SWF STORM, MARCH 7, 2007!

[Ace309 0]

Walter Reynolds was a businessman. Sure, it had become his duty, almost every single day for the past few months of his life, to watch over the younger, odder, but meticulously calculated Alan Clark and it was a job that he could have no doubt lived without, but the paychecks coming in were worth more to him than he cared to speak about, and thus he maintained his watch.

 

It was almost time for the show, with a main event featuring a championship Alan had lost, twice, to both members of Wild & Dangerous, respectively. It was an environment he had always thought he excelled in – as jumping from high places had won him quite a few of the championships in his time in the ring. Walter had seen the tapes. It was not something he had necessarily wanted to do, but he enjoyed the sport enough to sit with Alan and watch him comment on everything and everyone he had come into contact with over his few years with the company.

 

“This is the first time I faced Landon Maddix” he would say, “That disciple shtick was worse than anything I’ve done around here.”

 

“But look where it got him…” Walter would reply, and then be forced to sit through a lecture about wrestling talent, luck, and persistence. Todd Royal had about as much to do with Landon Maddix’s current place in the company as Clarabelle Cow had in the formation of Tokyo Disneyland. The rant would usually end with Alan slumped against a wall or laying on the floor, five little words slipping through his lips and into oblivion.

 

“It could have been me…”

 

Yes, it could have been Alan Clark facing off against Andrew Blackwell at Clusterfuck 2004, but Alan lost his JL championships to Maddix. Yes, he did beat Sacred almost two years later after coming out from under a mask, but he could have beat him then. Had he won, what would that have changed for the wrath of Thugg? Would it have been someone like Spike Jenkins being thrown around a parking lot on the night of From The Fire? Would he even had been fired? None of those things matter now.

 

“I still got that championship.” He would continue. “Triple Crown…whatever.” His words would trail off. Again, it was all about Landon Maddix. Alan wins the USJL title, disappears off the face of the Earth. Landon loses the USJL title, skyrockets into the stratosphere.

 

“It could have been me…”

 

Alan Clark never took a loss very hard. He enjoyed the comeback. You win enough times in a row and you start to get lazy. Someone call Michael Stephens, the problem is solved. A win here and there is quite a cataclysmic fall from being one of the most dominant World Champions ever. Stephens had let emotions get to him. He had let Tom Flesher get to him, and after he lost his precious championship he has entered the downward spiral that Alan had seen plague so many of his fellow wrestlers in the past. Walter had carried his associate backstage the week before, a few of the road agents had checked him over. He was as good as a defeated man could be, albeit a little sore and rough around the edges.

 

But he was still the International Champion.

 

Would some extra gold have been better? Of course. Alan was somewhat depressed, but it is few and far between when the first chance at something is the best chance you ever have. Alan Clark learns. Alan Clark evolves. If you were to get close enough to his face without Walter Reynolds dragging you away, you could see it in his eyes.

 

If one were to sit down and watch through every show, every match, in the SJL and SWF career of Alan Clark, Bloodshed, Apostle, whatever – one would see that exact evolution. He was trying, sometimes in vain, to stay one step ahead of the competition.

 

Two steps forward, he wins Mall Brawl and the European Championship. One step back, he takes a loss to English Dragon and is no farther up the card. Two steps forward, he defeats his rival Craig McClennan and makes it farther than any JL superstar in the Genesis IV tournament. One step back, he is decimated at the hands of Danny Williams, Michael Craven, and William Hearford. He disappears for three months. Two steps forward, Alan returns with mouse ears and takes back his European Championship and avenges his loss to Todd Royal. He is cemented as a headliner in the Junior Leagues. One step back, he falters against Landon Maddix and the Junior Leagues close their doors. There is a new horizon…

 

 

…the vacation’s over.

 

The SWF. The big-time. Alan Clark was mediocrity in the eyes of the fans. His flame would burn brightest through the world of pay-per-view, but would extinguish on free television. He was burnt out.

 

 

“Hello?”

 

Walter Reynolds pops his head into Alan Clark’s locker room; a poster for Disney’s Peter Pan on Platinum DVD hangs on the wall. It has been three years since Alan’s career defining moment, arguably, had occurred. It flickered on a portable DVD player in front of Alan’s face as he sat in the dark.

 

“What?”

 

“We have scheduled interview time…” Walter’s voice plays over a close-up of the tiny screen as Thugg is thrown through a glass door and out into the street. A smile can be seen in the glow of the monitor. It too, may have been an environment Alan Clark excelled in, but it was taken away from him thanks to his contractual obligations.

 

“Right, right.” And a few seconds later the screen is dark and the lights return to normal, Alan looks more disheveled than normal. The bosses would not like to see him that way, but a rubber-band-ponytail and tucked-in-shirt later, Alan looks closer to a million bucks than the thirteen SWF stock is currently selling for.

 

Outside the room, Benjamin Hardy is standing by with Walter, who starts to apologize for his partner’s tardiness.

 

“Eh, whatever. Who cares about Alan Clark anyway?” Walter is taken aback, only to hear Alan’s voice as he appears through the doorway.

 

“I care!” he says, flashing a quick smile to the camera as he waltzes out, International Championship over his shoulder, shined and ready to go. “I’m sure all these fans in Juneau care too! I won the JL World Title here…” the crowd’s raging boos can be heard as Walter leans down to whisper in Alan’s ear. “OH? Oh……” Alan’s face turns a few shades of red, although the smirk across his face looks as though he is trying to hold back from laughing. “Anyway, I just wanted to let all my fans know that I was fine and dandy and that although I lost last week against The Beast, I have been on the phone with Gaston all week in the chance that I ever have to face him again.”

 

“Well then what are your plans for the following weeks?” Hardy butts in, “You know we have a Pay-Per-View at the end of the month.”

 

“What? Really? You mean the one I made famous?” Alan’s sarcasm seems to be a bit bitter. “So what if I am not World Heavyweight Champion or Cruiserweight Champion or Tag Team Champion…I’m still YOUR International Champion. Where’s my respect? Oh, that’s right. The SWF doesn’t need Alan Clark. But let’s look at all of the championships shall we?”

 

“Uhm, Okay?”

 

“First, the World Championship. Gabriel Drake, power. Cruiserweight Champion is Wildchild, all about the speed. Hardcore Champion, Jimmy, weapons. The Tag Team Champions…Maddix with the ego and Stephens with the emo…hey, that rhymes.” Alan pauses to give the camera a smile and a thumbs up, “…so there’s something missing here, isn’t there? Do you know what it is, Hardy?”

 

“Let’s see…power, speed…”

 

 

“TIME’S UP! The answer is brains.”

 

“Brains?”

 

“Of course. Alan Clark, International Champion – there’s your brains. Genius is fickle, Hardy. In the short term, you can’t win ‘em all, but you have to look at things long term. Drake can be worn down. Dub Cee can slow. Weapons can break. Maddix’s head can send him floating into space (and there’s no oxygen up there!) and Stephens can cry his eye makeup in some dirty hotel drain on the independent circuit. Long term, brains are where it’s at. My contract keeps me away from weapons as much as possible, minus Asia Underground imploding and…thanks to my brains…getting me this here championship in the first place. You can throw that luggage all over the place, but if you don’t have the brains to get out of the cage, what damage can you really do? The fans don’t need you and neither does Doctor Phil. Any other questions before I get out of here?”

 

“Are you trying to paint a bull’s-eye onto your own chest?”

 

“It’s not like I haven’t done it before. Now let’s get out of here, Walt…”

 

“Walter.”

 

“Sorry” And the duo exits, stage right and back into the locker room, leaving Benjamin Hardy alone in the frame to send the viewers off to the opening montage of SWF’s flagship show…

 

 

…

 

Behind the door, Alan Clark lays across a bench as Walter collects their stuff around the room. Clark watches his small screen, the image is that of him being hauled away in an ambulance with his arm raised high in victory.

 

He smiles.

 

It was the closest he had ever come to being remembered as a legend in the SWF, but this year was the year of a million dreams…

 

 

The Vacation’s Over…

 

 

…the dream will still come true.

 

 

 

Fade.

