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“You know, this is really starting to become an irritant.”


An agitated mysterious voice echoes in a lone office, which just happens to have the shades pulled down. Rather or not the darkness gives the office a sinister design or not doesn’t matter due to the fact that the room doesn’t belong to Satan.


“Joseph Peters.”


Close enough though. Rocking back in his chair gingerly, peaking out over his desk at a client he is all too familiar with, Mr. Peters can’t help, but smile.


“Irritant? If you weren’t in this office at this time, you wouldn’t even be in this federation anymore. Your name would be wiped away from the organization and whatever legacy you wish to be left behind would burn away, along with your employment.” Joseph Peters explain before continuing, “Of course, I should have known better than to think you would lose to Matt Myers. Then again he did give you quite the scare now didn’t he Zyon?”


Sitting opposite the Head of the SWF, the Unique Youth slouches in the comforting of his chair, as well as the comfort in knowing he still has a job.


“He was a lot tougher than I gave him credit for. Matheson really is turning him around, Myers if finally getting his shot, something he deserves. Yet, all I get is frequent trips to your office, which seems like a gigantic waste of time to me. Couldn’t you just have Tom deal with me?”


Chuckling, the notorious Peters’ responds, “First, that’s Mr. Flesher to you. Second, like I have told you before, I want to see you fail. Sure, you could go out tonight and lose to JJ and you may very well keep your job, but sooner or later you are going to crack under the pressure, and I want to be the first person you see when it happens. I guess you should think of yourself as special.”


Now it’s Zyon’s turn to respond, “Special? Special! Well if I’m so special then why do I have to deal with JJ Johnson in a Pure Rules match? This is Storm, not a PPV Main Event. Just last week I had to battle Matt Myers in a hardcore match, those are the type of matches you put special people in. I departed from the Hardcore Division long ago, and my beef with JJ is all but finished. I mean…”


“Kid, what are you on about now?” Peters interrupts.


“What am I on about? Look, you know what I want. Are the hints not clear enough? Matt Myers, JJ Johnson, and hell even Gabriel Drake aren’t what I want at this particular time. I want one man…or should I say one trickster. Make it happen.”




And this sends Zyon off the deep end, “WHY THE FUCK NOT!!!”


“Well for one you spoiled brat, I’m the boss and you will do what you are told. And two there are others in your spot, kid. You’ll just have to wait your turn.”


Rising from his feet furiously, Zyon hollers while in mid turn, “I don’t have to wait for anyone or anything. I’m sick of waiting. I’m not your toy. I’m not your experiment. I will do what I want…and I’m….”


And at that moment, Zyon realizes who is ahead of him in line. And they are huge. Really huge. Too damn huge to mess with at this point in time.


“Oh well, I see Tom…Mr. Flesher has found an executioner for Stephens. Well I guess I’ll see myself out like always.”



Peters with a massive grin speaks to the other figure in the room, “You show up at the perfect times. Storm should be starting in about an hour, I hope for another ground breaking show tonight.”


Cause to be frank that is all that man cares about.

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Landon Maddix, #1 Contender to the SWF World Championship, vs. Tracey "Big Bully" Bruner

~ As precipitated by the events on the House of Marvelous!

Standard rules.

Word limit: 5000


SUB-MAIN - With prizes for all!

Alan Clark © vs. Michael Stephens

~ Stephens won this shot by defeating Alan Clark last week. This makes Tom Flesher unhappy. Tom Flesher will rectify this situation.

Standard rules. Clark's title may be won in the normal fashion. If Clark wins, however, he'll receive a shot at SWF World Champion Gabriel Drake before Landon Maddix gets to him!

Word limit: 4500



The Cadillac Boys vs. Insane Luchador and Jimmy the Doom vs. Asia Underground

~ When do two guys who have faced each other more than Annie Eclectic and Xero end up as teammates? When they're hardcore! With the newly-returned Asia Underground on a winning streak and the Cadillac Boys coming off two tough singles losses, the hardcore heroes are set to play the spoiler!

One fall. First pin or submission wins.

Word limit: 5000



JJ Johnson vs. Zyon

~ Zyon took Matt Myers to the limit and took home the win in a hardcore match last week! Now, the plucky Unique Youth will take on the Silent Assassin, JJ Johnson, in Johnson's environ of choice - the pure wrestling match!

Pure rules. Three ropebreaks, closed fist costs you a ropebreak and then leads to a DQ, 20-count on the outside.

Word limit: 4000




Ricky Barbosa vs. Matt "Insert Gimmick Here" Myers (with James "Insert Adjunct Gimmick Here" Matheson) vs. Manson

~ Myers took a tough loss to Zyon. Barbosa took an entirely expected loss to Gabriel Drake. Now, one of these wrestlers will have the chance to bounce back, but they'll have to go through MANSON to get there! The winner is very likely to have the song Yakety Sax in his future.

No rules. First pin or submission wins.

Word limit: 4000


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The fans await the start of the show, when the lights dim…


Carry on, my wayward son,

There’ll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest,

Don’t you cry no more…


…and the opening riffs of “Carry On My Wayward Son” by Kansas resound within Key Arena. Two large blue flares erupt, making their way to the rafters from both sides of the stage, as Ricky Barbosa makes his appearance from behind the curtain and into the shinint spotlight.


“Ladies and Gentlemen," booms Funyon, "the following is a Hardcore Triple Threat, scheduled for one fall! First, hailing from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, he weighs in at one hundred and eighty pounds… RIIIICKY BAAAARRRRRBOSA!"


Barbosa takes a leisurely walk to the ring, and passing by the fans, he slaps hands with a few before arriving at the steps. The wide-eyed rookie heads up, the realization dawning on him that he's well past the point of no return. The slow, deliberate pace up the steps prepares him for the ring, the nervous jitters and anticipation both welling up within him.


""Welcome to the Key Arena in Seattle! Tonight on the card is a Pure Rules Match featuring JJ Johnson, a Texas Tornado Triple Threat, Clark facing off against Michael Stephens, and Clusterfuck 2007 Champion Landon Maddix versus Tracey Bruner, of all people, but first up is a Triple Threat of the Hardcore kind!"


"Why's he take so long to do this? If he wasn't ready for this he should've never stepped foot in the SWF."


"Don't tell me you never went through this during the first months of your career."


"I was a natural from the start, don't compare me to him. Regardless you don't have time for this when MANSON is all the more willing to take that bat to your head and free you from your mortal coil."


Quickly realizing that on the other side of the ropes, Barbosa calls over a valet. He sheds his hat and leather coat, handing it over and finally hops over, the supportive crowd cheering him on. The lights return to normal, when James Matheson walks out, with his client Matt Myers striding behind him to no lights, no pyro, no nothing. But something is awry.


"Where the hell are their embarrassing outfits?!"


Funyon stands dumbfounded for a moment, but continues on, as Myers continues on down to the ring, dressed in jeans, with wallet chain, of course, boots, and plainness all around, while Matheson comes down in a respectable business suit.


"And making his way to the ring, being accompanied by James 'James Matheson' Matheson, hailing from Honolulu, Hawaii, he weighs in at two hundred and twenty-one pounds… MATT 'MATT MYERS' MYERS!"


Myers slides into the ring, as Matheson takes his place ringside, and he and Barbosa await their opponent.


"I've just been handed a memo here… with all our, ahem, trouble… the reason for Myers' dress tonight is… budget cuts. For at least this one night, all non-essential Myers stuff has been phased out."


"Frankly, it just sounds like an excuse for laziness and/or a lack of creativity on behalf of whoever put this match together."


Myers and Barbosa spring to attention as the arena lights drop, cueing a guttural, distorted warbling and bringing the fans to their feet as tension in the arena builds.


"Here he comes, Mak, and I tell you, he must be sore about the result of that match versus the Underground, so Barbosa and Myers need to look out."


Then a final growl kicks "Scientific Remote Viewing" by Cephalic Carnage into full gear, as the lights flare up and flashing strobes begin to pulse. The entrance curtain parts and… no one walks out.


"So where's your boy, King."


"How should I know."


After several moments with no one coming out from the back, under the cover of darkness, several cloaked figures then emerge from among the fans and simultaneously crawl out from under the ring. Each armed with bats and large chains, they converge on and surround Myers and Barbosa, who stand back to back against them in the center of the ring.


"I think we have our answer, but which one of these shrouded figures is MANSON?"


"The biggest question is who these guys are and why now, was he really that ticked after last week?" questions Mak.


"There are mysteries as to what he was doing while away and this is the result, an army to fight for him at his convenience, every one of them followers to his doctrine."


"Or maybe he just paid off a bunch of guys from the smaller federations, but whatever the case, these don't look like Jimmy The Doom's passive servants."


Matheson frantically searches for weapons for his charge and temporary ally Barbosa to use, but it's all too late because, on one side of the ring, one of the figures raises his bat, giving the signal to head in. However, even that's a feint, as when the Wayward Son and Myers focus their attention on him, one solitary figure jumps out from the mass and strikes Myers on the back of the head. Myers goes down as if he was shot, and when Barbosa turns around, he catches the bat to the face, knocking him down, as well.


"That must be him!"


The lights finally come up and the figure brushes off his hood, revealing MANSON underneath! The crowd begins to boo as MANSON goes back on the attack, not allowing Ricky Barbosa and Matt Myers one moment to recover. He goes back and forth as the others fend off various personnel that attempt to come in and put a stop to MANSON's assault.


"He's going nuts here, how can you support someone like that? And using others to help, he's a coward."


"It's because he's willing to go this far that I support him."


"Whatever the case, he's completely destroying Ricky and Matt."


Finally satisfied, he sends his accomplices away, leaving just himself, his opponents and Referee Sexton Hardcastle in the ring. His bat covered in blood from the gashes across Myers and Barbosa's skulls, he points it at Hardcastle and tells him to start the match.




Sexton wastes no time in calling for the bell, as MANSON drops down over Myers with the pin.



















"Mak, this may be the shortest match in SWF history!"


"Can't you have a little heart for once? Barbosa especially had no reason to go through this."


"It's that type of coddling which is why he had to go through this, but hey, at least he didn't invoke the Power of MANSONOSITY, so it could've been much worse."


As "Scientific Remote Viewing" plays him out, the sea of agents, officials, security or otherwise part to each side, letting him pass and head to the back as blood drips off the crooked metal bat, leaving a trail of crimson in his wake, his intense eyes shining brightly and an evil sneer coming over his face as he does so.

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“What do you want?”


Exiting the SWF locker room, Zyon who is moments away from another tremendous showdown with the Canadian Murder Machine JJ Johnson runs smack into Benjamin Hardy and his camera crew posse.


“Well, Zyon I’ve been told to ask you a few questions.”


“A few questions? Who’s orders are you following?” The youth demands answers.


“Them.” Is all Hardy can put together.


And all the Unique Youth can do is chuckle in young Benjamin’s face as if he was an inferior being, “Them? Well let it be clear that I don’t care what they have to say, but I’ll grant you this request since I like ya.”




“Of course not. But ask away anyway.”


“Oh…ok.” Hardy looks to have been stabbed in the stomach by Zyon’s harsh remarks, “First, there has been heavy rumors that yourself and SWF CEO Joseph Peters have been in heavy talks and that you two have formed some sort of relationship.”


