you can call them that. Yet, he showed up on Lockdown. So did Cortez and Bloodshed and they don't even work here anymore. Why then couldn't you, is the question?"

 

Landon hangs his head a little, sighing.

 

"I missed the plane. Me and Megan were out celebrating my big victory, you know how it is..."

 

"No, but carry on."

 

"...we lost track of time, we got to the airport late, we missed the flight. You know how it is now, I couldn't have my phone in with my hand luggage so when you called me I didn't hear it. Flights from Miami to Montreal don't leave every 5 minutes either, so we were stuck in Miami."

 

"So, you and Megan 'lost track of time' again in the airport bathroom?"

 

Curiously, Landon doesn't deny this suggestion.

 

"Listen, Landon, I have no problem with you working for the OAOAST, so long as it doesn't interfere with your SWF commitments." Peters admits, in his most business-like voice. "If they do, then we've got a problem."

 

"Well, I'm here tonight. I deliberately didn't show up in Orlando last night, I'm here, this company is my priority."

 

"Well good. I'll let you off with just the regulation fine then."

 

"You're a good man." sighs Landon.

 

"Thank you. Oh and one more thing."

 

Reaching under his desk, Peters produces a stack of CDs and slides them across his desk to Landon.

 

"Consider them 'Shuffled'."

 

"You really are a good man."

 

Landon collects the CDs and his belts and leaves, humming away to the tune of "Kung Fu Fighting" as Peters takes his iPod Shuffle from his pocket, popping the earphones in his ears (no kidding) with a wry smile.

 

"Gullible or what? Like I'm really gonna put Copacabana on my iPod, sheesh."

[chirs3 0]

With what looks like all of Quebec City gathered in the Coliseé Pepsi tonight the noise level is very high but it still manages to rise even further as the “Voice of the SWF” (or so he thinks) Mr. Funyon himself enters the ring to announce this next match sure to be a classic.

 

Funyon: “The following match is contested under Hardcore rules which means that there ARE no rules, no disqualifications, no count outs, everything goes!”

 

King: “Oh really big man? Thanks for clearing that up”

 

Funyon: “Introducing first the man that has been the OFFICIAL number one contender for the Hardcore title for months now!!”

 

Mak: “How do you forget that you’re the number one contender?”

 

King: “Well Mak that’s one of the dangers of wrestling, you get hit in the head once too often and your memory goes. You know how it is.”

 

Mak: “True, very true --- So how do you forget that you’re the number one contender??”

 

King: “Well Mak that’s one of the dangers of wrestling, you get hit in the head once too often and your memory goes. You know how it is.”

 

Mak: “True, very true --- So how do you forget that you’re the number one contender??”

 

King: “Well Mak that’s one of the dang--- Weird I think I’ve said that before.”

 

Mak: “Maybe it’s just a case of Dejá Vu?”

 

King: “I never drink that when we have a show Mak”

 

Well once the two announcers are done with their merry bantering Funyon resumes his introductions of the participants for this Hardcore match. A series of dark red flashing lights flicker while Freddy Mercury declares that the “Show must go on”

 

Funyon: “Introducing first from Detroit, Michigan weighing in at 237 pounds here is”

 

Funyon pauses a moment to come up with a witty and clever nickname for Michael Cross

 

Funyon: “The Master of Disaster”: Michael “Iron” CROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSS””

 

King: “Master of Disaster?”

 

Mak: “Meh I’ve heard worse”

 

King: “Yeah like Franchise, BURN!!”

 

Somehow I don’t think Cross himself would really take to the name “Master of Disaster” but that’s the Funyon Magic, that’s why he’s got groupies and fan clubs all over the world.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

 

Queen keeps playing, queens of course being something the inhabitants of Quebec City are very familiar with. Michael Cross tosses the curtains to the side and then heads down the aisle, but in addition to his regular ring gear Cross is wearing what can best be described as a SWAT team’s full riot gear complete with bulletproof vest, jacket, black gloves, protective helmet with face shield and he’s even carrying a large plexiglass protective shield in one hand and a nightstick in the other

 

In other words Michael Cross is ready for a FIGHT!! --- or ready to keep the more “touchy-feely” Quebecers off him.

 

Mak: “Cross looks like he’s ready to go to war”

 

King: “I can’t blame him, if you go in there with a monster like Nemesis you’ve GOT to do everything to level the playingfield.”

 

Mak: “And Cross is doing it”

 

The man known as “Iron” doesn’t bother to even look at the fans as they boo him on his little trip down the aisle, up the steps and through the ropes, instead he just keeps gripping and re-gripping the shaft on his nightstick as the only visible sign that he may in fact be slightly nervous

 

Or excited about cutting lose tonight, hard to say which way the wind is blowing (figuratively speaking)

 

Professor: “My, my, my”

 

LE BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! LE BOO-BOO & YOGI!!

 

Professor: “Oh shut up or we’ll do to you what we did to Pierre Donette”

 

COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF BOOO!! ECT.

 

Professor: “Tonight is not about the Francophillic bacon loving bastards in the audience but about YOU Michael Cross! You know damn well that Nemesis deserves a shot at the Hardcore Champion!”

 

Cross doesn’t even react to the Professor’s spiel, he’s got a title shot and Nemesis can go hang himself for all he cares (which isn’t a lot)

 

Professor: “Considering you haven’t been in many hardcore matches lately isn’t it a bit arrogant to think you’ll succeed against the champion? Isn’t it an act of Hubris to treat this as a “warm up” match? Well Hubris meet your NEMESIS!!”

 

¤ BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm ¤

 

The sight of Nemesis stepping through the green flames and then breathing out smoke quite frankly scares a lot of the fans in the crowd tonight, but then again they are French-Canadian so it’s in their genes to be scared. The towering inferno a.k.a. Nemesis raises his massive right arm in the air but with all the lights off it’s impossible to see what the Colossus has in his hand. Once the lights turn back up however all is revealed.

 

King: “That’s--- that’s Bruce’s Eliminator!!”

 

And as usual the Suicide King is correct Nemesis is holding up the two by four “Nail toothbrush” that Bruce Blank used quite a bit during his run with the Ultraviolent title.

 

King: “That’s what partners are for, lending you weapons”

 

Mak: “I don’t like the look of this, it’ll get ugly and FAST!”

 

Deciding to not be a traditionalist Michael Cross actually allows the big man to step over the ropes and enter the ring without attacking him, maybe he’s crazy, maybe he’s out to prove that he can take the big man down, maybe he was looking the other way and missed Nemesis stepping up on the apron.

 

¤ LE DING! ¤

 

Cross flips the face shield down on his helmet when the bell rings and then once more tightens his grip on the nightstick. The crowd is totally hushed silent, I mean Orlando Jordan winning the US title hushed silent, as the two violent competitors both look poised to unleash hell on each other.

 

Nemesis makes the first move, taking a swing at Cross with the Eliminator. Cross’ shield proves it’s worth right away as he uses it to deflect the blow from the business end of the “nail toothbrush” quickly retaliating with the nightstick.

 

King: “No, no, no you want to hit the man, not the 2 by 4”

 

Nemesis manages to keep all his bones intact by bringing the 2 by 4 into the path of the nightstick, deflecting it with a mighty crack. Nemesis retaliates by striking straight at Cross’ head

 

Mak: “OH MY G-“

 

But Mak doesn’t need his god, nor does Cross need medical assistance as he puts the shield up to block the nails only inches before they would strike him on the head. The shield was designed to take a lot of impact, but no one ever thought to test it to see if it could withstand the impact of a 7’4’’ monster swinging a 2 by 4 with 30 or so nails through it. Sadly the designers would have been disappointed with the result as the nails are driven through the shield.

 

King: “DAMN!”

 

Mak: “Can we really show this before the watershed?”

 

Nemesis pushes Cross back in the corner and then leans on the 2 by 4 in an attempt to plunge the points of the nails into Cross’ shoulder or neck. The former Cruiserweight and Tag-Team champion does the only thing you really can do when cornered by a big monster.

 

Hit him with a stick!

 

King: “That’s got to hurt! Right on the damn shoulder”

 

Mak: “As much as I don’t like his methods you can’t argue with the success of it King”

 

King: “No he got Nemesis off his back and that’s all that matters”

 

Cross looks at his shattered shield, the cracks running down the entire length of it and then throws it away with a disgusted look on his face. What happens next makes the previous incident pale in comparison as Michael Cross runs straight at Nemesis only to be struck in the head with the blunt end of the two by four with enough force to flip Michael Cross 270 degrees over, landing on his face

 

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLY!!