 

~~~~~

 

 

That's right, the SWF Ring of Fire tour continues to the William A. Egan Civic & Convention Center in downtown Anchorage, Alaska! It's a light show due to the effects of traveling on the wrestlers, but rest assured that they will all be present, and some of them damn well better promo.

 

MAIN EVENT - SWF WORLD CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP

Wildchild © vs. "Cadillac" Calvin Szechstein

~ Calvin's been doing his fair share in the ring of late, but there's more to this match than the Cruiserweight Championship. Calvin lost to Wildchild's partner Johnny Dangerous a few weeks about, but the Dangerous One is taking the night off. Calvin, meanwhile, has successfully lobbied to get his endorsements on screen in the highest possible slot, and get a shot at the prestigious Cruiserweight Championship of the World to boot! This won't be the last these two see of each other - there's still a Cadillac Boys/Wild & Dangerous rematch on tap next week.

5000 words

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TAG TEAM MASHUP

Insane Luchador and Michael Stephens (with Landon Maddix at ringside) vs. Zyon and Akira Kaibatsu (with Michael Cross)

~ History aplenty here! Kaibatsu is one-half of Asia Underground, who despite a recent loss to the Cadillac Boys are still showing an impressive record. Stephens is one-half of the very, very dominant Tag Team Champions. Both may have met Zyon once or twice in the past; the Insane Luchador, for his part, is looking forward to meeting him in the ring for the first time in recent memory. Meanwhile, Zyon is trying desperately to force his way into the main event, looking for a shot at the SWF World Championship despite a tough loss in the hardcore environment he'd been shoehorned into by Tom Flesher. This one's ready to explode! Will this sort out any of these rivalries? Probably not, but damn, it'll be fun to watch.

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HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP

Jimmy the Doom © vs. Manson

~ Manson earned his shot at the Hardcore Championship by outlasting Ricky Barbosa and Matt Myers two weeks ago. Now, will Manson be able to handle the Doomtopian's unorthodox counterwrestling style, or will the Champion fall victim to MANSONOSITY~?!

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SINGLES ACTION

Zack Malibu vs. Xero

~ The returning Xero takes on Zack Malibu, fresh off a tag team win last week!

3500 words

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OPENING PROMO: Landon Maddix

Edited March 9, 2007 by Ace309

[Ace309 0]

"REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH!"

 

 

"YYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

"I'm still shocked that Alaska actually has a sports arena, but apparantly it does and we are here! Mak Francis alongside The Suicide King and we're set to warm these people up with some SWF action. Infact, by the end of tonight, this state may very well be renamed Baked Alaska!"

 

"If this is a sign of things to come, kill me now."

 

As the Alaskan crowd rise to their feet, the curtains part and the number one contender, Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix walks through the entrance way to another roaring cheer and clapping of flippers. Landon does a quick spin on the stage to show off his 'fancy' new "Viva La Cucaracha" shirt before walking on to the ring. Alone, curiously.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the number one contender to the SWF World Heavyweight Championship... LANDON "LA CUCARACHA" MMMAAAAAAAADDIIIIIIIXXXXXXXX!!!"

 

"YYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

"Okay, where did I put those bullets."

 

As King rummages around under the announce table grumbling, Landon spins into the centre of the ring and soaks up the adulation of the crowd. Retrieving the abandoned microphone (hey, Funyon knows his role), the smiling Landon now calls for some quiet. Which he eventually gets.

 

"Ladies and eskimos..."

 

*crickets chirp*

 

"...uhm, okay. Moving on, it's great to be in ALASKA tonight!"

 

"YYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

"I'm sure I put those bullets under here somewhere..."

 

"King, quiet!"

 

"And sure enough, Gabriel Drake is still the SWF Heavyweight Champion of the world." Landon points out, to some scattered boos. "Not to take anything away from Alan Clark, who put in a pretty good showing by his standards. But... well, let's just say, I'm not all that surprised that I didn't need my back-up plan. After all, it's Alan Clark."

 

Landon razzes out his tongue and gives the thumbs down.

 

"So, without further ado, it's time to sell the next Pay Per View. Yes, tonight is the night Gabe. Tonight is the night that the action plan is revealed. And after consulting my 'Big Book Of Wacky Professional Wrestling Stipulations' this past weekend, the general consesus was, it didn't really make a great difference. I could take you on in a Cage Match again. We already know how that one ends up. I could take advantage of my Clusterfuck sensibilities and make it some sort of Over The Top Rope Challenge, which would seem to be right up my alley. Or, of course, there's the famed Bible On A Pole Match. I'm one for one in those. Stilts Match. Ditto. Mouse Trap Match, that was a good one. Then there's the Office Brawl, Casino Brawl, Mall Brawl... although, actually, I don't think I showed up for that one. Then again, if that's not a problem, we could always do that Empty Swimming Pool deal that kinda never happened."

 

"I should have just loaded it before I came out."

 

"KING!"

 

"Anyway, aside from needing to stretch the show out, my point is there's plenty of matches that'd give me an advantage over you at From The Fire and give me a better shot at becoming a three time SWF World Heavyweight Champion. Which is why I took a little extra time to finally decide on what stipulation to enforce. And then I remembered, your oh, so touching life story. A man in the prime of his life, sent away to the slammer by his closest and most trusted friend. Your life, gone to ruins. Infact, you could say, that a large portion of your life was spent in a CELL."

 

"Uh-oh." mumbles Mak...

 

"You might even say, it made your life HELL!"

 

"UH-OH!" shouts Mak...

 

"Which is why, at From The Fire, you and I will do battle...

 

 

 

 

"...IN A LADDER MATCH!!"

 

"Let me help you look for those bullets." sighs Mak.

 

"So Gabriel, now you know." Landon smiles condescendingly. "You can go ahead and work on your speed, work on your agility, work on your climbing ability in the run up to From The Fire. Of course, the small matter of losing a hundred or so pounds might be a problem. But, I'm sure you'll have no trouble at all scooting up a Ladder and grabbing your Worl..."

 

 

Suddenly, the Smarktron flares to life, flashes from The World Heavyweight Champion's debut vignettes splashing across the screen, as the deliberate strum of "The Devil’s Rejects" begins to build to a crescendo. Landon immediately turns his head to the entrance way as Gabriel Drake’s two cold hazel eyes stare out from the Smarktron, an amused sneer crossing his face for a second before one hand reaches out and grips presumably the camera. The picture shakes violently, then blurs and cuts to black as the camera is apparently thrown into a wall. Meanwhile, the slow melody continues and the atmosphere is even amplified by the eerie menacing blue light and the flickering of several white strobes cutting across the darkened arena, until finally…

 

"JAAAAAIIIIIL-BIIIIIRD!"

 

…through all the bright lights, glitz and glammer; face framed by his black hair with white highlights…

 

"JAAAAAIIIIIL-BIIIIIRD!"

 

…with the World Heavyweight Championship wrapped around his waist…

 

"JAAAAAIIIIIL-BIIIIIRD!"

 

…Gabriel Drake himself appears through the curtain.

 

"I am the bad one…

Distant and cruel one…

I am the dream that, keeps you running down!"

 

Through the opening lyrics of the Rob Zombie song, Drake pauses on the stage and looks down into the ring at his prospective challenger, smiling widely as he begins to stride down the aisle.

 

"You know, nevermind about the bullets Mak." laughs King. "Things suddenly got interesting."

 

"With distraction…

Violent reactions…

Scars of my actions, watch me running out!"

 

The Smarktron behind him continues to flash scenes from famous wars and bits of destruction while showing him hitting a Musclebuster on Michael Cross, twisting Akira’s broken body in the Spite and Malice and deforming Landon Maddix’s feature by tossing him into a Steel Cage interspersed…

 

"HELL DOESN’T WANT THEM!

HELL DOESN’T NEED THEM!

HELL DOESN’T LOVE THEM!"

 

…Until a final picture of the infamous leap off the second rope with Michael Stephens in tow, compacting his jaw with a sickening Mark of the Beast!

 

"Well, we might not even make it to From The Fire," Mak points out. "because Gabriel Drake is here and he is not one for pleasantries."

 

Gabriel walks the stairs and locks eyes with the number one contender, a small flicker of a smile appearing on her face as Landon watches on.

 

"The Devil's Rejects…

 

The Devil’s Rejects…"

 

The music slowly begins to fade, as Gabe wipes his feet before swinging his legs through the ropes. Gabe completely bypasses Landon to get his own microphone, The Next Generation keeping on his toes as the World Champion comes to a stop, towering over him. Trying to stand his ground Landon looks up at Gabe in something more resembling a 'stare-up' than a staredown.

 

"So Landon..." Gabe smiles, a little unnervingly. "...you watched me dismantle one of your big career rivals last week. And even after all that, your big 'masterplan' was to enforce a stipulation where there's No Disqualifications, no stoppages, no surrender and best of all a weapon within easy proximity for me to really do some damage with? Is that about the sum of it?"

 

"Uhm... yes?"

 

"Heh. Either you're a very brave man, or you're a very naive one Landon."

 

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

 

"It seems these people think the former."

 

"YYYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

"Landon, you'd better hope they're right, for your sake. And even then, it may not matter. You talk about speed and agility. But it doesn't take much of either of those to climb a ladder in the time it takes a comatose human to rejuvinate and come to life."

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

"Your idea is great, in theory. Theory doesn't account for anomalies though. Like broken bones... torn muscles... loss of consciousness... excessive blood loss."

 

Landon doesn't look quite so confident now. The smile from Gabriel is in stark contrast to that though. Suddenly Gabe drops the microphone and Landon instinctively does the same, preparing himself for an impromptu battle...

 

 

 

..and to the surprise of virtually everyone in attendance, Gabriel actually extends his hand!

 

"But all the same... good luck."

 

Looking around for some reason, Landon clearly doesn't trust the World Champion. And probably with good reason. To be fair, on past form you could say the same the other way but it's Gabriel who's encouraging the handshake. Landon nervously begins to accept... but at the last second he pulls away. Gabriel doesn't break his stance, still keeping the hand extended. Figuring if an attack's going to come it's going to come regardless, Maddix then re-thinks and very cautiously extends his own hand forward and shakes...

 

 

 

...and Drake breaks off without incident. Landon still seems a little cautious, as Gabe continues to loom over him. And as "Devil's Rejects" begins to play again, Gabe can be seen mouthing four simple words.

 

"You're gonna need it."

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT.

[Ace309 0]

Back from the break and Landon Maddix, thankful to still be in one piece after his brush with the World Heavyweight Champion to open the show, seems a lot more like his old self now as he walks through the hallways with smiles and waves to the kind-hearted SWF backstage crew. Turning a corner, Landon playfully winks at one female employee before bursting through his locker room door...

 

 

...to be confronted by Michael Stephens.

 

"HEY! What's the good word, buddy?"

 

"I could think of a few good words right now."

 

"Okay, good." smiles Landon, ignoring Mike's angry look as he picks up a Pepsi Max from the coffee table next to him and chugs some down. "Jeez is it cold here. You not cold?"

 

"I come from Nottingham mate, this is like middle a' June to me."

 

Landon nods knowingly, although of course he doesn't know having never been to Nottingham. As he sits down he does become knowing, knowing of the look Michael Stephens is giving him, setting down the Pepsi Max can.

 

"I can't believe you."

 

"What?"

 

"What!?" snaps Stephens. "You shook his bloody hand! I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. You went out there and you shook Gabe's hand like it was nothin'! Nevermind everything that maniacal prick's done to me. And you. Just answer me one thing Landon, have you got a frikkin' deathwish or something? You might as well have gone out there with a bullseye painted on your bloody back. Talk about asking for trouble, that's taking it to a whole nother level. Wha... I mean, have you not listened to a word I've said all this time!? Ain't I spelt it out clear enough for ya time and time and time again!? The guy is trouble. Pure trouble! And he ain't to be trusted."

 

Looking uninterested at best, Landon takes another sip from his Pepsi Max.

 

"But... nothing happened."

 

"This time, sure." Stephens counters. "But, why take the risk. You think I ever shook his hand? You think I ever would? No! Is it because I don't respect the guy's ability? No! It's coz the moment you turn your back, he's liable to take a steak knife and drive it through your back!"

 

"But... he didn't."

 

Stephens groans, almost slapping his forehead in frustration.

 

"Come on Landon, you can't be that stupid."

 

"Why the hell do you care anyway?" Landon answers and suddenly Stephens is cut off in his stride. "You and Gabe have dealt with your business, this is between me and him. If I decide to shake his hand, it's because I think it's worth doing. I know what he's like. I don't trust him. But I also knew he wasn't going to do anything. It was a judgement call and I made it not because of what happened between you and him, but because of what happened and is happening between me and him. Believe it or not, I'm not a kid and I can make my own decisions."

 

"So what's Megan for? Eye candy? Handling your tax returns?"

 

"Look, don't take this the wrong way Mike," Landon says, which is clearly going to lead to something Mike will take the wrong way, "but this is none of your business."

 

"None of my business!? Is your ego that inflated now you're 'Mister Main Event', or have you forgotten we're still Tag Team Champions!?"

 

"Is that why you're angry, honestly?"

 

Stuttering a little, Stephens doesn't give an actual verbal response. He just glares at Landon.

 

"Tag Team Champions or not, if I had to consult you every time I did something, it wouldn't be much of a life I lead."

 

"Might be a darn sight more safe."

 

"Besides, you didn't consult me when you decided to go psycho last week on Wildchild!"

 

 

*THUD!*

 

Slamming his fist into the coffee table, Stephens has clearly had enough of arguing. Landon flinches a little, his Pepsi Max can crumpling a little in his hand as his fist clenches.

 

"Listen, I ain't in the mood for this! I'll see you out there... IF you still give a monkeys about me, superstar."

 

Storming off, Stephens leaves the locker room and his footsteps can clearly be heard in the distance even after the door has slammed behind him. Looking a little sorrowful Landon wipes his chin, sighing as he sets his can back down carefully.

 

"What the hell do monkeys have to do with anything?"

[Ace309 0]

“Welcome back to Storm, as we are live from the William A. Egan Civic & Convention Centre in downtown Anchorage Alaska. I am your host, Mak Francis along side my partner, Suicide King, and King I have to tell you that I can not believe what Maddox said just before commercial.”

 

