Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 11, 2007 The picture slowly revives and Ben Hardy stands next to the Insane Luchador, Andrew Rickmen, with a microphone annoyingly shoved into his face. Ben Hardy asks, “I am here with the one and only Insane Luchador for a brief interview before his big match tonight. So Rickmen, how are you feeling about the upcoming year? Any plans or any goals?” “Make it to the next year?” Hardy awkwardly glances about and responds, “So is that a hint that you’re going after the Hardcore Championship?” Luchador stares at him. “You don’t want to make it until next year, Hardy?” “No. Well, I mean, yeah, I do but…” “It’s going to be one very, very Psychotic Year,” IL says with his signature smirk. Hardy fumbles for a response. “I know, I know. It’s not nearly as catchy as Year of the Beast but not all of us can churn out brilliant phrases. The fact remains, Hardy, that it’s a brand new year and brand new doors could be happening for me.” Hardy nods and hesitates as he looks ready to ask a question but thinks better of it. Insane Luchador catches on with a look of suspicion. “Just ask, Hardy.” “Well, it’s just…” “It’s just…” Rickmen slowly echoes back. “It’s just… well, how are you responding to what people are saying about this match?” IL obliviously looks at him for a second before shrugging. “I didn’t know they were.” Hardy awkwardly bobs his head about before saying, “You know, like, you’re just a match to keep Drake active, warmed up.” Insane Luchador briefly laughs before breaking into the psychotic grin. “Do you have any response to that?” “Well, actually, I do, Hardy. I know exactly what this match is supposed to be, what it’s meant to be but I’m going out there to make sure it’s everything it shouldn’t be,” IL calmly says before cracking his knuckles and neck while walking away. Hardy shakes his head and looks at the camera. “You heard it from Your Psychotic Hero, folks, this could shape up to be one ‘very, very Psychotic Year.’” -STARWIPE~!- Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 11, 2007 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Tom Flesher presents.... SWF STORM Live, Wednesday, January 10, from MADISON SQUARE GARDEN in NEW YORK, NEW YORK! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to Ace309) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT – CLUSTERTEASE BATTLE ROYAL Michael Stephens © vs. Nighthawk vs. Zyon vs. Akira Kaibatsu vs. Michael Cross -> The Clusterfuck is just around the corner, with the winner of the progressive battle royal winning a shot at the SWF World Champion, whoever he may be, at From the First in late March! This is just a tuneup for Michael Stephens, who's sure to have his sights set on the big one, but the other competitors are all looking to make a name and collect the surprise offered for the win by Commissioner Tom Flesher. Rules: Standard battle royal – everyone starts in the ring, and you're eliminated when you get thrown over the top rope and both feet touch the floor. The winner will receive a surprise from the good Commissioner. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NON-TITLE MATCH "The Beast" Gabriel Drake © vs. the Insane Luchador -> When we asked who was interested in facing Gabriel Drake, it seemed like no one was willing... except, of course, the Insane Luchador, who's always willing to take on anyone under any circumstances. Can the former Cruiserweight Champion earn a notch in his belt over the reigning World Champion? Rules: Standard. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Mr. Cold Front Classic JJ Johnson vs. “The Dean of Professional Wrestling” Jay Hawke -> The last man to receive a midterm title shot takes on the next man to face off with Gabriel Drake on pay-per-vie! It's a striker extraordinaire versus mat wrestler nonpareil on Storm! Rules: Standard -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- CRUISERWEIGHT EXHIBITION Wildchild vs. Landon “La Cucaracha” Maddix © -> Wildchild is the current number-one contender for the Cruiserweight Championship, and he'll collect his shot on the next edition of Storm. Maddix has one-half of the Tag Team Championships, but who's to say he's not interested in throwing his name in for the Cruiser title? Beating the number-one contender sends a message. Rules: Standard with cruiserweight addenda -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- TAG TEAM CONTEST Calvin Szechstein and a Mystery Partner vs. The Happiest Man On Earth Alan Clark ©© and Ricky Barbosa -> I don't know who Calvin Szechstein is or why he's bringing a mystery parter in, but I sure don't like all his endorsement deals. -> I don't know who Ricky Barbosa is or why he likes Alan Clark so much, but I sure didn't like Pirates of the Caribbean 2. Rules: Standard. Use the tag ropes. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SPECIAL ATTRACTION Ghost Machine 3.0 vs. Matt "Insert Gimmick Here" Myers -> It's a reboot of Ghost Machine 3.0 (whose form factor bore a striking resemblance to Bruce Blank). Rules: Standard. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 11, 2007 “Ladies and gentlemen the follow match is scheduled for one fall with a 10 minute time limit!” Funyon booms trying to get the people of Madison Square Garden excited for the next match. “Yeah I’ll take two dogs and a large pop” King says to one of the vendors “King, King we’re on the air” “I know that! I’m just beating the rush to the concession stand” King replies “What rush?” Mak wonders “Introducing first weighing in at 221 lean, mean pounds from Honolulu, Hawaii here is Matt “Kid Shango” MYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRSS “Oh say no more King, I think I’ll have a hot dog too” “Sorry he just left” King says with a grin. Smoke begins to billow out from backstage as red lights flicker on and off at an irregular rhythm. Through the smoke Matt Myers emerges – or more correctly “Kid Shango” emerges complete with voodoo priest face paint, a stovepipe hat, black and red tights and carrying a skull with smoke emanating from it’s eyes. *Nostalgia pop* Myers really tries to get into the gimmick as he makes handgestures over the skull and chants weird supposed voodoo incantations as he looks at the ring. “Quick someone get me a calendar stat! I want to check if 1992 came back around!” King quips as Myers leaps over the top rope. [P.A.] *Dialtone* [P.A.] *The sound of someone dialing a phone number [P.A.] “BennerCorp, how man I help you?” A woman’s voice says as she answers the phone [P.A.] “Yeah I’d like to buy your latest Ghost Machine please” a dorky sounding kid replies “What the hell is this” King asks echoing the question on everyone’s mind [P.A.] “What model would that be sir?” the operator asks [P.A.] “Only the best Ghost Machine model ever, Version Three Point Oh!” ”Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, Mata ah-oo hima de Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, Himitsu wo shiri tai” “Oh jesh not this con-job again” Mak says shaking his head in disbelief. “Con-Job? It’s the return of the undefeated Ghost Machine V3.0” The Suicide King quickly corrects. ”You're wondering who I am-machine or mannequin With parts made in Japan, I am the modren man” “Come on King it’s VERY obvious who’s under the mask, last time he wore it to get under Flesher’s skin… now? Well I dunno While Mak Francis alludes to whomever is under the mask but never outright saying it one of the SWF road agents drives out a forklift with a 7 foot tall wooden crate on it to a mixed from the crowd. “OOOOOH you’re saying that it’s Wildchild again?” King says playing dumb about the identity of Ghost Machine V3.0 ”I've got a secret I've been hiding under my skin My heart is human, my blood is boiling, my brain I.B.M. ” The road agent jumps out of the forklift, then he unlocks the box and swings the door open spilling out hundres of gallons of packing peanuts to reveal Ghost Machine V3.0 “You KNOW it’s him! He hasn’t been seen in the SWF for months and now he’s trying to sneak in the back door” Mak laments as the 6’7’’ – 6’8’’ Bulky Ghost Machine steps out of the box, walks up the ring steps and then enters the ring as the crowd begins to boo. “See I’m not the only one who’s seen through this crappy disguise” “It’s see through? I wonder when they’ll introduce a female Ghost Machine!” King says and leers only to realize that he’s not on camera right now so he really wasted a good leer for nothing. Myers stands face to chest with the Purple People Immitator, clutching his smoking skull like it’s going to save him from the ass kicking he’s about to receive. Ghost Machine reaches out in a slow mechanical manner, removes Myers’ stovepipe hat and then crushes it between his massive hands. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! The referee asks for the smoking skull so that the match can start, something which Myers is rather reluctant to comply with but eventually he hands the skull off to the referee. Once the referee turns around to get the smoking skull out of the ring Ghost Machine V3 jumps into action with a massive boot to Myers’ jaw. *WHAM!!* Myers flips a full 360 from the impact and lands on his face as Ghost Machine V3 flexes his “mechanical” muscles “Gee that certainly looks familiar doesn’t it? Maybe like the kind of guy who’d be a former Hardcore and International Champion?” “I don’t think he looks ANYTHING like J.J. Johnson Mak, you must be hallucinating” Ghost Machine grabs “Kid Shango” by the hair, drags him to his feet and then throws him hard into the corner. After a running lariat that threatens to knock Myers’ head off Bru.. I mean Ghost Machine V3.0 rubs his puple fabric clad forearm over Myers’ face smudging the facepaint, getting it in Myers eyes. The big machine pushes Myers’ head back with his left arm, then lets a clubbing right forearm drop on Myers’ chest to the displeasure of the New York crowd YOU’RE BRUCE BLANK!! YOU’RE BRUCE BLANK!! YOU’RE BRUCE BLANK!! “He’s what? … Brice Plank?” King asks, deciding to play the “clueless” role to the hilt. “Flesher, Peters… Dear god almighty above someone get me a partner with a bit of common sense” Mak moans The Machine picks up Myers by the throat and the tights pressing him over his head military press style. Then just to demonstrate how much BennerCorp has augmented his strength he does ten reps with his helpless opponent before running towards the ropes “TAKE COVER!!” Mak yells as it looks like Myers is about to be thrown in their lap, fortunately for King and Mak (and Matt Myers) the master of a million gimmicks manages to grab hold of the top rope and land on the apron. A quick leap later and Myers comes flying off the top rope INTO A POWER SLAM!! ONE!! TWO!! But Ghost Machine doesn’t stay on top of Matt Myers for the three count, he’s not done just yet. The big Machine drags Myers to his feet, then whips him hard into the corner and follows in after him for a big time clothesline MYERS DUCKS OUT OF THE WAY!! Ghost Machine slams chest first into the top turnbuckle making him stagger backwards while gripping his chest in pain. In desperation Matt Myers leaps up on the top turnbuckle and then flips backwards with a moonsault to the standing Ghost Machine YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! “His knee caught Ghost Machine in the head” Mak yells out as Ghost Machine falls to the canvas with Matt Myers on top of him ONE!! Without thinking about it Myers quickly hooks Ghost Machine’s leg TWO!! THREE!! “WHAT?” The Suicide King leaps clean out of his chair as the Madison Square Garden crowd explodes in cheers as Myers has pulled off a HUGE upset “The winner of the match… “ Funyon starts then has to pause to take in what just happened “Matt Myers??” Myers sits on the mat with a stunned look on his face, even HE can’t believe what just happened. It’s not until the referee raises Myers’ hand in the air that it sinks in on him causing him to leap to his feet and run around the ring with his hands in the air. “Myers beat Ghost Machine?” Mak asks, rubbing his eyes to make sure he really saw what just happened. Myers hugs the refere, then he grabs the smoking skull from the apron and swings it around as he celebrates. His good mood is soon dampened when he sees Ghost Machine moving. Instead of sticking around to face an angry redneck Robot Imitator Myers slides under the bottom rope and then races up the aisle, smoking skull clutched under one arm while slapping the occasional outstretched hand as he heads to the back. “I think we’ve got Ben Hardy backstage for a quick word with the surprise winner” Mak says after getting the message over his headset. We go backstage where Ben Hardy catches up with Matt Myers only moments after he comes through the curtains in the back, smiling from ear to ear but still in shock “Matt Myers congratulations!” Ben starts out “Holy shit Ben! I… I did didn’t I?” Matt says “You certainly did!” Ben verifies with a big grin “Oh my god!! Oh my god!” An elated Myers says as he almost jumps for joy “I love you man” he then says as he holds up the smoking skull and gives it a kiss on the forehead. “Did you think you had a chance tonight Matt? I mean not to be mean but you haven’t really won much since you returned in 2005” Hardy asks. Before Myers can answer the question a furious Ghost Machine comes through the curtains *EEEEPP!* Myers squeaks and then runs off in the direction of the parking garage. “Well that’s all we’ll probably get from Myers right now, maybe we can get more from him when he’s not being chased by a 6’8’’ monster” Hardy says before sending Storm off to a commercial break. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 11, 2007 We return to Madison Square Garden, where the lights are completely gone and a voice echoes over the loudspeakers… "Please stand clear of the ring. Por favor soporte claro del anillo. For the safety and comfort of others, no smoking please. Para la seguridad y la comodidad de otras, el ningún fumar, por favor. " "Not this clown again, " says "The Franchise" Mak Francis from his seat at the announce table. "The Walt Disney Company and the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation are proud to present…" "It’s A Small World" begins playing and a spotlight hits the entranceway, illuminating Alan Clark and Ricky Barbosa, with Walter Reynolds trailing behind. The three of them are all smiles, waving to the fans, who do nothing but boo them. Pixie dust falls on the trio as they head down to the ring, and Funyon makes his announcement. "The following contest is a TAG TEAM MATCH scheduled for ONE fall! Now entering the ring, at a combined weight of four hundred pounds, accompanied by Walter Reynolds… the team of RICKY BARBOSA and the Happiest Guy on Earth, your SWF Cruiserweight Champion AND SWF International Champion, AAAAAAAAAALAN CLARK! " Clark smiles, the Cruiserweight title around his waist and the International title over his shoulder as he walks up the steps and into the ring. Barbosa is close behind, a little bit of extra spring in his step—hey, he’s about to tag with his idol. "Fans, I’m Mak Francis, alongside the Suicide King, and we’ve got a couple of debuts coming to the ring right now. " "A couple of clowns if you ask me, " says the Suicide King. "You’ve got Ricky Barbosa, whose favorite wrestler is Alan Clark—yeah, he’s going to have a bright future. On the other side, you have Calvin Szechstein, the longest-reigning OAOAST Champion of all time despite the fact that he can’t wrestle a lick, and whatever blast from the OAOAST’s past he’s decided to team with. I don’t know who to support because, to be perfectly honest, I don’t think any of them are any good. Where’s Galatea? " "It’s A Small World" dies down, and Clark hands both of his belts to Walter Reynolds before turning to the entrance ramp, ready to focus on his opponent. "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVERYBODY KNOWS I’M IN OVER MY HEAD OVER MY HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAD…" You know, Calvin Szechstein’s not that bad of a guy, but as soon as "Over My Head (Cable Car) " by the Fray hits the speakers, he receives the loudest chorus of boos thus far. Calvin steps through the curtain, arms outstretched and a microphone in his right hand, which he brings to his lips. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is the pleasure of both myself and Milwaukee’s Best Light to introduce to you, " Calvin smiles, a bit too large, and one wonders if even he knows what’s about to happen. "He’s a friend of mine, and he goes by the name…" The lights go off in the arena, changing to blues and golds, and the opening bassline to "Getting Away With Murder" by Papa Roach hits the speakers. Everybody who has ever watched an OAOAST show leaps to their feet, not believing their ears and certainly not ready to believe their eyes. Those SWF-only viewers stand as well, looking at the entrance ramp and trying to catch a glimpse, but as the guitar melody drops in, two words appear on the entrance ramp that erase all doubts and elicit a roar of excitement… ZACK MALIBU Calvin’s reaction is unchanging, even through the cheers and the shower of gold pyro that is going off on either side of him, and maybe he’s so shocked that he’s frozen in place, but as Malibu leaps through the curtain— "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH!" Calvin believes his eyes, slapping his tag partner on the back and putting his microphone in the back pocket of his tights, and the two men walk down to the ring, Malibu slapping hands all the way while Szechstein walks with the swagger that OAOAST fans came to hate and SWF fans are begrudgingly ready to love. "And their OPPONENTS," Funyon yells, barely audible over the still-roaring crowd, "at a combined weight of four-hundred and three pounds, the team of Calvin Szechstein and ZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK MALLLLLLLLL-I-BUUUU, the CADILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLAC BOYS!" "You have got to be kidding me," says a disgusted Suicide King. "I don’t think they’re kidding, King," Francis replies, a little excitement in even his voice. "It would take me five minutes to list off all of Zack Malibu’s accomplishments in the OAOAST, and I’m not even sure I’d get them all. He is easily one of the most beloved figures in that federation, and to see him in an SWF ring; King, it’s a little surreal." "Surreal, my ass," King says. "I’ve yet to see an OAOASTer who could keep up with an SWFer in the ring. Szechstein and Malibu may be an Oat Toast dream team, but they’re going to get eaten alive, even if it is by a rookie and a freak." "Well, for those keeping score at home, Malibu has had problems with some former and current SWF talent in the past year, with the unstable Clark, using his Bloodshed alias, being a cornerstone of that group. Malibu's war with former SWF superstar Bruce Blank was voted the OAOAST Feud of the Year for 2006, and the two are scheduled to meet in a Career versus Career match at an upcoming OAOAST Pay Per View! Szechstein and Malibu also have quite the past themselves, as Szechstein ended Malibu's first OAOAST World Title reign, only for Zack to regain the belt from him. To top all of that off, Malibu's girlfriend, who just this past year gave birth to the couple's first child, was originally brought into the OAOAST as Calvin Szechstein's valet! After a falling out, Malibu "rescued" her from Calvin, and it wasn't until 2004 that all sides patched things up and formed a group known as The Thrillogy with another superstar named Hoff." "OK now, Mr. Wikipedia, let me run this one by you. You said Malibu has put his career on the line in a match with that redneck that used to work here. So, how secure is Malibu in his ability these days that he's crossed over to our side, into a whole new enviroment? He's going to get eaten alive by our roster, mark my words." Calvin and Zack slide into the ring, Malibu throwing his arms into the air and posing while Szechstein calmly goes over to his team’s corner, stretching out his calves and swinging his arms back and forth. Malibu comes over to join him, and the two talk strategy VERY briefly before Calvin steps out of the ring, allowing Zack to start the match off. On the opposite side of the ring, Clark steps out of the ring, leaving the rookie Barbosa to start the match against the veteran Malibu. Seeing both teams ready, referee Nick Soapdish calls for the bell— ::DING DING DING:: "And we’re underway!" The two wrestlers circle each other, trying to feel the other out as the crowd buzzes with electricity, and a chant breaks out. "MAL – I – BU!" "MAL – I – BU!" Zack stops the circling, standing up straight and waving to the fans, eliciting an even bigger reaction! Were it Alan Clark in the ring, he’d be setting himself up for a fall, but the rookie Barbosa can do nothing but stand in awe of the former OAOAST Champion. Zack stops his showboating and looks back at Barbosa, but Ricky’s a little bit star-struck, and he approaches Malibu. "Zack, I’ve always been a big fan of yours." "This is too much," moans King from the announce table. "Can you… I know this is silly, but can you sign my tights?" Ricky extends a Sharpie to Malibu, who looks a bit puzzled. He shoots a glance at Calvin, who shrugs, and Zack turns back to Barbosa, taking the Sharpie and leaning over as Barbosa lifts his right knee up slightly, allowing Malibu to place his left hand behind it, using the right to sign his name— *CRACK!