 

King: “Cross doesn’t look that much worse for wear Mak?”

 

Mak: “I think the helmet is made from sterner stuff than Cross’ shield”

 

The helmet did in fact take most of the impact and it was more the sudden stop that flipped Cross over, something he demonstrates by getting before Nemesis even has a chance to turn around. Knowing that he only has a moment before the Colossus is on him again Cross throws his entire body against Nemesis’ back driving the big man forward into the corner. With Nemesis in the corner Cross uses the ropes to equal out Nemesis’ height as he climbs up to the second rope and then slides the nightstick under Nemesis’ throat.

 

Mak: “Chokehold!!”

 

King: “And perfectly legal too, man whomever first came up with these Hardcore rules was a sadistic maniac”

 

Mak: “That would be Lord Hard, seventh duke of Core – he always hated the Marquis of Queensbury and all his fancy-schmancy rules so he went the other way”

 

King: “…”

 

Mak: “True story!”

 

Cross manages to hook the handle of the nightstick around Nemesis’ throat and then pull back on it to cut off Nemesis’ airways. The Professor yells and screams at Nemesis to throw Cross off him but it’s easier said than done since “Iron” Mike holds with all that he’s got. Nemesis staggers out from the corner, lunges, bucks and twists like he was a bull on the rodeo circuit but to little or no avail because Cross holds on long past the 8 second mark. Struggling for breath Nemesis desperately tries to find a way to get the #1 contender off his back. From desperation comes inspiration as Nemesis pushes backwards with both legs slamming his back into the top turnbuckles!

 

Mak: “Holy cow how did Cross escape that?”

 

At the last moment Cross had dropped the choke hold and leapt off Nemesis back so that the Colossus ended up slamming only himself into the turnbuckles. Imitating Wanda (from the game “Shadow of the Colossus”) Mike quickly scales the Colossus by stepping on leg where the knee is bent and then landing a very unorthodox but very violent variation of the Shinning move family when he gives the Colossus a helmet enhanced headbut.

 

Mak: “Oh sick!”

 

King: “it’s a Shinning--- Headbanger!”

 

Nemesis slides down the ropes and lands on his ass, seated in the corner. Apparently Nemesis has a much harder head than Cross anticipated because the impact cracked his helmet, forcing him to reluctantly remove it and throw it away. Cross drops the helmet and then rolls out of the ring, looking for something. He flips the apron up, rummages around the mess of stuff under there and then comes out with

 

An orange traffic cone?

 

Mak: “WHAT THE?”

 

King: “It’s Quebec, they’re weird – it’s better not to ask why they’d have that under the ring Mak”

 

Mak: “That’s the best point you’ve made all night”

 

Cross places the cone with the point pointed straight at Nemesis’ testicular area and then grins as he takes a few steps back like a kicker getting ready to secure 3 points for his team (or however many points you get in Canadian football) Cross looks poised to kick the cone into Nemesis’ most tender of tender spots but at the very last moment Professor Attenborough puts his own physical wellbeing on the line and actually does something other than yell as he reaches in and pulls the cone out of the way. Cross kicks nothing but air and almost loses his balance in the process. Then he totally loses his balance as a well placed punch from Nemesis knocks Cross down.

 

Mak: “Neither man is giving an inch tonight King”

 

King: “Of course not, you don’t get into the Hardcore division by being a limp-wristed panty – oh wait Jimmy the Doom holds the title, forget I said anything”

 

Nemesis isn’t able to get up onto his feet before Mike jumps the big man letting lose with right hand after right hand after he leaps up on Nemesis. The Colossus takes four, maybe five punches before he manages to get back on his feet, lifting Cross up in the air for a moment before throwing him to the canvas with a high elevation spine buster! The bulletproof vest doesn’t do much to dampen the impact of being slammed against the canvas and Michael Cross realizes that he needs to dig down really deep if he’s going to have any hopes of winning this match.

 

King: “Nemesis just sat down in the driving seat Mak, now he’ll show you why he’s undefeated”

 

Mak: “Except that Manson beat him”

 

King: “That was two guys in a Nemesis suit, we talked about this already, get over it”

 

Mak: “Well it’s true”

 

King: “Yes alright, alright but he did win the rematch!”

 

Nemesis places his size “OMG” boot on Cross’ chest and then steps up on the ribcage subjecting it to the pressure of a 410 pound man for a second or two. With Cross still being cross about the whole foot on the chest thing Nemesis grabs “Iron” Mike by the hair and pulls him back to his feet. With a swift motion Nemesis bends forward, wraps his arm around Michael’s waist and lifts him up in the air for a one armed Side Slam. Just to underline how powerful he really is he even waits for a moment with Cross under his arm before slamming his helpless opponent to the mat with the anticipated Side Slam into a cover

 

1!!!!

 

 

 

 

………2!!!!!

 

 

 

 

………… Hand on the ropes!

 

 

King: “You know I think that’s the first time someone has escaped one of Nemesis’ pinfall attempts”

 

Mak: “Really? You could be right”

 

The fact that Michael Cross got a hand on the rope seems to annoy Professor Attenborough more than Nemesis who just goes about his business with a single-minded purpose. The big man rises back to his feet, his extremely impressive 7’4’’ towering over the fallen Michael Cross as he contemplates what to do next.

 

Mak: “My god he’s slow at times King, I mean I’ve seen snails outpace him”

 

King: “Are you kidding me? He doesn’t need to be faster, he’s not a cruiserweight, he’s not going to beat you by outrunning you, he’s going to beat you by clobbering you over the head until you’re 4 feet tall”

 

After a few instructions from his master Nemesis wastes little time in hoisting his opponent up on his shoulders. Once Cross is in the right position Nemesis locks on the Nemesis lock, trapping his opponent like he was a beaver and Nemesis was a pelt trapper. At first Cross tries to wrench Nemesis’ arms apart, trying his best to pry the vice like grip open but to little or no avail: once the hands are hooked they stay hooked!

 

King: “What is this going to do for Cross’ #1 contender status if he loses tonight?”

 

Mak: “Nemesis is the #1 contender? I dunno, didn’t bring the rulebook with me.”

 

King: “Or maybe he’ll forget all about it for a couple of months and then try to claim his shot once more”

 

Mak: “Oh come on who’d do that?”

 

The Suicide King just points to the ring without saying a word

 

Mak: “Oh right, right”

 

The squeeze is starting to have its desired effect, especially with Nemesis adding to it by shaking his victim around like a rag doll.

 

King: “It’s not looking good for Cross at all, if his hand drops three times it’ll be all over for him.”

 

Mak: “Bye-bye title opportunity”

 

The crowd looks on in anticipation, not because they like Nemesis, not because they want Michael Cross to make the cliché heroic comeback or anything like that but they are interested in seeing if Cross or Nemesis will be Jimmy the Doom’s next opponent.

 

The arm drops like a limp noodle once.

 

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!

 

The arm drops a second time, still with all the properties of a well cooked noodle.

 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

AAAAAAAAND a third time?

 

NOOOOOOOOO!!

 

Somehow, someway Michael Cross dug down deep and found determination as tough and durable as his nickname (Iron, not “Master of Disaster” which was Funyon’s idea of a little joke). Cross clenches his fists and starts to shake them, calling out to all of his fans in the audience, no indeed the whole world asking them to lend him their power in this hour of need.

 

King: “Oh cut the melodrama”

 

Mak: “I think it’s working for him, he’s still in the match after all”

 

Cross slowly draws more and more energy from the 10 fans or so around the world that’s pulling for him, his arms and legs shaking and kicking about as he tries to break out of the Nemesis lock. You’ve all seen it, you all know what happens next

 

FIST TO THE SIDE OF THE HEAD!!

 

AND ANOTHER ONE!!

 

AND A – Nope!

 

Instead of the third punch to the side of Nemesis head Michael Cross finds himself flying through the air, tossed over the top rope. . .

 

¤ CRASH ¤

 

RIGHT THROUGH THE FRENCH-CANADIAN ANNOUNCE TEAM TABLE!!

 

MERDE SAINTE!! MERDE SAINTE!! MERDE SAINTE!!

 

The commentary team of Hugo (pronounced YYYY-go) and Chavez (Pronounced - - - well I don’t really know) waste no time in leaping over the guardrail into the aims of people in the front row as they desperately search for a white flag to wave.

 

Mak: “Pussies, you’d never see us run”

 

King: “We definitely won’t see YOU run Mak” ¤ laughs ¤

 

In the middle of what was once a nice, medium priced brand name announcing table Michael Cross keeps himself busy by being hurt and being dazed, something that occupies him for quite a while actually. With a giant step over the top rope Nemesis is on the apron looking around at the French-Canadian crowd that on one hand hates him and on the other hand fears him. The Professor yells something to Nemesis who quickly responds by raising a gigantic set of double birds to the fans in Quebec City.