“Well Mak, it doesn’t surprise me what Maddox had to say, but all I can say is the stipulation he made for From the Fire--well, just shocking.” King comments.

 

“You could say, “It will be on fire” King.” Francis says.

 

The Convention Centre lights fade out as “Getting Away with Murder” by Papa Roach starts to play. Fireworks from the entrance way shower over Zack Malibu as he walks out from the back.

 

“And it looks like we are off to our first match, as Zack Malibu is on his way to the ring,” Francis says.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, from Providence, Rhode Island and weighing in at an even two hundred pounds, he is one half of the tag team, Cadillac Boys, ZACK MALIBUUUUUUU!!!!” Funyon screams into the mic.

 

Zack Malibu enters the ring as the crowd cheers loudly for him.

 

“Zack got some tough competition tonight, as he takes on Xero tonight. Xero is returning to action after a four year hiatus from the business,” Francis announces.

 

“Isn’t this his twelfth time returning to business? He should just stay home and forget about re-living glory, what ever glory he might have had.” King comments.

 

Tourniquet by Marlyin Manson plays throughout the convention centre, as Xero walks out to a loud roar.

 

“And his opponent for tonight, hailing from Niagara Falls, Ontario and weighing in at two hundred, fifty eight pounds, XERO!!” Funyon yells.

 

“Look at Xero, and look at the fans King. They are cheering loudly for the return of Xero,” Mak points out.

 

“They’re cheering for what, a career jobber? And it also looks like Xero gained some weight too for being off so long.” King jokes.

 

Xero climbs up the turnbuckle as the fans cheer for his return. He quickly glances at Zack Malibu as he walks towards the other turnbuckle.

 

“Xero is going to be in tough tonight against a very quick opponent in Zack Malibu, and King maybe a few years ago, this would have been a great cruiserweight bout between the two, but Xero has packed on the pounds since his last bout here in the SWF,” Francis acknowledges.

 

“Mak, there is no doubt in my mind that it would have been a good tilt then, like it is now. We got speed versus power tonight,” King adds. “But how much rust does Xero have? He has not been in the ring for nearly four years, and Zack Malibu is no ordinary opponent.”

 

Xero and Zack Malibu walk towards each other in the middle of the squared circle. Both men look into each other’s eyes, and before the referee could get the match underway, the fans in Anchorage, Alaska are chanting “Welcome back!”

 

“The fans are really supportive behind Xero tonight, making his return match in nearly four years,” Francis says.

 

The referee gets in the middle of the two competitors to separate some space between them. The ref signals for the bell.

*Ding

Ding

Ding*

 

“And the match is underway!” yells King.

 

Xero and Malibu circles around the ring waiting for one of them to throw the first move. Both men move into the middle and grapple right in the middle of the ring. Xero standing almost six inches taller and easily shoves Zack Malibu away as he leans up against the ropes. Zack gets back up to his feet and goes after Xero again. Both men lock up and Xero is able to shove Zack away again with ease.

 

“Zack should try to find a different strategy. He’s at least six inches shorter and sixty pounds lighter than Xero,” Francis points out.

 

Xero walks over towards Zack Malibu who is leaning on the ropes. Xero lifts Zack to his feet. Irish whip from Xero as Zack goes into the ropes. Zack launches from the ropes as Xero goes for the clothesline. Zack ducks and runs towards the ropes again. Zack gains some more speed after bouncing off the ropes. Xero turns around, only to see Zack leaping forward and hitting with a diving forearm smash. Xero goes down like a sack of bricks not expecting the attack.

 

“This is good example of ring rust right here Mak. A more polished wrestler would have not been caught off guard by that forearm smash from Zack Malibu,” King recalls his comment earlier.

 

“I don’t know if it was ring rust King, or Zack Malibu being very fast like he always is,” Francis informs King.

 

Zack is back to his feet as he sees Xero slowly getting up. Xero is on one knee as Malibu proceeds with a chop across the chest of Xero. Malibu takes his right hand again, and chops across the chest of Xero again. Xero still on one knee though as Zack runs towards the ropes. Zack heads towards Xero at full speed as Xero gets up on both feet. Xero sees Zack and lifts him, and drops him on his knee with the Inverted Atomic Drop. Zack his holding his groin area, as Xero charges towards him extends his arm and flattens Zack with a clothesline.

 

“Great counter by Xero, and nearly taking Zack’s head off in the process with that clothesline.” Mak says.

 

Xero sees the opportunity to end the match right here. Ref goes down for the pin fall.

 

One….

 

 

Two….

 

 

Zack is able to kick out of the pin fall.

 

“You don’t expect Zack to kick out that early, right Mak?” King quickly adds.

 

Xero looks at the ref and gets up on his feet; meanwhile Zack is slowly gaining balance with the help of the ropes. Xero approaches up to Zack Malibu, clinches his right fist and lands a hook punch across the face of Malibu. Zack is using the ropes as a crutch as he corners himself into the turnbuckle. Zack is still stunned from the clothesline earlier, as he is trying to catch a breather. Xero walks up to Malibu, as he is no more than a foot or so away from Malibu. Xero lifts Zack’s head up and strikes him across the chest with a knife-edge chop.

 

“Whooo!” the fans chant, as Zack holds his chest after that stiff knife-edge chop.

“Oh man that look painful, but it’s on Zack, not I.” King implies.

 

Xero pushes Zack back into the corner again, and applies another knife-edge chop across the chest.

 

“Whooo!” says the crowd again.

 

“I can hear that chop; the Anchorage crowd can hear that chop. You people at home can hear the chop. Hell the whole world can hear those chops!” Mak cringes as Xero strikes again with another knife-edge chop.

 

Zack is quenching in pain after the three-knife edge chops from Xero. Xero takes his time and does a complete backhand chop that drops Zack onto the mat.

 

“FUCK!” Yells Zack Malibu after the last and vicious knife-edge chop from Xero.

 

“Folks, those knife edge chops do hurt, and look at the chest of Zack Malibu, its red, burnt red,” Francis comments on the attack.

 

“Zack is going to feel those chops, not for the entire match, but for a couple of days at least,” King adds.

 

Xero walks back into the middle of the ring, as Zack Malibu still holding onto his chest. With one hand, Zack decides to prop himself against the bottom turnbuckle, hopefully for a breather. Xero sees Zack is in a vulnerable position and charges right at him. Zack rolls out of the way, as Xero misses a knee attack and smashes into the turnbuckles. Xero staggers backwards as Zack hooks his right arm around Xero’s left leg, and pulls him down for a School Boy pin.

 

One…

 

 

Two….

 

T-Xero kicks out of the pin fall.

 

“A good desperation move by Zack Malibu and again completely caught Xero off guard,” says King.

 

“It would have been over if Zack didn’t do anything, and he did something and that something almost gained him a victory,” Mak comments on the opportunity Zack Malibu had to finish the match.

 

Xero rolls backwards as Zack spots Xero gaining to his feet. Zack rushes towards Xero, lunges forward and knocks Xero back down with a diving elbow attack. Zack jumps back to his feet, as Xero holds on to the ropes as the momentum quickly shifted in the match. Xero gets back on his feet and runs towards Malibu. Zack hooks Xero’s arm and tosses him over with an Arm Drag. Xero bounces back to his feet and rushes again at Zack, and again Zack drags Xero over with another Arm Drag. Both Xero and Zack Malibu get back on their feet. Xero a bit dazed once he stands up, as Zack jumps in the air and lands a perfect dropkick onto the chest of Xero. Xero is falls back into the ropes leaning on for support. Zack sees the opportunity to knock Xero out of the ring. He charges towards Xero. Xero sees the Zack running full speed and ducks. Zack is running at full speed, Xero launches the lightweight Malibu over the ropes and comes crashing down on the mats outside the ring.

 

“Zack went airborne over the ring, and landed hard on those mats outside,” Francis says.

 

“What must go up, must come down Mak,” King comments on Zack’s fallout.

 

“Ring rust or not King, Xero also made a great counter, and that has to take a lot out of Zack Malibu.”

 

Zack is laying face first on the mat after he flown through the air from the back body drop. Xero climbs out of the ring and drops down to the outside. He looks at Zack Malibu who is trying to push himself back up to his feet. Xero grabs a hold of Zack’s arm and drag him back to his feet. Xero is still holding on to Zack’s arm and strikes Zack with a knee to the stomach. Zack buckles over as Xero raises his right arm, and strikes the back of Zack’s ribs to send him back down to his feet. Xero lifts up Malibu again, and rolls him into the ring. Xero quickly follows and slides underneath the bottom rope and pins Zack Malibu.

 

 

One….

 

 

 

Two….

 

 

 

Th-Zack kicks out of the pin attempt.

 

Xero gets up and stomps on the back of Zack Malibu. Zack is slowly getting up to his feet, but Xero continues to strike him down stomps to the back of Mr. Malibu.

 

“Xero is not letting Zack get his second wind back.” Francis implies.

 

Zack is slowly crawling to the ropes as he hopes to regain his balance. Xero walks over top of Zack Malibu. He reaches for Zack’s legs as he tries to apply a submission hold. Zack struggles not to let Xero apply any more pressure onto his body. Zack turns over onto his back as Xero has a hold of Zack left leg. Zack keeps kicking Xero in the stomach to release his other leg. Xero continues to hold onto Zack leg, but Zack keeps fighting off Xero. Zack decides to kick the knee out of Xero, as he brought the larger opponent down. Xero lets go of Zack’s left leg as Zack uses the rope to get back to his feet. Xero is still on his one knee as Zack sneaks up behind Xero. He wraps his arms around Xero’s head and applies the Sleeper Hold.

 

“It looks like Zack Malibu is trying to get Xero to submit with that Sleeper Hold. It could end right here!” Mak shouts out.

 

Xero is struggling to get out of the submission hold as he is flailing his arms around, and aimlessly walking around the ring. Zack still applying the pressure on Xero’s head decides to drop him on his head.

 

“And there is the Trendsetter Mak! Put this match away and get to the next one,” King implies that the match will be over.

 

Xero landed hard on his head as Zack quickly makes the cover and hooks the leg.

 

 

One….

 

 

 

 

Two….

 

 

 

Thr- Xero lifts the shoulder up in the air.

 

“I thought Zack had the match won right there with the Trendsetter,” Mak says.

 

“Great job by Zack Malibu tricking Xero into a submission hold, then sending him head first to the canvas with the Trendsetter,” King replies.

 

Zack stares down at the ref, thinking the count was a little slow. Xero slow to get up as his eyes are glazed over after the Trendsetter. Zack lurks over Xero and pulls him up to his feet. He closes his right fist and strikes Xero with a punch, knocking the challenger back. Zack strikes again with another punch, as Xero leans up on the ropes. Zack grabs Xero’s arm, and whips him across the ring. Xero rebounds from the ropes; Zack leaps in the air, and connects with a nice flipping dropkick on Xero. Zack nips up and preys on Xero to get up on to his feet.

 

“Looks like Zack is ready to finish this match right now,” King says.

 

“Zack is going for his patent super kick, and make Xero’s return not a memorable one,” Francis adds.

 

Xero has his back turned on Zack; not knowing what is Zack is planning. Xero turns around and spots Zack going for the super kick. Zack shuffles his way over, extends his right leg and…

 

“XERO DUCKED THE SCHOOL’S OUT!” yells Mak Francis as Xero counters Zack Malibu’s finisher.

 

Xero stands behind Zack after the missed attempt of Zack Malibu super kick. Zack Malibu turns around, as Xero swiftly kicks Zack in the stomach. Zack bends over as Xero wraps a front face lock on Malibu. Xero lifts Zack up in the air and quickly drops him down onto Zack’s head and upper back.

 

“And there’s Xero’s finisher, the Xero Ground!” Mak yells again.

 

Xero rolls sprawls over the Malibu’s body, makes the cover, and hooks the leg.

 

One….

 

 

 

Two….

 

 

Three…

 

The ref signals the bell.

 

*DING

DING

DING*

 

“Your winner of this match, XERO!!!” Funyon announces the winner of the match. “Tourniquet” by Marilyn Manson starts up again as the crowd cheers wild upon Xero’s return match, and his victory as well.

 

“Unbelievable!” shouts Mak Francis. “We thought Zack Malibu was going to beat the returning vet, but Xero was able to overcome some ring rust and defeat Zack Malibu.”

 

“Ring rust?!” King looks at Mak Francis. “Xero’s a season vet in the ring, he knew what he was doing, saw his opportunity to win the match when Zack Malibu least expected.”

 

“But at the beginning of the match, you quoted ‘but how much rust does Xero have? He has not been in the ring for nearly four years, and Zack Malibu is no ordinary opponent’ end quote”. Mak corrects Suicide King.

 

“I have never said that at all,” King, denies the quote from the earlier broadcast.

 

“Whatever King,” Mak adds. “Anyways congrats to Xero on his return win, and keep us tuned in, as our Main event match also features the other half of the Cadillac Boys, in “Cadillac” Calvin Szechstein going for the SWF Cruiserweight championship against Wildchild. Stay tuned!”

 

Xero is still celebrating in the ring as the program fades to commercial break.

[Ace309 0]

*knock-knock*

 

Andrew Rickmen’s head snaps up and he looks at the door to his dressing room while in the corner, the TV showing the SWF’s live show continues displaying commercials. The Insane Luchador cautiously moves over to the door, then in one swift motion he grabs the handle and snatches it open. On the other side, hand raised to knock again, stands Michael Stephens.

 

Stephens lowers his hand, and both men look at each other for a few seconds.

 

“Uh… yeah?” Rickmen finally asks.

 

“We’re, er… we’re tagging tonight, right?” Stephens replies.

 

“…yeah.”

 

“I dunno, I thought maybe we should discuss… strategy… or something,” Stephens ventures. Rickmen looks at him for a couple of seconds, then nods.

 

“Yeah. Uh… come in, I guess.” He stands back and Michael Stephens walks into the room, then Rickmen closes the door.

 

They stand around for a few seconds. Then Stephens snorts a laugh.

 

“What?” Rickmen demands.

 

“Nothing,” Stephens says, smiling humourlessly, “except I think Flesher gets kicks out of making me tag with people who’ve beaten Gabe…”

 

“Oh, right. Huh.”

 

Stephens engages in a detailed study of the wall.

 

“So…” Rickmen begins, “…how many times have we tried to kill each other? Roughly?”

 

“Er… oh, I dunno,” Stephens admits, “three or four I guess.” He frowns. “Unless you count the All-Show Brawl as more than one. We did some crazy shit there.”

 

“Yeah,” the Insane Luchador nods.

 

Rickmen seems to think that his skate shoes are kinda dirty. At least, he inspects them for several seconds.

 

“You know, I was booked against your sister once,” he ventures.

 

“Yeah?” Mike asks, “who won?”

 

“Uh… no-one,” Rickmen admits, “there was this freak meteor storm which kinda destroyed the ring and uh, knocked us both out. It was a no-contest.”

 

“Meteors,” Stephens says, looking at him dubiously.

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Right. Amy never mentioned that,” the Englishman nods thoughtfully.

 

“I dunno how much she remembered,” the Insane One volunteers, “I think she caught one right on the head.”

 

“Right.”

 

The ceiling is apparently very interesting for both men.

 

Verrrrrry interesting.

 

 

“…so, I guess Zyon’s been pissing you off lately?” Stephens finally ventures. Rickmen’s attention snaps back to his visitor and the Pennsylvanian’s eyes seem to blaze.

 