* But the knee comes shooting out of Malibu’s hand and into his FACE, a swift and brutal strike from the rookie Barbosa. Malibu’s head snaps back and he hits the mat hard, the fans booing the dickhead move by Barbosa as he looks down at Zack, mouths “I’m sorry”, and goes over to his corner, tagging in the Happiest Guy on Earth. "During that whole exchange," King says, "I asked myself, ‘could they both really be so stupid as to pass up THIS kind of opportunity?’ I’m glad that one of them had the sense to take advantage." "Well, decidedly not the most friendly tactics from Barbosa," says Mak, "but certainly an effective one, as Zack looks wobbly and has Alan Clark to deal with." "Welcome to the SWF!" King says. Clark steps into the ring, eyes gleaming as he grabs the woozy Malibu and lifts him to his feet. He grabs Malibu by the arm, whipping the preppy OAOASTer into the ropes, but as Malibu hits them Calvin reaches over and tags himself into the match. Clark doesn’t notice this, catching Malibu with a hard backdrop on the way back. Clark turns around to inflict some more damage on Zack, but from behind comes Szechstein, catching Clark in the back of the head with a quick forearm! "Zack is obviously not all there from the knee to the face by Barbosa," says Mak, "and Calvin noticed this as well. Good teamwork so far from these two men, who were bitter rivals in the OAOAST." Clark goes down to a knee, and as Malibu rolls out of the ring Szechstein goes to the front of Clark, grabbing the Happiest Guy On Earth in a front headlock and quickly bringing him up and over with a snap suplex! Calvin bridges over for the quick pin— "ONE!" "T—NO!" Clark easily gets the shoulder up, and Calvin gets to his feet, taking the microphone out of his back pocket. "Now, ladies and gentlemen," he says, "I’d like to take a moment right now to tell you all about a wonderful new energy drink from the makers of YJ Stinger. It’s called YJ Blinger, and it’s the official energy drink of Def Jam Records. YJ Blinger—muscles ain’t a thing if you don’t have that—" And Clark snakes an arm around Calvin’s inside leg, causing Szechstein to drop the microphone as he falls back in the schoolboy! "ONE!" "TWO!" "THREE—NO!" Calvin just wriggles out, and the crowd lets out a sigh of relief. "Calvin Szechstein is not prepared to wrestle an actual match, Mak," King says. "Calvin Szechstein needs to hang up his tights and go home, because he has absolutely no business in an SWF ring." "Calvin’s been very serviceable—" "Calvin got nearly got pinned by a *bleep*ing schoolboy in the first minute of the match," King says, his voice acid. "He needs to go home." The two men come up from the canvas, and immediately Clark grabs a headlock...a far cry from the offense that Zack Malibu is used to seeing from him. Calvin takes the opportunity to stick the microphone back into his back pocket, then shoots Clark into the ropes. He drops to his stomach, and Clark hops over him, hitting the far ropes...and runs right into a picturesque dropkick as Calvin leaps off of the canvas! Calvin gets up and grabs one of Clark's legs, but before he can tie him up, Clark kicks his other arm away, then kicks him down, briefly knocking him to the canvas. Barbosa claps excitedly for his hero over on the apron, and when Calvin comes up, he's bowled back over by a running kneelift from Alan. "Szechstein appears to be having a bit of trouble with Clark here in the early goings of this contest." "Like I was just saying, this character isn't cut out for the SWF," quips King. "He's a glorified ad from the Sunday paper, for chrissakes." Clark pulls Calvin up and sends him to the corner, or more specifically, his corner. Szechstein shakes off the cobwebs after impact, but gets blasted by a running lariat while trapped in the corner! He comes out of the corner swaying his arms back and forth, trying to fend off Clark...only problem being that Clark is behind him, making the tag to Barbosa! The rookie immediately leaps up to the top, and waits for Calvin to stop seeing stars. When he turns around, Barbosa launches himself into the air, soaring high before crashing down onto Calvin with a huge crossbody! "ONE!" "T—NO!" Calvin easily escapes the pin attempt, but Ricky stays with him, doing his best to make Alan Clark proud. As Calvin comes up off the mat he takes him by the wrist and wrenches his arm, keeping him at bay momentarily, until Calvin reverses the move into an arm wrench of his own. He backs Barbosa into the ropes and shoots him to the far side, but on the rebound Ricky slides through Calvin's legs, then comes up behind him and grabs him by the waist. Calvin gets run to the ropes but clings to them before he can get yanked back in a rollup, and when he turns his head, he sees Ricky rushing him. Thinking quick, Cal drops low, and Barbosa soars over the top rope, only to catch himself on the apron. Calvin gets up all proud of himself, but once again he turns around when it's too late, this time winding up back on the mat courtesy of a springboard huracanrana! "Szechstein appears to be having a bit of trouble with the plucky youngster tonight!" "PLUCKY?!?" "Yes, King. It means..." "I know what it means, Francis, but it doesn't mean you have to use it!" After being rattled, Calvin comes up to his feet once again, and manages to catch a kick from Barbosa before it strikes him in the ribs. Now holding onto the foot of his foe, Cal ducks the followup attempt at an enzugiri, and with Barbosa laying on his stomach, the squared circle's favorite spokesperson steps on the small of his back, and whacks him across the back of the head with an open hand slap. Clark watches on as his groupie holds the back of his head, pounding the turnbuckles for some motivation. Meanwhile across the ring, Zack Malibu peers at Clark, reminded of his own personal vendetta against the man he's more familiar with as Bloodshed. "If there was ever a match that would come down to a coin toss, I'd have to say this one would be it. We've got two new, well new for the SWF in one's case, teams in there. You've got two former World Champions, a reigning DOUBLE champion, and a high-flying rookie. You've got Clark and Malibu who have fought in the past, although not in this enviroment, and not in Clark's current state of mind. Szechstein and Malibu haven't always been friends, and who knows if Clark can truly count on this rookie. There are a lot of factors involved in this one, but I have a feeling that's why it's going to turn out to be one hell of a contest." "I swear, I thought Szechstein was the one acting as spokesperson, but listen to you tonight. Next thing you know you'll be busting out college football and dated pop culture references!" Szechstein drags Ricky up by the waist of his jeans, and grabs him by the waist. He hoists him up for a back suplex, but Ricky floats through and lands on his feet, then swings Cal around and takes him over with a deep arm drag! Szechstein is up quickly and charges his foe, but winds up taken down by a drop toehold, and then gets a taste of his own medicine as Barbosa playfully slaps the back of his head, mussing him up! The crowd gets a chuckle out of it and pop for the tactic, increasing Barbosa's sense of joy. He looks to Clark and nods with a "thumbs up", but Alan motions to cut the celebrating short. Ricky does, and turns around... ...right into an inverted atomic drop! "Oooh, that's gonna tingle!" "TINGLE!? Crap on a cracker, Francis, we gotta work on some new catchphrases for you." With Barbosa stunned, Cal works him over with a pair of forearms, and then a simple right hand that knocks him on his back. He reaches down and pulls him up, shooting him to the ropes once again. Barbosa hits, and feels the hand of his partner slap him on the back, making the blind tag. Cal ducks his head, readying for a back bodydrop, but Barbosa slides through the legs, stunning Cal as he comes up behind him and shoves him forward, right into an STO takedown from Clark! "Some nice teamwork there from the new duo of Barbosa and Clark!" With Calvin reeling, Clark gets up and drops an elbow, then gets up and follows up with another. He drags Calvin away from the ropes and sets him up in center ring, then hits the ropes, and comes off with a kneedrop to the temple that sends a shock through the body of corporate America's favorite son! Clark hooks the leg, and keeps him on the mat while waiting for the referee's count. "ONE!" "TWO!" KICKOUT! "Szechstein shows resilience again, but he's gone back and forth with Barbosa for the duration of this match, and should probably consider tagging out to Zack Malibu." "I'm sure the thought has crossed his mind once or twice. I'll agree with you there, I'm anxious to see what Malibu does inside one of our rings." Malibu keeps focuses on the action, watching as Clark picks Calvin up and readies him in a front facelock. He throws his arm over his head, and lifts him for a suplex...but the former OAOAST World Champion kicks his legs and shifts his weight, countering the suplex with one of his own...but not realizing how close he is to the ropes! He suplexes Clark over, but the lower leg of the Happiest Man On Earth bounce off the top rope, sending him floating back over in a reverse slingshot type of manuever, allowing him to take Calvin over with a suplex like he originally intended to do! Clark then stanss up and backflips over onto Cal, smashing him with a standing moonsault, and putting the brash newcomer on the receiving end of a pin attempt once again in this contest! "ONE!" "TWO!" KICKOUT! "Szechstein escapes yet again..." "...oh come ON, Francis! He's been on his back more than my mechanic!" snaps King, obviously unimpressed thus far with the debuting duo of former and current OAOAST stars. Clark pulls Calvin up, as Barbosa tries to cheerlead for him, getting some of the crowd into it as he stomps and claps from his corner. Malibu remains remarkably silent, however, simply keeping an eye on Clark, who it appears can't look him in the eye. Clark catches the glare from Malibu as he's busy with Calvin, and it serves as enough of a distraction that Cal is able to blast him with a sitout jawbreaker that staggers him! "He calls that one Willy Wonka's World Famous Jawbreaker, and however famous it may be, Alan Clark can't be a fan of it!" Calvin acts quickly, rolling from his seated position onto all fours and making a beeline towards his corner, tagging in Zack Malibu for the first time since the start of this contest! "Watch out world, here comes Zack Malibu!" "Didn't take you long to hop on this guy's bandwagon, did it?" A good section of the crowd roars, but there's no denying that a portion of the crowd sees Malibu as an invader and is unimpressed with his arrival in the SWF. Nevertheless, he slingshots into the ring and bolts for Clark, nailing him with a running lariat! He turns around and sees Clark coming to his feet somewhat quickly, and opens fire with right hands, stunning Clark with every hit before backing him into the ropes. He sends him in, but Clark reverses the momentum and sends Zack in...but as he leaps up for a possible dropkick or rana, Zack clings to the ropes, and gravity does Clark in as it sends him falling to the canvas back first! Clark sits up, and as soon as he does Malibu rushes in, nailing him with a basement dropkick to the chin! Malibu is completely worked up and lets the crowd know it, as he circles the ring, the fire in his heart apparent in the emotion on his face. "Clark must have been taken aback by Malibu's arrival tonight, perhaps even more than the rest of us. It's probably taking every ounce of self control in his body to not obliterate Alan as he would see fit to." "Pssh, why not do it. It'd be hysterical to see Clark calling himself The Happiest Man On Earth with a face drenched in his own plasma." Malibu goes for his foe and pulls him up by the hair, then blasts him with a European uppercut. He pulls Clark in close, but Alan responds by using a leg trip, although when he goes for Malibu's legs, he's kicked down by Zack. Malibu rolls backwards and to his feet, then charges under an attempted lariat by Clark and hits the ropes...but winds up getting struck with a snap powerslam by the Disney darling! Barbosa leaps up and down with joy on the apron as Clark keeps Malibu covered after the powerslam... "ONE!" "TW—NO!" ...but can't keep him down, as Malibu is too fresh and fired up to be beaten at this point! Clark tries to maintain control by leading Malibu up to his feet, but Zack bursts forwards and runs Clark into the corner! Clark winces as Malibu rams his shoulder into his midsection repeatedly, then backs up only to give himself room to stomp Clark down! Clark puts his hands up, trying to protect his face from Malibu's shots, and eventually the referee has no choice but to back Malibu away from Clark. Zack's not done though, as after he's pulled back, he blows past the ref and hits a running knee to the side of Clark's head, smashing it against the middle turnbuckle! Zack brings Clark up and then rests him up on the top turnbuckle, but when he goes up after him, Clark shoves him down to the canvas! Zack rolls to his feet, but as he gets up Clark stands himself on the top rope and leaps off, diving over Zack's back and rolling him up with a sunset flip! "ONE!" "TWO!" KICKOUT! "Close call on that one, as I think Clark caught Malibu off guard. This isn't what Malibu's used to when it comes to his dealings in the ring with him. It's like he's wrestling a completely different person!" Both men come up, and Clark takes a swing, but Malibu drops his head to dodge the blow. Clark's own momentum spins him around, and Malibu quickly takes him by the waist and takes him over with a German Suplex, making sure to keep hold of his opponent as he rolls to his feet, and drops him a second time. "These rolling suplexes aren't doing Clark's neck any favors!" They come to their feet again, and Malibu drops him a third time. After impact, they come up AGAIN, and this time Malibu removes one hand from Clark's waist and uses it to trap one of his arms, then carries him overhead with a release half nelson suplex! Clark falls to the canvas right on the back of his head, and Malibu rolls him onto his back and covers him for the pin! "ONE!" "TWO!" NO! Barbosa slips in and yanks Malibu off of Clark! "FINALLY, the fanboy has done something right. All hope may not be lost with this kid!" The referee objects, scolding Barbosa for his actions. Ricky apologizes profusely, proclaiming "I didn't want Alan to get beat!" as he's ushered back to the apron. Zack takes the opportunity to make the tag to Calvin, drawing a significant response from the SWF faithful...but as the duo attempt to work over Alan Clark, the referee protests, claiming that he didn't see the tag! "The duo of Szechstein and Malibu probably sense victory, and despite everyone in the arena seeing their tag, the referee did not!" "Normally that type of tactic is what I'd call shoddy officiating, but you know what? GOOD. Let these Oat Toast boys learn the hard way that their SWF days are going to be a lot tougher than what they're accustomed to!" Malibu and Calvin protest, claiming the tag was perfectly legal, but even with members of the audience at ringside backing them up, the referee doesn't let it go. The argument gives Clark ample time to recover, and before Szechstein can exit the ring, Clark nails both he and Malibu with a double clothesline! Alan's fans come alive as Szechstein is disposed of, hurled over the top rope to the floor. Malibu pushes himself up, but before he can lift his head he finds it placed in Clark's vice grip, only momentarily however as Clark spikes Zack's head on the canvas with a DDT! Clarks rolls over and stretches his arm out, dragging himself across the canvas...and slaps the eager hand of Ricky the rookie, who takes over on offense for their duo! "That's a tag that the referee surely saw, and Ricky Barbosa will once again attempt to make his mentor proud." "I'm sure it wouldn't take much. Maybe memorizing the notable quotes from Lilo & Stitch just isn't enough, though." Immediately, Ricky braces himself, measuring the fallen Malibu up before jumping off the apron, springboarding off the top rope halfway across the ring to deliver a springboard legdrop! Malibu's body jolts as he's struck, and Barbosa immediately covers, hooking a leg and praying that this is it. "ONE!" "TWO!" NO! Malibu rolls a shoulder before the three count, and Barbosa slaps the mat, his anxiety taking hold. He stands up and leaps over Zack, onto the middle rope, and floats backwards with a quebrada, crashing down onto Malibu a second time, hoping and praying that this is it! "ONE!" "TWO!" "TH—NO!" Barbosa comes up onto his knees, holding his hands over his face. He turns towards his corner for advice, and Alan does just that, shouting at his protege to "stop looking at me, worry about him!" "This kid's hero worship is borderline distracting. He's too worried about what Clark thinks!" "He's likely the only one." "Although I'm sure he realizes what defeating Zack Malibu would mean not just for his career, but for his mentor." Barbosa, frustration in his eyes, goes back over to his corner and tags in Clark! Clark looks at him, a little bit of shock in his eyes, but Barbosa cries out "I just can't do it, Alan!" and Clark, probably questioning his very existence, sighs and re-enters the ring, eyeing Malibu as on the other side, Szechstein slaps his hand on the turnbuckle, pining for a tag! Clark grabs Malibu by the hair, lifting the OAOAST veteran to his feet and catching him with a quick forearm to the face. Malibu staggers back, and Clark approaches for another forearm—blocked by Malibu, who returns the favor with one of his own! Clark stumbles back now, but he quickly fires off another forearm to Malibu's face! Malibu takes the blow like a champ, looking to come back with another forearm—blocked by Clark, who delivers another blow to Malibu's face! Malibu staggers back, and Clark seizes the day, running the ropes behind Zack and coming in from the back, grabbing him by the head and driving him into the mat with a bulldog! "It looked like Clark wasn't going to be able to build on Barbosa's momentum," says Mak, "but now it just looks like we were oh-so-wrong about this duo!" Malibu flops over onto his back, and Clark rises to his feet, running to the ropes and looking for the Lionsault… *CRACK!* "THEY CALL THAT MILWAUKEE'S BEST LIVE FROM NEW YORK BECAUSE I LOOOOOOOOOVE NEW YORK EVERY MONDAY NIGHT AT NINE O'CLOCK EIGHT CENTRAL LARIATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Szechstein has a microphone and he has turned the tide of the match, derailing Alan as he looks for the Lionsault! Referee Soapdish walks over and tells Szechstein to get out of the ring, but his mission is accomplished and he's already on the way out, the fans roaring for the action! "CAD—I—LLAC!" "CAD—I—LLAC!" "Please, please, please tell me these buffoons are cheering this whore," King says. "Considering that cheering Clark would mean that they're still cheering a whore," Mak says, "I don't really see your point." Clark and Zack are both exhausted mid-ring, and they struggle to their feet, Zack reaching his feet first and stumbles around a bit, trying to regain his bearings, but instead of tagging out to Szechstein he focuses in on Clark, grabbing the Disney darling and lifting him fully to his feet! Moving quickly, he grabs Clark between the legs and lifts him up onto his shoulders— "ANGLE SLAM!" cries Mak. But Clark slides down Zack's back! Zack looks confused, and Clark shoves the preppy towards the turnbuckle! Clark revs up, charging forward and looking for an avalanche— *CRACK!