The youth is completely caught off guard by the question, “You know it would be a lot easier to talk about the rising tag division that now has what…four teams maybe. And what do you mean by relationship. Mr. Peters and myself are both full blooded straight males. C’mon Hardy we both know that question would be more suitable for someone who is say…Straight Edge.” Zyon takes a not so subtle shot at the number one contender for the International Title, “As for our conversations. Personally, that is between myself and the boss, who’s reign over the SWF could be on life support. Relationship?” Zyon scoffs at the idea, “There is nothing to report about that topic Benjamin, what do you have for me next.”


“Tonight you face a man you know quite well, the Canadian Murder Machine JJ Johnson in his specialty the Pure Rules Match. How do you feel about that?”


“How do I feel?” Well let me clarify this legend about JJ and the Pure Rules Match. He is no master of the match. Now if this were a ‘JJ is going to kill you by hitting you really hard with his elbow and then dropping you on your head with a Dragon Suplex’ match then yeah I would be screwed. But the Pure Rules is just another stipulation to me, Benjamin.” At this point Zyon’s face is shadowed by an annoyed expression; “I mean really as if pitting me against Matt Myers in a hardcore environment wasn’t enough, they put me against JJ Johnson of free TV. No wonder why this company is losing money. I mean this all so stupid, if I was running things…”


Both Hardy and Zyon stop in mid sentence as they are rudely interrupted by SWF Veteran Andrew Rickmen…better known as the Insane Luchador.


“And just who the hell are you.” Zyon asks quizzically.


“Kid, are you really that foolish?” Insane Luchador answers back.


“Oh man I was just fooling with you. So what brings you around these parts, I figured you would be too busy eating a rat or something, Hahahahahah.” Zyon chuckles at the otherwise unfunny joke.


“Well, you see I wouldn’t be able to enjoy such a fine dine since all I could hear is you nonstop crying about everything. So I figured I would insert myself into this little interview to ask you stop being such a little bitch, and start being the person who came into this fed and won the Hardcore Title.” IL shoots back at Zyon with his own piece of advice.


…Which he ignores, “Woah…woah? Talk about unneeded noise. I’m over here trying to raise the ratings and you’re over here giving me a lecture about character. And the funny thing is that it’s coming from someone who made a career out of the grotesque and gruesome. Trust me, I know who I am. But…who are you.” Zyon asks as he analyses a fellow competitor who he foolishly sees as inferior.


“Who am I? Who the hell am I?” Rickmen asks clutching his fist in fury, “I’m a man who has been through the most violent battles in the SWF. I’ve been everywhere and done everything, kid, I have seen just about it all. And unlike you kid, I’ve paid my dues.”


“Why do I have to put up with such nonsense? Aren’t you dead? Benjamin I must be losing it, I’m seeing ghosts. Look, I understand that zombies like you want camera time, and to do that you have to stand next to a guy like myself. Sure I haven’t been everywhere in the world, but I don’t have to. The world…it comes to me. And this same world want to see my perform, and while I’m sure you would like to go on about how you walked to school in thirty feet of snow with no socks on, but I’ve got a match to compete in.”


However, IL isn’t done, “Look I’m just trying to help you, but it’s obvious you don’t want help from a dead guy. A guy who has beaten the World Champion while all you are is a choke artist who thinks he’s better that what he really is.”


“You look here…”


“Actually, hold that thought. I have a match, kid, I’ll see you around,” he says with the signature psychotic grin on his face.


And with that Insane Luchador brushes past the fuming youth who takes a moment to compose himself.


“Eh it’s cool. I’ll see you later…”


Zyon calmly mutters as he strides past Benjamin Hardy who got a lot more from this interview that he thought he would, “Well back to you guys I guess.”


Fade out.

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“Johnson’s Going To Kill You!”


“Johnson’s Going To Kill You!”




SWF Storm returns to the JAM PACKED Key Arena with that familiar chant echoing through the rafters, “I don’t think I need to explain what match is next, but I don’t believe that is a suitable lead in for this next encounter.” Mak welcomes the home viewers back from commercial break.


“Why isn’t it?” The King of Hearts asks, “Seriously, JJ is coming off a hard fought World Title loss to Gabriel Drake. He failed, but more importantly he is pissed. That chant isn’t a segue or a work of fiction. It’s true, Zyon is going to die.”


“No offense King, but your opinion on the Unique Youth is that he should die every match. You would expect the kid to die in a ‘Loser Under Any Circumstances Can Not Die In This Match’ match. History has showed us that these two have had some of the best matches in SWF history. Battling over every title except the World Title, both Zyon and the Canadian Murder Machine have tried to kill each other with Avalanche Brainbusters and Dragon Suplexes. These two are competitors defined.” The Franchise builds the match up as the second coming of…well another Zyon/JJ Johnson encounter.


“That’s all nice, but Zyon is still going to die.” And the Suicide King doesn’t give a shit.


But one man who does give a shit (Well he’s paid to at least) is the fabulous Funyon; “The next match is schedule for one fall and will be held under PURE WRESTLING RULES!”




“Each competitor gets three rope breaks with a closed fist subtraction one before a DQ will be administered. After a wrestler uses three rope breaks, they are granted no more!!”








As if there was any surprise after the Smarktron lights up with that familiar phrase, “Vitamin” by Incubus blares over the Key Arena, which energizes the audience to no end. The mass of senseless noise continues to manifest into worshipping cheers as the young cruiserweight steps through the curtain, from the darkness of the backstage area to the spotlight of center stage, baby.


“Hailing from Elkhart, Indiana and weighing in tonight at 200 lbs even. The UNIQUE YOUTH, ZyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyON!!!!” Funyon shouts over the sold out Key Arena.


“Last week, Zyon battled Matt Myers in an emotional hardcore bout that seen the Cosplay Master step up in terms of heart. However, Zyon who isn’t necessarily a veteran as Insane Luchador pointed out during the kid’s interview with Benjamin Hardy, was able to pull the victory out due to Myers’ ignorance to having the upper hand.”


“Guess what Mak, Insane Luchador isn’t Matt Myers. And more importantly, JJ Johnson isn’t into that Cosplay shit. Sure, before he graced the squared circle he battled in an octagon, but that just proves that the Silent Assassin in a true badass. Once a badass always a badass. Zyon is going to get hurt tonight.”


Unable to hear the Suicide King’s comments due to the immense racket surrounding the arena, Zyon dances down the entrance ramp, slapping every fan’s hand…except for one particular middle aged male sporting an Insane Luchador T-shirt.”


“Fuck you!”


Did that just happen? Shocked by the vulgarity, Zyon ignores the rabid Andrew Rickmen supporter, despite the fact that his picture perfect smile is now a bit crooked. Sliding into the ring, Zyon ascends the turnbuckle, staring out into the sea of Kodak cameras before tossing his arms up in a symbolic gesture explaining that he thrives off the light. Light feeds off light afterall.


However, it’s that very same light that the darkness swallows.




The loud explosion of red and white pyro signals the opening of Behemoth’s “Slaves Shall Serve,” which probably frightens the young children in the audience. The fury that is within the two time Cold Front Classic Champion is what terrifies not just small children, but any organism he has come in contact with. And it all starts with the cold stare of doom that eradicates from the Silent Assassin’s vigilant eyes.


“And his opponent, hailing from Toronto, Ontario, Canada and weighs in tonight at a hefty 228 lbs. Mr. Cold Front Classic himself, J…J…JOHNSON!!!!”


As the frantic drumming and chord ripping assault continues in the background, Triple J continues to march in the foreground, stomping up the ring steps with extra enthusiasm than he usually musters during the prematch entrances. Then again, he always gets pumped when he gets another shot a breaking Zyon’s neck.


“Triple J is quite the athlete. He really is extraordinary when he is in kill mode. And tonight could be one of those nights where he batters his opponent until his brain is mush. For Zyon’s sake I hope he is prepared for the worst.”


“It’s hard to prepare for death, Mak.”


Entering the ring, Johnson ascends the second rope where he tosses his arms to the side, turning himself into a human crucifix for a moment before leaping back to the canvas, ready and willing to get the show on the road.


Zyon, the confident youngster faced his fears a long time ago when it came to dealing with the Canadian Murder Machine, but as he stretches in the corner he realizes that every second in the ring with the intense brawler could be a second off your life. Across the ring, in the opposite corner, Mr. Cold Front Classic has no reason to be scared of the lightweight, but he isn’t willing to underestimate high flyer. Knowing that any second in the match could be three seconds away from defeat. Neither man are sure what the outcome will be, except for the fact that there must be…


One winner


One loser


…And a bell from referee Ken Masters to settle the score.




“Here we go…again. JJ vs. Zyon version twenty-three.” King exaggerates the number of battles the two cruiserweights have had.


“Twenty-three or not, each time it has been magnificent. Tonight should be no different.”


Petting his lumberjack beard, the arrogant victor of the Cold Front Classic exits his corner, not nearly as enthusiastic as in previous encounters, but that doesn’t stop the Canadian from talking down the Unique Youth.


“We both know how this is going to end.”


Disregarding the comment as trash, Zyon attempts to shut his opponent up with a wild swing of his arm, which Johnson easily ducks before taking the youth down effortlessly with a double-legged tackle. Shoving away the Canadian Murder Machine who attempts to mount the high flyer, Zyon swims away from Johnson smacking him in the face with an errant kick. Shrugging the blow to the face off with little hesitation, Johnson chases after the youth, grabbing him around the waist with a reverse waistlock. Reaching for the ropes, Zyon is inches away from an area in the ring he can call safe, but he instead chooses to go with the flow, refusing to use one of his rope breaks so early in the competition.


“Normally, Zyon would grab the ropes with little to no thinking, but when it comes to Pure Rules, the ropes are a place for refuge even if it is for limited usage.” Mak explains the importance of the ropes in a Pure Rules encounter.


Mentally and physically transitioning to “Plan B,” Zyon locks his foot behind the Silent Assassin’s foot, and with a powerful shift of weight and momentum, the youth spins around Triple J with a standing switch. Grunting, Johnson could definitely rearrange the situation so that he is in the dominant position, but that would simply be no fun.






Instead, Mr. Cold Front Classic bashes the former Cruiserweight Champion with three straight elbows to the side of the skull. With his opponent’s grip affecting him with the pressure of zilch, Triple J charges at the opposite ropes, rebounding off with a lunging knee that clashes with the youth’s immaculate facial features. Staggering against the ropes, Zyon energetically shoots forward with a lunging knee of his own, but the Canadian Murder Machine has it scouted…


…Rolling under the knee attack, Triple J looks on as Zyon lands on his feet, and takes off for the ropes. Firing off the ropes at an intense speed, the former Hardcore Champion lunges at Johnson with a cross body! However, the incredibly strong cruiserweight snatches Zyon from sky, tossing him backwards nonchalantly with a fall away slam. Crashing against the canvas, Zyon clutches his back for a moment as the Silent Assassin continues to stalk his prey. Ascending to one knee, the Unique Youth catches the Canadian Murder Machine off guard with a swift kick to the sternum, which allows the spotty freak to perform a standing back flip modified so the youngster can smash his feet into the face of his doubled over opposition with a Flash Kick!