“Zyon!” he growls, “who the hell does he think he is? Some sort of jumped-up punk kid with an attitude and no brains, that’s who he is! He thinks he’s extreme, jumping around the ring and jumping off things? When I get my hands on him tonight…”

 

“I hear what yer saying,” Stephens nods, “but you know what gets me, what really gets me? How he whines! I mean c’mon,” he continues, “you’re an expert in Hardcore stuff, right? If you were in a bloody Elimination Chamber - no rules, multi-man match, it’s every man for himself, am I right?”

 

“Damn right!” Luchador affirms.

 

“So if you’re teaming up with one guy to take out a third, you’re always going to keep your eyes open, am I right?” Stephens asks again.

 

“Yeah man, you’ve gotta have eyes in the back of your head!” Rickmen snaps, tapping his own head with a forefinger to make the point.

 

“Right, so if you leave yourself open and someone take you out you suck it up and accept it,” Stephens says, “you took a gamble, didn’t cover your back, end of story! What you don’t do is engage on some sort of campaign to cheat someone out of the Cruiserweight Title!”

 

“Strategy? We don’t need strategy!” the Insane Luchador declares, “I’ve got your strategy right here! You hold him, I hit him!”

 

“You’re on!” Stephens replies… but then his attention switches to the TV in the corner. “Hey, who’s that?”

 

“Eh? Oh, it’s just Flesher,” Luchador shrugs, looking around. Then his eyes narrow. “Hey, yeah, who’s that other guy…?”

 

*click*

 

He looks around. The door is closing slowly but of Michael Stephens there is no sign, no sign at all…

[Ace309 0]

“I can’t be arsed to track this wanker down…”

 

Michael Stephens wanders the corridors of the William A. Egan Civic and Convention Center, having already finished one conversation (that means argument) earlier today. This one, on paper at least, will be much less amicable but when has that ever stopped the Brit from speaking his mind. Rounding another corner, Mike finally spots the next subject with which he plans to have an exchange.

 

“Gabe!” Stephens shouts, as Gabriel Drake looks over his shoulder and then continues walking. “Hey… Gabe! Goddamnit, you great prick, I’m not trying to hike around this arena anymore than I already have tonight!” The Beast doesn’t stop. “Jesus, you’re tougher to deal with than Livvy on her rag… or so I’ve been told.”

 

Drake seems amused by this and slows. Pissed off sure, but still amused none the less, his eyebrow quirking as he spins around faintly remembering saying the same thing once long ago. Stephens always was entertaining (as much as an asshole can be anyway) and this time is no different.

 

“What the fuck do you want?”

 

Gabe never was one for tact…

 

“I want to know what the bloody hell that scene in the ring with Landon was.”

 

Mike wasn’t one either…

 

“Did I do something wrong?” Drake asks, smoothly leaning back while pressing his left foot up against the wall. “Since when did a handshake between people with no personal animosity signify the end of the world? I’m a changed man, Toxx, just like you!”

 

“Bollocks, you’re up to something.” Mike states with authority. “When’ve you ever let anything go, Gabe? You’re the most vindictive person I’ve met and you definitely can’t be trusted. Its bullshit, I know it and so does Landon.”

 

“And?” Gabe says, shrugging. “So what, of course deep down, he just knows it’s all mind games. Hell, he said so himself last week. Bam—sweet chin music, right? Everyone knows what I went out there to accomplish, right? It was all a grand show for those fans of yours… or should I say fans of Landon’s.” Drake pauses and then lets out a low, cutting chuckle. “Unless… there’s been more than just a little truth to what I’ve been telling him?”

 

Stephens neither confirms nor denies this, but Drake continues undaunted.

 

“Oh, you’re right, Mike. I am up to something, but maybe I want Maddix to know it—expect it, because then maybe he’ll lose focus on the most important objective of our match. And that’s trying to hold the fuckin’ SWF World Heavyweight Title! A little manipulation goes a long way… after all; it used to work so well for you with the crowd.” Gabe sneers. “I thought I’d give it a try too.”

 

“So that’s the grand plan, huh?” Mike shakes his head. “It’s a nice idea in theory mate, but what happens when I tell Landon what’s what?”

 

“You have my permission to tell him what I said, but I doubt he’d believe you anyway.” Drake responds. “Trust is a hard thing to rebuild. It’s funny… even though nobody believes me; I won’t touch Maddix before our match takes place. Besides, I know I sound like a broken record, but I won’t even have to.” The Beast adds with a sideways smirk. “Your presence will probably be enough to get him out of his game—and he is on his game right now. The ladder match stipulation was quite the good idea, I’ll give him that.” Drake concedes. “It’s not just a catchphrase; Landon does come out there with a plan every time. He’s a real idea man, that one!” Gabe adds sarcastically, while hazel eyes slowly rise, locking onto grey ones and then he smiles coldly. “I think I will have to do something about that, though.”

 

“You’re talking in riddles, Gabe.” Stephens says perplexed by his former friend’s circular speech. “That’s not you. Why don’t you just spell it out like always?”

 

“Because I finished my business with you in December, Mike and until you become important again, I’ll have nothing more to do with you. So, if we’re done, I’d suggest you fuck off, get over yourself and continue to stay fazed out of the World Title scene you self-important, sanctimonious, sunnuva-bitch… in that order!”

 

Drake glances at Stephens out of the corner of his eye to see if he got a reaction. And boy did he! Pleased at the former Toxxic’s gritted teeth and scowl, Gabe walks past his long time rival…

 

“Bye now…”

 

Standing in the hallway, Michael Stephens bangs his hand against the wall. It’s officially. He’s having another bad day, but luckily he still has a match left. Stephens needs to take it out on somebody.

 

 

 

FADE…

[Ace309 0]

‘When I was back in seminary school…’

 

Everyone sits up and takes notice when Jim Morrison’s voice rings out over the PA system.

 

‘…there was a person there who put forth the proposition

That you can petition the Lord with prayer.

 

Petition the Lord with prayer?

 

Petition the Lord with prayer?

 

YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LORD WITH PRAYER!’

 

*BOOOM!!*

 

The opening riff of ‘Kashmir’ by Led Zeppelin rings out as blue pyro erupts from the soundstage - Tom Flesher may not be wrestling anymore, but since he only comes out once in a blue moon now a few fireworks won’t go amiss, it seems. The SWF’s Commissioner struts down the ramp with a glass of bourbon in one hand, a microphone in the other and a smug expression on his face. Not that Tom Flesher doesn’t normally look smug, but you know. Smugger than usual.

 

“King, I wasn’t informed that Tom was going to be coming down to address us tonight,” Mak says, looking through his notes, “so I can only assume that either something urgent has come up or, giving how he’s taking his time and that two members of the crew put a desk into the ring in the commercial break, that he’s had an announcement planned and just likes to surprise people.”

 

“Who cares why he’s here?” the Suicide King responds, “it’s just great to see him again! Ah Tom, how long it’s been since we saw you in the ring!”

 

“It was December, King. And the end of December at that.”

 

“Too long!”

 

Flesher nods in greeting to the fans in the front row - some of whom salute him as the maestro of in-ring competition that he is, some of whom flip him off as the dastardly, cheating toerag that he is - and slowly climbs the steps to the ring apron, whereupon he casually steps through and enters the hallowed square circle of the SWF once again.

 

“TAA-MO!”

 

(“SUCKS!”)

 

“TAA-MO!”

 

(“SUCKS!”)

 

The odd, double-layered chant continues for a few moments until Flesher raises a hand for silence. It’s the hand with the bourbon in so he can’t spread his fingers in quite the condescending manner that he’d like to, but it’s good enough.

 

“Good evening everyone,” Flesher says, “both to you here in Anchorage, Alaska-”

 

“YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“-and much more importantly, to all the fans watching who aren’t in Anchorage, Alaska,” Flesher finishes, unable to stop himself.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Great way to ensure we get a full house next time, Tom,” Mak sighs.

 

“Oh, and what are these Eskimos going to do instead if the SWF comes to town?” Suicide King demands, “go clubbing?”

 

“Are there any clubs-”

 

“I meant seal clubbing, Francis.”

 

“TAA-MO!”

 

(“SUCKS!”)

 

“TAA-MO!”

 

(“SUCKS!”)

 

Some of the fans know when a master is at work; the others just hate his guts. Flesher smiles again and moves onto the main reason why he’s out here (insulting people from Alaska does qualify as a reason in and of itself though).

 

“Folks, we’ve seen the SWF go through many twists and turns in its storied history,” Tom Flesher announces, “we’ve seen great matches, great rivalries… and some not-so-great matches and some rivalries that have been quite frankly disappointing, but you’ve got to take the rough with the smooth,” he continues, “we are after all in the business of competition, and you can’t have a nail-bitingly close contest every time. Sometimes one of the wrestlers in the SWF will outclass their opponent so badly that the word ‘competitive’ hardly applies any longer… but I like to think that I still made it as entertaining as possible for you,” he finishes, taking a sip of his drink.

 

“King, I don’t know where we’re heading after tonight, but I think Tom’s ego is already there before us,” Mak comments.

 

“But, despite the problems inherent to any business venture such as this, the SWF has gone from strength to strength,” Flesher begins again, “and now, as we stand on the brink of new heights of success-”

 

“Kayfabe is alive and well,” the Franchise remarks sourly.

 

“-it has been deemed a fitting time to bring back another one of those legends of the SWF who tended to outclass his opponents,” Tom concludes, unaware of Mak’s commentary. “Some of you will remember him from his early days in the SJL. More of you will remember him as a participant in WarGames…”

 

The crowd starts to stir in anticipation - this sounds promising.

 

“…but I’m prepared to bet that virtually all of you who haven’t been living under a rock for the last couple of years,” Flesher continues, then pauses. “…or living in Anchorage, I suppose…”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“…should remember him as the VERY FIRST four-time SWF World Heavyweight Champion!” Flesher concludes with a grandiose flourish, “ladies and gentlemen, I give to you, DANNY WILLIAMS!!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

…and, as the crowd’s boos change into cheers, the gentle lilting tones of ‘Jester’s Dance’ by In Flames starts to ring out around the arena. After a few moments the bulky, imposing shape of Williams himself appears at the top of the entrance ramp and the SWF legend stops to look around at the crowd for a moment.

 

“DAN-E!”

 

“DAN-E!”

 

“DAN-E!”

 

A smile breaks Williams’ face, and the big man begins his progress to the ring again. Meanwhile on commentary, Mak Francis is silent.

 

“Cat got your tongue, Mak?” Suicide King snipes at his partner. “I’d have thought you’d definitely have something to say about Danny Williams returning to the company.”

 

Williams stumps up the steps, the steel ringing under his boots, then steps through the ropes and raises both arms to garner another cheer from the fans. However, the man from Louisville is quick to get back down to business and shakes hands with Flesher, nodding and exchanging an inaudible greeting with the Superior One as he does so.

 

“I mean,” the Gambling Man continues with a sideways glance at Francis, “this is the guy who repeatedly defeated you in 2005, your last active run with the company-”

 

“Shut up!” Mak snaps, then controls himself with some effort. “Danny Williams,” he continues, in a slightly strained tone of voice, “is a… great wrestler and a very skilled competitor.”

 

“Sucks that he can come back and you can’t,” King says innocently.

 

Meanwhile in the ring Flesher and Danny have finished shaking hands and the SWF’s Commissioner has gestured to the table standing beside them with a sheaf of papers on it. Unsurprisingly, a pen lies nearby. Williams picks up the papers at Flesher’s gesture, then the pen. Flesher takes up the microphone again and turns to face the audience (well, they’re all around. He turns to face the camera).

 

“It’s not everyday that a former World Champion walks up to you and says ‘Tom, I want to come back to the SWF, I want to make a difference’,” he says, “and I think it’s due to the mutual respect that we have as two highly-talented athletes that this has happened.” He looks over at Williams, and the Louisville Elbower nods, albeit rather reluctantly at the implication that he considers himself to be highly-talented.

 

“Heh, the roid-monkey looks like he just wants to get out of there and leave,” King chortles.

 

“Fancy,” Mak replies shortly.

 

“So, without any further ado,” Flesher continues, “I’d like to present to you, signing his contract here in Anchorage - c’mon people, show some freaking gratitude, you don’t even see the sun for half the year but you get a scoop like this…?”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Flesher opens his mouth to once more triumphantly announce the name of his newest signing, the man he hopes will send ratings and buyrates through the roof with his unique style of hard-hitting, high-impact wrestling…

 

“DANNY WILLIAMS!?”

 

…but he gets beaten to it.

 

“Huh?” Mak says, looking up. Flesher turns around, expressions of surprise and outrage warring on his face.

 

…and down the entrance ramp comes another man with a microphone. And blue-black hair, and black fingernails, and a black-and-red canvas trenchcoat.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“I guess the fans are still bitter over Stephens’… well, callous attitude towards Wildchild,” Mak Francis comments.

 

“Whining bitches,” is King’s reply.

 

“Danny Williams?” Michael Stephens repeats in an incredulous tone of voice, “seriously? That’s your answer to everything, Tom? This is your solution? This,” he continues, pointing at Williams who just stands there with a ‘what now’ expression on his face, “is the reason you are ‘phasing me out’, Tom?”

 

“Mike, this isn’t your business,” Flesher replies, tone clipped, “so if you’d like to-”

 

“No, I would not like to!” Stephens snaps, sliding in under the ring ropes and straightening up in front of the Commissioner. “You’ve pissed me about, shoved me down the card, made me wrestle Clark two weeks in a row… and now you’re bringing in Elbows as some sort of half-arsed ‘quick fix’? Bloody hell, I knew you were up yer own arse but I still thought you were clever!”

 

“Danny Williams,” Flesher says, doing his best to restrain himself from slapping the Englishman upside the head, “is a four-time World Champion, and one of the biggest stars this industry has had in years. I don’t care what you think of him, Mike, he’s coming back to the SWF!”

 

“Oh yeah?” Stephens shoots back, “for how long? See Tom, I don’t know what you remember about Danny, but what I remember is a guy who, yes, won the World Title four times… and you blinked, and that title reign was over.” He jerks a black-nailed thumb at his own chest. “Whereas me? I held that belt from May to December, Tom! You could have rolled up all of Danny’s title reigns, added them together, multiplied them by two and they would have still fitted into that one of mine, and I’ve got three more on top of that as well!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“But that’s not the best part,” Stephens continues, “no, the best part is what happened afterwards. See, some people when they lose take their ball and go home, but not Danny. No, Danny Williams, when he loses he takes his ball and goes to Japan!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