 

NEMESIS EST UN GRAND BÂTARD!! NEMESIS EST UN GRAND BÂTARD!! NEMESIS EST UN GRAND BÂTARD!!

 

Mak: “What is it with the Professor and the French?”

 

King: “Don’t think it’s only Professor Attenborough who hates everything French.”

 

Mak: “Don’t tell me you’re one of them?”

 

King: “What do you think?”

 

Mak: “You know he really should cover Cross a bit faster”

 

King: “Smooth change of topic Mak, too bad you’re wrong”

 

Mak: “Wrong?”

 

King: “Totally, Nemesis has all the time in the world, he just threw Cross over the top rope with the Long Hard Drop right through the announcers table, trust me he’ll be out until the cows come home”

 

Professor Attenborough seems to have the same take on the situation, opting not to rush his charge too much but instead instructing Nemesis to just put a foot on Cross’ chest.

 

 

1!!!!

 

 

 

 

………2!!!!!

 

 

 

 

………… Shoulder up!!

 

Mak: “Well close the barn door King cause the cows are home!”

 

Cross shows SWF fans all around the world that he’s not someone who’s put down easily and that no one should under estimate him. Despite the setback the Professor still looks confident that Nemesis will prevail tonight and when you look at Michael Cross it’s hard to disagree with him. The former Tag-Team and Cruiserweight champion is a total mess. Hitting the table face fist didn’t improve his looks and he will probably be missing the blood when he gets back in the locker room. If Nemesis had a motto - - - and could speak I suppose, then that motto would be

 

“When in doubt use the Claw”

 

One face covering Iron Claw later and Michael Cross is yanked back to his feet and held up like a puppet with half it’s strings cut. Nemesis spins Michael Cross around on the Professor’s request and then drives his massive forehead into the back of Cross’ head

 

¤ TONK ¤

 

The only thing holding Michael Cross up is Nemesis’ two giant paws which he’s using to grip Cross’ by the hair. The big man rears back once more and then with even greater momentum than before headbuts Michael Cross in the back of the head so hard that one of the horns on his mask actually breaks off.

 

Mak: “He’s coming apart at the seams”

 

King: “Oh yeah Cross has him right where he wants him”

 

Mak: “Really? I personally thought he was in trouble”

 

King: “Did you grow up totally deprived of Sarcasm Mak?”

 

Mak doesn’t answer instead he sheds a small tear for his Sarcasm-less upbringing, he knew it would come back to hurt him later in life. The professor cackles with glee as Nemesis is in total control of this match landing massive blow after massive blow to his opponent. Cross on the other hand doesn’t cackle or laugh or guffaw or anything else really as he’s being turned into Nemesis’ play thing.

 

In a non sexual way you frigging perverts!

 

Mak: “Is Cross even conscious?”

 

King: “Of course he is, you think he’s some sort of pansy who passes out just because a giant monster beats him up?”

 

Mak: “I wouldn’t put it past him”

 

Remember what was said earlier about Nemesis motto? Well it comes into play here again as Nemesis applies the claw, grabs his opponent by the back of the head with his free hand and then

 

TOSSES MICHAEL CROSS ASS OVER ELBOW ACROSS THE ANNOUNCERS TABLE!!

 

MERDE SAINTE!! MERDE SAINTE!! MERDE SAINTE!!

 

Mak: “He flew a good 7 or 8 feet in the air before he even hit our table!! And can I just add that I’m pleased that the table didn’t break!”

 

King: “This is the SWF “A-Team” Mak, when you’re working with me you get the best in the world. You get the best broadcast partner and the best announcing table money can buy”

 

¤ CRACK ¤

 

The Suicide King should really know better than to say something like that because it’s just inviting trouble in. Trouble in the form of a 7’4’’ Colossus and an opponent who’s being jerked clean off the ground with one hand and then slammed down on top of the announcer’s table

 

¤ THUD ¤

 

Cross: “HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRG!”

 

Mak: “Wow it held up, this really IS the best announcer’s table money can buy”

 

King: “Only the best for the King”

 

Hitting the table without breaking it seems to actually have done more damage to Michael Cross as his head snaps back over the edge of the table. In the midst of declaring Cross’ ass kicked the Professor has enough wits about him to instruct Nemesis to cover his opponent right there on the announcer’s table. Obliging without even thinking Nemesis places his gigantic hand on Cross’ chest and pushes down as the referee counts.

 

1!!!!

 

 

 

 

………2!!!!!

 

 

 

 

……………… a pinpoint sized ray of light is seen under Cross’ shoulder breaking the pinfall attempt.

 

Mak: “I don’t believe it!”

 

King: “If he’s this resilient against Jimmy the Doom I think we’ll have a new champion Mak”

 

Mak: “I woul - - what the?”

 

Their speculations of what would happen when Cross meets Doom are quickly derailed as Nemesis turns around and just walks away.

 

Mak: “Where is he going”

 

King: “Maybe he needs a weapon or something?”

 

If Nemesis went to get a weapon of some sort then he clearly neglected to clear it with Professor Attenborough, because the old man looks totally confused as the Colossus just walks down the aisle with his back to the ring.

 

Mak: “Well we can’t have a count out”

 

King: “Not under Hardcore rules no”

 

Nemesis is half way up the aisle before the crusty old professor gets his brain wrapped around what’s going on and chases after the big man. Once he catches up with the Monster he begins to yell at him, pointing back towards Cross as he orders him to go back and finish the job off.

 

King: “Why is he acting like this? I thought the professor had full control of him”

 

In his first ever act of independence and defiance Nemesis slowly shakes his head from side to side as the Professor orders him to go back and fight. The fact that Nemesis just refused an order turns the professor’s face ghost white as he stares up at the monster that’s been totally under his control until now.

 

Mak: “He’s leaving!”

 

As Mak Francis so rightly pointed out Nemesis IS leaving, with the Professor running right behind him hollerin’ and’a hootin’ at the big man to make him stop. All his shouting falls on deaf ears as Nemesis just keeps walking, then passes through the curtains to the back with the Professor right behind him

 

King: “ah---”

 

Mak: “Well --- ”

 

King: “So - - - ”

 

Mak: “Is he coming back?”

 

King: “It doesn’t look like it”

 

They wait then they wait a bit more but nothing happens, Nemesis has well and truly left the arena.

 

Mak: “Can you have a time limit draw in a Hardcore match?”

 

King: “I’ve never heard of it Mak, I’m not sure that’s really possible”

 

Mak: “You think someone will come and help Cross off the table?”

 

King: “Hard to say, he’s not known for making friends really just look at Akira or the Axis.”

 

Mak: ”So what happened to Nemesis?”

 

King: ”That’s a really good question Mak, I don’t have a clue”

 

Mak: ”Why did Nemesis just walk out? Where does that leave this match?”

 

King: ”And did you see the Professor run after him like he did NOT order Nemesis to leave?”

 

Mak: ”I did yes. Can we have a word from the back on what’s going to happen with the match? What’s the outcome here?”

 

King: ”I don’t KNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!”

 

¤ Fade out ¤

[chirs3 0]

SWF Storm returns live inside of head of Creative Control, Joseph Peters’ makeshift office. Sitting at his desk, frantically going over papers, the door swings open. Peters looks up and stares at the furious King of Cambodia.

 

“God damn it, Peters!”

 

“What now, Spike?”

 

“I WAS ROBBED! JAY HAWKE PUT BRUCE’S FOOT ON THE ROPE WHEN I HAD HIM PINNED! IT WAS OVER!”

 

“I know, I know. And he will be punished…”

 

“How? By getting a match with Bruce tonight? By getting a title shot at MY title at Genesis?”

 

“I am giving him a hefty fine…”

 

“A FINE?” shouts Spike, “A DAMN FINE? YOU’RE FINING HIM? ARE YOU SERIOUS?”

 

“Well, what else do you want me to do, Spike? With Genesis so close, I can’t just take him out of a match that has so much build to it.”

 

“YES, YOU CAN! You can put me in that match!”

 

“Spike, I know you’re upset. Trust me, you’ll have a future title shot. But I can’t take Jay Hawke out of the Genesis title match.”

 

“What about me?” wines the Hollywood Superstar, “What am I suppose to do at Genesis?”

 

“I know you currently don’t have a match, but I also realize how you’ve been on such a hot streak lately, so I can’t just leave you off the card.”