“How about that King? That Zyon is quite the street fighter. Get it? Street Fighter, huh, how about it.”


“Mak, that was pathetic. That’s like me saying that these two superstars are battling it out in Mortal Kombat.”


Gracefully, the dazed cruiserweight lands on his feet in time to see the angry Canadian back pedal while clutching his face. With nothing to lose, Zyon dashes forward in an attempt to catch the technically supreme Johnson off guard with a spear…


…And he tackles him to the canvas successfully, which in turn places the Pure Rules novice in dire straights!


“Check it out Mak, someone just screwed Zyon, and guess what? It was Zyon.”


“King, I can’t help, but agree with you. The Unique Youth rarely uses a spear and in doing so he exposed himself to a guillotine choke.”




The audience can recognize a star-crossed warrior when they see one. As one is destined for failure the other shall thrive to stay in the game, hoping for an important opening to appear, and end the game for the loser. Cheering for either Johnson’s radical submission counter or Zyon’s FIGHTING SPIRIT, the crowd explodes with enough noise to possibly harm the sound barrier. With his head trapped between the canvas and Johnson’s bulky arm, Zyon is unable to defend against the Canadian’s legs that wrap around his waist with Boa like strength. Functioning on all cylinders, Johnson squeezes with all his might, forcing Zyon to make a quick decision…


…But nobody said it was rational.




Referee Ken Masters shouts eliciting quite the reaction from the crowd. Johnson who must be suffering from hearing problems ignores the request as the referee begins his count.












“See that Mak, Triple J uses the rulebook against both his opponent and the commission. While many look at a five count as a warning, Johnson views it as five more seconds to punish the opposition.”


“Not only that King, but now Zyon is down to two rope breaks.”


Dragging Zyon away from the safety in the ropes, Johnson punishes a standing Zyon with a powerful elbow to the face! Retreating back into the turnbuckle, Zyon fights back with a weak kick to the leg that Johnson shrugs off before responding by blasting the air from the youngster’s lungs with a vengeful kick to the ribs! Latching on to Zyon’s wrist, Johnson pivots with his outside foot initiating his opponent in an Irish Whip attempt…


…But Zyon counters the previous Irish Whip with one of his own. Sprinting behind the Canadian Murder Machine with the understanding that he now owns the advantage, Zyon is sadly mistaken as Johnson leaps to the second rope, flipping up and over the awestruck Unique Youth.


“Dragon Flip.” Mak quickly calls before getting back to the action that hasn’t quite came to an end.


Overlooking the acrobatic stunt, Zyon continues to sprint forward up to the top rope with his back facing Johnson who has yet to regain his balance after tricking the cruiserweight. Pushing backward off the top rope, Zyon twirls in the air as he descends on to a wide-eyed Canadian who wasn’t quite prepared for his Dragon Flip to be disregarded as a stunt. The No Regard Corkscrew Body Attack is much more than a stunt. It’s a hope and a prayer, and boy does it send the crowd into a frenzy.







Dodging the highlight reel maneuver instills a sense of disaster in the atmosphere, an emotion that forces a smile to creep across the Silent Assassin’s face. Picking himself off the canvas, clutching his back, Zyon walks right into a brutal hug from the loveless JJ Johnson who extends upward, heaving Zyon over his head with an overhead belly to belly suplex! Complaining of the youth pulling his beard, the dick heel hurries over to the damaged goods known as Zyon, taking less than a moment to hoist him back to his feet. Reverting back to the Irish Whip strategy, Johnson whips the cruiserweight across the ring!


“What a change in strategy by the Canadian Murder Machine. It seems the usually aggressive Johnson is waiting for the youth to rebound off the ropes. I don’t know if that is very wise.” Mak wonders aloud.


Wise or not, Zyon rebounds off the ropes, and doesn’t respond with any signs of life due to the previous belly to belly suplex wounding him. Tripping the hurt former champion of two divisions, the Silent Assassin clutches one leg of his rival, bending back in a crippling angle, and ending the Maple Leaf combo submission by smashing his knee up against the youth’s skull.


“Well Mak, it seems Johnson’s new strategy worked out after all. He’s on top, and Zyon is on the bottom with a knee in his head. The only thing not wise after all that nonsense you spewed Mak, would be the fact that Zyon was dumb enough to step into the ring with Triple J.”




Grinding his teeth, Zyon initially passes through a phase where he realizes that tapping out would ease his pain, but the primary goal is now to reach the ropes, which just happen to be not too far away from the Unique Youth.


“Zyon is inching his way toward the ropes, but it seems the Canadian ring general planned for his enemy to reach the ropes.”


Falling into the Canadian’s plan, Zyon exerts a tremendous amount of energy to avoid the pressure of a single legged crab multiplied in the pain department by a sharp knee stabbing into his head, by scooting his body closer to the ropes before making a valiant reach for the bottom rope…






“Guess what Mak, that’s two down. One to go.”


Proving the fact that he is indeed changing his strategy, Johnson immediately releases the hold, and with haste brings Zyon back to his feet. Trapping the youth with a common front face lock, Johnson musters up enough strength to hoist Zyon high into the air…


…But not enough to stop him from flipping over, flailing to the canvas on the way down as he locks Johnson in a reverse face lock. Flexing his right arm, Zyon’s muscle tenses around the Canadian’s windpipe as the American begins to apply a standing Dragon Sleeper!! Close enough to the ropes to force a rope break; Johnson extends his leg out, seemingly submitting one of his rope breaks to the Unique Youth…


…That is until the flexible Pure Rules Master drops his body, kicking his leg over the top, and bashing the youth with a sharp foot to the skull. Wounded by the attack, Zyon sprawls backward on spaghetti legs as Johnson returns to his initial strategy that involved relentless aggressiveness. The man is ruthless ladies and gentlemen. Bull rushing the Unique Youth with a lariat, Triple J’s offense offends his actual skill as Zyon wrestles the Canadian to the canvas with an arm bar, transitioned to an arm scissors, and before Johnson can complain of a beard pull Zyon finishes the Gouki Crossface!!!!


“Guess what King, Johnson might tap out for the second time in his career tonight! Can you feel it????”


Neither Mak nor King can actually feel whatever “it” is, but Johnson sure can. Kicking his feet wildly, Triple J swims toward the ropes. With fatigue ravaging his bones, Johnson can’t counter the deadly submission with a simple shift of his weight. It’s eye for an eye now, and JJ understands this. Cranking back on his opponent’s neck, Zyon prays for a submission victory, but instead all he hears is…




…Which signifies that JJ was able to drape his foot over the bottom rope!!!!




“Hear that King? They know that Johnson is now down to only two rope breaks, which could easily change any second now.”


“But don’t forget Mak, Zyon only has one rope break remaining, and he just used his only viable submission. It has to be demeaning when your best chance of victory probably just slipped away.”


Both men scramble to their feet as the dazed Canadian searches for his adversary who is busy sprinting off the near ropes, side swiping the Silent Assassin with a spinning wheel kick that taps the jaw of his opponent! Popping off the canvas and back to his feet, mad as a disturbed hornet that was just spited by a spinning wheel kick, Johnson analyzes the ring and discovers the youth is smack dab in front of him.


“I’m going to kill you!”


Johnson roars as he steps forward into battle once more, and sticks to his word as he buries his knee deep into the youth’s sternum who was just regaining the momentum he lost along his first two rope breaks. Staring at his doubled over opponent, the former Ultimate Fighter reaches into his hidden past, indulging the youngster with another guillotine choke, complete with body scissors! Yet, there is a notable difference between this one and the last one…Zyon remains on his feet! With his rival’s weight forcing him backward, Zyon collapses due to the strength of gravity, descending to the canvas, and accidentally or intentionally draping Triple J’s throat across the second rope. Unleashing Zyon from the guillotine, Johnson rolls off to the canvas clutching his once injured throat, which leaves the window of opportunity open for the Unique Youth who reminds everyone that his opponent is indeed Canadian…


…By disabling his momentum with a quick and dirty Sharp Shooter!! Stunned that Zyon even knows how to do the move, Johnson doesn’t realize the trouble he is truly in until the cruiserweight sits back on the hold, damaging the Canadian’s body along with his Canadian pride.


“Woah, when did Zyon learn that?”


“Well, judging by how poorly it looks, I’d say three hours ago.” Mak is quite honest when it pertains to Zyon and his lack of submission knowledge.


Embarrassed by the proceedings, Johnson reaches out for the bottom rope to end this painful monstrosity…and he’s successful!!!


“Ok, Zyon HE’S IN THE ROPES!!”


“I can’t believe Johnson just used his rope break due to something so ugly.”


“King, wrestling moves aren’t always based on look. Sure Zyon’s version of Sharp Shooter should never appear on a highlight tape, but it was hurting the already wounded Johnson who desperately needed a way out. Zyon and JJ are down to one rope break a piece, and I’M LOVING IT!”


“Let’s go Zyon!”

“Let’s go JJ!”

“Let’s go Zyon!”

“Let’s go JJ!”

“Let’s go Zyon!”

“Let’s go JJ!”

“Let’s go Zyon!”

“Let’s go JJ!”


Again, both men rise to their feet as Zyon lunges at Johnson with a leaping hurricarana attempt, a staple of the cruiserweight division administered by what fans call the pride of the division. The Canadian Murder Machine signs his allegiance to nobody other than his off and on partner Manson, but the BLOOD in Blood and Thunder counters the hurricarana by hoisting Zyon back into the air!! Hovering in the atmosphere with the ropes in range, Zyon has to make an important decision…


…Or JJ will make it for him! When Zyon doesn’t clutch the top rope it all but seals the cruiserweight’s fate as he crinkles the youth up with a devastating power bomb!!! Folding Zyon’s legs over his shoulders, Johnson attempts the surefire pinfall victory.


















…Is it over???




“Zyon just folded over enough so that his shoulders would pop off the canvas, which sadly means for him, that JJ gets to punish him some more.”


Battered and beaten, Zyon doesn’t fight back as the arrogant Johnson forces him back to his feet, but the youth’s uprising doesn’t stop there. Leaping in an angular motion, Zyon explodes into Johnson, wrapping his arms around the Canadian Murder Machine’s head, and trying his damnest to kill him dead with the BIG SHOT!!!!!!!!! Logically if the youth can use the move one hundred different ways then there must be one hundred ways to counter the fatal finisher, which Johnson does as he instinctively holds on to the ropes, forcing Zyon to slingshot back first into the canvas!!!


“Beautiful counter to Zyon’s variation of the Diamond Cutter.” Mak can’t help, but admit.




Excuse me?


“Yeah!” Out of breath the Unique Youth screams at the ref as he attempts to stand up, “He used the ropes, I had him in a three-fourths headlock. Isn’t that a rope break!!!” Zyon complains to those who can hear him, which happens to include referee Ken Masters!


“Ha! Zyon is trying to convince the referee that Johnson just used his last rope break. Better yet he called what he was doing a three-fourths headlock.” The Suicide King scoffs at Zyon’s desperate attempt to conceal any sort of advantage.


Turning his back to the battle at hand, the authoritative referee has a few words with Funyon, opening the window of opportunity for both men. Listening to the conversation at hand, a smile creeps across Zyon’s elbow pounded face before Triple J wanders up to the politicking cruiserweight, and ABSOLUTELY THROTTLES HIS FACE WITH A CLOSED RIGHT FIST!!!!