Danny Williams has put the contract back on the table and is just watching Michael Stephens. The Englishman’s ire is directed at Tom Flesher, who is fuming and clearly realises that this is the worst possible welcome back to the SWF that Danny Williams could have had… but if he tries to remove Stephens himself there’s the risk that, with his bad back, he’ll get shown up in front of the fans and in front of Danny (professional pride, you know), whereas if he calls for other people to do it then maybe it just shows that he can’t do it himself? So Flesher glares at Stephens with the plan of ignoring him until he winds down and gives up.

 

Thing is, Stephens doesn’t wind down quick.

 

“Remember 2004?” he asks Flesher. “Danny lost to Va’aiga - gone. He came back, then he lost to Janus and then to me - gone. Came back again in 2005, lost to Magnifico - gone. I mean, are you seeing a pattern here? Cos I’m wondering Tom, are you going to gift-wrap Danny’s route to the top for him? Are you going to protect him, feed him a few of the lower-card guys and then push him for the World Title? But if you do that’ll only be the beginning of your problems, because if you get him there you’ll have to still protect him, because the moment he loses the title he’s outta here and back to the Land of the Rising Sun.”

 

“Mike, I don’t suppose you’ve given any thought to the possibility of Danny leaving those times due to injuries, have you?” Flesher asks with heavy sarcasm. Stephens takes it on the chin and shrugs it off.

 

“No,” he answers, staring right into Flesher’s eyes, “but I guess you bought those stories, right?” He steps past Flesher and towards Danny, who regards the Englishman impassively. Stephens looks him up and down for a second, then raises his microphone again.

 

“Danny, don’t get me wrong,” he begins, “I know you’re a good wrestler. I’ve been in the ring with you. I’m not doubting your talent. But you shouldn’t be here.”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“So Mak, do you agree with him?” King asks.

 

“I’m… struggling not to,” Francis admits.

 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Stephens repeats, “not now, not like this. You’ve had what, one match here since the summer of 2005? When you defeated the mighty Kevin Coyote at Genesis VII,” he continues, voice touched by sarcasm, “and yet you come back here with the special treatment, the saviour of the SWF, and you get the public contract signing out here in front of everyone. Now don’t tell me, I bet Flesher suggested this,” he says, and the perceptive viewers may think to themselves that Williams’ head nods slightly, “but that doesn’t change the fact that you agreed to it,” Stephens declares.

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“So the way I see it,” Stephens says, “you’re back in the wrong way, and at the wrong time. But most importantly of all… you’re standing in my way.”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Williams looks down at the Englishman, then very subtly alters his stance. Danny’s spent enough time in the SWF at the same time as Stephens to know when the straight-edger is on the verge of opening hostilities, and he‘s not going to be caught napping. However, for the moment Mike just continues to speak.

 

“So the way I see it, you have two choices,” Stephens says, gesturing with his black-nailed fingers. “You can go back to Japan… or you can go to Hell.”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“But either way,” he continues, talking over the fans, “you can get the fuck out of my ring.”

 

And he spits in Danny’s face.

 

“RAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

The William A. Egan Civic & Convention Center suddenly explodes; the crowd rises to its collective feet while Tom Flesher starts forward, ready to try and hold the two men back from each other. However, in the middle of the din two men stand stock still; Michael Stephens and Danny Williams, staring at each other.

 

“Michael Stephens just spat in Danny Williams’ face!” Mak Francis says, more in shock than because he truly believes any viewer will have missed it, “Danny Williams is a proud man, and that… well King, I’m amazed that Stephens still has a jaw connected to his face!”

 

“Attaboy Toxx!” King shouts, “you’re getting back into the swing of things!”

 

Slowly, Danny Williams reaches up and wipes his face. Then, not taking his eyes from Stephens, he stretches out an arm and takes the microphone from Tom Flesher’s hand.

 

“Tom, I’ve made a decision,” the man from Louisville says, surprisingly quietly given his size and the recent events. “I’ll sign your contract…” his eyes narrow “…as long as I face this little shit first.”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“DAN-E!”

 

“DAN-E!”

 

“DAN-E!”

 

The fans like that decision, and make it clear! Meanwhile Stephens doesn’t seem to like being referred to as a ‘little shit’, oddly enough, but Flesher has had enough of the whole situation and from the back comes a veritable stream of black-shirted Security guards! They pour into the ring and start to edge between the two men, ready to stop them if anyone makes to swing a punch…

 

“Fans, we’ve got to take another commercial break now,” Mak Francis says, cursing the timing, “but we’ll be right back after this!”

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

Edited March 9, 2007 by Ace309

[Ace309 0]

Storm returns to the William A. Egan Civic & Convention Center with a star wipe to reveal the Anchorage crowd still standing. Incredibly nondescript camera man Johnny Generic pans around the arena, then stops on Mak and King.

 

"Welcome back to Alaska, folks! We are just moments away from our first of two title matches, and there are two familiar faces from last week's three title show," Mak says.

 

"Too bad both of the current champions will retain tonight. MANSON is an unstoppable force, while Jimmy the Doom is far from an immovable object, and I can't imagine Wildchild has recovered entirely from that vicious choke slam he took last week," King says.

 

"He does have a bit more time as his match with Calvin Szechstein for the Cruiserweight title is tonight's main event. On the other hand, Doom, who lucked out against Zyon after taking a beating, must put his Hardcore title on the line right now," Mak says.

 

The lights drop out, cueing a guttural, distorted warbling from the speakers, then a deep, animalistic growl sparks Cephalic Carnage's "Scientific Remote Viewing" into gear. White strobe lights flash erratically as smoke billows from the stage. The curtains part as a hooded figure emerges and walks down the ramp.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall and is for the World Hardcore title! Introducing first, the challenger. He stands six feet, one inch tall and weighs two hundred, thirty pounds. From Denver, Colorado, the Stampede, MMMMAAAAAANNNNSSSSONNN!" Funyon roars.

 

The Raging Bull reaches the ring, and is joined by a swarm of cloaked figures. One climbs inside the ring and stares towards the stage, metal mask glinting.

 

"He's pulling this crap again? MANSON must really doubt his abilities if he's got to resort to underhanded tactics like this," Mak says.

 

"You have got to be brain damaged, Francis. This isn't doubt, it's an insurance policy! MANSON is proving to be a very psychological competitor, and opponents that can't handle it get beaten. Take Ricky Barbosa for example. Okay, everybody beats Barbosa, but MANSON is still a genius," King says.

 

"I just thought maybe MANSON would face Doom man to man, since the duo were quite successful in the Lethal Lottery, almost getting to the finals," Mak says.

 

"Oh, come on, Mak! That was over a year ago, and besides, Jimmy is just lucky MANSON has waited this long to pound him out," King says.

 

The strobes cut off, as does "Scientific Remote Viewing", but the lights don't return. The sound of marching feet fills the arena, and chanting voices punctuate the familiar entrance.

 

Doom!

 

Doom!

 

Doom!

 

Doom!

 

Doom!

 

Doom!

 

The lights finally snap back on, displaying nearly forty druids surrounding the ring as "Yakety Sax" blares. The song plays through completely before Doom finally appears on the stage. Jimmy stops there and looks down at his feet. The champ waits a few seconds before continuing, two leathery, reptilian heads parting the curtains as Jimmy walks down the ramp.

 

"And now, the champion! Being accompanied by Lois the Unethical, he stands six feet, five inches tall and weighs two hundred, thirty pounds. From Doomopolis, Doomtopia, the Straight-Bread Sensation, JJJJJIIIIIIMMMMYYYYYY THE DOOOOOOOM!" Funyon screams.

 

"Is he really wearing alligator snapping turtles on his shoes?" Mak asks.

 

"How'd he get turtles to Alaska?" King shoots back.

 

Jimmy takes a left at the ring, and a nearby druid finds himself missing a chunk of leg.

 

"Okay, a turtle just bit a druid. That can't be good," Mak says.

 

"Mak, it's just a druid. Hell, throw a hooded cloak on any hobo and you've got a middling druid," King says.

 

Doom unstraps his failed turtle skates and keeps on walking, when a figure springs from behind and wraps a chain around the champ's neck! Jimmy flails wildly, knocking his attacker's hood back, revealing the true Savage Messiah! The decoy over, MANSON's acolytes disperse through the crowd as referee Matt Kivell signals for the bell.

 

Ding! Ding! Ding!

 

"It looks like MANSON's deception paid off, and he's not only in control of this match, but the champion as well," Mak says.

 

"Another perfectly executed plan on the part of the Stampede, and as you said, Mak, MANSON can take Doom just about anywhere," King says.

 

The Raging Bull drags Jimmy around the ring, away from the turtles, and then heads up the ramp. Kivell follows the two wrestlers, while Lois hands the title off to Funyon and stays to take care of the reptiles. MANSON gets to the top of the stage, but goes no further as Doom trips him up, sending the challenger into the SmarkTron supports.

 

HABILMENT!

 

MANSON's grip on the chain loosens, and Jimmy slips his head free. Doom cracks his opponent with a shotei, but MANSON responds with a right cross. Jimmy lands another palm to the chest, only to be driven back by a knee to the gut. MANSON quickly wraps the chain around his right hand and cracks the Straight-Breader with an uppercut, sending Doom through the curtain.

 

HARRIDAN!

 

MANSON rips his cloak off, and follows after Doom, as does Kivell, prompting the SmarkTron to crackle to life. The Stampede throws another chained fist, but Jimmy yanks his head out of the way and nails MANSON with a kick to the chest. Jimmy follows up with a palm thrust to the jaw, then whips MANSON down the hall.

 

"And away we go, where they'll stop, nobody knows," Mak says.

 

"This should be interesting for Doom. Not a lot of his title defenses have left the ring," King says.

 

"Well, one of his more memorable matches started backstage, that epic Genesis Seven bout against Crimson Skull," Mak points out.

 

The Straight-Bread Sensation gives chase, only to get knocked flat by a roundhouse kick.

 

HAYCOCK!

 

MANSON slides down and throws a meaty fist for Doom's head, but only manages to hit concrete.

 

HETERODOXY!

 

Jimmy rolls away from his opponent and pops to his feet. Jimmy charges MANSON and cracks him with a dropkick. Doom hauls the challenger off the ground and lays into him with a palm thrust. Mr. OSITY shakes the blow off and responds with an elbow to the jaw. MANSON nails the champ with another, then grabs Jimmy by the back of the head and begins lacing chain-wrapped fists into Doom's jaw.

 

HEURISTIC!

 

HIEROPHANT!

 

HISTORICITY!

 

The Doomtopian sufficiently dazed, MANSON wraps Jimmy up and drives him to the ground with a belly to belly slam. MANSON slides up and begins laying into the champ with punches from the mount.

 

HISTRIONIC!

 

HOMILETICS!

 

HONORARIUM!

 

HOROLOGY!

 

HOURI!

 

The Stampede quickly spins to the side and makes a lateral press.

 

One!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two-No!

 

"Shoulder up from the champion! MANSON is not letting up one bit, and he nearly got the three count right there," Mak says.

 

"If MANSON can keep up this pace, it shouldn't be too long before he's the new Hardcore champion. Of course, he's got to be careful not to make a mistake, as Jimmy proved last week that he'll eagerly capitalize on any mistake an opponent makes," King says.

 

The Raging Bull hauls Doom off the ground and forces him against a wall. MANSON cocks back his arm, but Jimmy shoves him away with a front kick. The Straight-Breader snaps off another kick to MANSON's body, then goes up top with a head kick.

 

HOURI!

 

The champion presses forward, nailing the Savage Messiah with a trifecta of palm thrusts before getting hit with a left cross. MANSON fires off an elbow, only to get smacked with the same. The Doomtopian begins backing his American opponent up with rapid-fire strikes, but Mr. OSITY stops Jimmy in his tracks with a knee to the gut. MANSON drives another knee in Doom's stomach, and a third, then launches Jimmy down the hall. The Stampede gives chase as crew members scatter. MANSON reaches Doom, and the two start trading blows again.

 

"I'm not sure if MANSON wants to get in a striking battle with Jimmy the Doom. The Hardcore champion is perhaps the toughest member of the SWF, and on top of that, he's a trained martial artist," Mak says.

 

"Doom may have precision and technique on his side, but MANSON is so strong that it hardly matters," King says.

 

"I don't know, King. I think that a wild brawler is likely to get picked apart by someone with more skill, and a lot of small shots add up eventually," Mak says.

 

Jimmy laces a shotei into MANSON's jaw, but the Stampede bulls forward, nailing Doom with a right hook.

 

HOYDEN!

 

"What about that, Mak? That chain around MANSON's hand adds a lot more pop to his punches, and Doom can't take too many more of those," King says.

 

"Have you forgotten who you're talking about, King? Jimmy the Doom has withstood a lot worse than chain-wrapped fists," Mak says.

 

MANSON takes another swing for Doom's head, but Jimmy dips under the blow. The Straight-Bread Sensation wraps his opponent up, lifts, and slams him down with an atomic drop. Jimmy takes a step back and leaps, knocking MANSON forward with a dropkick. Doom clambers up to his feet and races after MANSON, nailing him with a leaping front kick just as the Raging Bull turns around.

 

HYMENEAL!

 

Jimmy scrambles back to MANSON and drops down with a head BUTT.

 

IGNOMINIOUSLY!

 

Doom does a push up, then lets himself fall, hitting MANSON with another head BUTT.

 

IMBROGLIO!

 

Jimmy pushes himself up again, and the falls with third head BUTT.

 

IMPECUNIOUS!

 

The champ stretches out and makes a cover on MANSON.

 

One!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

T-No!

 

"And the Stampede kicks out for only two. Nice little display of athletic prowess by the champion, don't you think?" Mak asks.

 

"Push up head butts? Oh, yeah, that's really amazing. Wildchild should take notes from Jimmy the Doom," King says.

 

Jimmy pulls MANSON up and sends him into the wall with an Irish whip.

 

IMPINGEMENT!

 

Doom follows in and leaps, but Mr. OSITY slips around the corner, leaving the Straight-Breader to meet the wall.

 

IMPRIMATUR!

 

The champ peels himself off the wall, and gives chase, only to find an empty hallway. Jimmy walks forward slowly, but the corridor is devoid of anything for the Stampede to hide behind.

 

"Where the hell did he go? Last I checked, MANSON can't turn invisible," Mak says.

 

"Like he'd show you if he could," King says.

 

Doom keeps walking down the hall, when MANSON pops out from the women's bathroom, clutching a folding chair! The challenger runs up behind Jimmy and clocks him.

 

INAMORATA!

 

The Straight-Breader drops to his knees, MANSON raises the chair above his head, and crashes it into Jimmy's skull.

 

INCARNADINE!

 

Doom falls on his face, but Mr. OSITY doesn't relent in the slightest.

 

INCHOATE!

 

INCIPIENCE!

 

INCULCATE!

 

With the chair contorted beyond all recognition, MANSON drops it and flips Doom over for a pin fall.

 

One!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thr-No!

 

"The champ is still alive! Jimmy has taken quite a beating thus far, but he's not out of it yet," Mak says.

 