 

“Especially after how I helped you and beat Tom Flesher last year at Genesis…”

 

“Yeah…especially after that…so here is what I’m going to do for you. I have a match lined up for you…a number one contenders match!”

 

“To the International Championship?”

 

“Umm…” Peters mumbles as he scratches the back of his neck, “Not quite…to the Cruiserweight Championship.”

 

Spike shakes his head in confusion, “Why?”

 

“Because your opponent asked for it.”

 

As this is said, the door opens once again and in walks AKIRA KAIBATSU!

 

“This guy? I have to wrestle this guy…AGAIN! After I beat him to become the Number One contender to the International Title?”

 

“NUMBA TWO!”

 

“Shut up, you,” Spike says as he points at Akira, “You have got to be kidding me, Peters.”

 

“I’m sorry, Spike…but the match has been signed. You against Akira at Genesis for the Number One Contendership to the Cruiserweight title.”

 

“All right…all right,” Spike nods as he turns towards Akira as he sticks his hand out, “Well, may the best man…”

 

 

…And Spike sucker punches Akira with his free hand. Akira stumbles back, but charges at Jenkins. They both swing at each other, falling over onto Peters’ desk and knocking papers to the floor.

 

“YOU IDIOTS! GET OUT OF MY OFFICE! SECURITY!”

 

Both Jenkins and Akira swing away at each other as security charges into the office, grabbing both men and pulling them away from each other and out of the office.

 

“I hate when that happens…” Peter says as he picks the papers up off his floor.

[chirs3 0]

FADE IN

 

 

The camera pans the ring, which was covered in red carpet during the commercial break, and furnished with a luxurious couch and matching love seat. On the side of the ring facing the entranceway, there are two tall columns joined by an arch; stretching between the columns is a thick velvet rope. In the center of the set is a microphone stand.

 

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” says Mak Francis, “it’s time for the debut of the House of Marvelous, the SWF’s new interview segment! And the first guest in the House will be none other than Mike Van Siclen!”

 

“Well, we all know that Mike Van Siclen has a lot to get off his chest,” adds the Suicide King, “and what better way to do it than in front of sixteen thousand?”

 

“And, with Wildchild in attendance, I’m extremely interested to see what Van Siclen has to say,” says Mak excitedly. “And I’m sure you are, too; so let’s not keep you in suspense any longer!”

 

With that, Notorious BIG’s “I Love the Dough” begins to play as Michael Anderson limps his way onto the stage, dressed to kill in a tailor-made Armani suit. Just a few steps behind him is his ever-present and just as nattily-dressed bodyguard, the mammoth Tracey Bruner.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” booms Funyon, “please welcome: Sir… MAAAAARVELOUS!”

 

“Sir Marvelous?” asks Mak. “Are you kidding me? This guy was a road agent last week… now he’s Sir Marvelous?”

 

“I like it!” counters King. “It kind of rolls off the tongue!” Marvelous greets everyone with a smile as he makes his way to the ring. He walks slowly up the steel steps, and then waits on Bruner to get up to the apron and hold open the ropes for him before he enters the ring. Once inside, he then waits for Bruner to unhook the velvet rope before he passes through the arch and picks the microphone up from the stand as his music fades out.

 

“Good evening!” Anderson drawls enthusiastically. “And welcome to the House of MAAAAARVELOUS! I am your host, Sir Marvelous, and I can’t tell you how happy I am to be here tonight!”

 

The fans, not quite sure what to make of him remain silent through his brief pause, but Anderson continues nonplussed. “Before I begin, I’d like to thank the Commissioner Joseph Peters for giving me the opportunity to ring in a new era here in the SWF. Some of you might be wondering how a person like me gets to be in this sort of position, and I have to tell you: sometimes it’s not what you know, but who you know…”

 

Marvelous glances in Wildchild’s general direction with a sly grin on his face.

 

 

“And what they owe you…”

 

 

This comment is met by a small smattering of boos, but it brings a smile to King’s face. “That’s what I’m talking about!” he says. “Nothing like a guy who’s willing to use manipulation and cajolery to get ahead in the world; I don’t know much about this guy, but I like him already!”

 

“To my left, is my personal head of security here at the House of Marvelous,” says Anderson, “Mister Bruner. His job is to make sure my guests don’t get out of control… because here in the House of Marvelous, we don’t just hold the mike or lob softballs like that milquetoast Ben Hardy! No, we ask our guests the tough questions, the personal questions… But we also give our guests the chance to say what management wants them not to say, and with that in mind, I’d like to welcome my first guest to the House: a two-time former Hardcore Champion, a two-time former Tag team Champion, and a former United States Champion! Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Mister Mike Van Siclen!”

 

Sirens go off, and the sounds of “Hyphy Juice” by The Team hit the speakers as Mike Van Siclen steps through the curtain to a rousing chorus of boos.

 

“Here he comes, King,” says Mak. “I think we all have an idea what Van Siclen is coming down to say, but I think we all want to hear it, anyway.”

 

“I heard it just fine the first time,” replies King. “And I agree with him one hundred percent. In fact, I can’t see any other explanation!” Bruner holds open the velvet rope for Van Siclen to step through the arch, and the Spectacle shakes hands with Anderson as his music fades out.

 

“Welcome, Mister Van Siclen,” says Anderson, “and thank you for being a guest here in my House!”

 

“You’re welcome, Sir Marvelous,” replies Van Siclen. “And, before I get started, I’d like to thank…”

 

The Spectacle suddenly spins around and points an accusing finger at WC.

 

 

“You. Thank you, you little sh-(bleep), for giving me the final proof that I needed!”

 

“Now,” says Anderson, “about this proof. You were telling me before the show that you had a very interesting revelation. Could I get you to repeat that for the audience?”

 

“Certainly,” replies Van Siclen. “Over the past few weeks, I have been repeatedly attacked and humiliated by Wildchild, and I couldn’t figure out how he was getting away with it, since he’s suspended, and according to the idiot Commissioner, nobody’s seen him!”

 

“Hey!” objects Mak. “He can’t talk about the Commissioner that way!”

 

“He’s been talking about the Commissioner that way for months,” quips King. “Where have YOU been?”

 

“But then, two weeks ago on Lockdown, when I got sneak attacked by the Birdman and hit with a steel chair, it all started to make sense!”

 

“Wait a minute!” blurts Mak. “You don’t think that he’s suggesting…?”

 

“And what is it, Mister Van Siclen,” asks Marvelous, “that you think makes sense?”

 

The Spectacle turns back towards Wildchild.

 

 

“HE’S the Birdman!”

 

The crowd buzzes with confusion as they process this new information. “Well, that’s an interesting theory,” says Anderson. “May I ask how you came by it?”

 

“It makes perfect sense,” replies Van Siclen. Two years ago, I separated Wildchild’s shoulder, and nearly ended his career… He’s gone for months and, then, out of nowhere, this Birdman guy shows up. And, since I’ve spent the last week thinking about it, I can remember noticing him spying on me from around corners and sh-(bleep). Then, I lose a match against Toxxic for the World Heavyweight Championship and have to leave the fed, and Birdman disappears shortly thereafter.

 

“You know,” muses King, “I noticed that, too!”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous!” snaps Mak. “You’re too wrapped up in yourself to notice anything like that… You wouldn’t waste a minute of your time thinking about Mike Van Siclen, anyway!”

 

“Eh,” replies King, shrugging his shoulders, “you’ve got me there…”

 

“So then,” continues the Spectacle, “after being gone for two years, I make my triumphant return…”

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

“A little respect, if you please,” drawls Anderson. “My guest is trying to say something!”

 

“Thank you,” continues Van Siclen. “As I was saying, I made my triumphant return, and the next thing I know, Wildchild is trying to fight me.” The Spectacle pauses to glare accusingly at WC. “You know, you really ought to learn to let things go, Wildchild; I mean, it’s been two years now. So you got your ass kicked… it didn’t go well for you… A man would move on…”

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

“But you,” he goes on, “you walk around here feeling sorry for yourself, with your ‘I hate Mike Van Siclen’ tattoo, or whatever the f-(bleep) it says on your shoulder… You’re like a dog that likes to get kicked; you make me sick!”

 

 

 

 

YOU SUCK!

YOU SUCK!

YOU SUCK!

YOU SUCK!

 

 

 

 

And if it weren’t for the fact that I don’t want to stain my hands with your blood, I’d kick your ass right now!”