“I’ve just been informed that Johnson has zero rope breaks left due to his counter of the Big Shot!” The Franchise informs the home viewers.


“And I’ve been informed Mak that if referee’s had eyes in the back of their heads, Johnson would be disqualified right now.”


Clutching his face, Zyon turns to the ref once more, but this time the aggressive nature of his opposition shines through as his face puckers due to the immense might involved in a blind-siding Yakuza Kick Yo Face! Collapsing to the canvas, Zyon is unable to guard against JJ, who finally mounts the youth, and immediately rains down elbows on the man with a single rope break left!!!








Realizing that throwing a punch at this stage in the game wouldn’t only be ineffective, but it would also decrease the amount of rope breaks he has to zero, the conflicted high flyer theorizes on what could happen if he allows this to continue…




…And then he remembers Janus’ sudden hiatus after their match with JJ Johnson.


“JJ that’s enough…HE’S IN THE ROPES!!!!”


Referee Ken Masters orders for the last time as Johnson rolls away from his rival. Uncharacteristically allowing the youth to recover, JJ waits for his rival to rise to his feet. Fuming as his face swells up from the elbows, Zyon is distracted for a moment by the fans who are still on his side…




…But see a dead man when they see one. Sighing, Zyon slowly faces his fear as he surprises everyone in the arena by charging the devilish Ultimate Fighter, latching on to JJ’s wrist with an Irish Whip that sends the Canadian Murder Machine crashing into the turnbuckle. Obviously, pissed by the proceedings and the crowd’s lack of faith, Zyon continues on the warpath, and with a primal yell lunges at the Silent Assassin…


…Who elbows the high flyer out of the sky! Hopping on to the second rope Johnson, grabs a hand full of Zyon’s hair, pulling him into a front face lock. Shoving off the second rope with his feet, the Silent Assassin twirls with Zyon intact as he attempts a tornado DDT, but Zyon remains on his feet, bringing Johnson down on to his!!! Wasting no time, Zyon unleashes loads of willpower along with a ton of FIGHTING SPIRIT to hoist JJ into a Northern Lights suplex attempts…


…THAT JJ COUNTERS by wrapping his legs around Zyon and dragging him to the canvas with a no escape guillotine choke!!!!!


“And that Mak is the fat lady singing. He’s got Zyon in a body scissors and the choke cinched in. He has no place to go.”


“King, I’m not willing to count Zyon out, but if I was him… the thought of tapping would cross my mind.”


“Well Mak, that’s because you are a pussy?”


“King, what did you just say?”


“And it seems you have difficulty in hearing as well.”


Applying more pressure than Zyon has FIGHTING SPIRIT, Triple J screams for the youth to tap out, but with nothing left to lose (other than consciousness) Zyon taps into an underrated part of his abilities…his brain. Spreading his legs wide to create a base, the scholar in the art of countering certain doom stands to a hunching position, which in turn pins Johnson’s shoulders to the canvas with he himself having NO PLACE TO GO!






The ropes are in reach…









…But that doesn’t matter when they are useless.















“JJ pops his shoulders up!!!!” Mak calls as the referee holds up two fingers!


Tightening the choke, Johnson who he himself is on the brink of agitation begins to rock away with no regard for ring positioning or Zyon’s life. With zero rope breaks and losing oxygen, Zyon finally understands what the crowd was talking about. He really is going to die.




…If only it was that easy. Easing in and out of consciousness, Zyon’s pride carries the youth into a territory where few have gone. To be more concise, where only one person has gone…




…Prepare to be proved wrong. Regaining the wide base from earlier, Zyon resorts to a similar trick as earlier, which irritates Johnson who will more than likely exert just enough energy to toss his shoulders off the canvas again.




The ropes are in reach…















…So Zyon grabs the middle rope nullifying Johnson’s infinite energy and the thrill to kill the opposition. Predator becomes prey philosophy.














Before Funyon or his theme music speaks to the Key Arena, Zyon darts out of the ring, leaving the murderous Ultimate Fighter confused, and more importantly the loser in this particular contest.


“The winner, the UNIQUE YOUTH ZYON!!!!”


Funyon hollers over the cheering and minor jeering as “Vitamin” by Incubus echoes through the arena.


“Did Zyon do what I think he did?”


“Your eyes don’t deceive you Mak. The squeaky clean Zyon just cheated to beat the superior competitor in JJ Johnson. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but that was brilliant work by Zyon. He used Johnson’s tendency to grind an opponent down with the same move against him. Now if it was the Buffalo Sleeper as opposed to the guillotine choke then Zyon would have been screwed, but the youth was able to persevere. Got to give credit where credit is due.




“Yep. See in these Pure Rules encounters, the focus is always on how many rope breaks a competitor has left, which can take away from some of the basics. And being the former dirtiest player in the SWF, I have no choice but to applaud Zyon. Sure, he didn’t have any rope breaks, but that doesn’t mean shit when you’re breaking the rules, and you know the golden rule Mak…”


“Yeah…” Mak says with a sigh, “It’s only cheating if you get caught.”


Smiling at the top of the ramp, knowing he survived the execution known as a Pure Rules encounter with JJ Johnson, Zyon ignores the Canadian Murder Machine’s scrunched face and a few choice fans disappointed look. Tonight it was him against the world and nine times out of ten the world is bound to win.


Johnson would have killed Zyon…


…But not tonight.







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“Well, here come the 6-1 Asia Underground,” Mak praises as “Self Esteem” by The Offspring hits the P.A.


“Yeah, maybe they’re technically 6-1, but honestly it feels more like 2-14. It seems like every other Tuesday these two are bickering over how the other one is the reason they suck,”


Akira and Cross don’t come alone though; Iron Mike has a chair in hand.


“Well, at least he’s smart enough to bring a little hardware to a hardcore match,” King says.


“Don’t forget, King, the last time Asia Underground was in a multi-team match, they won the titles in a match of the year candidate,”


“Yeah, that was one hell of a title reign…”


The fun guitars of The Offspring are soon cut off by the even-more-fun saxaphone that is Yakety Sax, and out come The Insane Luchador and hardcore champion Jimmy The Doom.


“I’ll tell you what HAS been one hell of a title reign, Jimmy The Doom is at something like 240 days now,”


“And his last defense, mind you, came against the man he teams with tonight. How’s that going to work out?”


“I think it’ll be fine,”





“Over My Head (Cable Car)” by the Fray hits the speakers, and a reaction similar to the one Asia Underground got last week roars it’s way all over the key arena, with Oat Toast posterboy Zach Malibu and Middle Ground Calvin Szechstein run through the gate and down the ramp.


“The caddilac boys!” Mak shouts, “These guys are my pick to win, I like how flashy Malibu made a martial arts style,”


“Alright, let’s just get this show on the road already,” King says.




Akira and Cross turn to each other right away, looking to capitalize on a game plan right away. Cross takes his partners arm and whips him into the ropes. Akira jumps up onto the second rope, and flips backwards in mid air, going for a lionsault, connecting with Zach Malibu, who seemed to be watching Akira!


“What the hell happened with Zach right there? He’s gotta get his head out of his ass!”


“I’d get off the mat first, and then get my head out of my ass, but that’s just me,” King jokes.


Kaibatsu gets up and raises his hand to the crowd, showing off his high flying skills against Malibu, which doesn’t go over to well with his partner, Calvin Szechstein. Fortunately for Akira, his partner is still wielding that steel folding chair and goes to town on Cadillac!




“Ooh! Cross sends Calvin Szechstein out of the ring with an enormous chair shot!”


Iron Mike doesn’t stop there though, he immediately turns to the idle-as-of-yet team of Jimmy The Doom and Insane Luchador. The Suicide Machine takes a big swing at Jimmy The Doom, but Doom ducks. What Jimmy doesn’t realize, however, is that his partner was standing behind him and was just struck with the chair!




Cross isn’t done just yet though. He takes another horizontal swing of the chair at Doom, but Jimmy won’t be struck with the steel. Cross then goes with a rather unconventional strategy, and tosses the chair into Dooms hands. Expecting to be kicked in the face immediately afterwards, Doom sweeps Cross’ feet after making the catch. This proves to be meaningless though, as Akira comes hurdling over his comrade and delivers a powerful Yakuza kick to the chair, and into Doom’s face!




“Asia Underground are the last team standing in the ring right now!” Mak says, as four fallen wrestlers catch their breaths on the outside of the ring, while Michael Cross and Akira Kaibatsu bask in the glory that has been the opening of this match.


Malibu and Szechstein try to quietly open up the ring apron and pull out some weapons, but it’s not so subtle, and Asia Underground see it coming a mile away. Both cruisers run to the ropes, bounce back and baseball slide through the bottom rope, off of the apron…but the Cadillac Boys swiftly dodge them, and Asia Underground thud to the floor!




“If Akira and Mike can find any positive in that, at least they’re finally starting to function as a unit,” Mak says.


“No. There’s no positive in falling on your ass. There can be a positive in being thrown on your ass, depending upon the thrower and the context of the throw, but falling on your ass has no positives,”


“This is a family program, King.”


“Nah, Alan Clark isn’t on for at least another 20 minutes,”


Malibu and Szechstein go to town on their fallen opponents, throwing them up against the guard rail, stomping them endlessly. Malibu takes charge, directing Cadillac to reach under the apron and pull out a weapon, which turns out to be a trash can lid. Malibu holds Asia Underground’s heads together, and Calvin winds up…




“Holy shit!” King shouts.


It’s not the crack of Akira’s skull we hear, nor the crack of Iron Mike’s forhead, but the cracking sound 6 light tubes make when they strike the crown of a head.


“Insane Luchador just saved Asia Underground by nailing Calvin Szechstein with Excalibur!”


“What the fuck is IL doing with a sword anyway? Where the hell do you buy a light tube sword? Are there sections of wal-mart I have not been in? And besides, why wouldn’t he just wait a few second for Cadillac to smash their brains in?”


Jimmy The Doom picks up where his partner left off and dropkicks Zach Malibu in the back of the head, sending him over the guard rail, leaving the hardcore duo alone with Asia Underground. Akira and Cross aren’t quite as nice as Doom and IL, and turn on the team that just saved their asses, both men running at them and taking them down with matching clotheslines. Akira picks up Doom and disposes of him, throwing him into the guard rail. Cross picks up a few pieces of shattered light tube, and shoves them into IL’s face, making him breath the dust inside the toxic light tube. Akira and Cross realize they don’t have much time, so they operate quickly, throwing IL into the ring, soon following. Akira lifts up the woozy Insane Luchador by the head, wrapping him in a cravate. He runs up the turnbuckle, and waits on top. Cross positions himself under the former hardcore champion, and Akira flips backwards, as Cross powerbombs him!

