* "SCHOOL'S OUT! SCHOOL'S OUT ON CLARK!" Malibu catches Clark in the mouth with a vicious School's Out superkick, and Clark hits the mat, flat on his back with his arms outstretched, the picture of a spread-eagle. Malibu falls to his knees, but crawls over to make the cover! "ONE!" "TWO!" "THREE!" … but though the fans count the pin, referee Soapdish doesn't! Zack looks up at him, furious— "Barbosa tagged himself in!" King cackles. "He finally saved his mentor!" And Barbosa quickly makes his mark felt, driving his foot into the back of Malibu's head! "Malibu had this match won," King says, "and Ricky Barbosa protected his mentor and saved the match for his team!" "Dirty tactics, perhaps," says Francis, "but what looked like a sure thing isn't quite over yet!" Clark rolls out of the ring, still clutching his mouth in pain, as Barbosa takes over for his team. He lifts Malibu to his feet, the prep superstar having one nasty headache as Barbosa powers a couple more quick elbows into his face. Ricky grabs Malibu by the arm and whips him into the ropes, looking for a clothesline as Zack comes back, but Zack ducks it, his run quickening as he hits the ropes on the opposite side with a renewed force, coming at Ricky with dangerous intentions— *CRACK!* And getting bowled over by a spinning wheelkick to the forehead from the rookie! Malibu hits the mat hard, and Barbosa seizes the day, going for the cover! "ONE!" "TWO!" "THR—NO!" Malibu barely gets the shoulder up, drawing an "OOOOOOOOOOOOH!" from the crowd and a frustrated look from Barbosa! "Malibu is all but done here—he's mustered up some quick bursts of offence, but the team of Clark and Barbosa have worked him over but good!" "You're not giving this duo enough respect here, Mak—Clark and Barbosa came in with a gameplan, however loose it was, and they've kept Malibu in the ring and hit him with some high-stakes offence, and it looks like Ricky's going for the kill!" Indeed, as Barbosa scales the turnbuckle, there can be nothing but a pinfall on his mind! He looks out to the crowd, spreading his arms wide, garnering a mixed reaction—he's not a bad guy, but against Zack Malibu, the fans still aren't sure how to react. Barbosa smiles as he leaps, twisting his body around as flashbulbs go off, the "Wayward Rising" Phoenix Splash a spectacle to be seen and one that will surely end the match! *WHUMPH!* … if Malibu hadn't rolled out of the way! Barbosa hits the mat hard, and grabs his midsection in pain, the wind being knocked right out of him! Both men are down, and referee Soapdish begins to count them both out. "ONE!" Barbosa struggles to his feet, as Malibu lay on the mat, his breathing slow as he tries to regain his strength… "FOUR!" Barbosa, however, has his breath back and is on his feet, and he roughly grabs Malibu by the scruff of his neck, lifting the prep to his feet! He grabs Malibu in a headlock, then grabs his tights and lifts him into the air and OVER with a quick suplex! Malibu hits hard, and Barbosa lay for a moment, catching his breath—but he doesn't move Malibu, whose foot is close enough to the ropes that if Calvin just-stretches-a-little-bit… *SMACK!* He can make the tag! "WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Calvin enters the ring with a VIGOR~, grabbing Barbosa by the hair and lifting him straight to his feet, peppering the rookie with three quick body shots that send him reeling! Calvin grabs Barbosa by the arm and whips him into the ropes, dangerous intentions on his mind as he bends over, looking for the backdrop— *CRACK!* But Barbosa kicks him in the jaw! Calvin stumbles back a couple of steps, and Barbosa latches onto this momentum, running the ropes again and charging straight at Calvin! "Barbosa's got the momentum on Szechstein now!" Mak says. "If he lands a heavy blow here, the match is his for the taking!" Barbosa swings one arm out, looking for a huge lariat—but Calvin ducks under the arm! Ricky goes shooting to the other ropes, coming back at Calvin yet again, but this time Corporate's chosen son wraps his arm around Barbosa's midsection and nonchalantly wraps both of his arms around Ricky's midsection, whirling him upside down and holding him there for a couple of seconds… *WHOOM!* Before driving him headfirst into the mat! "THE PAUSE THAT REFRESHES!" Mak cries. "Royal Crown Cola and Calvin Szechstein are wishing Ricky Barbosa a very good night!" Barbosa hits the mat in a heap, and Calvin scampers on top! "ONE!" "TWO!" Alan Clark, still a little woozy from the superkick, tries to break up the pin— "THREE!" But Malibu cuts him off with a shoulder to the stomach, and it doesn't matter anyway, as Barbosa is out for the count! ::DING DING DING!:: Calvin stands up, an arm in the air as Funyon makes the announcement. "Ladies and gentlemen, your winners, 'Cadillac' Calvin Szechstein and ZAAAACK MAAAAALIBU!" Zack struggles to his feet, his breathing heavy, and goes over to Calvin, the two of them slapping hands as they exit the ring! Clark and Barbosa lay in the ring, both men's breathing heavy and both of them staring up the ramp at Szechstein and Malibu, both of whom have an arm in the air, Zack with a victorious smile and Szechstein with a smirk, holding up a Royal Crown Cola ("Where did that come from?" King asks in a huff) as we fade to commercial… Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 11, 2007 Cut to: The Galacticos dressing room, where Landon Maddix is busy. Not preparing for his upcoming match, oh no. That'd be too obvious. Instead, Landon is innocently re-enacting Real Madrid's last La Liga ficture, with the use of a balled up piece of paper and three bronze statuettes that look strangely like the only Olympic Gold Medallist in professional wrestling. Of course. Just as the paper ball goes flying off of the coffee table courtesy of Ronaldo's twinkling fat toes, the door to the locker room swings open and Landon's fun is interrupted by the Stephens siblings. Amy sets her beer can down on the table, prompting Landon to innocently sit back and pretend to be an adult again, while brother Michael takes one look at the three statuettes on the coffee table and his eyes narrow. "What the hell are those things?" "Trophies! The OAOAST gave them to... no, wait, scratch that, the OAOAST fans gave them to me over New Years. Cool, isn't it? Not that I really care about the fans over there, but hey, a trophy's a trophy, right? If they recognise my abilities then it'd be rude of me not to be honoured, flattered even. So I figured 'why put these on my mantlepiece at home when I only get to visit like once every couple of months, when I can use them to decorate my coffee table... our coffee table'. They were going to be bookends, but the lack of reading material around here put pay to that. So, they're ornaments." "Ornaments!?" scoffs Amy. "Wot are you, sev'nty?" "She got a point." smiles her brother, as he sits down on the opposite side of the table. "Have you got a bus pass too, mate?" "A what?" "They don't have bus passes in America?" Stephens muses, before realising it's really, REALLY not that important. "Okay, so these... 'ornaments'? What are they actually for? They didn't come in some sorta New Year's goodie bag or something, did they?" "No, they're awards. Like the SWF's Awards... except they, you know, actually happen." "And people actually voted for ya to win 'em?" asks Amy. "Like, actual, livin' people?" "...as for what they are. Well, one of them is for OAOAST Rookie Of The Year, which is a bit odd considering I've been wrestling for three and a half years. Just a technicality I guess. A trophy's a trophy after all. Then, I got the second one for Pay Per View Match Of The Year..." "Really?" Maddix looks up, a little hurt at his tag team partner's surprised tone. Having been unable to contain himself from interrupting, Stephens holds his hand up in way of an apology, as Maddix scowls. "Yes, really." "Sorry. It's just..." Mike sees the scowl on Landon's face tighten and bites his lip, "nevermind. What about the other one, what's that for?" "Character Of The Year..." "You!? Bollocks!" Instantly realising what he's done, Stephens again bites his lip. After all, this is supposed to be his tag team partner sitting across the table from him and as much fun as it is winding him up, not to mention easy, this isn't intentional. Well, it's a little intentional. Not to worry though, because Landon takes the hint, packing away his three Angle Awards and entering denial mode. "So, you've got a big match tonight, huh?" smiles Landon, changing the subject. "A little bit out of your element." "How so?" "Well, Battle Royals. Not something you're used to. Unlike me, who's somewhat of an expert, even if I do say so myself. Pity I've got Wildchild to worry about, otherwise I'd be happy to pass on some tips, just to help you out. Then again, I guess you could look on the brightside and look forward to tonight, try and learn something from it. If anyone needs a Clusterfuck warm-up, it's you. How many have you missed now?" "All of them?" "Yeah... but, I'm talking just ones you could have been in. You weren't around the company last year, the year before you were in a singles match and the year before that you were just about to debut. So that's three times you've missed out. Almost like you've got some sort of an aversion to them, at least to the untrained eye. Probably for the best though. I mean, all that flipping around you tend to do doesn't win you Clusterfucks. Plus you haven't exactly got much of a low centre of gravity which makes you a natural target..." "Look," sighs Stephens, "what are you getting at?" "Nothing." Landon replies defensively. "I'm just saying, if I were you, I'd be a little nervous about the Clusterfuck. Not being the favourite in a match for a change. Let's face it, it'd be some feat for you to win on your first attempt." "You managed it." Landon pauses for a moment and smiles. "Yeah. Yeah I did, didn't I." "Of course, then you got your arse kicked at From The Fire." Mike points out. This time, the 'getting at Landon' is definitely intentional. "Let's not go there, shall we? At least this time around, we don't have to worry about wrestling each other for the title. The last show put pay to that." "For a while." "That's the spirit! We've got big opportunities and we need to take them. I've got the Lethal Rumble over at the OAOAST. That's thirty men, but it should be a doddle, considering. Once I win that, I'll be the first man to ever win both the Clusterfuck and the Lethal Rumble... and then, come April, I can be the first men in history to have held both the OAOAST and the SWF World Titles. And you can win the Clusterfuck and then the SWF World Title for the fifth time. History in the making. That'd be a good team name, come to think of it." "Better than Two Skinny White Guys at least." "That's what it's all about this year Mike." "What? Being skinny and white?" "No... well, yes, but more-so, winning titles! Getting accolades! Making history! If Alan frikkin' Clark can hold two championships in this company, then we can darn sure win any and every title going. And I can take the OAOAST by storm too. Last year was so stop and start, this year I'm gonna be back to my best. And I'll make sure you don't fall into the same slump that I did when I lost all my belts!" Cue awkward silence. "...thanks?" "Don't mention it!" Landon smiles, patting Stephens on the shoulder as he walks past him to grab his gear ahead of his match. "Anyway, I've got Wildchild tonight so I'd better change. You're more than welcome to stay. *wink*" ... "Nah, I'm good." Mike quickly hops off the couch, shuddering a little as he and Amy get the heck out of their erstwhile associate's way. "I was actually talking..." Landon begins, before the dressing room door slams behind The Sensation. "...to Amy." Left alone in the locker room, Landon picks up his SWF Tag Team Title belt, laying it on the bench in front of him and flicking a bit of dirt off of the main plate. A quick admiring of his reflection in the gold, before Landon looks across the empty Galacticos dressing room and sighs. "First man to win the Clusterfuck and Lethal Rumble... and win them in the same year, for good measure. It's gonna be a good year." Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 11, 2007 Madison Square Garden is packed to the rafters as we return to the (now) one and only SWF Storm, just in time as "The Game" by Disturbed fires into gear. As the song kicks in, the curtains ripple, at the hands of Megan Skye, dramatically heralding the arrival of Landon Maddix. Landon smirks at the reaction, mostly positive but teemed with boos from Wildchild's legions of fans. And, just for them, Landon throws his arms skywards and poses defiantly. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, to be contested under SWF Cruiserweight Rules! Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by his manager MEGAN SKYE! Hailing from Huron, South Dakota by way of Madrid, Spain... he weighs two hundred, twenty pounds. One half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions... LLLLAAAAAAANNDDOOOOOOOOOOOONN... "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMMMMMMAAAAAAADDIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXXXXXX!!!!!" "YYYEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Climbing the ring steps, Landon makes the most of the solo spotlight as Megan holds the ropes open for him to whirl into the centre of the ring. A cheesy thumbs up doesn't placate the Wildchild faithful, nor does the raising of his Tag Title belt. "Landon Maddix, never a Cruiserweight Champion in the SWF and with something to prove here tonight against argueably the greatest cruiserweight in the company's history here tonight on Storm!" runs down Mak. "Wildchild is the number one contender to the Cruiserweight Title, but a victory here tonight for La Cucaracha may change all that." "Which'd mean Maddix versus Clark, right?" "As it stands, yes." "God help us." groans King. Suddenly, the lights dim, pierced by an electric squeal, followed by Redman’s familiar cry: ATTENTION! ALL YOU NIGGAZ! ALL YOU BITCHES! TIME TO PUT DOWN THE ICE, TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL FOR A MINUTE… IT’S TIME TO THROWA LITTLE MUD IN THIS MUTHAFUCKAAAA… The fans go crazy as “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to blast through the speakers! A solitary spotlight flashes off and on into the darkness, as the Bahama Bomber makes his way out onto the stage, alongside his girlfriend Melissa. "And, his opponent. Being accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki! From the Bahamas... weighing in at two hundred fourteen pounds… the WWWIIIIIIILLLLDD - CCHHHHIIIIIIILLLLLLLDD!" "YYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" WC slaps hands with the fans at ringside as he dances his way down the ramp. He stops in front of the ring to remove his shin guards and hands them to Melissa, before somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes to enter the ring. Not impressed, Landon makes sure to tell Megan that he could do that, which sweetly agrees with. It's easier that way. "So, Wildchild and Maddix here, plenty of history dating right back to when Landon arrived in the SWF with Todd Royal..." "Yeah, great. If I'm forced to be out here during this spotfest, the least you can do is stop talking so I can let my mind wander." *DINGDINGDING!* "Anyway, there's a bell." "Oh, good, that was quick." sighs King, earning him a glare from Mak. "The bell to start the match." "Oh. Bummer." After a little back and forth, to be expected from two men with the history these have, Landon and Wildchild lock up. Landon quickly grabs a headlock and is already gloating as he starts to mess with Wildchild's braided locks. His delight at the mini-victory distracts him though and WC pushes him off into the ropes. Landon rebounds and charges with forearm wielded, but is left confused by a leapfrog by Wildchild! Coming to a stop, Maddix looks around dumbly for a moment before turning around, where Wildchild is waiting with an armdrag! Another armdrag follows! And a thi... ...NO! Landon retracts the arm at the last second and points to his temple which means he has the brains. Reaching down, Landon then grabs Wildchild by the arm. A sudden kip-up from Wildchild leads to another armdrag though, catching La Cucaracha completely by surprise! "YYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" As Landon begins to come back up Wildchild then goes back to his state of cat like readiness, light on the toes as he backflips and catches Maddix under the jaw with a Gamengiri! Wildchild acrobatically rolls through on his landing ready to strike again, while Landon uses his momentum to guide himself to ringside, throwing up his hands and saying to hell with that. Megan quickly scuttles over to check on Landon, while WC is held back from following by Hardcastle. "Landon, looking to take advantage of the twenty count on the floor early on," points out Mak as Landon checks his pearly whites are all intact, "but he'll need to keep one eye on the ring with Wildchild." "Forget that. Wildchild's so quick, Maddix needs both eyes on the ring. And even then it might not do him any good." Wildchild seems content enough to let Landon regroup for now... "DUB - CEE!" "DUB - CEE!" "DUB - CEE!" "DUB - CEE!" ...but the crowd's support sparks something in Wildchild though and the Bahama Bomber flies in the face of Hardcastle's orders, rolling out on the opposite side of the ring and measuring where Megan and Maddix are regrouping. Megan sees Wildchild early and wisely scuttles back off, abandoning Landon as Wildchild scales the turnbuckles and breaks into the kind of run only he could pull off. Down the length of the top ring-rope he goes, Landon with no defence as Wildchild reaches the opposite turnbuckle from his starting position... ...AND WIPES OUT MADDIX WITH A SOMERSAULT DIVE!! "YYYEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "ANDROS DIVE!" cheers Mak over the roar of the crowd. "Landon wasn't paying attention and before he knew it, it was too late to move... Wildchild scores the first big move of the match!" "Move?" King protests, as Wildchild rolls off of Maddix and tries to stretch out his right shoulder. "That would seem to indicate some sort of wrestling manoeuvre. That was not a 'move', Mak. That was a spot." "Man you're bitter." Feeling the effects of two hundred, fourteen pounds tumbling onto him from high above, Landon crawls across ringside and struggles to his feet. Wildchild has got his shoulder in working order though. And he apporaches Landon from behind, forearming him in the back. Wildchild decides to throw Maddix back into the ring on the second catch, climbing to the apron and encouraging The Next Generation up. The fans see it coming. Landon doesn't. However, Megan does and blocks the expected Wildchild springboard by grabbing his foot! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Maddix's cheating manager cancels out Wildchild's spottiness...I don't know whether to cry at one or the cry at the other!" despairs King. Wildchild tries to kick Megan away, without actually kicking her because he's a nice guy. But a swift kick to the face would have done the job before Landon recoups and knees Wildchild in the gut, Megan innocently retreating to her man's corner now he's in control. Across the ring, Melissa finishes protesting to referee Hardcastle and glares at her managerial counter-part. "You said earlier, two eyes on Wildchild might not be enough, King," Mak recalls, "but it looks like he's got four eyes watching out for the aerial attacks tonight." "Megan Skye's obviously the brains of the operations." admits King. "You only have to look at Landon to get that." Despite signs of relief it still seems like Landon's mind is scrambled and he takes his time before following up with a forearm strike, wobbling Wildchild. The Carribean Cruiser's grip on the top rope tightens after a second forearm as he senses his balance weakening. And that tempts Landon, grabbing the rope himself and bringing Wildchild in the hard way...or what would be a hard way, if Wildchild wasn't agile enough to flip 360 in mid-air! "Incredible agility!" cheers Mak. Before Landon can react, Wildchild hits the ropes in front of him. Landon prepares to catch him coming on the way back, lifting WC at the side but ending up tumbling overhead as Wildchild counters with a tilt a whirl headscissors! A flying back elbow then awaits as Maddix rushes back in. Reeling, Maddix rolls through as he falls and haplessly walks into a standing dropkick, putting him down again and setting up the first cover... ONE! TWO! But Maddix is quickly out and quickly looking for another reprieve as he scrambles into a corner. Wildchild has learnt his lesson and gives Maddix no time to recover, striding in with a boot before he grabs the wrist, wringing the arm for some added control before whipping Maddix into the opposite corner. Buckling in the buckle, Landon ends up slumped and an easy target for Wildchild who sprints in and soars with a mid-air 360 twist. Two boots to the face intercept him though, as Maddix gets a desperate block in. "Nobody home on The Blue Crush! Maddix might have lured Wildchild in right there." With a signal of 'that's enough', Landon then hops up and perches on the middle rope, the preparation for a long neglected go to move... *SMACK!