 

Hearing this is apparently too much for the Bahama Bomber, and he rises from his seat:

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

WHIP HIS ASS, DUB CEE! WHIP HIS ASS! *CLAP-CLAP*

WHIP HIS ASS, DUB CEE! WHIP HIS ASS! *CLAP-CLAP*

WHIP HIS ASS, DUB CEE! WHIP HIS ASS! *CLAP-CLAP*

WHIP HIS ASS, DUB CEE! WHIP HIS ASS! *CLAP-CLAP*

 

 

“Oh my!” shrieks Mak. “It looks like Wildchild’s had about enough of Mike Van Siclen’s mouth!”

 

“He’ll never make it in the ring,” says King. “Not even he’s that stupid. Van Siclen’s got him covered from an elevated position; he might not even make it over the barricade!” WC takes a step towards the barricade, but the Spectacle begins talking again:

 

“Hey, just a minute!” he says. “As long as you’re up, why don’t you just go ahead and head for the (bleep)-ing door? Because, once I go to the executive committee and tell them that you’ve been violating your suspension, you’re out of here, you little prick!”

 

“I’ve been waiting four years for this,” exalts King. “Finally, someone’s going to be able to get rid of Wildchild for good! Mike Van Siclen’s got him by the short and curlies this time!”

 

“That may be true,” replies Mak, glancing at WC, “but then, why is Wildchild smiling?”

 

“You can wipe that grin off your face, you little dipsh-(bleep)!” snaps Van Siclen. “Because when I get done with you, the stands are the ONLY place that you’re going to be allowed to…”

 

 

 

 

LEEEET’S GET RETARDED…

 

 

Mak and King scream simultaneously: “WHAT?!”

 

 

… IN HEEEEEEEEERE!

 

 

The Colisée Pepsi goes crazy as “Let’s Get Retarded” begins playing!

 

“It can’t be!” stammers King. Van Siclen stares up the ramp, mouth open in shock, as the lyrics continue:

 

 

(Will.I.Am): In this context,

There's no disrespect,

So, when I bust my rhyme,

You break your necks.

We got five minutes for us to disconnect,

From all intellect,

Collect the rhythm effect…

 

 

Suddenly, the Birdman bursts out from behind the curtain onto the stage, his costume plumed in while, and speckled in tufts of black, and resembling the provincial bird of Quebec, the Snowy Owl. Birdman dancing around excitedly and flapping his “wings” in beat with the music.

 

“It’s the Birdman!” shouts Francis. “But WC is in the crowd, so it can’t be him!”

 

“This is impossible!” replies King. “This has got to be a stunt of some kind!” Birdman slaps hands with the fans at ringside as he makes his way down the ramp. Birdman slides into the ring and stands in front the velvet rope; Bruner glances at Sir Marvelous, who shrugs and motions for the bodyguard to let him in.

 

By now, Mike Van Siclen’s shock has worn off, and has been replaced by anger. “You’re not the Birdman!” he spits into the microphone. “You’re trying to make a fool out of me!”

 

He turns and points a finger at WC. “HE’S trying to make a fool out of me! But you’re not going to get away with it! Because I KNOW that Wildchild is really the Birdman; I’m going to prove it, and then I’m going to be rid of him. And, do you know what you can do about it? NOTHING!”

 

Birdman raises his hands as if to strike Van Siclen, but instead keeps lifting them towards his bill, where he graces the Spectacle with his typical response:

 

 

Birdman: CAW-CAW!

Crowd: CAW-CAW!

 

 

“Well,” says Mak, “it certainly sounds like the real thing!”

 

“Don’t tell me that you’ve been snowed by this hook-and-ladder act, too!” groans King.

 

“Well now,” drawls Anderson suddenly, “we appear to have a rather interesting development.”

 

“Ya think?” blurts King, as the crowd begins cheering loudly for something happening outside the camera’s field of vision.

 

“In a situation like this,” continues Anderson, “I guess I’ve only got one more question: Will the real Birdman… please stand up?” Birdman then waves at someone behind Van Siclen, prompting the Spectacle to turn around…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… AND GETS BLASTED IN THE GRILL BY A SUPERKICK FROM WILDCHILD!

 

 

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“It was a setup!” roars King. “It was a (bleep)-ing set up!” WC and Birdman pull Van Siclen to his feet and whip him across the ring, leaping into the air as he bounces off the ropes, and nailing him with a double dropkick! Birdman and Wildchild get back to their feet; Birdman glances at Van Siclen, and then glances at WC… and then he points both thumbs skyward before thrusting both hands into the air.

 

“WAIT A MINUTE!” exclaims Mak, as Wildchild steps out onto the apron. “That… that… that’s the sign for the Dangerous Drop!”

 

 

“No way,” groans King. “There’s just no way!” Birdman pulls the Spectacle to his feet, ducks down and raises van Siclen onto his shoulders for an Electric Chair Drop! The crowd roars in delight and Wildchild moves up to the top of the turnbuckle, as though his body is running on autopilot. He positions himself on his favorite perch without a second thought, setting himself up to deliver a move that he became famous for as a tag team wrestler.

 

“Wait,” screams Marvelous, waving his arms frantically. “Not the set! Not the set!” Without saying a word to Birdman, or even having made eye contact, WC leaps from his perch as Birdman puts the ECD into motion.

 

 

WHAAAAAAM!

 

 

 

 

…And Van Siclen goes face first into the mat with the top rope-bulldog-assisted-electric chair drop that breaks the luxurious couch in half! Sir Marvelous grits his teeth in fury as the fans in the Colisée Pepsi go nuts!

 

 

“DANGEROUS DROP!” shouts Mak. “But, that was the finishing move of Wild and Dangerous! King… You don’t think that Birdman is really… Johnny Dangerous, do you?”

 

“That’s impossible!” replies King. “I’ve seen Dangerous and Birdman in the ring at the same time… it CAN’T be him!” Bruner lumbers towards Birdman and WC, but the pair dives out of the ring before he can get his hands on them.

 

“Well, this was definitely an interesting interview,” says Mak, “but I don’t think that it answered too many questions. And one question that I’d like the answer to is: if Wildchild isn’t the Birdman, then who the hell is?”

 

The camera zooms in on a battered and unconscious Mike Van Siclen…

 

 

As we:

FADE OUT

[chirs3 0]

DING DING!!!!

 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “the following non-title contest is scheduled for one fall, and will be conducted under Cruiserweight rules!”

 

The crowd pops, and Suicide King says, “welcome back. We’re about to see two of the SWF’s top cruisers in action, but luckily, Joe Peters hasn’t seen fit to give the slumping JJ Johnson a shot at Tom Flesher’s title, whatever it’s worth.”

 

“You know,” says Mak, “I’m sick of the way Flesher disrespects the Cruiserweight Championship. The last time he had it, he started walking out on matches because he couldn’t even be bothered to defend it. Why take the chance away from some of the younger guys if that’s all you’re going to do?”

 

King blinks. “Well, Mak, I don’t expect you to remember this, but when a guy has a championship, there’s a stipend associated with it.”

 

With that, the arena’s lights go down.

 

HE HAS NOT CONFESSED, HE HAS MADE NO STATEMENT, CHARGES OF MURDER HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED AGAINST HIM.

 

Two lights, one red, one white, flash in time with the two crushing opening notes of Fear Factory's "Scapegoat" before receding into blackness. Two more notes, two more lights. The crowd begins to cheer for the incoming Canadian. The cheering and flashing continue as the song builds up, smoke beginning to seep out of the entranceway, the song getting quicker and quicker...

 

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

 

...until it culminates, Burton C. Bell's roar rolling out of the speakers! The red-and-white lights continue to alternate, JJ Johnson emerging from the smoke before striding to the ring, going up the steps, stepping into the ring and stepping up to the second rope, throwing his arms wide in a crucifix pose.

 

“Making his way to the ring,” says Funyon, “from Toronto, Ontario, and weighing in at 228 pounds... J... J... JOHNSON!!!!”

 

Johnson steps down from the second rope and slides out of the ring as the lights go down once again. Funyon announces, “And his opponent...”

 

“You’re not about to try this again, are you?” shouts James Matheson from the entranceway. “Come on. Not only is Tom Flesher the defending SWF Cruiserweight Champion, for what that’s worth, but he’s Michael Stephens’ challenger at Genesis. So, give it up for the NEXT SWF Heavyweight Champion of the World... TOM FLESHER!”

 

With that, a blue explosion lights up the Colisee Pepsi and “Kashmir” begins to rock out over the speakers. Tom Flesher steps through the curtain wearing his trademark warm-up suit and dragging the Cruiserweight Championship belt behind him.

 

“Look at the disrespect he’s showing this belt,” says Mak Francis. “I can’t believe he’s so ashamed of being the king of the mountain.”