“Asia Underground cannot be stopped…We also might want to get IL checked out after that light tube to the face…”


“It’s almost un-fair, Mak. We need to get them in a longer match,” King complains, as storm fades to the next segment,

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Insane Luchador horribly fatigued after the Texas Tornado Three Way remains in the ring, soaking in the standing ovation he receives due to his ambitious nature to please the fans while staying true to himself. He’s not the best technician or high flyer, and his offense may be a bit sloppy, but the Ill One isn’t afraid to spill his blood in the name of entertainment. Tonight was no different as the SWF veteran who has paid his dues salutes the crowd one last time and they respond in kind…




…Proving that Andrew Rickmen is their Psychotic Hero. Turning to exit the ring, the Insane Luchador is ignorant to the action behind him as the audience gasps in anticipation as a second figure joins him in the ring. Covering his face with under the shadow of a black hood, the mysterious civilian calmly struts over to the unaware veteran, non-chalantly tapping him on the shoulder.




Watching in awe as the Insane Luchador collapses to the canvas face first, the victim of an extraordinary Diamond Cutter, the audience begins to catch on to the shocking proceedings, as does Mak.


“What the hell. There is only one person who uses that style of Ace Crusher that is currently active in the SWF…and that’s…”


Peeling back the hood, the mysterious assailant reveals himself to be non other than the Unique Youth, Zyon!!! Ignoring the clattering of noise in the Key Arena, Zyon stares at his fallen adversary who was nothing more than a tired victim to the BIG SHOT! Casually stepping over the man he sneaked attacked; the Unique Youth exits the ring with a smug look creeping across his face.


“What is the point of this? I don’t understand why Zyon would do that?” Mak is at a loss for words.


Retreating up the ramp, Zyon begins to talk trash to the fallen warrior who just finished a previous battle with four other men, and at that moment the Suicide King of all people finds a solution in the chaos.


“Well, Zyon did say he would see Insane Luchador later. I guess later was much sooner that we all thought.”



Yeah, much sooner than Insane Luchador thought.




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“This is Ben Hardy here,” begins the SWF’s own backstage sleuth, “and I’m with the current SWF World Heavyweight Champion… Gabriel Drake who has requested this interview time to-”


“-That’s enough talking, Hardy, I can take it from here.” Drake interrupts his face impassive for the moment. His dark hair, highlighted with white streaks falls like a curtain over his eyes. “I’ve got a response to Maddix’s proclamation about staying focused on nothing but my title…”


Ben readjusts the microphone, raising up high enough for the six feet four inch Drake, whose imposing figure looms to his right. Surprisingly, the Beast has the World Title belt slung over his shoulder instead of where it normally lies around his waist.


“I bet you felt powerful, standing out there on the House of Marvelous. I bet you reveled in the opportunity to try and use your little power ploy on me. Payback for what I did to you before our Genesis match, right? Ah, the games we mortals play and you are mortal, Landon. You bleed just like everyone else—better in fact, if I do say so myself. I admit I was a bit… upset, by the fact that you interjected yourself into business that had absolutely nothing to fuckin’ do with you!” Gabe slows down his breathing and then shakes the hair out of his eyes. “…But like you said, it’s never been personal between us. You acted a bit recklessly and that’s why I had to stuff your face through a goddamn television monitor and drag your bloodied broken body to the ring.”


A ghost of a smile crosses Drake’s face…


“But you did a brave thing, Landon. You stepped to the plate for a friend and I commend you for that. Once upon a time I stepped to the plate for a friend and ended up in a Cage just like you did. And at Genesis, you were able to escape the Cage with your life just like me. A kamikaze dive from Landon Maddix through a Cage door gave me my first loss in the SWF!” The World Champ exclaims with a flourish, readjusting his belt for effort. “Oh yes, you did win Landon, but not without a price. A price exacted from each and every opponent who dares to step into a fuckin’ ring with me! Because I want everyone to know the pain I felt! The price I paid for trusting someone I thought was my friend…”


The Beast trails off, but only for a second before his rant continues. “I bet you see it already, but have just brushed it off. Those awkward pauses and suspicious glances during light conversations about you being a two time Clusterfuck winner. He’s the reason I’m not worried. Your friend, Mike, he doesn’t play well with others and he doesn’t take kindly to not being the focus of everything. There are no mind games here, Maddix, just the truth. Almost a year ago, you two were at each others throats and the only reason he tolerates you now is because he hasn’t figured out how to screw you over yet. You can bet he’ll have a plan to take your spot… if you’re even allowed to make it to From the Fire.”


Drake pauses, letting the words sink in as his tousled hair shields his face.


“This time it won’t be me you have to worry about. You saw it happen at the Clusterfuck right before your eyes, but I bet you don’t want to really believe it. So I’m just going to sit back, watch and wait until you let him stab you in the back. Just like he’s done to every other person he’s ever been associated with.”


Snatching the microphone away from Hardy, the World Champ shoves him out of the picture. Then, signaling to Gus that he wants a close up, Drake cold hazel eyes seemingly pierce through the camera. Chuckling lowly, Gabriel sweeps the hair from his face again.


“You got a plan for that, Landon?”


Gabe smiles cruelly into the camera as we:



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“Well, King,” Mak Francis’ voice is heard as the Seattle crowd gears up for one half of their main event for the evening, “we’ve seen a hardcore match, we’ve seen a pure match, and we’ve seen a tag match…now it is time for a TITLE MATCH!”


“And isn’t it just so lucky for us that it’s the same (bleep)ing thing we saw last week!?” The King Of Hearts’ sarcasm and censored language is duly noted by the millions watching in their homes around the world, but the thousands in attendance just have a few key words on their mind…





The Key Arena becomes brighter than the Electrical Light Parade as Boy Sets Fire erupts, no pun intended, throughout the entire building, almost being drowned out by the Northwestern fans…






“The crowd is on their feet and they know what’s coming next…”












Red pyrotechnics erupt from around the stage as Michael Stephens steps out into the limelight, his tag team championship glistening from a good pre-match polishing, his eyes scanning the arena crowd as Funyon begins his announcement…


“Ladies and Gentlemen…the following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL and is for the INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP!! Introducing first, making his way down the aisle…from Nottingham in the United Kingdom…representing THE GALACTICOS…”


…for better or for worse…


“…weighing in at two-hundred-and-eighteen pounds…he is…MICHAEL STEPHENS!!”


“And would you look at those eyes, King.” Francis’ tone is not as excited as usual, as he can see the glare the former World Champion is giving toward the cameras, knowing that somewhere in the building Alan Clark is looking on…


’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…’


“Well would you be in a good mood if you realized that you never deserved what was given to you? He’s having it all taken away, one week at a time, by Tom Flesher…and after last week you can bet Alan Clark has been hearing every non-Disney-like phrase in existence out of the mouth of the Superior One…” the King continues as Stephens finally hits ringside, slowly removing his jacket and t-shirt from off his shoulders and handing them away, taking a moment to look down at his waist - at the one championship he has left – before also pulling it off and handing it away as well.


“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….” Stephens, still standing next to the ring, quickly turns back toward the curtain, a scowl present on his usual grinning face as he awaits his opponent…


…for better or for worse…


The Walt Disney Company and the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation are proud to present…your International Champion…”


“Think of the presents you've brought

Any merry little thought

Think of Christmas, think of snow

Think of sleigh bells Here we go!

Like a reindeer in the sky

You can fly! You can fly!

You can fly! You can fly!”


“Oh no…”


“LOOK, KING!” Francis’ eyes the champion first, as pixie dust falls from the ceiling the crowd looks skyward, only to find Alan Clark himself flying down from the rafters high above!

“What in the (bleep)…” The Suicide King can be heard rummaging for his flask as Michael Stephens to looks to the ceiling as Walter Reynolds appears from backstage alone, making his way to the ring to join his business partner.


“And…introducing his opponent…flying down to the ring,” Funyon almost giggles, “representing Disneyland and being accompanied by Walter Reynolds…he weighs in at two-hundred-twenty-five pounds and is YOUR S-W-F INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION....the Happiest Guy On Earth…ALAAAAAAAN CLAAAAAAAARK!” Alan touches down just as Funyon finishes his announcement, the sounds of the Mellomen almost being drowned out by the Seattle’s SWF fans…




Alan releases himself from his harness as Michael Stephens enters the ring, referee Sexton Hardcastle keeping the two men away from each other as Alan brushes his green shirt and shorts free of pixie dust and hands his championship belt away, both men’s eyes fixating on it as Hardcastle raises it to the sky.


Ding Ding Ding!!!


“And here we go! Round Two!” Francis calls as Hardcastle hands the belt away and the bell sounds off, neither the referee nor the champion as prepared for the British bullet that comes barreling across the ring, his right arm swinging out and upward with sheer brute force, almost lifting Alan Clark back off his feet with a hard European uppercut! “And that can not make the neck of Clark feel any better!” Alan hits the ropes, a burst of dust flying from his shoulders as Stephens follows-up with a clothesline that knocks Alan heels over head and out of the ring to the floor!!




“No! No!” King, as usual, doesn’t seem to agree with the sold-out crowd, but as Alan tries to regain his bearings on the outside, Stephens is heading to the opposite side of the ring and hitting the ropes with a burst of speed…


“High Risk COMING UP!” Francis yells as Alan looks into the ring just as Stephens tries to go airborne, throwing his body to the right and out of the landing zone…




…but Stephens is still in the ring!


“CATALOG---NO!! MY GOD!” The crowd seemed ready for the patented poses of Michael Stephens, but the Sensation had other plans as he dives between the ropes and unceremoniously tackles Alan Clark down!








The familiar chants begin as Hardcastle looks on from in the ring, beginning his count as Stephens stands back to his feet and begins putting the boots to Alan’s head and neck, the tag team champion keeping his eyes on Walter Reynolds around the corner of the ring, who looks to want nothing to do to the angered former main eventer…


…for better or for worse…






Alan tries his best to shield his head, but for every second his hands are around his neck the boots of Stephens travel southward, keeping Clark pinned against the apron as he releases even more of his frustration…


“You have to wonder what is going through Michael Stephens head, King…” Francis remarks as Hardcastle continues to count, “Is he looking at Alan Clark on the floor there? Is he looking at Janus? Is he looking at Tom Flesher? Is he looking…is he looking at Landon Maddix?”




“I don’t care if he’s looking at Ted Flink, he can’t win the match outside the ring. I’m really hoping he can’t win it in the ring either, but Alan Clark isn’t the most consistent performer…must be where that goofy Barbosa gets it from…” mutters the King as Stephens finally has had enough of walking all over the International champion and leans down, pulling Clark up to his feet and giving the camera a view of the Happiest Guy On Earth, a small trickle of blood beginning to drip down the Disney-sponsored superstar’s face as Stephens throws Alan into the ring before Hardcastle’s count can get any higher.


“Did you see that, the boots of Michael Stephens have busted open Alan Clark!”


“…looks like a papercut.” The Suicide King might have a point, but as Alan tries to get back to his feet in the ring he is met by another hard kick from Stephens, the rubber from the bottom of his right boot scraping even more skin away from Clark’s forehead and bringing more crimson to the surface.








The crowd continues to show their support as Stephens backs away from his opponent, but only at the insistence of Sexton Hardcastle who bends down to check on the condition of the champion…


…but his hand is batted away!