* ...which Wildchild apparantly remembers and thwarts, with an impressive standing vertical leap and an enziguri, striking Landon more in the shoulder than the back of the head. It still connects though and still sends Landon tumbling from the top, over and on to the floor. "I think Maddix was going for Crash Landon, the original version which he rarely goes to nowadays. Not rarely enough for Wildchild to be fooled though. Plenty of history between these two men." "Nevermind the history lesson Mak, why isn't the referee calling for the bell?" "Why would he?" "Over the top rope rule. Cruiserweight Addenda." "I know what Cruiserweight Addenda is. And Wildchild didn't throw Landon over the top, Landon fell over the top." "Good enough for me, ring the bell, lets move on already." Wildchild double-checks that Hardcastle isn't going to call a DQ for the consiquential knocking over the top rope of Landon, before going back to what he does best. Preparing to dive. Meanwhile, out on the outside again, Landon brushes away outstretched arms as he pulls himself away from the barricade. Megan is nowhere to be seen this time. And it's soon obvious why that is, as Wildchild breaks into a run-up and shoots towards the ropes, turning his back on the ropes at the end of his run and tumbling BACKWARDS over the top with an insane Running Moonsault Plancha Suicida!!! "YYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" "WHAT!?!" Exactly. "What the hell was that!?!" King asks again, incredulous in the face of The Bahama Bomber's athleticism. "I wouldn't know the technical term, but that right there was a perfect demonstration of just why Wildchild is the number one contender to the Cruiserweight Championship!" Pulling himself up, Wildchild is much more receptive of the eager New Yorkers and slaps hands with a few before going back to the match at hand, hauling Maddix up and dumping him into the ring. Maddix is reeling and holds his left shoulder, the one Wildchild just tumbled down on so theatrically. That gives Wildchild time to set himself on the apron and warn referee Hardcastle to keep an eye on Megan, which is exactly what he does while The Carribean Cruiser prepares for an unaffected springboard. Maddix stumbles up and Wildchild gets the springboard. The buzzing in the crowd alerts Landon who instinctively ducks his head to block the oncoming attack, but Wildchild is able to adjust in mid-air and soar over Landon, snaring the waist and taking him over with a sunset flip... ONE! TWO! Kickout! Both men roll through and while Landon retreats, Wildchild charges in with momentum on his side. Landon looks to use that momentum against him as he ducks his head nears the ropes, backdropping Wildchild up and over the top...but merely to a safe landing on the apron. Through more relief than complacency, Landon walks away to collect himself, little realising what awaits behind him. Infact, he's so sure Wildchild has crashed and burned that he taps a finger to his temple, to show the world that he's smart. That is, until Megan frantically points out her man's mistake, prompting Maddix to turn around just as Wildchild springboards, reaching out for the head... ...AND GETS DROPKICKED OUT OF THE AIR BY THE NEXT GENERATION!! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Ooh!" groans Mak. "One trip to the well too many for Wildchild." "That's his problem." King gloats, ever happy at the chance to sound correct. "Wildchild just loves to fly, he loves to please the fans. What he doesn't love is rational thinking and rational thinking would have told him three springboard attempts so early in the match had to spell trouble. Landon's dumb, but not that dumb." "Well put." Wildchild writhes on the mat holding his gut while Landon neglects the opportunity to get a breather. Keeping on the offence, Maddix goes right back to the gut as he brings his relatively small frame down with an elbow drop. That doesn't seem to have too much behind it, so Landon grabs the hair again, sitting Wildchild up... *SMACK!* ...and pounding The Bahama Bomber's spine with a Dragon Kick! *SMACK!* ...and a second! Wildchild slumps backwards now, his air supply being picked away slowly but surely. And Landon now looks to follow up some more. Coming off the ropes Maddix leaps up over WC, before coming directly down across the chest with a double stomp, dropping out as he bounces back up and bombing down across The Bahama Bomber with a back senton. "Double Stomp and a Back Senton, patented combo from Landon!" groans Francis. "Double impact, you're left winded by the first and the instantanous follow-up of the second rids you of any air you may have had left." Sitting for a moment, Landon's familiar flamboyancy has returned as he smirks in the direction of the nearest cameraman, winking for the laydeez at home before lounging back with a relaxed cover... ONE! TWO! WILDCHILD SHOCKS LANDON WITH A CRUCIFIX... ONE! TWO! NO! Landon kicks out and rushes back in with a soccer kick that lands directly across Wildchild's stomach, putting WC back on the search for air and giving him time to breathe a massive sigh of relief. "Wildchild may be hurt, but going for ridiculous covers like that is a dangerous thing to do at any point in a match." criticises King. "I have to agree with that," agrees The Franchise, "posing is great, but there's a time and a place." Back on the offensive now is Landon as he steps over Wildchild who is on all fours and simply drops, sitting his weight across the lower back! Crumbling, Wildchild continues to struggle for each breath. So Landon now sits down across the lower back, pulling WC up and cupping him under the chin with the Camel Clutch! "MAKE U HUMBLE!" "YYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "I don't get it." scowls King. "Well, that aside, Landon keeping up the offence on the ribs here. Picking a bodypart and staying on it, fine fundamental wrestling and of course, if Wildchild can't breathe properly then he's going to have trouble running and flying around. But, you don't have the background in acrobatics like Wildchild has without developing a strong spine and if there's a weak point on WC's body, I'm not sure the back is it." Melissa Fasaki tries to get the crowd behind Wildchild. Not that they need much convincing of course, although Megan does her best to keep her side of the crowd quiet. Meanwhile, Maddix shouts at the cameraman to 'zoom in'. His Iron Sheik impression doesn't stretch to the effectiveness of the hold apparantly though, as Wildchild pushes up to his knees and looks to fight to his feet. Maddix isn't waiting to be countered though and releases the hold, stomping WC in the kidneys to keep him nullified. "DUB - CEE!" "DUB - CEE!" "DUB - CEE!" "DUB - CEE!" The crowd are back in Wildchild's camp now, which Landon shows his disinterest in by feigning wiping away some non-existant tears. Landon then turns back to Wildchild, pulling him off the mat for a Kawada-esque kick, only aimed at the chest. WC rocks back on his knees and opens the chest up... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...leaving himself prone for a hard knifedge chop. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...and a second. These shots are taking their toll even more than usual with the previous punishment and Wildchild is left slumped on his knees, unable to fend Landon off as he grabs him behind the head and pulls him slowly to his feet. With the hands still clasped around the back of the head, Landon then fires off a couple of quick knees up into the ribcage before tucking the knees up and bringing Wildchild down with an Inverted Lungblower! The wind rushes from Wildchild's body again but Landon isn't done as he scrambles back up, positioning himself behind the languishing Carribean Cruiser and hooking the hands around the front this time. Up go the knees again and down comes Wildchild across them, this time with the traditional Lungblower!! "YYYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" "And that was the last thing Wildchild needed in his condition." "No, this is." corrects King, as Landon cradles Wildchild up into a pin... ONE! TWO! TH- KICKOUT! "YYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" Maddix looks up at Hardcastle incredulously and questions the count, slapping his hand three times for visual impact, but Hardcastle insists it was just a two. Rushing over, Megan leans through the ropes and encourages Landon to stay on Wildchild and not worry about the referee, so Landon does just that as he drops a double knee to the gut. "You wanna fly, 'bird man'? Let me show you how it's done." Landon then sneers down at Wildchild while he clutches his back uncomfortably on the mat. Turning to the corner, Landon strolls over and slaps the top turnbuckle before exiting to the apron and heading up top. "This may be a little ill-advised." predicts Mak. "Landon has Wildchild right where he wants him, but for some reason he's going to the top rope and taking a risk." On the outside of the ring, Maddix stops on the middle turnbuckle and treats the New York natives to a quick shimmy dance before making the next step up. Setting himself on top, Maddix then takes a second to steady himself. Wildchild still hasn't moved from where he was slammed, still favouring his ribs. The perfect target for Landon, as he stands and leaps from up top... ...tucking the legs in, out... ...and MISSING the Frog Splash, as Wildchild rolls despairingly out of the way!! "YYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "A miscue!" cheers Francis. "I don't know if Wildchild was playing a little possum, but he was able to avoid the Frog Splash and now both men are down!" "And it was a dumb move on Maddix's part." King gleefully announces. "He was in total control, but he's got some stupid chip on his shoulder about never being the Cruiserweight Champion and instead of staying on his opponent, he wanted to show him up. Pride comes before a fall. Literally in this case." By now WC is to his knees with the ropes helping him up finally to his feet, by which time Landon is waiting on him. As The Carribean Cruiser turns around, Maddix comes in confidently with a forearm...but Wildchild ducks, popping Landon over with a Hurricanrana as he turns around! "YYEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" It seems like Wildchild has found a second wind and uses it to rush the ropes. Seeing his opponent hurtle towards him, Maddix throws out a knee as a defence. Wildchild spots it a mile away however and tumbles over it, snaring Maddix over with a schoolboy roll-up... ONE! TWO! Kickout! Coming back up, Landon is taken aback by Wildchild's sudden comeback and is too eager to stop it, running headlong into a Flying Forearm! The Bahama Bomber pauses from that to favour his back again, but that pause urges Megan to take action as she jumps to the apron. Wildchild is understandably distracted, along with Hardcastle, the cameraman, Funyon, virtually everyone in the audience. "Somebody needs to get her down!" protests Francis. "Is that an open invitation?" But King needn't exert himself as here comes Melissa Fasaki! "YYYEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" It looks like it's all set to BREAK DOWN IN NEW YORK CITY~ as Melissa pulls Megan down off the apron and the two women start to exchange words. Back in the ring though, Landon has recovered and now sneaks up behind Wildchild. Grabbing him behind the head, Maddix does the first thing he can think to do in such a rush and pitches him forward, out through the middle rope. Luckily Megan and Melissa see it coming and dive for safety. But Wildchild is able to grab the rope and hang on to land on the apron. Landon meanwhile dusts his hands with pleasure, smirking away...until he finally puts two and two together. A quick check from Wildchild confirms Megan is out of reach, giving him no good reason not to springboard to the top, soar in, hooking the head... ...AND SPIKING LANDON WITH A SWINGING DDT!! "YYYEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "PRESUMED GUILTY!" Mak cheers. "This time the springboard comes off perfectly for Wildchild and now he needs to follow up!" "Easier said than done though," counters King, "much as it pains me to say it, Maddix has done a good job of working over his ribs." And those ribs, plus the fact Landon's momentum has sent him skidding halfway across the ring, prevent Wildchild from making an immediate cover. Gritting his teeth, Wildchild crawls over to where Maddix has come to a stop, shooting the half to turn him over and making the cover... ONE! TWO! NOOO!! "YYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" The pro-Landon section of MSG sounds off this time, soon to be shouted down by the larger pro-WC section. "DUB - CEE!" "DUB - CEE!" "DUB - CEE!" "DUB - CEE!" A newfound sense of confidence exudes from Wildchild as, spurred on by the crowd, he waits for Landon to get back up. He can sense the end. Especially as Landon gets back to his feet in a stupor and can barely stand steady, stumbling around and towards the Cruiserweight #1 Contender. *SMACK!* "Shuffling Sidekick!" calls Mak. "Caught him right under the jaw!" Landon ends up stacked on the back of his neck, legs hanging over his head in a most uncomfortable position. No need for a real cover, Wildchild pinning down on the ankles to keep Maddix stacked... ONE! TWO! NO! Wildchild drops to a crouch now, waiting for Landon to get back up. The Next Generation is seeing stars, as well as false opponents apparantly as he swings at thin air on his way back up. Bypassing that, Wildchild hits the ropes at top speed and vaults to the top rope, soaring back at Landon with his patented PINBALL!! "YYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Having fallen prey to the Pinball, Maddix lays motionless with his feet hung up over the middle rope courtesy of his momentum rolling him overhead. Wildchild took the impact with his ribs though and can't follow up, sucking wind in the middle of the ring. "Multiball Bonus!" cheers Mak, before stopping in his tracks. "Wait, that doesn't even make sense." "Par for the course." Rolling to his feet, the still suffering Wildchild drags Landon off and away from the ropes. And despite his aching ribs, WC is confident enough that now's the time to go for the kill, holding Maddix by the hair as he cuts the throat to signify the end. "DA'S IT!!" "I think he said that's it, King!" "He did!? Are you sure?" Wildchild turns his back to La Cucaracha, hooking his arms underneath both of Landon's. Once the arms are hooked Wildchild then turns himself underneath Maddix, standing himself upri... ...NO! WC's back gives out before he can complete the Wild Ride! Getting his feet back on safe ground, Landon sandwiches his legs together to cruch Wildchild's head. And again. Once he's sure Wildchild is stunned enough, Landon then rolls down The Bahama Bomber's back, ending up with a waistlock and looking for a German Suplex. But Wildchild frantically kicks his legs, making life difficult enough for Maddix that he loses the waistlock. Maddix isn't done yet though, smashing Wildchild with some forearms to the back before pulling WC back up with an inverted front facelock... *THUD!* ...cracking him in the spine with a knee... ...and a split-second later, wrapping around the arm and taking Wildchild for a ride on the LANDON EYE!! "OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Wow! Another one-two combo from Landon, the knee driving the wind out of Wildchild's body and then the Landon Eye to capitalise!" Maddix is unable to follow up with a pinfall attempt immediately, solely because his hair looks out of place on the big screen. Encouragement from Megan wills him to forget about that and lay back with the right arm across the shoulders... ONE! TWO! TH- NO, KICKOUT! "GAH!" Frustration is the reaction from Landon as he has to force himself back up again, this time dragging Wildchild with him. A couple of forearms soften WC up before Landon goes back to the ribs, landing a knee that has him flagging once more. Cupping a hand under the jaw, Landon does the ol' 'cutthroat' dealy and signals to the world that it's OVAH~! Only, it's not, as Wildchild elbows his way out of a Complete Shot attempt, then boots Landon in the gut and drops him WITH THE CARRIBEAN CUTTER! "YYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" "A counter by Wildchild, but his ribs are still giving problems and he hasn't got enough to make the pin straight away." sighs The Franchise. Landon ends up facedown on the mat, forcing Wildchild to find some more reserves to first roll him over, then hook a leg for the cover... ONE! TWO! SHOULDER UP!! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Melissa Fasaki begins to get on Hardcastle's case about the count, but Wildchild doesn't concern himself with that and instead drags Maddix slooowly back up to his feet. An arm wringer sets up an irish whip to the corner, Landon nestling in the buckles. The exertion from that alone leaves Wildchild breathless, but he shrugs it off for now and charges into the corner, leaping onto Landon's legs for a Monkey Flip... ...but he lacks the back strength to execute the move and gets pushed away! Wildchild hits the canvas and rolls through, left hurting on one knee. The perfect position for Landon, who gives the signal and runs out of the corner... *SMACK!* "YYYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...LEG LARIAT!! WILDCHILD POPS UP AND GETS THE LEG LARIAT!! "Wow, counter again by Wildchild!" "And look where Maddix's ended up." points out King. "Straight in spot city." Indeed, Landon has landed in 'spot city', aka right in front of the turnbuckles, in perfect position for Wildchild. Rubbing out some pain in the ribs, The Carribean Cruiser heads to the top, bringing the Madison Square Garden crowd to their feet with him. Wildchild's climb is hampered by his previous injuries but he manages to fight through it and reaches the top regardless, setting himself upstairs with a full view of the crowd and tumbles off, Megan shrieking prematurely as WC comes flipping down... ...WITH A HUUUGE MOONSAULT!!!! "YYEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "WILDCHILD ON TOP!!" ONE! TWO! THR - "REF, REF!" FOOT ON THE ROPES!!! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Megan barely gets Hardcastle's attention in time to point out the foot, nearly giving herself a coronary in the process. "Amazingly, Landon saved himself...but Wildchild's going back up top!" Just as Mak calls, Wildchild is indeed heading up top again. This time Wildchild climbs the outside route, adrenaline urging him on for another dive as Maddix remains prone. As he scales the last turnbuckle Wildchild already stretches out the arms, footing no concern for someone with the background he has, leaping off the top... ...rotating around in mid-air with the Andros Drop... ...ONTO THE KNEES!!! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "God, that'll do the ribs no good!" "No shit, sherlock." The crowd deflate like...well, like Wildchild's lungs, as Wildchild goes through onto his hands and knees with an anguished look on his face. Megan is around to fan Maddix down with the trusty towel to get him some air. But Landon doesn't need it and shoos the treatment away, clambering back to his feet and stalking towards Wildchild. Wildchild tries to pull himself back up, perhaps underestimating just how hurt he is. He only makes it to one knee, nursing the ribs again... ...at just the wrong time... *SMACK!* ...AS HE FALLS PREY TO THE SHINING WIZAAARD!! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "He got him this time!" cries Mak, as MSG goes up in arms. "Shining Wizard, that'll do it!" Scrambling back to his feet, Landon sees Wildchild flat out on his front and there's only one thing on his mind from here. Pulling Wildchild onto all fours, Landon prepares to grab the head... ...until Megan Skye appears in his eyeline, waving it off and telling him to forget about that. Not one to argue with his lady, Maddix changes tact in a heartbeat, tumbling over Wildchild and stacking him with an Oklahoma Roll... ONE! TWO! THREEEEE!! *DINGDINGDING!