 

“It’s really more of a hill,” King says. “The mountain is what he’s going to throw Michael Stephens off of at Genesis.”

 

As Flesher enters the ring, he sheds his warm-up and stretches out. Referee Nick Soapdish checks his kickpads and finds no foreign objects, so he calls for the bell.

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

“And this one’s underway,” says King, as Flesher and Johnson meet in the center of the ring. Each man stares the other down as they circle around each other quickly, each man looking for an opening. Flesher tries first, dropping to the mat and grabbing at Johnson’s ankle for a low single-leg takedown. Johnson, experienced as a grappler, quickly shoots his free leg back to stabilize himself. Then, as Flesher keeps his grip on the ankle, he hooks Tom around the waist, lifts him up, and quickly throws him head over heels with a modified gutwrench suplex! As Flesher absorbs the impact, he releases the grip, and both men roll through and quickly get to their feet. This time, though, Johnson takes control, throwing a stiff hooking elbow that catches Flesher by the jaw and sends him staggering backwards. He throws another elbow, then another, hammering Flesher with a flurry of elbows as he drives the Cruiserweight Champion into the corner! As Flesher covers up, trying to avoid as much of the attack as possible, he ducks backward, leaning out between the ropes! Nick Soapdish shoves himself between the competitors, stopping the attack before it becomes illegal, as the Quebecois fans go absolutely insane for Johnson!

 

“I’ll tell you one thing,” says Mak, “Tom Flesher isn’t used to this sort of beating. He hasn’t been in the ring with Johnson before, and this is a prime case of someone’s reputation not doing him justice. Tom may be the king of the hill, but Johnson’s about to pick him off.”

 

“Oh, come on,” King scoffs. “You don’t really think he can keep up this pace, do you?”

 

As Johnson backs off, Flesher extracts himself from the ropes and shakes off the cobwebs. Soapdish tries to check the burgeoning goose-egg on Flesher’s forehead, but Tom quickly shoves him out of the way, drawing an “Ooooooh!” from the crowd. Flesher lunges at Johnson, throwing a palm strike that catches him by surprise and snaps his head back. With Johnson stunned, Flesher spears him in the midsection, taking him to the mat with a high double-leg takedown. Tom throws another palm strike, ringing Johnson’s bell, and follows up with another quick shotei! Johnson scoots backward, reaching for the ropes. Flesher stays on him, trying to avoid letting an experienced ground wrestler get a deep guard on him, and tries to throw another stiff palm strike. That one barely grazes the mobile Johnson, who slides back even further and grabs onto the bottom rope. Nick Soapdish immediately begins counting, but before he can even get a one out, Flesher grabs him by the elbow pads as he stands up and pulls backward. Johnson rolls with the impact, even as Flesher drops like a rock onto him with another shotei.

 

“There’s absolutely no love lost between these two,” says King, as Flesher and Johnson jockey for position on the mat. “These two are capable of putting on a technical clinic, but that’s not what you’re going to see tonight, in the first meeting between them.”

 

“Oh,” says Mak, “and what ARE we going to see?”

 

“Hopefully, a shattered orbital bone. But that’s just what I’m holding out for.”

 

Flesher reaches up, trying to grab Johnson’s head and hammer it with another palm strike. Before he can establish position, though, Johnson snags the arm and slides back. Flesher panics, trying to pull back to avoid getting caught in the triangle choke. As he does, Johnson clips him in the back of the head with a heel, hooking him around his eighteen-inch neck and his right arm with a scissors grip! Flesher tries to free himself, but Johnson sinks the hold even deeper! The fans go absolutely crazy as he tightens the choke!

 

“This is the kind of match where anything can happen!” shouts Mak Francis, clearly excited at Flesher’s imminent passing-out. “With these two, anything can end it – a suplex, a submission, or even a well-placed elbow! Johnson’s one of the best wrestlers in the SWF today, and it doesn’t surprise me at all that he’s about to get the tap!”

 

Even as Mak seems to think the match is over, though, Flesher knows that he’s going to have to dig deep to keep this one going. He crouches into a catcher’s stance, lifting Johnson’s hips off the mat. Johnson, focused on keeping Flesher’s arm barred, tightens his hands’ grip on Tom’s wrist even as the Superior One stands up, pulling Johnson off the mat completely! The fans cheer the sheer power of the move as Flesher arches his back, then drops to his knees to power bomb Johnson squarely onto his neck and shoulders! The impact breaks the triangle choke, giving Flesher just enough time to free himself and back away. Johnson, disoriented, stays on the mat for a few seconds, still in the guard position. Flesher shakes his head, though, refusing to go back into the vulnerable grapple.

 

“It’s going to take something other than just asking him to get on the mat to get Tom back into the guard,” says the Suicide King. “Johnson’s going to have to take him down himself if he wants the advantage position.”

 

Johnson rolls to his knees, ready to get back to his feet. As he starts, though, Flesher hits him with a lightning-fast shin kick to the side of the head! Shaken, Johnson is a sitting duck as Flesher boots him again, this time in the face. He grabs Johnson and lifts him to his feet, then attacks him with a bear hug. He arches his back, throwing Johnson into the air with a Railgun suplex! Johnson hits the mat with a splat, and Tom immediately covers him for

 

ONE!

 

 

Johnson kicks out, sitting up quickly. Flesher grabs his head and pulls him to his feet, trying to quickly apply his front facelock. As soon as he does, Johnson shoots into him, grabbing him around the waist and lifting him off his feet! Johnson arches his back and bridges, throwing Flesher to the mat with a Northern Lights suplex! The crowd screams with approval as Soapdish counts

 

ONE!

 

 

but no more, as Flesher kicks out and frees himself from the pinning predicament! He rolls away, and Johnson does the same, with each man facing the other as they meet on their knees. As soon as they realize they’re in range, Flesher throws a palm strike, and Johnson throws an elbow! Flesher’s palm strike connects a fraction of a second more quickly owing to the greater reach, so Johnson’s elbow doesn’t pack the punch it normally would, but each man reels from the blow. They each slide backwards and get back to their feet, with Flesher a hair faster, giving him enough time to throw a stiff kick straight into Johnson’s thigh. As Johnson reacts to the kick to the quad, Flesher throws another palm strike, then follows up with another kick to the quad! Buying himself a few seconds, Tom steps back to the center, his chest heaving.

 

“Tom seems to have just wanted a breather,” says Mak. “His cardio isn’t what it used to be, and that’s going to bite him in his big, fat ass against a guy like Johnson.”

 

“He’s not fat,” grumbles King. “He’s just trying to fill out as much as the weight limits of the Cruiserweight Division, for what that’s worth, allow him to.”

 

Johnson comes to in the corner, and Flesher immediately sprints at him and nails him in the face with a Yakuza kick! Johnson crumbles to the mat, and Flesher grabs him by the leg to pull him to the center of the mat. As he does, though, Johnson rolls away, freeing himself and giving Flesher the added burden of diving onto him with a knee to the back to keep him in the center of the ring! From there, Tom grabs Johnson around the waist and lifts him to his feet, looking for a German suplex. As he does, though, JJ executes a picture-perfect standing switch and ends up behind Tom with a tight waistlock! Before the Cruiserweight Champion even knows what hit him, JJ lifts him into the air and hurls him across the ring with a released German suplex!

 

“DAAAAAAAAAAANGEROUS~!” screams Mak, as Tom crashes to the mat on the back of his neck! Tom rolls through as JJ regains his footing. As the disoriented Flesher starts to get back to his feet, Johnson sprints at him, then lets fly with a basement dropkick to the ribs! Flesher collapses to the mat, and Johnson hooks his arm to pull him over onto his back. Soapdish counts

 

 

ONE!!

 

 

 

TWO!!!

 

 

 

Flesher kicks out, clearly suffering from the beating and the pace of the match. Johnson, for his part, is only in slightly better shape. He pulls Flesher to his feet and immediately hammers him across the face with a short-arm elbow strike. Then, he whips Tom to the ropes, pivoting to deliver a spinning back elbow... which Flesher evades! As Tom drops to his knees next to Johnson, the elbow goes harmlessly over his head, and Tom snags Johnson’s knee as he spins through! With that, Flesher stands up, grabbing Johnson by the head and arching backwards in the blink of an eye, taking JJ to the mat with a fisherman’s suplex! Soapdish drops to the mat and counts

 

 

ONE!!!!

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!!!!!!

 

 

Johnson pumps his legs, kicking himself free, but by the time he rolls through, Soapdish has already called for the bell!