…for better or for worse…


Hardcastle recoils and throws a verbal warning out to Clark as the Happiest Guy On Earth rolls his body around and gets to his knees, his left hand moving behind his head and pulling his ponytail out of it’s restraints and giving Stephens an eyeful of his opponent’s slightly bloody face…







“What a vicious smack to Alan Clark!” the sound reverberates as Michael Stephens shows his opponent exactly what he thinks of his cheerful demeanor, only for Alan’s right hand to simply reach up to the top rope and begin to pull his body back up, his eyes staring straight into those of the former World Champion’s...


“You’re worthless, Mike!” Alan’s voice can be heard in the ringside camera, “you deserve this.” The taunting seems to get underneath the Sensation’s skin, as the feisty Briton snaps his arm back and whips it around, the corner of his elbow cracking off of Clark’s jaw and violently snapping his head into his shoulder. “These fans don’t carry about Michael Stephens anymore…” Alan’s head comes back, and his smile is still very present. “It’s all about Landon Maddix now…”








“UNFINISHED BUSINESS!” cries the Franchise as Alan takes a hard kick to the gut, doubling him over and putting him in prime position to be driven straight down into the canvas by the elbow of Stephens; planting his face and no doubt drawing even more blood. A small stain can be seen as Alan rolls to his back, only to suddenly find himself pinned down to the mat…










“I don’t think so, Michael…” Alan can be heard still speaking, his own private monologue to Stephens going out over the camera’s microphone and to everyone watching. The fans in the arena can only see the International Champion’s mouth move as he rolls to his knees and lunges for the barely-standing Stephens, catching him around the waist and dragging him down to the canvas.


“This isn’t some talk show. He needs to keep focused or Stephens is just going to beat him again! And you know Tom Flesher—“


“I think ‘focus’ is the key word, the focus of Stephens can’t be all on Alan Clark right now, maybe on his words, but the more Alan talks, the more it seems to be affecting Mike. Alan was never one to turn down some mind games…” Francis does indeed speak the truth as Alan continues to jaw-jack as he holds Michael down, not exactly pinning him to the mat, but holding him in a waistlock nonetheless, squeezing with as much force as he can as he works his lips up towards the ear of Stephens, but there are not sweet-nothings being exchanged as Stephens lays in to Clark’s body with a barrage of forearms and elbows...



…but Clark holds steady, squeezing into Stephens ribs and continuing to talk, the eyes of Stephens almost bugging out of his head, not from pain, but from the words coming from his opponent’s mouth. Whether it’s an annoying or sadly sobering one-sided conversation is anyone’s guess, as Michael keeps his lips sealed except to call for Hardcastle to break the hold as his left hand wraps around the bottom rope…











“Four World Championships, Stephens! FOUR!” Alan can be heard yelling at his challenger as he finally lets go of his hold, standing back up with the smile still plastered to his face as Michael sucks back some wind, re-filling his lungs as Clark backs away, only at Hardcastle’s insistence, “Get used it, people! It’s never going to be any higher!” his shout is aimed at the crowd, which seems to be split in a massive attack of boos and jeers and two very familiar chants…










“You know, King, I can’t even tell if this was Alan Clark’s own idea or if someone like Tom Flesher got into his ear before this match. We heard talk that a win here for Clark might get him a shot at Gabriel Drake before From The Fire, and you know that can not sit well with his opponent in that ring tonight!”


“How dare you even THINK that Flesher would involve himself with that fool! You think he’d look for Alan Clark, that dumb Disney freak, to stop Michael Stephens when he has guys in the back like Janus sipping coffee? He could have put Stephens against Wild & Dangerous! They want the one belt that limey has left and they would have jumped at a chance to rip him apart without the NEW face of the company around.” It is hard to tell whether or not the Suicide King was being sarcastic, but no-one has time to think as Stephens is able to get back to his feet and Hardcastle moves away…






…and Michael Stephens is caught almost immediately by a devastating kick from Clark, the International champion picking his perfect opportunity to strike and put his opponent back down on the mat. Before Stephens can get up, and before Sexton Hardcastle can even react, Alan too drops down to his knees, grabbing a clump of Michael’s hair and pushing his face down into the canvas all the while thrashing it back and forth.. As the ringside camera moves in, Alan seems to welcome its presence, using the moment to yell down into Stephens’ ears, and out into the world, once again.


“Now you know what it feels like to see someone else on TOP! THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE!” and with a grunt, Alan pulls Stephens up by the hair and then pushes down hard, slamming the face of the former world champion into the mat before standing up and walking away, leaving the camera to zoom in on the pain in Michael’s eyes as Hardcastle tries to rationalize with Clark on the other side of the ring.


“If Alan Clark is not careful he might have a very serious problem on his hands. Michael Stephens has not been the most even-keeled, lately…”


“Even-keeled? Thanks to Tom Flesher the Toxxic Boat is sinking and I, for one, am thankful!” The Suicide King’s cheers of joy are overshadowed by the Key Arena crowd, however, as their voices chime out in unison and grow louder and louder with each passing second as Michael Stephens begins to pull himself back up to his feet in the corner.








Alan Clark can do little but simply smile to the fans, the simple facial expression doing more to egg them on than any slap to the face or enziguri ever could. Wait…enziguri?


“WRECK OF THE MISS TILLY!” The Franchise lets the world know what is already apparent, as Alan Clark cartwheels through the ring (more out of annoyance than showmanship) and leaps into the air, almost decapitating his opponent who could not slip away in time….






“Stephens does NOT go down!” The kick shakes around the skull of the Sensation, but as Alan falls to the mat he is left prone for Michael Stephens to lean down and pull the arms behind Alan’s back, looking to do this week exactly what he did last week…


…for better or for worse…


“RTF! RTF!” The crowd explodes in cheers once again as Alan throws his weight backwards with as much force as can, sandwiching Stephens in the corner and breaking the hold before it can be fully locked on… “No! Alan was able to escape! And this crowd is not happy!”






“CUTTING IN LINE!” This time it is the Suicide King who yells as Alan’s freed arms move up and around the neck of the stunned Michael Stephens, dragging him out and down into the canvas with his signature neckbreaker! “This is it! This is it!”












“Stephens kicks out! Stephens kicked out and…and…” Francis is at a lose for words as Alan stands, holding two of his fingers out and over the face of his opponent, as if to show him just how close his was to defeat. “…and Alan is letting Michael Stephens know exactly how close that was!”


“Come on, Clark! Stop with the games!” chastises the King as Alan pulls Stephens up by the hair against the wishes of the referee, and probably against the wishes of Mike himself, before wrapping his hand around his wrist and whipping him across the ring. As the two men separate Alan also falls back into the opposite ropes, giving both men a head of steam as they race to collide in the center of the ring…














“Alan Clark saw it coming and tried to jump up and out of the way, only for Stephens to change his plan and get a little extra height, catching the champ square in the kneecaps and sending him down face-first into the canvas beloWii!” The replay shows the fall, as Alan’s body flails and flips forward from the lower-body shot, planting him at a near forty-five-degree angle in the ring. Stephens is up to his feet in a flash, the adrenaline pumping as he wastes no time in lifting Alan back up to his feet, giving the back of his head a jolly good elbow before turning him around looking him straight in the eyes…





“Ew, did you hear that….”


“What a headbutt there by Stephens! CRACK! And ANOTHER!” The blood from Alan’s forehead flows much more easily now, but Stephens seems prepared, as he turns toward the sold-out crowd and yells out one simple question…


“Can I have someone’s shirt?!”


“My god! This is a family show! TV-G! Remember!” The Suicide King almost faints as a small wave of shirts, male and female alike, come flying in from the hard camera side of the arena, and with his right hand still gripping the back of Alan’s hair he drags him to the side of the ring and pulls a shirt off the mat, using it to wipe away the blood on Alan’s face before tossing it into the corner.


“I don’t think so, bloody boy.” Stephens finally starts to talk back to Clark, who still does not completely have his wits about him (although does he ever?) before turning him back around and wrapping his arms around Alan’s neck, quickly pulling down and falling into a seated position, jarring the spine of the International Champion with a perfectly executed hangman’s neckbreaker.


“Michael Stephens knows what that blood can be used for, and he wasn’t about to become a victim of that…that disgusting and blinding spray we have seen used on everyone from Todd Royal to Thugg to Akira Kaibatsu over the years…but now look at this!” Francis’ call comes as Stephens leaves Alan propped up and rolls his body around, swiftly wrapping his legs through Alan’s arms and locking them around his neck, effectively chaining the sponsored superstar to the mat with a modified full nelson!


“What the hell is up with that!? You’d never see Tom Flesher doing something that silly!


“Stephens is not Tom Flesher, King…”


“You’ve got that right…”


“But he has been working the shoulders and the neck every chance he’s gotten for the past two weeks, and this has to be sending a burning all through Alan’s body right now!” The crowd stays behind their hero as he fights to keep Alan subdued, but as he reaches to grab at Clark’s hands and put even more pressure into the hold he finds the arms flailing forward, almost as if he is trying to grab the ropes that are still a few feet from his fingertips. “And I don’t think the ropes are going to get any closer from that position!” Francis continues, but even with Hardcastle standing over his shoulder and asking for submission Alan fights, not wanting to give up two weeks in a row and hand over the championship belt he has carried with him for the past two months.


“GRAAAAAAAAAAAH!” The ring-side camera shows Alan’s once-more bleeding face as he lets out a primal grunt, heaving his body forward as he twists and torques his own body, pulling the two hundred pounds of Michael Stephens with him as he works to get his legs back underneath his upper-body…


“Michael Stephens is trying to hold on, but outside of his own body weight there is nothing holding Alan Clark down!”


“…maybe his talent…” adds the King as Alan manages to pull himself up to his knees and push all of his body up, slowly but surely lifting himself to his feet as Michael Stephens hangs on for dear life, his legs still locked in the full nelson as he finds himself upside down, his eyes growing wider by the second as he realizes the predicament he has gotten himself into.


…for better or for worse…


“Look at that! Look at that! Alan Clark is up and now Michael Stephens is the one that is TRAPPED!!” The crowd drops to silence as they wait to see what exactly can be done, with Clark hunched over, shifting the weight off his shoulders and to his lower back as Hardcastle watches on, unsure of how to proceed as neither man has touched the ropes to call for a break in the hold.


With the pain somewhat eleviated, Alan throws his body into a bit of a spin, sending Stephens arms flailing outward from the g-forces at play, only to just as quickly slow himself up and throw himself backwards, once again sandwiching his opponent between his own body and the turnbuckles, only this time Michael catches the bottom turnbuckle upside-down and face-first.




“I don’t know whether to call that A Whole New Whirl or what, but I can definitely say it’s an effective way to get someone off your back…” remarks the Franchise as the crowd’s amplitude ramps back up almost immediately, with Alan keeping all of his weight on Stephens’ trapped body until he frees his arms. Hardcastle tries calling for a break until finally Clark simply steps away from the corner, dropping Stephens down to the mat and almost straight onto the top of his head.