* "Ladies and gentlemen, your winner of the match... LANDON "LA CUCARACHA" MMMAAAADDIIIIIXXXXXXX!!" Landon rolls straight out of the ring on the bell where Megan is waiting, looking a little confused but accepting the hug and the arm raise from her regardless. "All through the match, Landon focused on the ribs of The Carribean Cruiser. Even after the Shining Wizard Maddix was going for the Land Of Nod. I doubt that was supposed to be in the gameplan, Wildchild's natural flexibility probably would have made earning a submission with that hold nigh-on impossible and Megan Skye I have to believe knew that, which is why she convinced Landon to get the pin when she did." "Yay, fantastic. What's next?" "Well, main event is next, with Toxxi..." "Ah crap! Commercials please, I need a drink!!" Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 11, 2007 Storm returns from Madison Square Garden to the electrifying crowd buzzing over the upcoming matches. “Welcome back,” Mak says, “Storm is back and it’s time to see a rather, well, interesting match up.” “Since it’s the perennial failure Insane Luchador versus our World Champion?” King asks. “Well, it’s also non-title but I doubt that bothers IL much, he’s not going to back down from a fight.” “He’s facing Drake,” King says flatly. “Insane Luchador, well, he has always been an underdog throughout his career,” Mak dubiously says. “But he doesn’t even need a miracle; he needs ‘Divine Intervention.’ It’s the Year of the Beast,” King counters. “Ladies and Gentlemen… this match is scheduled for one fall and it is a non-title match…” Suddenly the grinding guitar riffs from “Man in the Box” cues and the crowd make sure their support is heard while the black and red pyro explodes. Insane Luchador exposes himself to the crowd that cheers even louder as the steps out from the lingering smoke with a huge psychotic grin on his face. He throws his arms up into the air to milk those cheers before sprinting down towards the ring with his hands extended to the fans. “Introducing first, from Easton, Pennsylvania… weighing in at 223 pounds… HE IS YOUR PSYCHOTIC HERO…. IIIIINNNNNNSSSSSSAAAAANNNNEEEEEE LLLLUUCCCHHHHAAADDOOORRR!” Luchador hits ringside and he slides into the ring and rolls up to his feet. He stands near center of the ring and simply stares at the entrance ramp as if this were no different than any other time. I am the bad one… Distant and cruel, I am the dream… that keeps running you down. Madison Square Garden erupts into deafening jeers at the entrance of their SWF World Champion. The lights make the shift until blue and white strobe lights flicker in the Garden. Gabriel Drake slowly walks out with the title held high in the air as if the fans needed reminder of his recent victory over Michael Stephens. He nods his head as he begins to walk down the aisle with a poker face as he stares up at Rickmen. He hits ringside as the music begins to fade away as he hands his belt to one of the employees with a threatening grunt. He climbs onto the apron and stares at Luchador more before entering the ring as the lights return back to normal but the unsettling vibe in the arena remains. They step towards the center of the ring as Kivell reviews the rules to them. Drake glares straight into Luchador’s eyes in hopes to see weakness but instead he sees the stare returned. Kivell steps away as Drake takes a step close to Luchador with a snarl but he still can’t seem to intimidate Rickmen who steps forward. They stand inches apart as the Beast growls but the only response is a psychotic smile creeping onto Rickmen’s face while Kivell signals for the bell. DING! DING! DING! “Let the slaughter begin, it was not-so nice knowing you, Rickmen,” King says. Both men collide into a grapple and it’s clear that the stronger Drake has the advantage as he begins to push back until IL smacks against the turnbuckle. They remain locked until Kivell is forced to worm his way into the middle to break it up as Gabriel holds up his hands innocently in the air. Kivell steps away and Drake goes on the offensive as he hits a knife-edged chop to the bare chest of Rickmen. He continues the assault as he begins to launch rapid-fire chops at a speed nearly too fast to count and so fast the echoes seem to merge. Luchador flinches in the corner as the chops slow but he’s able to respond by grabbing Drake then switching out, throwing him into the corner. He throws out a middle kick straight against Drake’s ribs, followed by a left, another right, and he throws one last left but it gets caught by Drake. He moves forward as Luchador hops on one leg to keep balance before he brings an elbow straight into his left leg and grabs Rickmen to throw him back into the corner. He bends over and rams his shoulder into Luchador’s gut. He repeats the shoulder thrust once again and draws back to hit a large on that doubles Rickmen over. He steps back but Rickmen sends an axehandle smash against his back to break the shoulder thrusts and he grabs Drake by the hair, tossing him into the turnbuckle. He grabs the back of Drake’s head and brings it closer as he sacrifices his own head to smack him once, twice, and a third time with the headbutt. But the World Champion shows his toughness as he answers back with his own headbutt to stop him. Luchador tries to advance but Drake lunges forward to grab the back of his head in the Muay Thai clutch. The Ill One is well aware of the knees that will follow so he locks in his own hold as they move towards center of the ring until Drake throws a knee. Luchador retaliates with his own knee as the two wildly move about the ring, each exchanging knees to their bodies. Rickmen throws a hard right knee but Drake responds with a knee that looks hard enough to shatter Luchador’s ribs. He slumps in the clutch and Gabriel grabs Rickmen’s left leg before dropping towards the canvas to throw him over in a dragon screw leg-whip. He keeps the hold on Rickmen’s leg and yanks it back for good measure on the canvas before letting go. They scramble back up and Drake beats him out to throw a right hand before Irish whipping Rickmen into the ropes. The Champion runs back into the ropes and as the two come closer and closer Drake floors him with a shotgun lariat! He reaches down and grabs a handful of Luchador’s black hair to force him back up to his feet. He throws a front kick to IL’s gut before moving forward to lock in the underhooks. The crowd begins to cheer as Drake pays some tribute to his trainer by arching over to throw him with the Butterfly Suplex. Insane Luchador smacks against the canvas but shows his tenacity as recuperates quickly by standing up. Drake advances but Luchador launches a swift kick smacking against Gabe’s ribs to kill his momentum. “Some even action until Drake comes back with a beautiful shotgun lariat,” Mak says. Insane Luchador leaps into the air and nails a beautiful dropkick to Drake that sends him flipping over the top rope but he’s able to grab hold to the top rope. He quickly pulls himself up on the apron, leaning against the ropes momentarily, and Insane Luchador acts. He hops onto the top rope and then leaps off towards Drake as he leans back, locking in the front headlock, and smacking him down a springboard DDT straight onto the apron to the ecstatic crowd. Insane Luchador rolls up to his feet as Drake begins to slump towards the outside but instead IL grabs him, guides him to the ground, just to throw him against the barricade. He then snatches him by the back of the head and rolls him back into the ring before Kivell can even begin the count. He takes a deep breath and slides back into the ring as Drake gets back to his feet. IL throws an elbow but the Beast surprisingly throws both his arms up to absorb the blow before elbowing Luchador in the face. He tries to whip IL into the ropes again but the momentum is reversed as Drake is sent into the ropes. Insane Luchador moves forward but realizes his terrible mistake as the Beast throws his arm into the air again before planting him again with the shotgun lariat. “Luchador had a beautiful chance there after the apron DDT but Drake got the best of him again with another shotgun lariat,” Mak says. “Did you expect anything less than a near decapitation?” Insane Luchador rolls onto all fours and Drake is happy to help him up so he can Irish whip him straight against the corner. Luchador’s back slams with the turnbuckle and he slums down as Drake smirks, knowing oh-so many favorites moves of pain to IL. He finally chooses as he charges forward and leaps into the air with a high knee that nails him in the chest. He grabs Luchador and perches him onto the top turnbuckle as he gets onto the second one while the crowd works into a frenzy foreseeing the superplex. He tries to lock in the front facelock but Luchador elbows at the side of his opponent’s head to break the hold before shoving him off the turnbuckle. Drake bounces on the canvas and quickly rolls up to his feet as Luchador regains his footing. He ambushes the Luchador as he leaps into the air to smack him with the Right Hand of Gabe! Luchador sways until falling off the top turnbuckle as Drake smirks at the downed Rickmen. He reaches down and begins to bring Luchador up but he gets a punch to the gut. Luchador sends his elbow straight into Drake’s back, followed by another, and finally Drake drops to all fours. He surprises the Luchador by shooting in to trip him down with a double leg takedown. Both men scramble to their feet but Drake barely beats him and as Luchador charges he leaps forward for the flying high knee. Insane Luchador stumbles back against the ropes from the move and leans against them as Drake leaps towards him. However he gets out of the way and finally responds to the Beast with a stiff right kick, followed by a low left, a middle right, and he throws the left but it gets caught by Drake. The Champion sees the opportunity as he sweeps Luchador’s other leg out from underneath him to plant him against the canvas with that left leg still at his mercy, something that Drake never shows. He drags Luchador back a bit from the ropes as he reaches down further looking for the Spite and Malice. IL throws his free leg for a kick but Drake knows better and is able to dodge it. He twists Luchador over and bends down while applying pressure both to the ribs but also trying to snap IL’s left leg. The crowd boos at the finisher as Kivell asks if Luchador wants to end the punishment, a thought that never seems to cross Luchador’s mind. Gabriel Drake applies a bit more pressure and just sadistically smiles at the riled crowd. “Spite and Malice is locked in and things look bad for Luchador,” Mak declares. “This was inevitable, you know,” King says. IL grunts in pain as his face still shows defiance as Drake applies even more pressure. The grunts grow louder and louder until they crescendo with Luchador yelling in pain as he still adamantly shakes his head to Kivell’s offer at salvation, at the cost of losing. The Beast glances down at his opponent in a twist sort of admiration towards the Ill One’s dedication and decides to reward him as he nearly sits on Luchador’s head while putting an extra dash of torque on the side. Luchador’s head shaking stops and it’s replaced by resilient grunts while Kivell seems ready to beg him to tap as he stares at his twisted body. Luchador’s eyes reflect the pain but they remain locked on the ropes just out of his reach. He finally acts and begins to stretch out his arm towards the bottom rope with his fingertips nearly grazing it. The World Champion cockily laughs at Luchador’s attempt as he eases up on the hold for a moment just so he could reapply the pressure with more of a bite to it, something Luchador most likely thought was impossible. But his arm still reaches at his last hope as he continually reaches for that rope but with every lunge he reflects the energy draining away. Even the optimistic Mak says, “Just tap Luchador and count your losses before Drake destroys you like he did to…” “To Stephens? Yeah, but Luchador may get it worse if he tries that idiotic, psychotic philosophy of tap out before pass out,” King replies with a smirk. However, the fans have a response to every naysayer- Please Don’t Tap! Please Don’t Tap! Please Don’t Tap! Insane Luchador even throws out his left arm in attempt to reach those ropes while his right seems ready to hyperextend but the concern focuses around his body seeming ready to simply snap. Drake barks at IL to just tap out in frustration due to the stubbornness as Kivell now has dropped on all fours to determine when Luchador’s will or body gives up. Even the Ill One seems ready to go as his arms stop reaching and frantically reach for the canvas, practically clawing the canvas with his fingernails. Please Don’t Tap! Please Don’t Tap! Please Don’t Tap! “He has to tap, nobody in this arena can take so much punishment on their torso and legs,” King says before glancing over at his partner. “Alright, so not everybody but damn close.” It’s odd what a resounding chant in Madison Square Garden will do to a man since the Psychotic Hero stops his attempts at reaching for the ropes to collect himself, somewhat revived by the pumping adrenaline. He props his elbows against the canvas and is able to move the slightest inch forward as Drake senses the movement. He begins to pull the Luchador back but feels a hint of restraint that he chalks up to Luchador’s last stand before Kivell suddenly points to the bottom rope where IL’s hand barely grasps on. The crowd explodes and the Beast growls loudly at Luchador’s escape before he takes his time releasing him from the Spite and Malice. “Luchador’s broken the hold and now this one is far from over!” “Far from over? Rickmen nearly snapped in half, are you trying to tell me that didn’t take a toll?” King asks in disbelief. “Are you trying to tell me that Rickmen hasn’t suffered through much, much pain only to come out on top?” Mak shoots back. Perhaps Mak simply got swept away in the moment because Luchador remains lifeless on the canvas and Drake simply shakes his head. He grabs a hold of one of his legs and simply drags him to center of the ring before dropping down for a pin attempt- “ONE!” “TWO!” “THREE!” Drake nods at his, well, predictable victory until Kivell once again becomes the bearer of bad news since Luchador’s shoulder barely lifted off the mat! This time he spares the cool demeanor as he pounds his fists against the canvas in anger as Luchador rolls away before lifting up onto one knee. But now the Champion just sees another chance at decapitation as he scrambles to his feet, bounce against the ropes, and charges forward to connect with a Yakuza kick to straight to the head. IL crumbles down to the canvas and Drake decides not to waste his time with another pin attempt, no, he feels a true need to obliterate him. He reaches down and grabs a handful of Luchador’s hair to tug him back up to his feet. He knees Rickmen in the gut and steps into the standing headscissors as his arms wrap around his midsection to the violent jeers from the fans. “This could definitely be bad news for Luchador if Drake hits the Demon Bomb, he could even follow it right up again with the Spite and Malice,” Mak says. “Well, that was some nice inspiration for him, Mak,” King replies with a laugh at the visual. The Champion easily lifts Luchador off the canvas and taunts the crowd as he keeps him high in the air for everybody to see, practically parading him around the center of the ring. He begins to guide Luchador down against the canvas with his signature powerbomb but the Psychotic Hero turns the tables as he wraps his legs around Drake’s head to counter with a beautiful hurricanrana that he holds onto all the way through for a pinfall attempt- “ONE!” “TWO!” Drake kicks out and Luchador rolls up to his feet with a little smirk of satisfaction on his face while the Beast simply stands up. An awkward moment between the two linger as they simply stare at each other without a game plan for what’s next. Then it hits them as they at each other in the ring center to collide into a grapple. The crowd loudly boos as Drake begins to get the front facelock in but Luchador is able to push against him to get free before coming back up with a huge European uppercut. He quickly takes advantage by snatching Gabriel in the Muay Thai clutch as he wraps his arms around the back of his head, pulling it down to apply some pressure. But the Beast is too strong for Rickmen as he begins to squirm his way out until IL responds with one, two, three elbows straight into his face. Drake is stunned as Luchador fires off another set of quick elbows before securing the Muay Thai clutch again to deliver a knee to his body. Drake reaches underneath the hold and applies his own clutch as he counters with a knee before hitting a tremendous knee to Luchador’s body. Rickmen nearly loses his upper hand but he sends a knee followed by another sharp knee as Drake flinches from the pain. The Ill One smells blood in the water and decides it’s time to serve up some punishment as he pulls Drake’s head down before pulling back while keeping that clutch as a guide to- CCCCRRRAAACCCCKKK! OOOOOOHHHHH! Sometimes even somebody like the Beast can garner sympathy after bone versus bone vibrates like that in an arena. “Insane Luchador gets the flying knee in and now his chance,” Mak says. Drake grabs his face while reeling in pain with a loud groan and is assaulted by the relentless Luchador who rushes him with hard rights. The World Champion remains dazed as IL spins his body around and extends his arm to smash him with a spinning backfist but Drake still stands. However the Ill One isn’t discouraged as he surges forward to snatch Drake in a front headlock as he grabs a handful of the trunks to quickly lift him into the air only to drop down with the Implant DDT. Luchador rolls back to his feet and eyes the corner before looking back down at the World Champion as he weighs the decisions in his head with an arm tucked near his ribs. He begins to take a step towards the corner but can hear the Beast gives a groggy groan since he has been served much worse head drops than that. Finally the ambivalence ends as Rickmen reaches down to grab a handful of his hair as he begins to pull him up to his feet only to get smacked in the gut with a punch. Gabriel Drake stands up tall in hopes to intimidate and discourage Rickmen but his eyes tell a different story. IL senses it and violently chops downward against the side of Drake’s neck in the Kesagiri chop before following it with another, another, and spins for the final one. He hesitates before shooting off another and Drake takes advantage as he throws a kick against Luchador’s left leg. It momentarily paralyzes the Ill One and he uses the opportunity to scoop Luchador onto his shoulders with the fireman’s carry but IL is able to slip away from the hold behind his opponent. Drake takes a step back and whirls around with a backfist to catch Luchador by surprise but instead he’s shocked to receive a Rolling Koppo Kick right against his body. “Insane Luchador just saved himself from the Mark of the Beast and now he may have another chance,” Mak says. Insane Luchador scrambles up to his feet and charges forward but gets caught by a wild right thrown that halts his momentum. Drake leaps into the air and desperately throws out his hardest palm strike possible but Luchador sees it coming in time to respond with a dropkick to counter. The crowd explodes as each man scrambles to their feet before getting ready to collide with a grapple until Drake surprises him with a knee to the gut. He Irish whips the Luchador into the ropes and runs back into the ropes himself as they come charging towards each other for an inevitable train wreck. Gabriel Drake figures third time just may be the charm as he lunges forward with hopes for the Shotgun Lariat but IL finally catches on and ducks underneath it. Insane Luchador throws a stiff right kick to Drake’s ribs that stuns him as he sends another right kick that builds his confidence and he leaps out with his left leg thrown out for a high kick. But. Instead he crumbles down to the canvas by neglecting the damage previously inflicted and Drake looks ready to literally pounce on this mistake. The Ill One fends him off as he sends his boot straight into his gut, scrambles onto his knees, and then moves forward for a double leg takedown. He keeps a hold of the legs and flips forward