"I don't think he'll make it much longer. MANSON is practically unstoppable. Doom has managed to fight back and slow down the onslaught a bit, but never once has he stopped it completely," King says.

 

MANSON picks Jimmy up and nails him with a right hand, staggering the Doomtopian.

 

INCUNABULA!

 

The champ throws out a palm strike, but MANSON walks through it and cracks him with an elbow. The Stampede takes hold of Jimmy's right hand and pulls the Straight-Breader in for a short-arm knee. MANSON slaps on a waist lock, pivots, and launches Doom overhead and through a steel door.

 

INDEFATIGABLE!

 

Jimmy lands in the snow, startling a nearby security guard, while MANSON stalks after Doom.

 

"This fight has now spilled out of the arena! This could be dangerous for both men, as it's probably in the single digits outside," Mak says.

 

"Maybe, but MANSON is from Denver. I'm sure he's used to snow and coldness," King says.

 

"Not a chance, King. I'm from Philadelphia, and trust me, cold weather affects everyone," Mak says.

 

The Savage Messiah pulls Jimmy to his feet and gets popped with a Hand of Doom. The Straight-Breader yanks MANSON's head down into a knee, then plants the challenger with a sit-out power bomb.

 

INEFFABLE!

 

One!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Th-No!

 

"A Jimmy Bomb from the champ only gets a two, and the referee is already starting to feel the cold. He's shivering like a chihuahua," Mak says.

 

"Yeah, but that twig is nowhere on the level of MANSON or Doom," King says.

 

Doom starts to lift MANSON up, but the challenger drives a forearm into his groin. MANSON reaches up and blasts Jimmy with a stiff right hand.

 

INELUCTABLY!

 

MANSON climbs to his feet and smacks Jimmy with a knee to the head. MANSON pulls Jimmy upright and nails him with an elbow. The Raging Bull pops Doom with another elbow, then slips behind the champ. Mr. OSITY cinches on a rear waist lock and pops his hips, sending the Straight-Bread Sensation overhead and into the steel door that only swings outward.

 

INGUINAL!

 

"That was a vicious German suplex from MANSON! Doom's back and head collided with that door, and for once, Jimmy's skull was defeated," Mak says.

 

"MANSON could very well win the title right now," King says.

 

The Stampede trudges through the snow, pulls Doom away from the door, and makes a lateral press.

 

One!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thre-No!

 

"The champ gets a shoulder up again! I really thought MANSON was about to be crowned the new Hardcore champion, but Jimmy isn't out of this fight yet," Mak says.

 

"He will be in a few more minutes and then his reign of idiocy will thankfully be over," King says.

 

MANSON drags Jimmy towards the door, opens it, and shoves Doom's head inside. The Raging Bull slams the door, but the champ grabs hold of it inches from his head. MANSON tries to smash Doom's head, but the Straight-Breader fends him off. Jimmy pushes the door open a bit more and slides his body through the opening. MANSON flings open the door and charges through, only to get spun around by the Doomtopian. The Straight-Bread Sensation slaps on an inverted face lock, hooks MANSON's left leg, and picks him off the ground. Doom falls back and makes a lateral press.

 

INIMICAL!

 

One!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Three-No!

 

"MANSON kicks out after a brutal Doom Driver on the concrete! If nothing else, hypothermia and frostbite are kept at bay now that the match is back inside the building," Mak says.

 

"I almost got nervous there, then I remembered this is Jimmy the Doom and MANSON, and there's no way that MANSON is losing to Doom," King says.

 

"King, you have said that about Doom and whoever his opponent or opponents happen to be at the time, and you've been wrong every single instance. Just a reminder," Mak says.

 

"Yes, I do know this, Mak. All it means is that I'm due to be right," King says.

 

Jimmy clambers to his feet and yanks MANSON up as well. Doom pops the Raging Bull with a palm to the jaw, then boots Mr. OSITY in the gut, doubling him over. The Straight-Breader takes a double fistful of MANSON's hair, and gets nailed in the ribs with a right hand.

 

INSOUCIANT!

 

Still bent over, MANSON reaches up and pops the champion in the cheek with another right hand, then drives forward, slamming Jimmy into the wall.

 

INTERLOCUTORY!

 

INTERNECINE!

 

"Jimmy was going for the Doom Factor, but MANSON put a stop to that very quickly. Doom probably should have tried to set it up with a Hand of Doom," Mak says.

 

"Well, too bad for him, because MANSON is about to smash him into little bits," King says.

 

The Savage Messiah drags Jimmy away from the wall and shoves his head forward, placing himself in a head scissors. Doom is too dazed to take advantage, though, and MANSON stands up, draping the champ down his back. MANSON finds a bare patch of floor and flips Jimmy down.

 

INTERSTICE!

 

Mr. OSITY grabs Doom by the arms and begins to lift him off the ground, only to plant a foot in Jimmy's face and drive him back into the concrete.

 

INTROIT!

 

"Alabama Slam followed up by a curb stomp from MANSON! He might have this match in the bag now," Mak says.

 

"Maybe, Francis. MANSON might want to inflict a bit more pain first. Or a lot more pain," King says.

 

MANSON backs away from the downed champ and tries to loosen up his right arm.

 

"It looks like MANSON is preparing to finish his path of destruction by cutting through Jimmy the Doom with his Iron Cutting Sword," Mak says.

 

"With all the punishment Jimmy has taken to his upper body, the Zantetsuken is more than enough to get the job done. Perhaps even overkill, but I don't have a problem with that," King says.

 

Jimmy rises to his feet and leans against the wall for support while MANSON waits for the right moment to strike. The Straight-Breader slowly turns around and Mr. OSITY races towards him. The Raging Bull throws out his right arm while the champ puts up his right in desperation. Doom manages to snare MANSON's arm in the crook of his elbow, and the champ isn't one to let a prize such as this go to waste. Jimmy twists MANSON's trapped appendage with an arm wringer, and then cracks him with a kick to the stomach.

 

"Jimmy countered the Zantetsuken, and it looks like he's setting up for Doomsday!" Mak shouts.

 

"No, no, no! This better be a bad dream," King growls.

 

Doom cranks on MANSON's arm some more, then lands another body kick. Jimmy laces the Stampede with a kick to the face, then jumps and drops him with an enzuigiri.

 

INVEIGLER!

 

The Straight-Bread Sensation keeps hold of MANSON's arm, then scissors the limb and pulls back.

 

"That's not quite Doomsday, but it looks like Jimmy has an arm bar locked in!" Mak shouts.

 

"What? How the hell does he know that?" King roars.

 

"I'm not sure, but MANSON is in trouble! That's a bit like a juji-gatame with the way Doom is trying to hyperextend MANSON's elbow," Mak says.

 

Kivell drops to his knees to ask MANSON, but the Stampede is too busy trying to find some way to escape. He scrabbles on the slick floor, but is unable to budge the four hundred and sixty pounds that is Jimmy and him with one arm.

 

"There really isn't much MANSON can do right there. If he tries to prop himself up on his free arm, it's just going to add more pressure to his trapped shoulder, and besides, there's no place for him to go. If he were in the ring, he could maybe pull him and Jimmy outside and to the floor to possibly dislodge the Straight-Bread Sensation," Mak says.

 

"MANSON should just pop his shoulder out of socket, slip out, pop it back in, and finish kicking Jimmy's ass," King says.

 

"So he can win the Hardcore title, then spend a few months in the hospital recovering?" Mak asks.

 

"Better than Doom holding it any longer," King says.

 

Kivell checks on MANSON again, but is ignored again as the Savage Messiah tries to slip free from Doom's grip. However, the champ is practically an anaconda, and Mr. OSITY is well and truly trapped. Jimmy keeps up the pressure, occasionally cranking back, but is still unable to get enough torque to cause MANSON to tap.

 

"There might be hope for MANSON, as it looks like Jimmy can't quite get enough force to pull his arm back," Mak says. "The champ might tire or lose his grip before the pain becomes too unbearable for the Raging Bull."

 

"It's not surprising that Doom's having trouble. MANSON has taken down countless foes with that arm, so it's understandable that it's as strong as it is," King says.

 

The champ crosses his ankles, drives them into MANSON's other shoulder, plants his knees on the trapped shoulder, and falls backwards.

 

Tap!

 

Tap!

 

Tap!

 

Kivell pulls Jimmy off the Raging Bull and the two men race for the ring.

 

"No! At the sound of the bell, you will awaken to find that Jimmy has not retained the title, and MANSON has in fact dropped Doom on his skull with the Instant Hell Murder to win the belt," King says, trying to hypnotize himself.

 

Matt bursts through the curtain first, signaling for the bell wildly, then raises the Doomtopian's hand.

 

Ding! Ding! Ding!

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, the winner and still Hardcore champion, JJJJJIIIIIIMMMMMMYYYYYYYY THE DOOOOOOOOOOOM!" Funyon screams.

 

"Sorry King, I guess you didn't do it soon enough," Mak says.

 

Lois looks up from brushing the turtles and grabs her husband's title as "Yakety Sax" plays over the speakers.

 

"This should not count, Mak. When else has Jimmy used a fucking cross arm breaker?" King asks.

 

"I'm not sure, but the frequency doesn't matter King. What matters is the result, and that is another successful defense for the Hardcore champ," Mak says.

 

"Too bad this isn't the worst of it. That damn tag team mess is going to really piss me off, I can feel it," King says.

 

The Panic Ogre gives the belt to Jimmy as Storm fades to a commercial for Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs' new Bill Hearford Brisket: "So succulent and tender, it's guilty of being delicious!"

[Ace309 0]

Revenge.

 

It was something men like Johnny Dangerous and Wildchild knew all too well. Each had their demons, and given time they had been vanquished. Revenge was also something the boys of the Galacticos were also familiar with, but for one of them - Michael Stephens - it seemed like it was always he who came out on the losing end. But just one week ago it was not the former World Champion who came out on the losing end, it was Wild & Dangerous, and for at least one of them, the defeat came in a way that he still feels seven days later.

 

Wildchild sits, for the moment alone, under a single light in one of the Convention Center's many dark hallways. His stare at the wall across from him is not one the long-time SWF fan might be familiar with, but for his tag team partner, it was something he was starting to become used to ever since he watched his best friend thrown eight feet by the throat from the ring to the floor, courtesy of the man some might call 'yesterday's news', a falling star trying to make the greatest crash when he finally reaches rock bottom.

 

Johnny shamefully looks away from his tag partner. All though you’d never hear Wildchild level any blame on Johnny Dangerous, the Barracuda can’t help but feel responsible. Once again, time after time, Johnny has failed to react when he’s needed the most. This time it not only cost them the Tag Team Championship, it’s added one more bruise to an already battered body.

 

“We’ll get them back,” Johnny says as he tilts his head skyward. “They might have beaten us once and cheated us a second time, but they’ve got no more tricks left.”

 

Johnny glances down at his partner, who has yet to move, and then directs his attention front and center. “Just because he got thrown out of the clusterfuck by Janus gives him no excuse to cross the line like he did last week. I should have known better than to think he could be the better man, especially after all of the battles we’ve had. Everyone should have known better than to think he could be someone better.”

 

“The Galacticos have now crossed the line of decency to keep their fist clenched onto the titles Wild and Dangerous worked to create a legacy for. Teamwork and talent – two things we made sure to present when we held those titles have now been replaced by egos and attitudes.”

 

“This battle has just begun, though. The next time we meet you won’t have the chance to cheat us. You won’t be able to beat us. You might break our record but you’ll never defeat our legacy. Wild and Dangerous is coming for the Galacticos once more…and Johnny’s coming to put a beating on Michael Stephens once more.”

 

Johnny looks back at his partner and says, “Come on, you’ve got a match to prepare for.”

 

Wildchild gets up and the pair heads off…

 

 

As We:

FADE OUT.

[Ace309 0]

SWF Storm returns in Anchorage, Alaska with an electric crowd.

 

“Welcome back,” Mak enthusiastically greets, “we’re back and ready for a match with some potentially interesting results. It’s a tag team match that involves the Galaticos and the Asia Underground, except it’s not the usual teams, King.”

 

“Why are you explaining this to me? I got the card right in front…”

 

Mak quickly cuts him off, “It’s going to be Michael Stephens and Insane Luchador with Landon Maddix accompanying them against Akira Kaibatsu and Zyon with Michael Cross accompanying them. These are some interesting teams due to history between the men, what are you thinking about this one, King?”

 

“Well, I’m not looking forward to this match, Mak, but if Zyon cripples Luchador and Toxxic chokeslams somebody from the apron then I’ll be content,” King says.

 

“Michael Stephens certainly has been acting a bit different and that chokeslam to Wildchild on the last show was complete proof that something has gone awry,” Mak replies. “But it’s going to be interesting to see how IL and Stephens react, seeing they’ve beaten the hell out of each other numerous times, with Stephens coming out as the victor each time.”

 

“No surprise there,” King mumbles.

 

“But Insane Luchador might be distracted from actually trying to win the match since this will be his first shot at Zyon since the sneak attack and that’s another issue that’s beginning to really heat up. Meanwhile Zyon and Akira aren’t exactly pals either, so this one is definitely going to be interesting to see how much tension is between each teams own members,” Mak points out.

 

“This tag team match is scheduled for one fall and there is no time limit…” Funyon begins.

 

The grinding guitar riffs of Alice in Chains’ “Man in the Box” begins for a few moments as the crowd breaks into a chorus of cheers for the Insane Luchador. Suddenly the Smarktron whites out and a few seconds pass before that infamous looped chanted begins-

 

COME AND ‘AVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!

COME AND ‘AVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!

 

This fades into the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire, and as the Smarktron starts to fade to black jagged white letters merge together to create a familiar phrase:

 

‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’

 

A guitar riff kicks up and Stephens’ face appears smiling his infamous lopsided grin before the Smarktron cuts into clips from his matches - the Super Intoxxication on Flesher to win his first World Title, the Glass Jawbreaker on Aecas, the All-Show Brawl with the Insane Luchador - along with clips of his many in-ring promos. Finally the footage cuts to Mike van Siclen and Stephens taking the plunge from the balcony through the table with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome-

 

*BOOM!*

 

It triggers an explosion of red pyro all along the entrance ramp! Drums enter the fray and Michael Stephens finally appears, looking agitated, with Landon Maddix following behind him. He slaps his partner on the shoulder in hopes to hype him up but Stephens just continues his walk down the entrance ramp. Finally, after a few moments pass, Insane Luchador reluctantly begins to come down to form the unusual tag team.

 