“No kidding, I wish I could do that to you sometimes…” The Suicide King seems to forget the non-working nature of his partner’s legs as Alan leans down to lift Stephens back up, only to notice the bloody shirt that had been tossed into the corner moments ago. In a cartoon world, one might be able to see a lightbulb pop on over Alan’s head as he turns toward his bodyguard on the outside of the ring…


“WALTER! WALTER!” Alan motions to his bodyguard, who looks to have no idea what is going on, but the first step he makes toward the action he is intercepted by Hardcastle, who leans his body outside of the ropes and points for Reynolds to back away, giving Alan the few precious seconds he needed to take the shirt in one hand and Stephens head in the other, lifting him up to his feet and making sure the former world champion gets a good look at what his future is about to be…


…for better or for worse…


“Oh no! I’m gonna be sick…”


“Alan Clark is going to rub that bloody shirt right in Michael Stephens’ face!” Francis calls, but as Hardcastle turns back toward the ring Alan lunges, only for the arm of Michael Stephens to knock the shirt away…


…and follow with a hard uppercut!








“STEPHENSKICK!” the gunshot-like sound echoes through the arena as Alan catches the right boot of Michael Stephens square in the jaw, the kick sending him spinning as the Sensation follows up, not even letting Clark hit the ground before he wraps his right arm around his neck in a ¾ facelock and aims himself toward the corner…looking to put the ka-bosh on both Tom Flesher’s plans and Alan Clark’s championship reign…




“NO!!” The Suicide King happily adds as Alan, still somewhat dazed, gets his hands up and shoves forward…pushing Stephens straight for the turnbuckle. “Yes! Great counter!”


“Stephens hit the brakes!” this time the Franchise jumps in, only for Stephens turn back around and into the line of fire…






“NOOOO!! Stephens ducked out of the way! He knew it was coming!” Stephens is able to barely avoid the possibly Clark-disqualifying mist, but his ducking and dodging spins him back around in the corner, his attention diverted long enough for Alan to grab Mike’s arms from behind and pull him out into the center of the ring… “RTF! ALAN CLARK WITH THE RTF!” But instead of simply dropping down and using his legs as a vice, Alan throws his right leg in front of Stephens and sweeps backwards, tripping his opponent up and slamming him down chest-first into the mat! “Stephens is down now, but Clark still has that double chickenwing applied!”


“You can’t pin a man who’s on his stomach, Mak!” The Suicide King’s quote is the truth, but as the sold-out crowd watches on, Alan locks his hands and straddles the back of Stephens, only to throw himself forward in a somersault, landing on his feet with his back arched, sending everyone watching into a total frenzy…


“BITTERSWEET!” Francis yells out the name of the move he made famous, a move that is currently being employed by a guy wearing all green and bleeding from the forehead, “Alan Clark once called that the Panic Attack, and that is exactly what every Michael Stephens fan is experiencing right now!”


“(Bleep) the fans, Francis! Stephens is trapped!”


…and if a camera could get in close enough to the action they would hear Alan Clark speaking once again to Michael Stephens as he holds him down in the center of the ring…


”I’ve beaten Silent…”


“He’s got nowhere to go!”


“I’ve beaten Thugg…”


“Hardcastle is checking for a submission!”


“…I’ve beaten Landon Maddix…”


“He’s gonna tap! He’s got too!”


”…I’ve beaten YOU…”



Ding Ding Ding!!


…for better or for worse…


“Ladies and Gentlemen…” Funyon’s voice can be heard over the silenced crowd as Alan Clark releases the hold and rolls toward the outside of the ring, “the winner of this match by SUBMISSION and STILL S-W-F INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION… ALAAAAAN CLAAAAARK!!”




“He’s done it, my god, King, he’s done it!!” Mak Francis’s voice echoes out through the arena as the crowd’s volume rises once again, Walter reaching Alan on the ramp with the title, pixie dust falling and “You Can Fly!” playing, as the two men head for the back and leave Michael Stephens alone in the ring, no doubt wondering exactly what this means for his future in the SWF…


…for better or for worse…

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"And it is main event time, here on SWF Storm!" enthuses Mak Francis in typical pre-main event hype mode, a mode which Suicide King doesn't seem to have entered just yet. "We've had a great show so far and we're set to cap it off with the number one contender in action, but first, we want to take this chance to remind you that Pepsi Max is available wherever drinks are sold. Pepsi Max, Maximum Taste, No Sugar. King, your thoughts on the main event?"




King just looks stunned.




"I'm sorry, I'm just taken aback by your spectacular display of selling out."


"King, those Pepsi Max cans you've been ploughing through all night don't pay for themselves you know."


"They do as far as my wallet is concerned." King astutely points out. "But that's besides the point. Besides your shameless shilling of soft drinks, I'm also taken aback by your shameless promotion of the main event tonight, like it's some sort of potentially company altering moment. It's Landon stinking Maddix taking on Sir Marvelous' imposing but untested bodyguard. A little perspective Mak, please."


"Way to sell the show King. I'll admit, with an International Title Match under our belts, it is an interesting choice for a main event. But, if you've got a problem with it, you'll have to take it up with Tom."


"Trust me, that'll be the main topic of conversation before our weekly badminton game."


"You do that." shrugs Mak, not a fan of badminton. Well, not recently, obviously.



Anyway, meanwhile, "Call the Ambulance" by Busta Rhymes has hit and the ratings have spiked. Or, so Sir Marvelous would have you believe, the suited host of The House Of Marvelous limping through the curtains and leading the way to the ring. Behind him, the also suited Tracey Bruner follows, the day-to-day bodyguard not deviating from his usual attire for his wrestling debut. Bruner marches behind Marvelous, head down and growling under his fedora and shades.


"The following contest is scheduled for one fall!" announces Funyon. "On the way to the ring, being accompanied by Sir MMAAAAARRRvelous! Hailing from the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn, New York... weighing four hundred, fifty five pounds... making his SWF in-ring debut, TTRRRRAAAACCEEEEYYY "BIG BULLY" BBRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUNNEEEEEERRRRRR!!!"




"Four fifty five?" gasps Mak. "Yikes!"


"'Yikes' doesn't even remotely cover it Mak. This guy is built like a brick shithouse, if you'll pardon my French, in his line of work you have to be. Of course, in his line of work, he deals with all sorts of people, not just scrawny punks like Maddix."


Bruner climbs the steps and into the ring, not having to deal with velvet ropes and red carpets and such tonight. Instead, Marvelous takes up a position in his bodyguard's corner, while the bigman hands his jacket and fedora out of the ring. The sunglasses, however, remain.


"Most guys get the honour of facing Ced or Martin Big Country Hunt for their debuts, but Bruner's got one hell of a bigger test awaiting him..."






The crowd go wild as the lights dim, alternating between complete blackout and really frikkin' bright as "Personal Jesus" by Marilyn Manson hits. The always quick to adapt SWF fanbase already know what this means, not needing functioning lights to tell it's Landon Maddix emerging through the curtains! The lights return back to normal as Landon thrusting his hands to the side and soaks up the cheers of the crowd, Megan simply standing and pointing like a good little girl (OMGSECKSISM~!).


"And, introducing his opponent! Accompanied to the ring by MEGAN SKYE! From Huron, South Dakota by way of Madrid, Spain... weighing in at two hundred, eight pounds... he is the number ONE contender to the SWF World Heavyweight Championship and the ONLY two-time Clusterfuck Champion in SWF history... LANDON "LA CUCARACHA" MMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAADDIIIIIIXXXXXXXX!!!!"




Grinning from ear to ear in spite of the giant badass waiting in the ring for him, Landon notes the veritable sea of 'FANCY A CLUSTERFUCK' shirts being worn in the crowd. One particular female fan gets a peck on the cheek from La Cucaracha for buying his merchandise, before Landon runs the steps and spins enthusiastically into the ring!


"Despite your misgivings King, Landon is the number one contender and everybody's been buzzing about his appearance on The House Of Marvelous last week, when he trashed Marvelous' couch with flat Pepsi Max..."


Right on cue, Mak holds his (non-flat) can of Pepsi Max to camera with his best selling smile.


"...which didn't go down too well with Marvelous. He demanded Landon pay for his insolence tonight and 'volunteered' Mister Bruner to take care of matters personally, now that his wrestling contract has been apparantly fast-tracked through."


"What are you implying!?"




"Well, keep it that way! Tom Flesher is nothing but on the level and anyone who claims otherwise doesn't have a clue what they're talking about!"


"I wasn't referring to Tom." Mak insists, leaving King to draw his own conclusions about just who he was.


Landon removes his ring jacket, with a cautious half-eye on Bruner at all times. The bigman remains stoic and with the sunglasses over his eyes it's hard to read too much of an expression. Besides, of course, the 'I'm gonna kill you' scowl.


Which is apparantly too subtle for Landon, as he fluffs his hair and happily skips into the centre of the ring.





A little duking and jiving from Landon on the bell doesn't worry Bruner in the slightest and he moves towards the number one contender determinedly, grabbing at La Cucaracha. Landon evades Mister Bruner's grasp first time around... and the second time, pointing to his temple to show he has the brains. But when Bruner comes barelling forward a third time ducking isn't an option, so Maddix scampers backwards, ducking his head through the ropes and calling for a timeout!




"And the people CHEER!?" King despairs.


"Well, each to their own."


Megan climbs to the apron to talk some more strategy with Landon, which doesn't go down well with Sir Marvelous, the Atlanta native chastising referee Sexton Hardcastle for keeping his man from attacking. Strategy session over, Landon gives Megan the thumbs up and jigs back into the ring, squaring up with Bruner. Despite a full foot difference in size Maddix doesn't seem too worried as he encourages Bruner to take the first shot. Like he needs encouraging...




...but Landon AGAIN ducks underneath, Bruner spinning around to be met with a forearm! A second! A third! Of course, he stays on his feet, but Landon senses progress and rushes into the ropes, soaring at Bruner with a flying variant...



...and literally BOUNCES off of Bruner!!




"Man, Bruner did not move an inch!" gasps Mak.


Landon's expression changes in a second, suddenly not so cocksure of himself as Bruner stands tall over him. Quickly Landon scuttles into a corner and ducks out in need of another timeout. This time Bruner is urged forward by Sir Marvelous though and Landon has to think quickly as he finds himself trapped in the corner. He jinks left, jinks right, then jinks left again as he tries to escape the corner. However, it's a l o n g way around Bruner. And he runs right into an arm, Bruner checking him back into the corner and landing a BIG haymaker! Another right hand lands, Maddix dropping to his knees and covering up.


"This might not last long," predicts King, "although hopefully Bruner will start enjoying himself and drag it out a little."


Still swinging Bruner ignores the reprimands of referee Hardcastle telling him to get out of the corner. He proves somewhat of a distraction though, allowing Landon time to crawl through the legs and escape out of the corner. Bruner just misses him on the way through, but turns around just in time to catch Maddix the second time, lifting him up by the throat and tossing him BACK into the turnbuckles!


"Landon, pitched through the air like something out of The Fresh Prince Of Bel Air!"


"There's some of Tracey's bouncer background." notes King. "If your name's not on the list, you're not coming in!"


Slumped in the corner, Landon gets crushed with a knee. Another overhand right then finds the mark, before Bruner grabs Maddix by the wrist, whipping him across the ring into the opposite corner. As Landon settles Mister Bruner then charges, looking to crush him in the corner with an Avalanche...




...but there's NOBODY HOME and Bruner runs himself sternum first into the turnbuckles!!




"Running attack, not quite so successful however."