for an attempt at a pin- “ONE!” “Drake has to kick out,” King blurts out. “TWO!” Drake does, indeed, kick out of the pin as they race back to their feet once again. The Ill One barely beats him up and takes action while Drake snarls with a cocked arm with intentions of smashing IL. Instead the Psychotic Hero has ambushed Gabriel Drake as he flies through the air and brings up his knee that catches Drake right underneath the jaw to an explosion of cheers. He awkwardly falls onto the canvas as Drake is plastered into the canvas with presumable stars swirling around his head. “But he’s the World Champion, damn it, he’s going to kill Luchador,” King says. “He certainly looks dangerous being prone on the canvas,” Mak sarcastically quips back. Luchador stands up and Gabriel Drake slowly flops onto his stomach to begin pushing himself up. He gets to one knee groggily and still can’t totally comprehend the area surrounding him but he’s the World Champion, damn it. He pushes himself up to his feet and staggers at Luchador until he’s halted by a high right kick that collides against his head. The tenacious Drake somehow remains standing though and takes a few running steps before throwing himself all out into another shotgun lariat that Luchador narrowly avoids. The momentum carries Drake to fall onto one knee but he immediately pushes himself back up but only to get a front kick to his gut. Luchador locks in the facelock, much to Drake’s dismay, and reaches down to hook onto his leg. The World Champion desperately responds with sharp punches against Rickmen’s ribs but soon he feels himself hovering above the canvas. The crowd’s cheers cease as Luchador lets Drake back onto the canvas because he couldn’t quite get the lift yet. He takes a deep breath and successfully lifts him vertically into the air before spiking Drake down for the Fisherman’s Buster that compresses Drake’s neck like an accordion but something just doesn’t feel right for him. He can feel Drake actively squirming on the canvas with a low growl. Luchador maintains the facelock and slowly begins to roll up to everybody’s shock as he seems ready to go for another Fisherman’s Buster! “Luchador just hit the Fisherman’s Buster and he’s looking for another, he’s looking to put the World Champion away!” Mak explodes. “He’s going to need to hit another one before Drake gives up. Luchador won’t win and he can’t win,” King simply says. But inside the ring a different story appears to be unfolding. Insane Luchador hooks the leg and pushes himself through the pain to once again lift Drake into the air as he wishes to let the picture sink in but instead he wisely drops to spike Drake’s head against the canvas in another Fisherman’s Buster! The fans rise to their feet in hopes to hear the sweet, sweet pinfall count that signals in Drake being toppled by Their Psychotic Hero but there isn’t a count. Instead they see Luchador on his knees with the front facelock and hooked leg locked as he drags Drake up to his feet as well who is still throwing weak punches against his ribs now. The Ill One’s labored breathing seems to echo as he roars while forcing himself to arch Drake over with a Fisherman’s Suplex with the leg still hooked- “ONE!” “Insane Luchador could pull off the biggest upset of his career!” “No way, Drake can take more and more from Luchador,” King says. LUCH-A-DOR! LUCH-A-DOR! “TWO!” “This is unbelievable!” Mak exclaims as Kivell’s hand rises up for what could be the last time. LUCH-A-DOR! LUCH-A-DOR! … Somehow, deep down, Drake finds the strength through his hate, bitterness, spite, malice, or whatever motivates him to barely, barely break the pin. But right beforehand he hears something beyond just the ringing in his ears- “TTTTTTTHHHHHHHHRRRRREEEEEEEE!” “I can’t believe it,” Mak says. “Insane Luchador has just defeated our World Champion, what could this mean for the Ill One? What could this mean for our Champion?” “It took every single thing Luchador could bust out but he has done it in what has been, by far, his single biggest upset of his career,” Mak says. CHAMP! CHAMP! CHAMP! “Shut up, it wasn’t for the title!” King viciously snaps at the unified crowd. “Apparently it didn’t need to be,” Mak counters with a smirk. “I won’t believe it, this is what revisionist history is meant for,” King bitterly replies. “Believe whatever you want, King, Insane Luchador has beaten our World Champion!” DING! DING! DING! CHAMP! CHAMP! CHAMP! “Man in the Box” explodes as Luchador flops onto his back and Drake rolls away until he plops to the outside in utter disbelief as each man listens to the chants until- -Fade to Black- Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 11, 2007 “Fans, I’m backstage with Michael Stephens,” Ben Hardy greets SWF viewers, “and the question on everyone’s lips is, what are your plans now you’ve lost the World Title?” Hardy turns to the man next to him, easily recognisable with blue-black curtains of hair, black-painted fingernails and his own remaining title belt, one of the SWF Tag Titles, slung over his shoulder. Stephens brushes his hair back from his face and begins speaking. “Well, first of all I’m going to take a moment to encourage everyone to realise exactly what a great feat Gabriel Drake achieved at Crimson Yuletide, Ben,” he says, causing the interviewer to blink in surprise, “you see, Gabe came out of nowhere and rose up through the ranks. He didn’t stop off along the way, he didn’t dally with a Tag Title or the International Title, he went straight to the top and walked out of Crimson Yuletide with the World Title roughly six months after he debuted in the SWF. That’s fast work; I haven’t compared times exactly, but that’s pretty much as fast as I won my first World Title.” “Yes, indeed,” Hardy nods, “and of course, if you’ll forgive me reminding you, he did what no-one else managed in the whole of 2006 - he managed to pin you.” “That too,” Stephens agrees, “bear in mind that I wasn’t wrestling until late May I think, but all the same, I was proud of that record and it was an achievement for Gabe to break that streak.” “I’ve been hearing rumours that you’ve already confirmed yourself for entrance into the Clusterfuck,” Hardy says, “that would suggest to some people that you already have your eyes on getting the World Title back. Do you hope that Drake retains against JJ Johnson at the Clusterfuck event - and indeed sooner, if management sees fit to schedule another title defence - for you to try and get revenge at From The Fire, or are you rooting for the man you recruited into Revolution Zero?” Stephens doesn’t answer straight away, and seems to be considering. From the look on his face, it’s a question he’s been pondering for a while. “Ben, I think that question contains something deeper that we need to address,” he says after a few seconds, “and that is; what kind of a man is Gabriel Drake?” “Well, we know some of that anyway,” Hardy suggests, “we know he was in jail for mansla-” “I’m not interested in that,” Stephens cuts him off, “not anymore. Everyone knows Gabe’s history now, and they all know my part in it. I may have my differences with Gabe over events, and intentions, and reactions, but in the end I’ve moved on. I’m not going to try and convince everyone that he’s an evil man because of what he did in the past, he’s served his time and, technically at least, he’s rehabilitated.” Stephens’ eyes narrow slightly. “No, I’m looking at the wrestling side of things Ben. I’m looking at the history that started at Crimson Yuletide, when he took my title from me. I’m looking to the future, to see what he does now. I can tell you from my own personal experience that Gabe is a great wrestler, but what I want to know is, is he just a great wrestler… or is he a great champion?” “Would you care to elaborate on the difference?” Hardy asks after a moment. Stephens grins tightly, and nods. “Sure. Let’s take Danny Williams as an example,” he suggests. “Danny was - and still is, from what I hear from Japan - a great wrestler. In any given match against any opponent, he was a threat. He’s a four-time World Champion too… but you can add all his title reigns together and they’d fit inside any one of my last three. Or either of El Luchadore Magnifico’s last two. Or either of Flesher’s. See, the thing about Danny,” Stephens continues, “is that he set his sights on the man with the belt, went after him, and beat him. But he couldn’t adapt, he couldn’t change his game quick enough; when a new contender popped up, Danny couldn’t retain that title to save his life. Case in point, Kibagami,” the Englishman says, only a slight tightening of his eyes hinting at the history between the two men, “Nathan took Danny down because Danny wasn’t ready for him. But give him ten more days and Danny had got his head back in the game, he got a quick rematch that time and took the title back. But then of course Janus turned up, and Danny had to kiss his belt goodbye again because the Hell Machine was a different proposition to the Silent One. “So what I’m asking, what I’m wondering is, how does Gabe compare?” Stephens says rhetorically. “He had his sights set on me for six months, Ben. Don’t tell me that won’t leave you with some sort of tunnel vision. If you’d said to Gabe last year that he could either have a match for the World Title, or Michael Stephens in the ring one-on-one, I’d put my house on him wanting to face me. That’s how bad he wanted to hurt me, how big the issues were he was carrying around.” “I’d probably agree with that,” Ben nods. “So what does he do now?” Stephens asks. “He’s got to defend that title against JJ Johnson at the Clusterfuck, and if he goes into that match seeing me on the other side of the ring he’ll be lucky if he can walk out again afterwards, because JJ’s a whole different ballgame. Can he adapt? Can he change his game? Is he in this for the long haul, or has he lost his purpose now I’m not the big target anymore, now he’s beaten me and he’s the one walking around with the bullseye on him? Because believe me Ben, I’m going to go through nineteen other men in the Clusterfuck if I have to, and one way or another I’m going to get back into contention for a World Title shot,” the Englishman states. “It doesn’t matter too much to me if Gabe’s holding the belt when I get there…” he pauses, and a faint lopsided grin appear on his face, “…but if he is, it’ll make my win that much-” “Mister Stephens.” The voice cuts through the air like honeyed thunder; smooth, impressive, but with a hidden undercurrent of power. It also has a distinctive Antipodean accent, and Gus steps back… then, when that’s not enough, pans up… …and into the picture from around the corner of a corridor comes the hulking form of the man - or is that men? - known variously as Terrence Bailey, or the Hell Machine, or the Anti-Heel Machine, but most commonly by the name given to them after the Roman god of beginning and ending. Janus. “Your failure to deal with this part of your past is most disappointing,” the massive Australian rumbles, “we don’t believe we have seen you as comprehensively outdone in some time. It makes you seem… weak.” They stop and fold their arms, leaving Hardy to try and shrink back into the wall; he knows he needs to hang around and keep the microphone in place, but damned if he wants to be anywhere near Janus. “Weak?” Stephens snorts, “that’s rich coming from someone who had a two-on-one bloody advantage in every match he was ever in! Oh, and by the way,” he adds caustically, “that ‘appearing out of nowhere’ trick weren’t impressive when Aecas did it.” “We do not need to turn out the lights, nor wait until your back is turned,” Janus replies levelly, but the Hell Machine’s eyes glitter, “we believe in approaching matters directly.” “Oh, really?” Stephens asks, tilting his head to one side, “so tell me, is that why the two times you’ve beaten me were when you a) had me tied to you with a leather strap so I couldn’t move anywhere,” he continues, ticking things off on his fingers, “and b) that ladder match when you took advantage of Silent’s dirty work beforehand? You’ve never pinned me, you’ve never made me tap out.” “Indeed?” Janus replies, but the mild tone of voice belies the steel underneath, “then remind us of when you have claimed a clean, incontestable victory over us, Mr Stephens? You regained the ICTV Title by making the Wildchild submit, not us. You defeated us for the World Title through pinning Tom Flesher, not us. You have used misdirection and trickery on others, and on us.” “Give it a break, sunshine…s,” Stephens replies, pausing for a second to review what he’s just said before continuing, “you had just as much chance as me to win those matches, you just weren’t quick enough. Don’t go confusing that with having the odds stacked in my favour.” “Oh?” Janus says, eyebrows raising slightly and steepling their fingers, “then you feel our previous encounters proved inconclusive? If you are offering to set the matter straight then your proposal is… acceptable.” Michael Stephens looks at the giant for a moment, steel-grey eyes meeting dark red, and he opens his mouth to respond… but then he stops, and a small smile appears on his face. “No, I’m afraid not. Not right now.” “We beg your pardon?” Janus queries, before a similar smile curves the behemoth's lips. “Forgive us, but we are not used to the great Toxxic being scared.” “For one, I’m not called Toxxic anymore,” Stephens tells him levelly, “and you of all people should know the importance of names. Second,” the Englishman continues, “don’t go confusing fear with respect, Janus.” He looks up calmly into the monster’s face. “I’m not afraid of you. But I respect the fact that you are formidable. I've got my own agenda right now, I’ve got the Clusterfuck to win and the World Title to regain, and odds are I’ll have to go through Gabe to do it. I need to be concentrating on that, not getting sidetracked into matches with you just because you’ve shown up and pushed a few of my buttons, which,” he adds, “isn’t quite as easy to do anymore. So if you want to show up all menacing former Security Guard and bring yourself to the ring when I’ve done what I need to do, be my guest. Hell, maybe I’ll throw the World Title on the line when I win it, you can have that rematch you never got in 2004. But right now,” Stephens tells them, “I have a different violent, psychotic bastard I need to be focusing on. So, gentleman,” he concludes, “I’ll be on my way. I’ve got to get some Clusterfuck practice in.” He turns to leave, but a rumble from Janus follows him down the hall. “We will see you soon, Mr. Stephens,” the Hell Machine declares in a voice that spoke with frighteningly calm certainity, “whether back here or inside the squared circle. We would counsel you not to be too confident or cocky… because we know where that leads.” And without a further word Janus turns on their heel and stalks off into the depths of Madison Square Garden, leaving Ben Hardy sweating noticeably but thoroughly thankful things didn’t get violent. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 11, 2007 “Ladies and gentlemen of New York, it’s time for tonight’s MAIN EVENT~” Funyon booms as Storm comes back from commercials, “the Clusterfuck Preview Battle Royale! You are eliminated by going over the top rope and both feet touching the floor, and the winner will get a,” Funyon looks down at the card he holds, “a special surprise from our new Commissioner, Tom Flesher!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Fans, Commissioner Flesher has joined us at the announce table during the break,” Mak Francis tells viewers, “Tom, care to share what this surprise is?” “Mak, you know that if I was going to tell anyone it’d be you and Brian,” Flesher replies seriously, “but that would spoil the point of it being a surprise, wouldn’t it? I’ve got to keep integrity in this.” “So you’re changing your approach to wrestling?” Francis snipes. Flesher glares at him but the Suicide King leans over. “Ignore him Tom, ever since he went into the wheelchair he’s been pulling this whole ‘morality’ crap…” It is at this point that ‘Learning To Fly’ by Pink Floyd kicks up over the PA system. The crowd have already heard this song once tonight and didn’t react too well to it then… “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” …some things never change. *BANG!* Flames shoot up from the soundstage, causing a white afterimage in the vision of the fans in attendance for a moment, and when they can see again there is an imposing figure starting to stride down the ramp. Falcon hangs behind Nighthawk as the big man head towards the ring, pointedly ignoring the jeering fans on both sides of him. “Introducing first, from Hawk Mountain, Pennsylvania,” Funyon booms, “he weighs in tonight at 285lbs and is accompanied to the ring by Falcon; NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT-HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWK!!” “YOU SUCK!” “YOU SUCK!” “YOU SUCK!” Nighthawk climbs the ring steps, boots making an ominous *thunk* on the steel as the big man’s weight shows, then reaches the apron and simply steps over the top rope into the ring. Falcon follows him, pointing enthusiastically at her client and informing the crowd how good he is. For his part Nighthawk raises both arms in the air impassively, then turns around to wait for his opponents. “Conventional wisdom would imply that Nighthawk has an advantage in this match,” Mak Francis notes, “given the small size of his opponents tonight you’d exepct him to be hard to get over the top rope.” “Well, his higher centre of balance could count against him,” King muses, “but in general I’d say you’ve made a fairly good assessment there, Mak. Mike Cross is probably the only man in this match who’d have a good chance of getting Nighthawk over the top rope by himself, although we can’t rule out the possibility of two or more of the smaller men teaming up to eliminate the threat.” “It’s only common sense,” Mak agrees, “and we have a ready-made team in the form of Akira and Zyon, who’ve tagged in the past.” “I’ve never been much of a fan of the hoss-bash, hoss-smash approach to wrestling, which is very much what Nighthawk embodies,” Tom Flesher puts in, “but it can be effective in the right hands, and everyone deserves a chance to shine. That’s why he’s in this match in the main event tonight.” The music changes, segueing from classic progressive rock into hip-hop as ‘Protect Ya Neck’ by Wu-Tang Clan starts to ring out around Madison Square Garden! Moments later Akira Kaibatsu emerges from the backstage area and starts heading ringwards. Unsurprisingly, he gets a much more favourable response than Nighthawk. “And from Sendai, Japan,” Funyon announces, “he weighs in tonight at 195lbs, he is ‘The Divine Wind’, AKIRRRRRRR-RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAA… KAI-BAT-SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Akira Kaibatsu is a former Cruiserweight and International Champion,” Mak Francis notes, “and while slightly inconsistent in the ring there’s no question that he has an enormous amount of raw talent. Given that he’s only 20, the potential-” “Potential means shit,” King snaps, “potential won’t pay the rent, you can’t dine out on potential, potential won’t get you laid.” “No, that’s the contents of your wallet in your case,” Mak returns. “You know what I mean,” the Gambling Man replies testily, “you can bleat about ‘potential’ all you want; Akira’s not a rookie anymore, he needs to start showing some consistency, winning matches on a regular basis and, most importantly, cheating.” “Kaibatsu is of course a native of Japan, and I have a great deal of respect for Japanese wrestling, a great deal,” Flesher declares. He pauses for a moment. “Of course, Akira is to most Puroresu what Budweiser is to a nice dark porter, but ever since TKO left we’ve had to do the best we can.” Kaibatsu rolls into the ring and pops up to his feet, then jumps up and down a couple of times before busting out some stretches. However, the Japanese superstar isn’t stupid and keeps a wary eye on Nighthawk at all times. The big man stays on his side of the ring and doesn’t seem to be posing a threat as yet, but Akira has been stabbed in the back too often to take anything for granted… and on that note, ‘The Show Must Go On’ by Queen replaces Wu-Tang Clan on the PA system, heralding the arrival of someone Akira has recent and violent history with… “And from Detroit, Michigan,” Funyon declares, “he weighs in tonight at 237lbs, this is ‘IRON’… MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE… CRRRRRRRRRRRROSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “CROSS