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

Flesher rolls out of the ring, throwing his arms into the air with pride as Johnson kicks at the ropes, furious that he got caught with one of Flesher’s flash pins! Tom grabs the Cruiserweight Championship from the timekeeper’s table and starts up the entrance ramp, trying to make his way to safety before anything bad happens.

 

“The winner of the match,” says Funyon, “the SWF Cruiserweight Champion, TOM FLESHER!”

 

“Brilliant show by Flesher,” says the Suicide King, as Tom hightails it out of the arena. “He caught Johnson in the middle of a striking war and did all he needed to do – he put JJ’s shoulders on the mat for three seconds. Just brilliant!”

 

As Flesher scoots out of the Colisee Pepsi, the fans continue booing and Johnson stares angrily up the ramp.

[chirs3 0]

Francis: "And it is now time for our main event here at SWF Storm, and it's a rematch of sorts between Bruce Blank and Jay Hawke."

 

King: "Well, a few weeks ago, Bruce Blank didn't think Jay Hawke was going to be able to last ten minutes with him in a hardcore match. Of course, Hawke survived that match and got the win. This time, the shoe is on the other foot, so to speak. This time, Jay Hawke's issued the challenge to Bruce Blank, saying Blank can't last ten minutes with him in a pure wrestling match."

 

Francis: "And there is much more on the line this time around. Bruce Blank has agreed to defend the International Championship against Hawke at Genesis VII in just a few weeks. Whoever wins this challenge gets to pick the stipulation for that title match."

 

King: "And the stipulation might be more interesting than the match, which is full of intrigue for a number of reasons. One, we've seen Blank last 15 minutes or longer in some hellacious matches, so 10 minutes should be nothing. But what about the potential presence of Nemesis?"

 

Francis: "There are any number of things to keep an eye on, but one thing is certain. The stipulations favor Jay Hawke, but the time limit may not. We've got to head up to the ring so Funyon can make the introductions."

 

Funyon: "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a ten minute challenge match contested under pure wrestling rules, and the winner of this contest will get to choose the stipuation for their match at Genesis!"

 

“Don’t Ask Me No Questions” by Lynyrd Skynyrd comes over the PA.

 

Funyon: "Introducing first, the man who just needs to last ten minutes to be declared the winner ... hailing from the Dirty Tornado Trailer Park in Mobile, Alabama, and weighing in tonight at 295 pounds. He is the Redneck Superman and the SWF International Champion ... BRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCE BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!"

 

The opening instrumentals hits as the words “Bruce Blank” flash across the screen drawing traditional fan chant:

 

 

"WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!"

 

Francis: "And no surprises here, King. These fans have hated Bruce Blank from day one, and tonight's huge crowd is no different."

 

King: "Well, they might not like him, Mak, but let's tell it like it is. He is the International Champion, and he's beaten Akira Kaibatsu and Spike Jenkins in the past couple of weeks to retain it, so he's definitely proven himself a worthy champion."

 

Francis: "So what will it take to earn the fans' respect?"

 

King: "Moving to Canada and making Shania Twain his sex slave."

 

As Blank, now in the ring, hands his title belt to the timekeeper (since there's no need to hand it to referee Matthew Kivell when it's not at stake), the lights dim, and the music changes to Pink Floyd's "Learning to Fly" to a surprising pop.

 

Funyon: "And his opponent ... hailing from the Hall of Fame City in Cleveland, Ohio, and weighing tonight at 215 pounds ... 'the Dean of Professional Wrestling' ... JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!"

 

As Jay Hawke emerges through the curtain and steps into a spotlight, the fans begin an unfamiliar chant:

 

 

"JAY HAWKE!

JAY HAWKE!

JAY HAWKE!"

 

Hawke looks around in confusion as even the announcers seem stunned:

 

Francis: "Can you believe this? People actually seem to be supporting Jay Hawke tonight!"

 

King: "I guess they feel Hawke is the lesser of two evils. I can't understand it otherwise. They never cheered Hawke!"

 

Hawke enters the ring and removes his robe, handing it to the young boy who takes the jackets to the locker room before Funyon continues:

 

"Remember, this will be contested under pure wrestling rules. Three rope breaks per wrestler will be all that's allowed. Closed fist punches count as a rope break. There will be a twenty count on the floor, and if a wrestler throws a closed fist with no rope breaks remaining, he will be disqualified."

 

Francis: "There are the rules, and senior referee Matthew Kivell will call for the bell."

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

{10:00, 9:59, 9:58...}

 

 

Francis: "And there's the bell."

 

King: "You're good."

 

Almost immediately, the two combatants lock up. Hawke immediately locks Blank in a side headlock. Blank wastes no time, breaking it with a punch into the midsection, which proves to be a mistake because...

 

Funyon: "Ladies and gentlemen, Bruce Blank has thrown a closed fist punch and therefore loses his first rope break."

 

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!"

 

 

King: "Now that's not right!"

 

Francis: "But that is the rule."

 

Blank protests briefly, then turns around, walking into another side headlock. This time Blank backs off, using the ropes for leverage to push Hawke off. Hawke bounces off the other side of the ropes...

 

Funyon: "Ladies and gentlemen, Bruce Blank has used his second rope break!"

 

King: "For what?"

 

...and Bruce turns toward Matthew Kivell, unaware of the forearm smash that Hawke levels to the side of his head before locking in yet another side headlock.

 

Francis: "I've got to agree with you there, King. Blank wasn't trying to take a cheap way out there. He merely was using them for leverage, but it's a judgment call for the referee."

 

King: "And one I think he blew, but you know Hawke's smart enough to take it."

 

Blank remains locked in the hold, momentarily confused as to a counter before he finally thinks logically, "I've got the strength advantage here." With that revelation in mind, Blank simply lifts his smaller opponent off the canvas and falls backwards, forcing the hold broken with a simple back suplex.

 

King: "And that's what Blank needs to do. Use his power to stop any of Hawke's technical maneuvers."

 

Bruce Blank quickly crawls over into a cover:

 

 

 

ONE!

 

Francis: "And go for quick covers as well!"

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

King: "Well, the quick covers aren't crucial for Blank with the shorter time limit, as all he needs to do is last the time limit. It's up to Hawke to pin Blank, not the other way around."

 

Bruce Blank immediately drops down and wraps both hands around Jay Hawke's throat, trying to choke the life out of his opponent but careful to break on the referee's four count. Blank then pulls Hawke to his feet and locks in a side headlock of his own. Hawke immediately fires a couple of forearms into Blank's midsection to release the hold, then uses Blank's positioning to push him forward. Blank runs into the ropes, and on the rebound, Hawke levels Blank with a dropkick that catches his taller opponent in the chest. Blank falls to the canvas, and Hawke covers:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout!

 

King: "Now that's what Hawke needs to do. He needs the quick covers pretty much as soon as Blank falls on his back."

 

Hawke immediately gets to his feet and drops a leg across Blank's chest, then quickly goes into another cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout. This time Hawke drops an elbow, and he's right into another cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Blank gives a hard kickout, the force of which actually sends Jay Hawke rolling to the arena floor.

 

Francis: "Wow! Take a look at the power of Bruce Blank!"

 

King: "And take a look at Jay Hawke on the arena floor! Blank had better go out there after him if he wants to choose the stipuation for Genesis!"

 

THREE!

 

Francis: "Remember, King, it's Blank who benefits from the time limit expiring, not Hawke."

 

King: "Then let him stay on the floor all night! Take that draw!"

 

SIX!

 

Jay Hawke refuses to accept the countout, instead returning to the ring as a running clock counts down the remaining time:

 

{7:16, 7:15, 7:14...}

 

Francis: "Nearly three minutes into this one already, and the closer we get to that time expiring, the more in Bruce Blank's favor the match gets."

 

Hawke moves in for the tieup, but Bruce Blank quickly gets in three solid forearm blows to the back to drive him down to the mat. Hawke gets back up, but Bruce Blank goes to something not normally in his arsenal...he locks in a front facelock.

 

Francis: "And how about this strategy from Bruce Blank? He's got a front facelock on Jay Hawke."

 

King: "Brilliant strategy. He's using a hold that will wear Jay Hawke down, and he also runs down the clock on top of it."

 

Jay Hawke quickly tries to break out of it with a series of forearm smashes to the ribs, but Bruce Blank tightens his grip, effectively shutting the Dean of Wrestling down. Bruce beams, thinking things are well in control, but Hawke quickly shifts his weight and leans forward, diving at a leg and taking Blank down in a flash.

 

Francis: "And there's that wrestling background of Jay Hawke."

 

Hawke immediately tries to scissors the leg, but Blank quickly crawls over to the ropes...