“Introducing first… a team weighing in at 441 pounds, accompanied by Landon Maddix… ONE HALF OF YOUR SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS AND YOUR PSYCHOTIC HERO- MMMIIICCCHHHAAEEELLL SSSTEEEPPHHHEEENNNSS AND IIIIINNNSSAAANNNEEE LLLUUUCCHHHADOOR!”

 

Suddenly more red pyro erupts from the ring posts and the duo break into a sprint down to ringside, while Landon lingers behind them, hyping his new shirt to the crowd. He glances over, now noticing the two already in the ring, as he hustles down to ringside, temporarily sliding into the ring in case he needs to play peace keeper. But, despite some awkward tension, it doesn’t seem to be an issue as they simply discuss how they want to handle their opponents.

 

“Protect Ya’ Neck” by Wu-Tang Clan explodes on the loud speakers as the SmarkTron flashes phrases like, “I’M BORN… I BREATH… I’M ALIVE!” Akira Kaibatsu, Michael Cross, and Zyon step out onto the entrance ramp as the crowd pours out their support for the trio.

 

“And their opponents, at a combined weight of 395 pounds, accompanied by Michael Cross… THE UNIQUE YOUTH AND THE DIVINE WIND- ZZZYYYOOOONNN AAANNDD AAAKKKIIRRRAAA KKKKAAIIIIIBBBBAATTTSSUUU.”

 

They all hit ringside and slide into the ring as Insane Luchador looks ready to rush at Zyon but is stopped by Landon Maddix, who insists that opportunity will come up soon.

Matthew Kivell steps into center of the ring and looks at the potentially combustible partners at each corner before waving the first man in towards center of the ring. Insane Luchador and Michael Stephens awkwardly discuss their last second plans while a debate starts to see who wrestles first. Maddix offers a suggestion of rock-paper-scissors but it’s quickly dismissed as both men as Stephens points over to Zyon who appears to be letting Akira wrestle first. IL stares into Stephens’ eyes and finally relents by heading to the ring apron as the Sensation cranks his neck from side to side and cracks his knuckles before heading towards Kivell. Akira has his back turned to the center of the ring as he and Zyon begin to wrap up their discussion as the Unique Youth’s eyes wander over his partner’s shoulder over to see Michael Stephens, whose glare is aimed right at him. He gives a cocky little smile at the reaction as he begins to exit through the ropes but pauses, turning his head, and looks over at Luchador patiently standing on the ring apron but his fiery eyes show the yearning to get his shot at him. The idea of both men gunning for him, particularly Insane Luchador, just amuses the Youth as he finally steps through the ropes and looks at Michael Cross stoically standing there, far from being the ideal cheerleader. Finally, though, each competitor reaches the center of the ring as Kivell reviews the basic rules, with the creeping suspicion that he’s going to have one rough night, before signalling for the ring bell.

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

Kaibatsu and Stephens cautiously move towards each other before finally colliding together for the tie up with Akira being able to slip behind his opponent for the rear waistlock. However, Stephens throws two quick back elbows to free himself and slips behind Akira in turn, presumably going for his own rear waistlock, but changes his mind as he simply slaps him in the back of his head.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Akira staggers forward but recovers quickly and throws a front kick at Stephens, except Michael Stephens reminds him why he’s been World Champion, among numerous other accomplishments, because he’s able to catch the kick at the ankle. The Divine Wind has his own answer, though, as he quickly leaps off the canvas with his available leg to smack Stephens down with a one leg dropkick. Both men hit the canvas and they each race back up to their feet, towards each other, and Akira is able to armdrag Stephens down. They get right back up to their feet as this time Stephens is able to throw Kaibatsu with his own armdrag and they scramble back up to their feet once again. Two more arm drags are exchanged in quick succession, but when Akira tries to go back to the well he’s met by a nasty elbow to his mouth. The Sensation, apparently done with Akira’s armdrag game, connects with an overhand right to stun his opponent before flooring him with a dropkick.

 

“An exchange and early on Stephens has already gotten the advantage,” Mak says.

 

“Not to give too much credit to Toxxic here, but are you surprised?” King asks.

 

Stephens drags Akira up but the Divine Wind lashes out with a kick to the ribs to slow his opponent, then follows it with a nasty inner thigh kick and another quick to the ribs before connecting with a beautiful high kick that smacks against the side of Mike’s face to send to the canvas. Akira can’t help but grin a little as he moves towards Stephens to pick him up off the canvas but instead he learns a kick in Stephens’ repertoire-

 

*whump-CRACK!*

 

-and gets caught with the kip-up enzuigiri! Michael Stephens stands back up and watches as Kaibatsu decides he’s had enough this go round, rolling away towards his corner. He gets onto one knee prematurely, realizes Stephens isn’t taking any action and pauses to regain his equilibrium before getting ready to tag the Unique Youth in. However, Michael Stephens sees the opportunity as he changes his mind at the inaction, runs at Akira and smacks him with a basement dropkick straight in the face! The debatably cheap dropkick brings in an ambivalent reaction from the crowd as Stephens rolls up, grabs a handful of Kaibatsu’s hair, and oh-so kindly aids him in getting back up while looking at Zyon, who now looks more anxious to enter the ring. The Sensation shoots a lopsided grin his way as he continues to pull Akira up until he gets caught with two hard punches to his gut. Kaibatsu, now free from Stephens’ grasp, sees the doubled over opponent and can’t help himself but to nail him with the European Uppercut, one of his and Stephens’ signature strikes, to his own delight.

 

“A-KIR-A!”

 

“A-KIR-A!”

 

Kaibatsu begins to step over the Sensation to tag in Zyon but Stephens sweeps his legs from under him with a soccer tackle; although the Divine Wind reaches out to Zyon he’s just barely out of range for the tag. Michael Stephens get back up to his feet, approaching Kaibatsu, and in response Akira rolls onto his back, bringing back his legs, and catches Stephens with a hard kick to the chest that sends him reeling towards the ropes. He rolls back up to his feet and is either too tempted by the opportunity or simply is swept away in the moment and charges at Stephens instead of making the tag. He rapidly approaches as Stephens is still against the ropes, slightly slumped over in recovery, and looks ready to collide until Michael makes his move- surprising Akira and suddenly rising up in an attempt to send him flying over the ropes down to the outside with a back bodydrop.

 

“YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Stephens seems quite surprised that the crowd cheered that… but then finds out the hard way it’s because Akira was able to grab the top rope in salvation and safely landed on the ring apron before vaulting onto the top rope and coming off with a springboard front dropkick! The impact sends Stephens smacking against the canvas as Akira rolls back up and resists the temptation to follow up while he jogs over to his corner, tagging the Unique Youth into the match up.

 

“A gorgeous springboard front dropkick takes Stephens down and now the Unique Youth, Zyon, has been tagged into this match!”

 

Zyon vaults into the ring and immediately moves towards Stephens, who rolls away from the hostile corner to recover before getting back to his feet, with the crowd giving out a mixed reaction, taking sides on who to cheer on. Michael Stephens shakes off the cobwebs and moves to the center of the ring while Zyon approaches. The Sensation facetiously backs away from his opponent, inching towards his corner, where Insane Luchador takes notice and reaches out for the tag. Stephens glances back at his partner, at Zyon, and begins to move his arm out towards Rickmen, only to shake it instead of making a tag. Insane Luchador snaps back with a verbal response that many wouldn’t except from two people working as a team and Stephens’ facial expression gives a half-assed apology at the cruel joke, which Landon loudly eats up on the outside. Michael Stephens turns around to see Zyon only a few feet away, standing tall, and ready to lock up. The Unique Youth lunges forward but Stephens impulsively bitch slaps him across the face to a loud jeer from the crowd.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The Sensation doesn’t regret his decision, at the moment, but even seems a bit surprised with his own disrespect but he easily shakes it off- as demonstrated by the

 

RIGHT!

 

 

LEFT!

 

 

RIGHT!

 

 

LEFT!

 

 

V-sign!

 

 

DISCUS CLOTHESLINE…

 

…which Zyon ducks! The Unique Youth responds with a basement dropkick to Stephens’ knee, causing him to fall onto one knee, then quickly takes advantage as he rolls back up to his feet and leaps with another dropkick, this time nailing the Sensation in the face in shockingly same fashion as Stephens did to Kaibatsu earlier. Stephens lets out a slight groan as he holds his face and Zyon goes for the textbook cover, ignoring a potential issue-

 

“ONE!” Kivell counts while the Ill One gets ready to enter the ring, seeming all too ready to be getting his shot at the Unique Youth.

 

But Stephens kicks out too quickly and Luchador restrains himself but verbally calls for the tag to Zyon’s amusement. Michael Stephens rolls away in retreat towards his corner but it’s only to safely push himself to his feet instead of tagging in Rickmen. Zyon charges forward to keep the upper hand but Stephens throws out a quick jab that kills the momentum. Stephens grabs a hold of his opponent’s neck as he places the top of his head underneath his jaw before sitting out for the sit-out jawbreaker that rattles the Unique Youth. He takes a few steps backwards as Michael Stephens rolls forward, onto his feet, and already ambushing Zyon quicker than he had imagined possible. He throws a straight left but the Unique Youth barely catches it by the wrist, yanks Stephens towards him, and nails him with an elbow to the face. He goes to hit his opponent again but Stephens recovers quickly enough to bitch slap Zyon across the face once again. Finally a chant somewhat distantly lodged into Stephens’ head begins as the Unique Youth just stares straight into Stephens’ eyes-

 

“YOU SCREWED ZYON!”

 

“YOU SCREWED ZYON!”

 

“YOU SCREWED ZYON!”

 

But Michael Stephens keeps his poker face as they collide into a grapple with Zyon hitting a knee to his gut. He locks in the front facelock and grabs a handful of Stephens’ pants in an attempt to get ready for a suplex but he can feel Stephens’ leg grapevine around his. The Sensation begins to send punches at his opponent’s kidneys to free himself as he feels the last one thrown causes the Sensation’s body to wince, so he unwraps his leg around Zyon, only to get lifted into the air by his opponent. The lift hits its apex and Zyon simply drops down to the canvas with a snap brainbuster. The Unique Youth rolls to his feet and is temporarily distracted by Luchador’s verbal assault but he figures at least it’s still verbal, so he helps pick Stephens up, and whips him into the ropes as he heads for the ropes behind him. They come charging at each other in what seems to be an inevitable train wreck until Stephens throws out his arm for the clothesline but the speedy Zyon easily ducks underneath it, as they both head for the ropes once again. This time when Stephens hits the ropes he wraps his arm around the top cable to stop his momentum but Zyon only sees it as a precious opportunity. He picks up his speed and before Stephens can even react he lunges forward for his own twist on the Yakuza Kick. It connects and sends Michael Stephens flipping over the top rope, spilling down to the outside, where Landon Maddix rushes over to keep Michael Cross away from his tag partner. Zyon heads over by the ropes, hands grasped on the top rope, and looking ready to fly out of the ring as he waits for Stephens to stand up, aided by Landon. He bends his knees and seems ready to commit until Insane Luchador comes charging down the apron towards him, which sends the Unique Youth backwards in retreat. Maddix quickly rolls Stephens into the ring as Insane Luchador, intentionally or not, still has to wait for his opportunity to get even with Zyon.

 

“You have to imagine that Rickmen’s getting more and more frustrated with the situation, King, and he’s not the best person to get agitated,” Mak says.

 

“They’re only keeping him out of the ring because, you know, he sucks more than Toxxic. Lesser of two evils, Mak, that’s all.”

 

Stephens gets back up to his feet, holding his jaw and glaring at Zyon. The Unique Youth hops from one foot to the other, daring Stephens to come closer; Mike obliges and charges, but Zyon simply sidesteps and slaps his opponent on the back to send him towards the far ropes. Stephens hits the cables and rebounds, only to get caught in the face by a spinning wheel kick! Zyon grabs Stephens and hauls him up again before hooking him up for the Decline, but Stephens lashes out with elbows into his opponent’s temple and knocks Zyon sideways, then readjusts the move into the Side Effect!

 

“You’ve got to think that Stephens should be getting the Insane Luchador into the ring soon,” Mak notes.

 

“Hey, Toxxic just took Zyon down,” King shrugs, “where’s the problem?”

 

However, Stephens has yet to get a lasting advantage over either one of his opponents and is looking to change that by heading to the top rope of a neutral corner and leaping off to come down with a fistdrop onto Zyon - it strikes home and causes the Unique Youth to grab at his head, and this encourages Stephens to make the cover!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Zyon kicks out! Stephens elects not to go high-risk again and so grabs a side headlock on his grounded opponent, presumably to try and keep him grounded. Zyon squirms but Stephens has his arms locked tight and the Unique Youth is well and truly trapped.

 

“Mat wrestling has never been Zyon’s strongpoint,” Mak Francis points out, “and if Stephens doesn’t want to tag in Rickmen, as it seems that he doesn’t, it makes sense to play to what advantages he has.”

 

Zyon tries to shift Stephens’ weight to bring the Tag Champion over onto his shoulders for a pin but Stephens manages to keep his bodyweight low and foil his opponent’s plans. However, in leaning forward to do so Mike leaves himself open to Zyon’s second line of defence which consists of his legs snaking up to grab the Englishman in a headscissors! Stephens tries to maintain his grip on his opponent’s head but Zyon drags his legs downwards and slowly peels Stephens off him, ending up with the other wrestler on all fours and head-down between his legs. Stephens plants his hands firmly on either side of Zyon’s legs and starts to do a handstand… but Zyon smacks him firmly in the back with two open palms and knocks him back down again!

 

“It looks like Zyon has managed to turn the tables on Michael Stephens,” Mak notes, “and since he’s been doing all the work so far for his team Zyon might be able to get the advantage here.”

 

“Or we can watch him squander it,” King surmises.

 

Stephens isn’t taking no for an answer and starts to perform his handstand again, only for Zyon to slap him in the back again and knock him back down before the Englishman can pop backwards and get free from the headscissors. However, Zyon has realised that staying where he is isn’t really an option so he starts trying to shuffle across the mat towards the corner where Akira waits; unfortunately for the Unique Youth the movement gives Stephens an opening and instead of trying the handstand for a third time he grips Zyon’s legs in both hands and rolls to one side, managing to bring the Indianan over onto his front and coming up with his head not only now free from Zyon’s legs but also with both those legs in his grasp! Zyon suddenly finds himself in a bad situation and struggles to make the tag but he’s just out of reach - for his part Stephens seems to have finally decided that it’s stupid to try and fight this match by himself so he tucks Zyon’s legs under his left arm and starts heading for Andrew Rickmen, ready to tag the Insane Luchador into the match! Stephens reaches out to tag Luchador, but just as he's getting into range Zyon manages to wriggle free and scrambles back across the ring to Akira! Stephens looks around in exasperation and Rickmen takes the opportunity to tag himself into the match; on the other side of the squared circle Zyon looks around, sees Rickmen stepping into the ring and, with a smirk on his face, tags out to his partner!

 