SUCKS COCK!” “CROSS SUCKS COCK!” The chants are less than welcoming for Cross, not that the Suicide Machine seems to care. He strides down to the ring with his face hidden in shadow cast by his hoodie as the lights flash a dark red. Akira Kaibatsu watches him carefully from the ring, whilst still being careful to keep an eye on Nighthawk. “The ‘inconsistent’ label could be applied to Mike Cross as well, King,” The Franchise suggests, “he has turned in some great performances on occasion, but he’s been here-again and gone-again, and has yet to really find his place in the SWF, I think.” “He’s found his place,” the Gambling Man argues, “and it’s scraping Akira Ka-whatsit’s face off his shoe. This man could be the future of the SWF, Francis.” “So you’re saying he has potential?” Mak smirks. “King, Cross is violent and delusional, but that doesn’t make him different from any number of other wrestlers we’ve seen, including our current World Champion to a degree.” “Don’t utter such blasphemy,” King snorts, “for one thing, I doubt Drake will care about a spinal injury if he decides he wants to beat some respect into you.” “When I beat this kid for the Cruiserweight Title I found him to be determined but impetuous,” Flesher remarks, “and against someone like me that was never going to be a winning combination.” “Well, and the fact that you owned him in all respects of in-ring ability,” King puts in. “True,” Tom nods as Mak makes a gagging noise, “but he’ll have to be careful in there tonight, as one over-eager rush could see him dumped out and unable to claim the surprise I’ve put on the line.” Mike Cross slips into the ring and strips off his hoodie, eyes blazing as he looks at Akira. For his part the Divine Wind eyes Cross coolly, ready to react to any overtly aggressive act from the Michigan native. Cross looks about to give him cause to react, but Iron Mike reins himself in with a sideways glance at the hulking Nighthawk, perfectly poised to take advantage of any opening and soften his opponents up for when the bell rings. As a result all three men engage in an uneasy standoff as they await the fourth participant… ‘I’m born…’ “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” ‘I’m alive…’ The words are flashing up on the Smarktron and ‘Vitamin’ by Incubus is ringing out through Madison Square Garden. ‘I breathe…’ There is a moment’s pause and then Zyon leaps out onto the soundstage, prompting another cheer from the fans in attendance! The Unique Youth surveys the arena with a grin, then sprints down the entrance ramp towards the ring! “And from Elkhart, Indiana,” Funyon booms, “he weighs in tonight at 200lbs, this is ‘The Unique Youth’, ZYYYYYYYYYYYYY-ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!” “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” Zyon jumps to the ring apron, then grabs the top rope and casually flips into the ring with a simple leap and twist of the wrist. He ignores the tense atmosphere between the other three men - although he exchanges nods of acknowledgement with Akira - and then heads for the ringpost, where he climbs to the second rope and spreads his arms to invite more cheers from the crowd. “This guy is so self-centred it’s amazing he doesn’t exert his own gravitational pull,” King sniffs. “Apart from that being a rather ill-considered metaphor, I’m not sure exactly what you mean,” Mak Francis, “Zyon is confident certainly, but no more so than many other wrestlers.” “The guy’s an egomaniac in disguise,” Suicide King insists, “with no good reason either, he’s a shameless spotmonkey with about as much wrestling talent as I have in my little finger.” “I’m not yet decided about Zyon,” Flesher muses, “even after eighteen months with the company, I’m not sure we’re seeing the ‘real’ Zyon. Of course,” he adds, “the real Zyon might be even more annoying than this version.” Zyon hops back down to the mat and leans in the corner, looking around at the other three men and waiting for the last competitor… and he doesn’t have that long to wait. “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” The raucous, rolling chant rings out across Madison Square Garden as the lights and the Smarktron white out, and is followed a moment later by the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire. “Show-off,” King and Flesher mutter together. As the bassline slowly distinguishes itself from the rest of the song the Smarktron is already fading down to black, jagged white letters flashing up a familiar phrase one word at a time: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ The Smarktron changes again, with Michael Stephens’ face grinning out before clips of famous matches start to flash up. And after the Insane Luchador has been fought through the Wachovia Center, and Aecas has had the infamous Glass Jawbreaker delivered to him, and Nathaniel Kibagami has been dropped on his head with the Caffeine Bomb, and Tom Flesher has been hit with the Sunny In England at Genesis VII, the shot changes one more time 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 erupts from the soundstage as the main riff hammers our, signalling the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …with his one remaining title belt wrapped around his waist and partially hidden beneath his black-and-red canvas trenchcoat… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …blue-black hair hanging down in curtains in front of his face… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …comes the man once known as Toxxic. “Tom, your views on the World Title match we saw at Crimson Yuletide?” Mak Francis asks the new Commissioner. “I think the best man won, there’s no question about that,” Flesher responds, “Gabriel Drake has a lot of natural talent combined with raw power and Stephens couldn’t hold a candle to him on the night.” “And finally, from Nottingham, England,” Funyon booms in an effort to make himself heard over the crowd chants, “he weighs in tonight at 218lbs, he is one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions, this is MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Stephens strides down the ramp, seemingly not paying any more attention to the clamouring fans than Nighthawk did. The fans don’t seem to mind however; they keep the chant going, well aware that they’re as much a part of this entrance spectacle as the rest of the routine. As ‘Rookie’ accelerates towards the first verse Stephens crosses his arms in front of him in the straight-edge ‘X’ for a second, then throws his arms wide, palms flat and facing down to the floor- *bap-bap* *BOOOM!!* -triggering another blast of red pyro from 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…’ With that action Stephens seems to come to life, and the former World Champion flips a two-fingered salute (a friendly one from the forehead, not his normal British “fuck you” gesture) at a couple of kids in ‘COME AND HAVE A GO…’ T-shirts in the front row, then rolls under the bottom rope into the ring. He gets up and strips off his coat and personalised England soccer shirt with ‘Stephens’ on the back over the number 9, then hands them and his Tag Title belt over the ropes to referee Matthew Kivell… …and Mike Cross charges at him from behind. *DING-DING-DING!* The timekeeper wises up to what’s going down and rings the bell, but Stephens is quick enough on the uptake to realise something’s up and automatically throws himself downwards, coincidentally tugging the top rope down as he does so! Cross’s enzui-lariat misses and the man from Detroit starts to topple over the top himself! He manages to kill his momentum at the last moment and Akira is marginally too slow off the mark to take advantage, allowing the former Suicide Machine to get a stable footing back in the ring as Stephens rolls away, not wanting to be caught within kicking distance. He doesn’t need to worry about this as Kaibatsu distracts Cross by slamming bodily into the bigger man and trying to force him back into a precarious position on the ropes, but Cross isn’t having any of that from his former tag team partner and pushes him back, then lunges for a double leg takedown that slams Akira to the mat. Meanwhile Nighthawk turns and advances on Zyon, but the Unique Youth beats him to the punch - or more accurately the kick, as he breaks into a straight sprint and leaves his feet to drive a front dropkick into Nighthawk’s sternum, then kips back up again off the mat! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Snap!” Mak Francis yells as the crowd cheers. However, the crowd may be too quick off the mark because the towering Predator doesn’t go down! Instead he staggers backwards, windmilling his arms, then recovers his centre of balance. Zyon isn’t dismayed and he launches himself into the air with a spinning wheel kick, but the spirit of JJ Johnson momentarily possesses Nighthawk and the big man catches Zyon in the midst of the despised move, then brutally drives him down to the canvas with something that is half-spinebuster, half-slam and all painful! *BANG!* “Oh, snap!” King chortles. “That wasn’t funny.” Mike Cross is in a mount position on Akira and starting to rain right hands down on the Japanese wrestler but Kaibatsu judges the speed of his opponent’s blows and lurches his upper body sideways between one punch and the next, then reaches up to lock his arms around Cross’s chest and neck with an arm triangle choke as Iron Mike punches down again. The Michigan native suddenly finds himself trapped in a version of the Uwabami Vice and attack turns to desperate defence as he tries to free himself. “See?” Flesher notes, “that’s twice Cross has rushed in; he got away with the first one, but he’s trapped now. Commendable enthusiasm, needs to work on his timing.” “A choke isn’t going to help you throw someone over the top rope,” King sniffs. “No, but it’ll stop him from hitting you,” Mak Francis counters. At this point Mike Cross shifts his position atop Akira and takes advantage of the no-DQ nature of a battle royal- *CHING!* -by kneeing him quite thoroughly in the testicles. “Overall, I’d have been inclined to take the punches,” King notes clinically as Cross rolls away from Akira gasping for breath, while the Divine Wind does his best impersonation of a foetus in the womb and curls up on the mat. However, Cross doesn’t get far in his rolling before fetching up in the vicinity of Michael Stephens. The Tag Champion has been watching Nighthawk and Zyon and keeping an eye on the big man in case he decided to batter someone else, but Nighthawk is occupied by grabbing Zyon to pick him up off the canvas for more fun and games so Stephens is free to deal with Cross, which he does by the simple method of putting the boot in. Cross is understandably peeved with this development and manages to grab Stephens’ foot on the third stomp, then starts to get up to his feet with the Englishman’s boot in his grasp. “It’s STRAIGHT-EDGE BIG BATTEL~!” King exclaims. Tom Flesher takes a sip of bourbon, then looks longingly at the packet of Camels on the announce table before remembering that in his position as Commissioner he’s not allowed to smoke on television. Nighthawk drags Zyon up to his feet, then lets out a roar and rears back before clamping one big hand down on the Unique Youth’s head with a claw hold. Zyon grunts in pain but his reactions are up to fighting the big man off, and he lets rip with kicks to the midsection that drive the breath from Nighthawk’s lungs and start to double him over while causing him to loosen his grip. Meanwhile Stephens is hopping on one foot as Cross grins nastily at him… *CRACK-CRACK!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” …and Stephens and Zyon let rip with an enzuigiri and a Flash Kick respectively at exactly the same moment! “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” Nighthawk goes down, Cross goes down, but both men are tough and they start fighting their way back up to their feet immediately. Zyon and Stephens are getting up as well, and the two men glance at each other for a second, then square up to their opponents and lash out with a RIGHT! LEFT! RIGHT! LEFT! Zyon and Stephens wind up like baseball pitchers, ready to deliver the final blow… then spin around and discus clothesline each other! *BANG!* “HA!” King laughs as the two crowd favourites collapse to the mat. Nighthawk and Cross continue wobbling for a moment, briefly stunned by the flurries of punches, but Mike Cross seems to recover first and instead of following up on Stephens he turns and launches a basement dropkick at Nighthawk, catching the big man on his knee and driving him down to one leg! Cross isn’t done there as he gets back up and runs to the ropes before rebounding to smash a knee strike into the head of his big opponent, knocking Nighthawk down to the mat as well. With everyone but Cross on the floor the former Suicide Machine lets out a yell of triumph and raises his arms… “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” …and the crowd responds in a predictable manner. “Do you want to tell him that the purpose of the match is to tip people over the top rope, not knock them down?” Mak asks King and Tom, “or should I do it?” But Michael Cross isn’t as dumb as Francis seems to think, as the former Cruiserweight and Tag Champion turns his attention back to his former tag partner Akira Kaibatsu, and starts stalking the Japanese superstar while Akira starts to gingerly rise back to his feet. When Akira is more or less at a vertical base Cross has sidled around behind him, and seeing his chance Cross lunges forward and grabs Akira bodily, then tries to swing the Divine Wind over the nearest ropes. Akira is having none of it and grabs onto the top rope like a limpet, then locks his legs around the lower ropes which allows him to free one arm to swing backwards and crack Cross in the temple with an elbow. Mike staggers but shakes the effects of the blow off, then rushes Akira again as Kaibatsu disentangles himself and tries to get away from the edge of the ring. He’s too slow and Cross cannons into him, tattooed hands reaching for the Divine Wind’s neck in an apparent attempt to either strangle Akira or eliminate him. Akira grabs Cross’s wrists but the heavier man’s momentum starts to tip him over the ropes and Kaibatsu has to reach out and grab the cables, which halts his progress towards elimination but causes his vision to start blurring as Cross continues to squeeze… “You know,” Tom says conversationally, “if Akira passes out he’ll let go of the ropes anyway.” This appears to be true, and is therefore something of a win-win situation for Mike Cross whose face is showing an alarming grin as he persists in trying to eliminate Akira in one way or another. So intent is Iron Mike on his aims that he completely fails to hear the crowd noise start to rise, and only realises that something is amiss when Zyon’s arm snakes around his throat and the Unique Youth drops to one knee to take Cross down with the 3.0 backbreaker! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “What purpose does that serve?” Suicide King demands, “the point is to win this match, numbskull, not prevent your opponents from eliminating other opponents!” “See, that’s not something I’d have thought an allegedly self-centred individual would have done,” Mak Francis notes mildly. “He’s either self-centred or stupid,” King shrugs, “take your pick.” Sure enough, Mike Cross’s grip was torn away from Akira’s throat when Zyon interjected himself, and the Divine Wind rubs his throat and gasps before slapping Zyon on the back in a thankful manner. “Throw him over!” King shouts in sudden hope, but to no avail; Akira fails to turn on his friend and instead the Divine Youths go to grab Cross, presumably to exact some sort of revenge. Meanwhile Michael Stephens and Nighthawk have both regained their feet and head towards each other, but the former World Champion is cut off as Nighthawk quickly jabs him in the eye! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” With Stephens clawing at his face Nighthawk is able to grab the Englishman in a front facelock and spin to the side to take him down with a swinging neckbreaker. Falcon claps encouragingly from the floor of the arena and urges her man on, prompting Nighthawk to get back to his feet and grab Stephens by the head to haul the smaller man up again. This time Nighthawk takes hold of his opponent bodily and lifts him high overhead into a press slam position, then walks towards the ropes with Stephens in his grasp… “This could be over quickly for Michael Stephens,” Mak Francis exclaims, “an early exit looks to be on the cards!” …but Michael Stephens is never one to give up easily, and the Englishman starting writhing in Nighthawk’s grip before managing to squirm away and land behind the startled big man, then leaps up to dropkick him in the back! The crowd cheers as Nighthawk staggers forwards and ends up draped over the top rope, but the job is less than half-done and Stephens still has to grab Nighthawk’s leg and start to lift the big man over. He does this with gusto but not much success; 285lbs is beyond his easy lifting range, and Nighthawk is thrashing around, kicking and generally not being very co-operative. “He won’t do that on his own,” King snorts, “that’s what happens when you train on trampolines instead of weight machines, right Tom?” Stephens seems to be coming to the same conclusion; he looks around to see if he can enlist anyone else’s help in his endeavour, but Akira and Zyon have Cross backed into a corner and have a leg each; while they are doing their best to lift him over Iron Mike has one arm wrapped around each top rope and his back firmly braced against the top buckle, and doesn’t look to be going anywhere. With a stalemate on both sides of the ring Stephens comes to a conclusion, drops Nighthawk’s leg and reaches up towards the back of the bigger man’s head, twisting as he does so to get in position as if for a hangman’s neckbreaker before spinning around again and sitting out, dragging Nighthawk down face-first into the mat with the Pressure Drop. *BANG!* With the bigger man temporarily incapacitated Stephens gets back up and heads over to where the Divine Youths are trying to introduce Mike Cross into the floor of Madison Square Garden, perhaps figuring that if they eliminate Cross then all three of them can then concentrate on the biggest man in the ring. He squeezes in next to Zyon and grabs hold of Cross’s leg, but the Unique Youth takes one look at him and lashes out with a punch that floors the surprised Tag Champion! “RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “I think old tensions are coming to the surface here!” Mak Francis yells as Stephens rolls back up to his feet and steps back in towards the Unique Youth, delivering a European uppercut as he closes which sends Zyon reeling into the ropes, “Zyon was never happy with Stephens’ actions in the Elimination Chamber or his comments after their Cruiserweight Title match, and it looks like he’s making his feelings clear!” Akira Kaibatsu looks around in surprise and no little annoyance as Zyon and Stephens exchange blows, but before the Japanese star can frame some sort of sentence in English to attract the Unique Youth’s attention back to what they had been doing before Stephens arrived Mike Cross takes advantage of the fact that he now has a free leg to draw it back and then kick Akira hard in the jaw! *CRACK!* Akira drops to the mat, as does Cross now he’s no longer being lifted - the difference is that Iron Mike lands on his feet while Kaibatsu crashes down to his back. Akira rolls over onto his stomach, perhaps from some long-ingrained instinct to avoid pins despite the fact that they don’t count in this match, but this only allows Cross to jump up and stamp down on the back of his head with a standing double stomp! *BANG!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Meanwhile Michael Stephens ducks under a swing from Zyon and then jerks his head forwards to drive his skull into that of the Unique Youth; Zyon staggers back onto the ropes, but collects himself and explodes off before leaping into the air and sending one boot into the jaw of the startled Stephens with a lunging Yakuza kick that takes the Tag Champion off his feet! Zyon manages to land on his feet but the jarring impact causes him to stumble, straight into the arms of Nighthawk who has got back up off the mat just in time to scoop Zyon up, whirl around and drive the cruiserweight down with a tremendous spinebuster! *WHAM!