As Bruner staggers away from the corner, Landon is waiting on him, springing up with a Dropsault! Bruner staggers some more, not enough to put him down though. Perservering, Maddix springs up with a second Dropsault, this time causing the winded Big Bully to take a step backwards. Third time is the charm for La Cucaracha as he runs the length of the ring and lands a third dropkick, momentum carrying Mister Bruner out through the ropes, bumping off the apron on his way to the floor!


"And down goes the bigman!" cheers Mak, despite the fact Bruner lands on his feet.


"Big it took three shots to force him out!" King counters. "Three shots that'd put any normal competitor down alone, might I add."


"But Landon isn't done yet!" Mak suddenly erupts...








"Topé Especial! More of a tackle than a dive, through the bottom and middle rather than the traditional route, giving Bruner no chance to catch him on the way down!"


Bruner ends up slumped against the barricade as Landon drags himself up, whipping the crowd into a frenzy.


"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"


Yeah, like that.


Grabbing Bruner around the side of the head, Maddix tries to lead his opponent back towards the ring. Moving a four hundred fifty five pounder against his will isn't an easy task for any man though so Landon gives up and instead climbs to the apron. Waiting on Bruner, Landon comes running down the apron and soars...CAUGHT! Bruner catches Maddix in his arms like he was nothing, holding him in a Bearhug for a few seconds before running him into the nearest ringpost!






The air rushes out of Landon, compounding the pain in his ribs. And for good measure he's still held in the Bearhug, only released to be dumped back into the ring by Bruner.


"You can't fault Landon for trying to employ a hit and move strategy against Mister Bruner. But, the problem is, Bruner has spent his life dealing with, shall we say, 'slippery customers'. And if he catches you, woah boy are you gonna know about it!"


"No finesse, all impact! Maybe that's why I'm enjoying this so much."


"That and the fact he's exhibiting it against Landon Maddix, right?"


"I've become predictable."


Bruner clambers back into the ring, Sir Marvelous telling him to forget about pinfall for now and instead 'make him suffer'! So Bruner drags Landon back to his feet and indeed makes him suffer, whipping him into a corner and this time ENGULFING La Cucaracha with an Avalanche! The wind rushes out of the crowd in shock, nothing compared to the effects on Landon's lungs however. Landon curls up in the corner, only to be pulled out into a short clothesline from Bruner! And a cover this time follows...



















Sitting Landon back up, Bruner places one hand on the top of the head, cupping the chin and WRENCHING Landon's neck to the side like a ringpull on a Pepsi Max (sure, it's an awkward bit of imagery, but great advertising!), the gruesome sight prompting Megan to watch from behind her hands.


"Ah, the timeless Neck Vice." sighs King nostalgically.


"If you're gonna steal from Zeus, you might as well steal that I guess."


As Bruner wrenches away on the neck, Sir Marvelous puts his days as a road agent to good use though and astutely points out to his bodyguard that he should be staying on the ribs. So Bruner releases the neck and drops a knee into the spine, Maddix rolling away groaning in pain. He doesn't get far before Mister Bruner catches up with him, squashing La Cucaracha under his foot a couple of times. If that didn't manage to kill the cockroach however, maybe the four hundred, fifty five pound elbow drop that follows does! Or, at least cracks a few ribs, judging by Landon's reaction!


"Somewhere, Gabriel Drake is watching on and I'm sure he's smiling right now."


"He's not the only one." notes King.


Gripping onto the bottom rope in hopes of some sort of a reprieve, Landon is left disappointed as Bruner just pulls him away into the centre of the ring. Bruner then pulls the number one contender to his feet, scooping him back into his arms with another Bearhug!




This time Bruner really puts the squeeze on La Cucaracha, looking for a submission out of this hold rather than just setting up for something else. Landon feels his ribs being compressed and realises he has to act fast, so goes to his old standby, the eyepoke.



Unfortunately for him though, Bruner's sunglasses deflect the fingers and he simply clamps tighter on the Bearhug as penance.


"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"


"The crowd in Seattle trying to get behind the number one contender," Mak needlessly points out, "although, how much good that's going to do him in this situation is argueable."


"I don't think there's any arguement; it's not going to help a bit."


"Well, we'll see."


At the moment it's certainly not helping, as Landon's limps begin to go limp. As Landon's head slumps forward, Hardcastle senses he might not be able to continue and grabs hold of the wrist, raising La Cucaracha's arm overhead...




...and it drops.




"Man, what a debut victory this would be for Bruner! Landon might be done already!"


Still Landon shows little sign of life as Megan slams her fists into the ring apron, trying to encourage her man to show some fight. Easier said than done when the very life is being squeezed out of you by a six foot ten giant. Bruner continues to tighten the Bearhug at intervals to keep Maddix neutralised, Hardcastle lifting the arm again...







...and it DROPS!




"That's two, one more and it's over!"


"One more and Mister Bruner has beaten a two-time World Champion in a matter of minutes!" calls Mak. "What a statement this would make to the rest of the SWF!"


Realising he's in trouble, Landon weakly looks for some sort of point of leverage. Bruner shakes off the attempts to tug his ears though and Landon's arms go loose at his sides once more.


"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"


The crowd burst into one more chorus in support of The Next Generation as they see he has one last chance to survive, a third time Hardcastle raising the arm. And with one eye readied on the timekeeper's table, Sexton lets the arm fall...












"Nono! Maddix isn't done just yet!" Mak cheers.


Fist pumping with adrenaline, Landon begins his fight back, pushing himself out just enough to rear back and pop Bruner with a right hand! Another right hand! And another! Even after three blows Bruner doesn't let Landon go though. So Landon reaches back into his bag of tricks...



...lifts Bruner's sunglasses up...








"Oh, come ON!" groans King.


"The first eyepoke was inaffective, but Landon realised the problem and found a way past it. How's that for in-ring psychology?"


Finally Mister Bruner is forced to release Landon, who takes advantage by landing a quick forearm strike. Another forearm connects, before Landon feels the need to change it up and lands a stinging kick to the leg! Another kick! And another, trying to knot up Bruner's thigh muscle and break the bigman's base down. It works to some extent but Bruner is still standing. So Maddix changes it up again...







...connecting with a knifedge chop, although Bruner's shirt negates most of the sting.


"Is it me, or is this not going anywhere?" asks King.


"I think Landon could do with a strategy change." Mak concedes. "Striking with Bruner isn't going to work."


Apparantly disagreeing, Maddix...







...lands a second chop. Same result as the first though, Bruner brushing off the temporary blindness from the jabs to the eyes and looking to show Landon how to strike like a man, aiming for his head with a wild Lariat...DUCKED! Maddix manages to get underneath the arm even despite his bad back and retreats in a neutral corner. He succeeds in little more than angering the big bodyguard, Bruner pulling a u-turn and again charging headlong at Maddix. But he falls right into the number one contender's trap as Maddix dives out of the corner with a low dropkick, clipping out Bruner's knee and causing him to career face-first into the middle turnbuckle!


"Some more hit and move from Maddix, this is what he has to do against the bigman. And it's what he'll need to do at From The Fire of course against Gabriel Drake."


As Bruner slumps in the corner, Maddix limps across the ring clutching his back. He has no time to hang around nursing injuries though, having to take the opening while he can as Bruner lies against the bottom turnbuckle pad. Landon straightens up his back before running coast to coast, soaring into Bruner with a basement dropkick, SMUSHING his face against the buckle!!






"Oh no! His glasses!"


"King, I think the glasses are the least of Bruner's worries at the moment."


"Not if they become a permanent extension of his face!"


Despite the big move, Maddix is unable to drag Bruner out of the corner. So he has to settle for what he can get, shunting Bruner off the turnbuckle and pinning his arms to his chest to prevent a ropebreak as he covers...















Kickout, with AUTHORITY, sending Maddix out through the bottom and middle ropes!


"Now that's plain scary." Mak says matter of factly.


Maddix saves himself, just about, scampering quickly back onto the apron in time to beat Bruner to his feet. As the bigman climbs back up, Landon is then waiting on him and springboards up to the top rope, before bouncing back off with a Springboard Dropkick!




The shot fells the already off balance Bruner, but only as far as one knee. Landon is quickly up to put the finishing touches to Big Bully though, taking a short run-up for the SHINING WIZAAAA...












Bruner puts his forearm up to protect his face and Landon's knee bounces harmlessly off them. Shocked as anyone at the counter, Landon scrambles back to his feet. And he walks right into Bruner, who grabs La Cucaracha around the throat, lifts him up...





...and DRIVES him down with a swift Chokeslam!!


"A huge Chokeslam. And Bruner apparantly did some scouting too... he's not just a bigman destroyer, Bruner is competing!"


"He's doing more than that Mak, he's winning!"


With Maddix not moving, Bruner understandably drops to his knees to make the pin.



Not so understandably, Sir Marvelous waves it off though, telling him 'not yet, not yet'.


"What is Marvelous doing?" asks Mak, clearly confused. "His man is seconds away from pinning a former two-time World Champion, what more can he do?"


"Destroy Maddix?"


"That's not what this is about, is it?"


"Apparantly so."


Bruner follows the orders he's getting and with a handful of Landon's hair he begins to peel him off the canvas and to his feet. Until a steel chair suddenly comes skimming into the ring that is, catching the attention of Bruner and referee Hardcastle. As does Megan Skye, as she climbs to the apron to complain about the excessive punishment. Bruner and Hardcastle both turn to Megan... which of course allows Landon time to recover and, once he has his bearings about him, grab the steel chair lying beside him.




"That's right, take the cheap way out as ever." King chastises as Landon staggers back to his feet, chair in hand, Marvelous trying to warn either Bruner or Hardcastle or both to the danger that waits. He succeeds in warning Bruner at least, the bigman turning around...











...and PUNCHING THE CHAIR, sending it flying out of the ring! Bruner then backfists Landon right in the jaw and drops him to one knee.


At which point, Marvelous decides turn about is fairplay, giving Bruner a heads up before tossing in his cane!


"What about this then King!?"




"Of course."


Bruner is caught by surprise and doesn't actually catch the cane, but it bounces off his shoulder and right at his feet. The bigman has no problem then in simply bending down and retrieving it...








...except the dropkick to the ear that Maddix delivers!


Bruner drops to one knee, shaking out the cobwebs as Landon notices the cane... and smiles.


"I think Landon has been provoked!"




But King's cries fall on deaf ears, Hardcastle still distracted as Landon picks up the cane...
















Bruner remains on one knee somehow, but Maddix soon remedies that, tossing aside one half of the splintered cane and hitting the ropes for the SHINING WIZAAAAAAAAARD~! Bruner is finally down and so is Megan, Marvelous unable to do anything without his cane as Hardcastle dives into position...

























"Oh what the fu..."






Landon wastes no time in scurrying out of the ring and into the arms of Megan, helping her out of the fuming Sir Marvelous' path as he limps over in mid-fit! The SWF's Power Couple smirk away as Marvelous continues to lose it, kicking at the ring skirt and thin air in a rage.






King is strangely quiet as Maddix and Megan have the distinct look of being lucky to survive, helping each other up the ramp as "Personal Jesus" plays in the background.


"Landon Maddix, rolls on! We are out of time on Storm... from The Suicide King, we'll see you next week!"



Smartmarks Wrestling Federation 2007 ©

A Superior One Production

Raising Workrate by Rushing Endings To Meet Deadlines

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