 

Funyon: "Ladies and gentlemen, that is Bruce Blank's third and final rope break!"

 

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

 

King: "And Bruce did that out of instinct, which is why these pure wrestling rules benefit Jay Hawke!"

 

Hawke allows Bruce Blank to get back to his feet, and he quickly locks in a front facelock of his own. He goes for a suplex, but he can't get the larger Blank up. Instead, Blank levels Hawke with a knee to the ribs, then reverses Hawke's fortunes for him by taking the Dean down with a suplex of his own. Hawke's body convulses as Blank sits up and smiles.

 

Francis: "Tremendous suplex by the International Champion, and he's got plenty of confidence right now."

 

King: "Well, I know he only needs to last the time limit, but he needs to be on Hawke here and not give him a chance to catch a breather."

 

{5:56, 5:55, 5:54...}

 

Francis: "But by the same token, he is less than six minutes away from putting his fate at Genesis into his own hands."

 

Bruce Blank reaches down and grabs Jay Hawke, lifts him up as if to bodyslam him, then holds him up over his head in a Gorilla press position. After what seems like an eternity to Hawke, but in reality is only about eight to ten seconds, Blank walks a few steps and drops Jay Hawke throat-first across the top rope. Hawke rolls around the ring clutching his throat as Blank soaks in the boos from the crowd.

 

Francis: "And as the match continues, you can see Bruce Blank getting more and more confident."

 

King: "I just figured out who Hawke patterns his style after though. Ricky Steamboat! Look at how he's clutching at his neck!"

 

Francis: "Not funny, King."

 

Jay Hawke valiantly tries to make it to his feet as he clutches at his throat. As he gets to his feet doubled over, Blank quickly takes him down with a swinging neckbreaker. Blank smiles before going for a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout, but Blank is quick to cover again:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout...

 

Funyon: "Five minutes remain, five minutes."

 

...and Blank covers yet again.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

Francis: "Now I don't understand that. The covers didn't work the first time, why try it again?"

 

Bruce Blank immediately locks in a reverse chinlock, drawing an immediate round of boos from the crowd, who doesn't want to see the stalling.

 

King: "It wasn't so much about getting the pin as it was about wearing Hawke down and running out the clock, Mak. He wasted ten to fifteen seconds with those covers, and Hawke was expending energy with every one of them."

 

Blank tightens his grip on the reverse chinlock. Then, with Matthew Kivell looking in on Hawke's condition, Blank reaches out with his foot and places it on the middle rope.

 

Francis: "And look at this blatant cheating."

 

King: "Now this is legal because he's out of rope breaks, right?"

 

Francis: "No it isn't le--you know, I don't know what the rule would be for that one!"

 

Blank takes his foot off the rope before Kivell can see him using it, so we may never know. What we do know is that Blank releases the hold and goes for another pin:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout, but Blank goes right back into the reverse chinlock.

 

Funyon: "Four minutes remain in the time limit, four minutes!"

 

King: "And right back to running the clock again. Maybe four minutes left in this one, and all he has to do is run the clock out."

 

Hawke reaches back and grabs a handful of Blank's hair, which only serves to force Matthew Kivell to make a four count. Blank smiles as he once again tightens his grip on the hold.

 

Francis: "Blank's relentless on the chinlock."

 

King: "And he's got almost 300 pounds behind that chinlock. He's doing more with that one that most men are capable of."

 

Jay Hawke finally begins making his way to his feet. He fires off a couple of elbows into Blank's midsection, which break the hold. Hawke runs into the ropes and comes back, firing off a hard clothesline. He runs off the ropes again, but this time Bruce levels him a lariat that snaps his neck back, and Hawke lands right on the back of his head as he falls to the canvas.

 

Francis: "Oh my! That should be enough to finish Hawke off right there!"

 

King: "If Blank even wants to go for the pin here."

 

Blank looks down at Hawke, but instead of covering his fallen opponent, he pulls him to his feet. He lifts Hawke, once again pressing him over his head before slamming him hard into the canvas. Hawke actually bounces off of the mat, and Blank casually drops down into another cover:

 

Funyon: "Three minutes remain, three minutes."

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

Francis: "Another kickout, and Hawke's showing a lot of fight here."

 

King: "But even Jay Hawke is going to have trouble kicking out if he takes too much more of this!"

 

The Redneck Superman once again locks in a reverse chinlock, and the crowd gets more and more aggravated.

 

Francis: "Blank not pleasing this capacity crowd, but this is actually the perfect strategy to employ."

 

King: "We're nearing the two minute mark here, and with every second that Bruce locks in this hold, he comes that much closer to putting Hawke through hell at Genesis."

 

Jay Hawke once again makes his way to his feet. He once again lands a couple of elbows to Bruce's midsection, then hooks Blank's arm and drags him to the mat with it before quickly dropping down and locking in a cross armbreaker.

 

Francis: "Jujigitame locked in by Jay Hawke, and he might be able to force Blank to submit right here!"

 

King: "I don't know about that! Look at the ring positioning!"

 

Bruce Blank crawls to the ropes and drapes his foot over the bottom strand, but Matthew Kivell is quick to wave it off.

 

Francis: "Nothing doing! Blank is out of rope breaks!"

 

Bruce panics briefly, then takes his foot off the ropes and continues crawling out of the ring. As his feet hit the floor...

 

Funyon: "Two minutes remaining, two minutes!"

 

...he begins using his newfound leverage to clasp his hands together. "That will alleviate the pressure," Suicide King tells us as Blank swings around, throwing Hawke from the apron and around until his head hits the steel barricade outside the ring.

 

 

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

King: "And after that one, I doubt Hawke's even going to make it back to the ring to finish the match!"

 

{1:41, 1:40, 1:39...}

 

Francis: "And as we near the 90-second mark, Bruce Blank returns the ring. Jay Hawke, on the other hand..."

 

King: "If Jay Hawke so much as stands up before 20, much less returns to the ring, then I'll be surprised!"

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

FIVE!

 

Bruce Blank raises both arms in the air in celebration. Clearly, he has beaten Jay Hawke at his own game.

 

Or has he?

 

EIGHT!

 

King: "What the...?"

 

Francis: "He's standing up! With just about a minute to go, Jay Hawke is pulling himself to his feet!"

 

ELEVEN!

 

TWELVE!

 

Jay Hawke slowly pulls himself to the ring apron, only to be met with a knee to the ribs by Bruce Blank.

 

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

Funyon: "One minute remains in the time limit! One minute!"

 

Francis: "This can't last much longer, King."

 

King: "Another minute or so."

 

Francis: "Even without the time limit. Hawke took a brutal blow to that guardrail!"

 

FOUR!

 

Francis: "Even if he can continue, what kind of shape will he possibly be in?"

 

Funyon: "Forty-five seconds remaining."

 

SIX!

 

King: "Well, maybe Hawke will be satisfied knowing that he doesn't have to suffer anymore punishment until Genesis."

 

Francis: "You and I both know Hawke better than that King."

 

EIGHT!

 

King: "Do we? We know Hawke's not stupid!"

 

Funyon: "Thirty seconds!"

 

Francis: "Well, even if Hawke somehow pulls himself into the ring now, he's never going to beat the clock!"

 

TWELVE!

 

Jay Hawke pulls himself to the ring apron, but he's met by a forearm blow to the back.

 

Funyon: "Twenty seconds!"

 

Hawke moves in, catching Blank with a shoulder into the midsection.

 

Funyon: "Fifteen seconds!"

 

Hawke hits him with another shoulderblock to the midsection.

 

Funyon: "Ten! Nine!"

 

Jay Hawke uses the top rope as a slingshot...

 

Funyon: "Eight! Seven! Six!"

 

...flips over the top of Blank...

 

Funyon: "Five! Four!"

 

...and takes Blank down with a picture-perfect sunset flip.

 

Funyon: "Three!"

 

ONE!

 

Funyon: "Two!

 

TWO!

 

Funyon: "One!"

 

THREE!

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

Francis: "he got him!"

 

King: "Did he?"

 

Francis: "I think...I dunno."

 

Funyon: "Ladies and gentlemen, in 9 minutes 59 seconds..."

 

 

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!"

 

Funyon: "You winner is JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!"

 

Jay Hawke quickly rolls out of the ring as Bruce Blank sits on the mat, staring at the crowd in disbelief.

 

Francis: "He got him with one second to spare!"

 

King: "And you said he couldn't do it!"

 

Francis: "I stand corrected! Jay Hawke will get to choose the stipulation for his chance to regain the International Championship at Genesis! What will that stipulation be? Find out next weeK!

 

{fade out}