* “What impact!” Mak barks as Zyon bounces off the mat. “Not bad, if you like that sort of thing,” Flesher shrugs. “Is this universal disdain the closest you can get to being impartial?” Francis asks. “It’s a natural reaction to comparing everyone against myself,” the Superior One informs his former tag partner. Mike Cross bends down to try and pick Akira up and start again the process of eliminating the Divine Wind, but he’s suddenly aware of a looming presence behind him. Nighthawk wasn’t fond of that knee to the head, and the only other vertical man in the ring is also the easiest target for an elimination; as a result the big man wraps his arms around Cross with a rear waistlock, then simply hoists Iron Mike off his feet and starts walking him towards the ropes! Cross has no intention of allowing himself to be unceremoniously dumped and manages to briefly brace his feet against the top cable before Nighthawk shifts him around and continues his progress. Cross has something else left up his sleeve though; namely elbows, which he uses to smash into Nighthawk’s face and rock the bigger man. Nighthawk’s grip slackens and Cross slips out, then turns around and launches himself into the air to deliver an enzuigiri to the Predator! *CRACK!* Nighthawk stumbles onto the ropes again but is able to turn around so he can at least see his opponent. It doesn’t do him much good as Cross grabs him and fires one, two, three knee strikes into the big man’s gut to wind him, then back up and charges in with a clothesline that sends Nighthawk teetering… …but the big man’s weight and gravity conspires against the former Suicide Machine, who is unable to get enough momentum to topple Nighthawk over the top rope to eliminate him! Mike Cross thinks he knows the answer to that though and he turns and runs for the far ropes, rebounding towards Nighthawk as the Predator leans on the cables breathing heavily. Cross extends his right arm for another clothesline, this one with enough pace behind it to carry even Nighthawk’s 285lbs over the top to the floor… …but Nighthawk takes a step forward and ducks his head at the last moment, then rears back as Cross arrives and performs a back bodydrop that sends Cross careering over the top instead! Iron Mike reaches out desperately to grab at the top rope as he flies past, but to no avail, and he bounces off the apron before landing hard on the floor of Madison Square Garden! “‘Iron’ Mike Cross has been eliminated!” Funyon booms, prompting a cheer from the crowd. “What did I say?” Tom Flesher asks rhetorically, “aggressive, committed, determined, but rash. No cookie for you.” Cross seems less than impressed with the manner of his exit and responds by violently kicking the steel guardrail, then storms off towards the back. This leaves Nighthawk in the ring with three cruiserweights, none of whom are in a particularly good way. Akira is the closest and the Divine Wind staggers up to his feet, then steps in to deliver a snap kick to Nighthawk’s thigh. The big man winces, but returns fire with a thunderous right hand that floors Kaibatsu. “War of attrition; not a good idea,” King notes. “But maybe if you have allies…?” Mak Francis postulates, as Michael Stephens advances on the big man and ducks a wild swing to scoot around behind Nighthawk and jump up on his back. The Tag Champion manages to latch one arm around Nighthawk’s neck and clings on with a bodyscissors to lock in something which closely approximates the rear naked choke favoured by his sister, and to make matters worse for the Predator Zyon has got to his feet and charges at him! *BANG!* It seems Zyon was playing truant with Mike Cross when the adage ‘fools rush in’ was taught at wrestling school, because Nighthawk is able to bring up one big boot in time to drive it into the face of the Unique Youth, then lumbers backwards to crush Stephens against the turnbuckles! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Nope, the allies idea didn’t work out either,” King decides, “see Francis, this is why it’s such a good idea to be a big man in a Battle Royal or the Clusterfuck; normally smaller opponents would try to take you off your feet, but to have a hope of eliminating you they can’t do that here.” Nighthawk steps away from the corner now containing a Stephens pancake and heads towards Zyon, who’s trying to get back to his feet. The big man simply slaps the Unique Youth in the head hard enough to make his knees crumple, then picks Zyon up over one shoulder as if about to start a bearhug before walking the Indianan over to a corner of the ring and sitting him on the top rope. Zyon wavers but Nighthawk doesn’t push him over; instead he steps through the ropes to stand on the apron. “Why isn’t he just eliminating him?” Mak asks in confusion. “I think he might be trying to send a message,” Tom Flesher speculates. “Well, what’s the message?” Mak demands, “that he’s too busy fooling around to win the match?” “Could be,” the Superior One shrugs, “never try and analyse the actions of men who sound like someone Conan the Barbarian should be fighting.” However, regardless of the commentators’ theories Nighthawk seems to have a definite plan of action in mind; namely reaching up and grabbing Zyon by the throat, then looking down meaningfully at the floor of Madison Square Garden… “Chokeslam to the floor?” Mak gasps, “no! He stepped through the ropes so he won’t eliminate himself, but damn it, I’ve only ever seen this done on the PS2!” Nighthawk seems to want to check out exactly how realistic those graphics on SWF Storm 2007© really are, but Zyon is metaphorically mashing R2 for all he’s worth, and just before Nighthawk heaves him off the top buckle and down to the floor the Unique Youth manages to shift position and reach out with his legs to wrap them around Nighthawk’s throat with a triangle choke, then leans back to crank on the arm as well! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Nighthawk suddenly finds himself in pain and with limited oxygen, and as he involuntarily releases the goozle on Zyon his opponent throws himself bodily off the top rope into the ring, dragging Nighthawk down with him and causing the bigger man to land throat-and-chest first across the top rope! This only makes matters worse, and after a couple of seconds spent struggling the Predator manages to heave most of his own weight back over the top rope and into the ring, where he lands with a thud. Zyon releases the triangle choke - probably wisely, since a knocked-out Nighthawk would be a bitch to get out of the ring - and both men roll away from the other. Nighthawk fetches up against another set of ropes and grabs onto them to try and haul himself upright… and as he does so Akira Kaibatsu rushes in and grabs one of the big man’s legs, then tries to tip him over the top! “Nighthawk is on the ropes, figuratively and literally!” Mak shouts, “but can Akira get him over?” “Not alone!” King shouts back, and indeed, Kaibatsu’s near-100lb weight disadvantage is showing. Nighthawk was unbalanced for a moment but he touches back down… but as he tries to turn and get at Akira Michael Stephens runs in and grabs his other legs, then sets to lifting as well! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Unfortunately, Stephens’ grip is not as good as Akira’s, and the struggling Nighthawk kicks out and hits him in the belly, sending the Englishman staggering away. Akira tries to maintain the momentum but to no avail and Nighthawk touches back down to the mat again… and now Zyon rushes in to grab the other leg and join the struggle! “They’re determined to get Nighthawk out of there,” Mak Francis notes, “and to be honest, if I’d seen someone try to chokeslam a wrestler my size from the top buckle to the floor, I’d want him out of the ring as well!” “Because of course, a lumbering hoss who’s been with the company for a few months is more of a threat in the match than a four-time World Champion,” Flesher snorts. “Well, he is bigger-” Mak begins. “Francis, use your head,” Flesher sighs, “Nighthawk’s big and awkward, but it’s Stephens who persuades people to work together for his ends before stabbing them in the back. If you follow his lead it’ll come around to bite you on the ass, mark my words.” “Then if you don’t want to be bitten on the ass I can only suggest not letting him put you on a lead,” Francis returns. In the ring, Akira and Zyon heave at Nighthawk and the big man seems about to go over… but then he kicks again, and this time Akira’s sweaty hands slip and allow Nighthawk to kick him in the stomach! Kaibatsu loses his grip and tumbles backwards, and Zyon isn’t able to keep Nighthawk teetering on the brink on his own. Once more the biggest man in the match is able to get one foot back on the mat, and despite Zyon clinging grimly to the other leg it doesn’t look like Nighthawk will remain in a compromised position for long… “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” …and then Michael Stephens rushes in and grabs the other leg. He lifts, and Zyon lifts with him. Nighthawk goes up… …stops… …starts to fall back, despite their best efforts. He kicks, but both men hold on. They exchange a glance. ‘ONE…’ ‘TWO…’ ‘THREE!!’ Zyon and Michael Stephens lift as one, each man with a leg, and this time Nighthawk can do nothing to halt his inexorable progress up and over the top rope! He topples over, lands on the apron and grabs at the middle rope, but Zyon kicks his fingers away as Stephens backs off, presumably to avoid Nighthawk getting a grip on his bulky trousers through the ropes… …and Nighthawk falls. “Nighthawk has been eliminated!” Funyon declares. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Zyon turns around- *SMACK!* -right into a Stephenskick. The impact catches the Unique Youth sweetly underneath the jaw, rocking him backwards and over the ropes… “Zyon has been eliminated!” “Told you,” Flesher says, smugly. Well. Maybe Stephens had his own reasons for backing off. “RAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Just like at Ashes 2 Ashes, the noise in the building jumps up a level as everyone yells in approval, disapproval or just general shock. But quickly a new chant is heard, louder than ever before… “YOU SCREWED ZY-ON!” “YOU SCREWED ZY-ON!” Zyon picks himself up on the outside, holding his jaw and expression rapidly changing from surprise and shock into one of complete and utter fury. Eyes blazing, the Unique Youth stares up at the man who, for the second time in three months, has worked with him on something only to turn on him. For his part Stephens looks down and locks gazes with Zyon, then points a black-nailed finger at the man who took the Cruiserweight Title from him and utters a short phrase picked up by the ring mics, jabbing his finger with every word for emphasis. ‘Every. Man. For. Himself!’ “YOU SCREWED ZY-ON!” “YOU SCREWED ZY-ON!” Akira Kaibatsu got back up in time to see the most recent events, and the Japanese superstar faces Stephens with an expression devoid of any real noticeable emotion as the two men circle each other around the ring. “We’re down to two now,” Mak says, “and the tactics will have changed again; there’s no chance of being taken off-guard by another wrestler, and it’s entirely feasible that either Stephens or Akira would be able to deadlift the other man far enough to tip them over the top rope, even if they were completely unconscious.” “I note you’re saying nothing about Toxxic’s backstabbing ways,” Suicide King interjects. “What is there to say?” Mak asks, spreading his hands, “you were the one accusing Zyon of being stupid for saving Akira earlier - Stephens saw a chance and took it, just like you’d want him to do. And it’s true - it is every man for himself!” “YOU SCREWED ZY-ON!” “YOU SCREWED ZY-ON!” Stephens takes a step forward towards Akira, but the Divine Wind scoots back out of the way. Stephens doesn’t pause and moves after his opponent, trying to back him into a corner and deny him mobility, but Akira keeps weaving. Finally Stephens manages to get close enough and looks to be going for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, but then shoots low at the last minute and grabs a single-leg takedown on Kaibatsu. Akira instantly kicks out with his free foot and hits Stephens in the head to knock the Englishman back, then rolls up to his feet and charges the Tag Champion. Stephens isn’t quick enough off the mark to react and Akira steps up to deliver the Shining Gamengiri he calls the White Magic! *CRACK!* Stephens goes down to hands and knees but Akira brings him back up, then drags him to the ropes and hurls him bodily over! Stephens grabs the top rope with both hands as he goes past though, then skins the cat back in before Kaibatsu can react. Akira reacts quick enough to rush forward and deliver an elbow to the small of the back before Stephens can settle himself though, and the Divine Wind then grabs Stephens by the wrist and Irish whips his opponent to the far ropes… but Stephens reverses the momentum in mid-ring and sends Akira towards the cables instead! Kaibatsu doesn’t actually hit - instead he jumps to the middle rope, then springs back with another gamengiri aimed at Stephens’ head, but the Englishman ducks it! Akira lands on his feet and turns around into- *SMACK!* -another Stephenskick! “YOU SCREWED ZY-ON!” “YOU SCREWED ZY-ON!” Akira’s middle of the ring, so it doesn’t knock him out. Instead he just slumps backwards to the floor, only for Stephens to grab both his legs and tuck one underneath each arm in preparation for a slingshot. Akira doesn’t want that to happen and leans up as far as he can to punch Stephens in the face, then as the Englishman’s grip loosens he frees a foot and drives it into the Tag Champion’s gut. Stephens doubles over and Akira scrambles to his feet, then unleashes a knife-edge chop! *SMACK!* “WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” And another! *SMACK!* “WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Stephens staggers and Akira winds up for a kasegiri chop, spinning to deliver it with his right hand… but as he turns his back Stephens drops and takes him down with a schoolboy, then transitions that into a slingshot and falls backwards to send the Divine Wind sailing through the air! Akira hits the ropes in mid-flight… …teeters… …goes over… …but holds onto the top rope and starts to pull himself back up, skinning the cat as Stephens did scarcely a minute ago… …and just as Akira brings his body vertical, Michael Stephens launches himself into a running front dropkick that sends his feet sliding between the ropes and crashing into Akira Kaibatsu’s ribcage. *WHAM!* The Divine Wind drops like a stone. *DING-DING-DING!* “Stephens wins!” Mak shouts. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” “Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner,” Funyon bellows as ‘Rookie’ rings out around Madison Square Garden, “MIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” “YOU SCREWED ZY-ON!” “YOU SCREWED ZY-ON!” The majority response is positive, but there’s a definite pro-Zyon crowd in. Stephens doesn’t seem to care; he wearily salutes the fans who are cheering for him and ignores the others, then hops out of the ring to go check on Akira. He doesn’t hang around long, but makes sure that Kaibatsu hasn’t been seriously hurt by the landing; meanwhile, Zyon looks on with bitterness in his eyes from the soundstage, never having left the arena. “Well, Michael Stephens proved to be the greatest threat in the match, as predicted by our Commissioner,” Mak Francis says, nodding in acknowledgement to Tom Flesher, “and not only has he won this Battle Royal but he’s also won Tom Flesher’s mysterious surprise!” Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 11, 2007 “I think this has gone on long enough,” Flesher sighs as Stephens gets back into the ring and raises his arms, and the Commissioner takes off his headset and stands up, then heads for the ring while pulling an envelope out of his jacket. He climbs the steel steps as Michael Stephens watches, then steps through the ropes and beckons for Funyon’s microphone. The ring announcer obligingly surrenders it and Flesher takes the stick, pausing for the brief pop as the New York crowd acknowledges the Superior One. “Well Mike, allow me to be the first to say ‘congratulations’,” Flesher says, addressing the Englishman, “it must be pleasant to get back into winning ways so soon after being comprehensively beaten for the World Title at the Christmas Pay-Per-View…” Stephens raises an eyebrow at the Commissioner’s words. “…again,” Flesher finishes smugly. “Tom is of course referring to Slay Ride in 2004, the only other SWF Christmas Pay-Per-View Stephens has been around for, where he lost the World Title to the winner of the original Cold Front Classic, Landon Maddix,” Mak fills in for viewers who are new to the programming or who just have shit memories. “Now, I promised a surprise for the winner of this match,” Flesher continues, waving the envelope, “and in fact I brought it with me. So, since you won the match, here you go…” he passes the envelope over. Stephens looks at it dubiously. “This is the surprise?” “Not exactly,” Flesher says, “it’s more of what you might call a signifier of the surprise.” He smirks at Stephens. “Go on, open it. The tension’s killing me.” Michael Stephens sighs and inserts one black-nailed finger into the gummed flap of the envelope, then rips it open and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it, looks at it for a moment, then turns it around to show it to Flesher (and co-incidentally, the camera) and reveal that it simply has a large number ‘1’ on it. “What the bloody hell is this, sunshine?” Stephens asks, being picked up quite clearly by the mic in Tom’s hand. “That’s the surprise,” Flesher says, “you see, as a result of winning this Battle Royal you, Michael Stephens, are now the Number One Contender…” “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Most of Madison Square Garden starts cheering at Flesher’s words, which causes the Superior One to smile but then signal for quiet. The crowd slowly obliges, and Tom raises the mic again. “…in the Clusterfuck.” “…BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “What!?” Mak barks, clearly appalled, “Michael Stephens wins a Battle Royal and gets lumbered with Number One in the twenty-man Clusterfuck? How is that fair?” “Who said anything about ‘fair’, Francis?” Suicide King laughs, “Tom never did! All he said was it was going to be a surprise, he never even claimed it was going to be a nice one! Look at it this way,” the Gambling Man chortles, “Toxxic’s shown he’s sneaky enough to do well in Battle Royals, Tom’s just evening the odds to give everyone else a shot at winning!” “Oh please,” The Franchise snorts, “you’re telling me that was going to be the surprise for everyone in that match? I’d be willing to bet that Flesher would have used that number 1 to mean that anyone else would have become the Number One Contender to the World Title, or a title of their choice, something like that! But no, because it’s Stephens he has to go make life difficult for him!” “Toxxic made his own life difficult the day he cheated himself to a win over Tom at Genesis,” Suicide King claims, using his special Revisionist History powers, “if Tom sees fit to redress the balance now, that’s only right and proper.” In the ring, Michael Stephens looks down at the piece of paper in his hand, then back up at Tom Flesher, who’s still smirking in the knowledge that unlike last time they shared a ring he can fire Stephens if the Englishman decides to hit him (not that getting rid of the company’s most recognisable face would be a smart marketing move, but at least there’s the possibility there). Stephens narrows his grey eyes, studying Flesher’s face. Then he screws the piece of paper up and, in front of the surprised Commissioner, pops it in his mouth. He chews a couple of times, then swallows ostentatiously before cracking a lopsided grin at Flesher and turning to leave the ring without another word. Flesher frowns, more surprised than anything else. “Fans, we’re out of time on Storm for this week,” Mak Francis says, “join us next week when-” “He ate the paper!” King says, “Mak, Toxxic just ate paper on national TV!” “-next week, when we’ll be in-” “Look, OK, so it’s not like he’s gone straight-bread or something, but are you telling me that’s not a little bit weird?” “-we’ll be-” “You’re ignoring me, aren’t you?” “JOIN US NEXT WEEK ON STORM!” Francis shouts, responding to the producer’s time-conscious rantings in his ear, “SAME TIME, SAME CHANNEL, SAME ACTION!” “God, not the same action I ho-” FADE OUT ©Smartmarks Wrestling Federation 2007 ‘Raising Workrate By Typing Faster’ Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