"It seems Zyon doesn't want any part of the Insane Luchador right now, despite the fact that he ambushed him and gave him the Big Shot two weeks ago," Mak Francis comments as Zyon motions for Akira to step into the ring and take it to Rickmen, while Stephens exits the ring to allow the match to continue. "I can't say I necessarily blame him for getting out of the ring, but Zyon did start this..."

 

Still, Akira is enough of a professional to take up the slack of his partner and he steps up to face Rickmen. The two men square off but as Akira approaches for a lock up the Insane Luchador kicks him in the leg, sending the Divine Wind hopping backwards in surprise. He cautiously advances again, but this time gets caught with a kick to the other leg; Rickmen looks to follow up with a spinning backfist but Akira is able to duck out of the way and avoid it. The Ill One doesn't follow up immediately, instead opting to beckon Zyon into the ring; the Unique Youth yawns at Rickmen's invitation, and with his teeth grinding Rickmen turns his attention back to Kaibatsu. However, it seems that Zyon's reaction might have distracted the Insane Luchador a bit because this time the low kick he launches at the approaching Akira is caught, and the Divine Wind fires down an elbow onto his opponent's knee! Rickmen staggers and Akira takes the opportunity to grab the American's arm and slip behind him for a hammerlock, then twists around to deliver a clothesline that takes the Insane Luchador off his feet!

 

"Crash & Burn from Akira," Mak says as the Divine Wind gets back to his feet and runs for the ropes, "and yes - powerdrive elbow."

 

Akira doesn't get up after delivering his high-impact elbow, instead immediately making a cover...

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...which doesn't last long. Rickmen kicks out immediately and starts struggling to get up, and he is assisted in this by Akira; however, only for as long as it takes to get his opponent upright, at which point Kaibatsu delivers a sharp kick to the ribs to take the wind out of Rickmen, then hooks him for a vertical suplex. The Ill One tries to block but he's a split second too late and Akira hoists him up...

 

...then twists and drops down to one knee, bringing Rickmen down over his knee with the Divine Backbreaker! The Insane Luchador falls off to the canvas with pain written across his face and Akira drops to cover again...

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TW-

-which is more successful this time, but only marginally. Kaibatsu looks slightly questioningly at Kivell, who just shrugs as if to say 'it's Rickmen, he's tough - deal with it'. Akira gets back to his feet and fires a stomp to Rickmen’s ribcage to keep him on the mat, then heads for a neutral corner and starts to climb. Once he reaches the top rope the Divine Wind leaps off looking for a senton-

 

*WHAM!*

 

-but Rickmen rolls out of the way, and now it’s Akira’s turn to crash and burn! The Sendaian struggles up but the Insane Luchador has regained a vertical base first and Rickmen starts lashing out with hard elbows to the jaw that rattle Kaibatsu and send him staggering backwards. This time Rickmen manages to follow up and hits two more elbows, then nails a spinning backfist that sends the Divine Wind staggering into the ropes! The Ill One grabs Akira and Irish whips him across the ring, then charges at his opponent on the rebound and leaps up to deliver a flying knee to the head!

 

“Now that had impact!” Mak Francis shouts, “and Akira could be in trouble here!”

 

Sure enough, Rickmen has dropped down into a cover on his opponent…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Kaibatsu kicks out! The Insane Luchador grabs his opponent and hauls him upright, then picks Akira up as if for a scoop slam. However, rather than drive the man from Japan straight back down Rickmen charges into his team’s corner where he slams Akira’s back against the turnbuckles, then hooks the Divine Wind’s feet around the top to tie him into the Tree of Woe! With that done the Ill One tags Michael Stephens in, backs off and comes running back in with a baseball slide to Akira’s face!

 

“A-KIR-A!”

 

“A-KIR-A!”

 

However, trouble hasn’t yet decided to leave Akira alone, because Michael Stephens has gone halfway across the ring (where he flips the v-sign to Zyon), then comes running back and jumps into the air to slam a hesitation dropkick into Akira’s head! The force of this knocks the Divine Wind out of the Tree of Woe and he collapses onto his front. Stephens quickly pulls him away from the corner and turns him onto his back before making the cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Akira kicks out again! Stephens shrugs and grabs his opponent to haul him back to his feet, then delivers a European uppercut that knocks Akira clean off his feet!

 

“Hmm, a little revenge maybe?” King asks, referring to Akira’s delivery of that same strike earlier in the evening.

 

“Quite possibly,” Mak Francis nods as the Tag Champion walks over and speaks to the Insane Luchador, then tags him. However, Stephens doesn’t immediately leave the ring as he instead vaults to the top rope in one fluid motion, twisting as he does so to face back into the ring, then comes off with a somersault and lands a leg across Akira’s throat with the Hangover! Not to be outdone, Andrew Rickmen has also climbed to the top rope and comes off with a moonsault, narrowly missing Stephens as he rolls away but coming down dead centre on the unfortunate Akira Kaibatsu!

 

*BANG!*

 

Kivell dives to count the pin…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but Akira kicks out!

 

“They’re getting closer,” Mak Francis comments, “but Akira Kaibatsu is still holding out; however, I’m not sure how much help Zyon is going to be, he doesn’t seem eager to get into the ring!”

 

Sure enough, Zyon is on the apron and made no move to, for example, break up that pin. In fact Michael Cross is shouting at the Unique Youth and pointing towards his tag partner - after all, he can’t interfere but he feels that Zyon should be doing a little more. Insane Luchador seems to agree with the Suicide Machine and beckons Zyon in, but the Unique Youth wants no part of it and simply motions for Rickmen to carry on with what he’s doing. Rickmen seems happy enough to oblige for the moment and walks over to have another conversation with Stephens. The Englishman points towards the other side of the ring, then tags himself in. Rickmen drags Akira back to his feet and hauls his opponent towards where Stephens pointed, then grabs a rear waistlock before looking back at his partner for the evening.

 

“What are they doing now?” King asks, slightly bewildered.

 

“I think they’re range-finding…” Mak speculates as Stephens makes a shooing motion with his hand and Rickmen shuffles forward a foot or so. Finally both of them seem to be happy and Stephens climbs to the top rope, then cups his hands around his mouth…

 

‘PULL!’

 

Rickmen abruptly arches backwards, launching Akira across the ring with a release German suplex! Kaibatsu hits hard, and moments later his problems are compounded as Michael Stephens somersaults off the top rope again - this time to land both feet into his opponent’s ribcage with a double stomp! The Englishman continues his forward momentum with a forward roll which brings him up into a standing position not far from Zyon… and he flips a double v-sign at the Unique Youth!

 

“Both Rickmen and Stephens are doing all they can to goad Zyon into the ring,” Mak Francis notes, “but at the moment Zyon is being cautious-”

 

“-or cowardly,” Suicide King suggests as an alternative.

 

Michael Stephens heads back towards Akira and grabs him, then starts to pull him up. For a moment he seems about to go for a ¾ facelock but changes his mind with a grin and instead pushes Kaibatsu into a standing headscissors. From there he reaches down and underhooks one arm… then the other arm…

 

“A-KIR-A!”

 

“A-KIR-A!”

 

…however, Akira manages to free his arms and bridges upwards to send Stephens flying overhead with a back bodydrop!

 

“YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“I think Stephens guessed that Akira would be able to counter the Sunny In England,” Mak Francis exclaims, “but I don’t think he remembered that Akira uses the Stephens Shock Syndrome under the name of It Came From Sendai!”

 

“Move stealer,” King sniffs.

 

The crowd are getting behind Akira now and he half-crawls, half-scrambles across the ring towards Zyon. Stephens gets back to his feet holding his back and looks around for his opponent, sees Akira’s outstretched hand reaching towards Zyon and starts to grin…

 

‘OI! Tag me in!’

 

Rickmen is practically hanging over the top rope. Stephens looks around at the man he’s had so many bloody wars with in the past, then back at Zyon as the Unique Youth receives the tag…

 

…and makes his decision.

 

*smak*

 

“It’s the Insane Luchador vs. Zyon!” Mak Francis yells as Rickmen springs over the top rope and charges full tilt at the suddenly-uncertain Zyon, “and I think Rickmen wants payback!”

 

However, Zyon ducks under Rickmen’s outstretched arm and evades a clothesline, then lashes out with a kick to the gut as Rickmen spins around to try and get a bead on him. The Ill One doubles over and Zyon takes advantage by backflipping to hit the Flash Kick that knocks the Insane Luchador over onto his back! With Rickmen down Zyon scrambles to cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but the Psychotic Hero kicks out! This doesn’t seem to worry Zyon and he hauls Rickmen back up, then grabs a front facelock and raises one arm.

 

‘Brainbustaaaah!’

 

He throws Rickmen’s other arm over his head and grabs the Insane Luchador’s shorts, then starts to lift for the snap brainbuster… but Rickmen grapevines his leg around Zyon’s, then starts driving punches into Zyon’s ribs! The Unique Youth staggers and his grip loosens, allowing Rickmen to grab a Muay Thai clinch and drive a couple of knees into Zyon’s face. With Zyon holding his head it’s Rickmen’s turn to grab a front facelock…

 

‘Brainbustaaaah!’

 

He hooks Zyon up and lifts, but as the Unique Youth approaches vertical he lashes out with a knee and catches Rickmen in the forehead! The blow staggers the Insane Luchador and instead of falling backwards to drop Zyon on his head the Unique Youth simply drops feet first to the mat. Rickmen’s eyes are slightly glazed and Zyon leaps up for the big shot, arm curling round to snare Rickmen’s head…

 

…but the Insane Luchador pushes him away in midair and Zyon lands on his back!

 

“LET’S GO RICK-MEN!”

 

“LET’S GO RICK-MEN!”

 

The crowd seem to be getting behind their Psychotic Hero rather than the newly-evasive Zyon, and Rickmen stalks his opponent as Zyon gets back up. Zyon turns around into a kick to the gut and the Insane Luchador hooks him up for a suplex…

 

…then reaches down to hook Zyon’s leg.

 

“Here we go!” Mak shouts as Rickmen starts to lift; as he does so, Michael Stephens leaps back over the ropes and runs across the ring, passing Rickmen as he does so. The Insane Luchador gets Zyon vertical just as Stephens leaps into the air, and as the Englishman bounces off the second rope and springboards over the top rope to snare Akira with a hurricanrana that takes them both off the apron and to the outside, Rickmen drops down with the Fisherman’s Buster!

 

*BANG!*

 

It’s the work of a moment for the Insane Luchador to get into a cover, even as Landon Maddix runs around the ring to prevent Michael Cross from laying the boot in on his namesake on the outside…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners,” Funyon booms, “the team of Michael Stephens and YOUR Psychotic Hero, the INSAAAAAAAAAAAANE… LUUUUUUUUUUCH-ADORRRRRRRRRRRR!!”

 

“Excellent work by Rickmen!” Mak Francis exclaims, “Zyon countered the brainbuster with a knee to the head, so he went to the Fisherman’s Buster that trapped the leg and took that option away!”

 

“Pure luck,” Suicide King sniffs as Asia Underground and The Galacticos pick themselves up and separate on the outside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

[Ace309 0]

“Welcome back to Storm,” says Mak Francis. “We’re joined right now by one of the guests commentators for the show, one-half of the Cadillac Boys, Zack Malibu!”

 

“Yay-yay!” exclaims Malibu. “OAOAST in the house! Time for the classy portion of the program!”

 

“Indeed,” says Mak dryly. “Well, coming up next week on Storm, you and your partner get your long awaited rematch with Wild and Dangerous!”

 

“And it hasn’t happened soon enough, as far as I’m concerned!” says Zack, as “Getting Away with Murder” fades out. “Wild and Dangerous have been ducking us since your last pay per view, and for what? So that they can get embarrassed by the Galacticos again?”

 

Before the Franchise can reply, the “Mission Impossible” theme begins playing as Johnny Dangerous makes his way out to the ring. “Well here comes a man who may take issue with your assessment of Wild and Dangerous, and their facing you: the Wildchild’s partner, Johnny Dangerous!”

 

Johnny slaps hands with the fans clamoring around the barricade as he makes his way down to ringside. He walks around the ring to get to the announce table, taking his place on the opposite end of the table of Malibu.

 

“Welcome Johnny,” says Mak. “And I understand that it’s been a long week for you since you and Wildchild were defeated in your bid to regain the Tag Team Titles.”

 

“That was a disappointing loss, I’ll admit,” concedes Johnny. “Me and Wildchild took the skinny white guys lightly, we didn’t train for the match as hard as we could have, and frankly, we expected to run over them. We didn’t give them the respect that they deserved, and we didn’t pay them enough attention, but you can bet that they have our full attention now!”

 

“You’ve got more immediate problems than the Galacticos!” snaps Malibu. “Like us! If you think that we’re just going to roll over while you guys keep tilting at windmills, you’ve got another think coming! And if Wildchild thinks he’s going to be able to look past Calvin at Michael Stephens, he’s going to be walking out of here a little lighter!”

 

“Well standing by,” interrupts Mak, as Johnny’s music fades out, “we have Ben Hardy, who’s waiting with Calvin Szechstein; take it away, Ben!”

 

“Thanks Mak,” says Hardy. “Calvin Szechstein, tonight you have an opportunity to win one the most prestigious titles in professional wrestling: the SWF World Cruiserweight Championship. What are your thoughts heading into this match?”

 

“First of all,” replies Calvin, “as far as I’m concerned, your Cruiserweight Title isn’t even in the top five most-prestigious titles; when you want to talk about prestige, the conversation begins and ends with the OAOAST! But, I’m going to do all you SWF fans a favor: I’m going to GIVE your title some prestige, when I win it from that high-flying dope, Wildchild!”

 

“The word backstage,” says Ben, “is that Wildchild’s mind isn’t even on this match, and that he wants to get revenge on Michael Stephens for what happened last week. What is your reaction to that?”

 

“Wildchild,” replies Calvin, “you’d better wise up quick! You’d better wise up REAL quick! You’re making the mistake of your life by looking past me… You’d better forget about Michael Stephens and worry more about the guy that you’re going to be in the ring with tonight. Because I guarantee you, if you’re worried too much about Michael Stephens, then I’m going to be walking out of Anchorage with the SWF World Cruiserweight Title!”

 

With that, Szechstein walks off. “Well, Calvin Szechstein appears to have something to prove here tonight,” says Ben. “We’ll see if he can get it done. Mak?”

 

“Thanks Ben,” says the Franchise, as “Over My Head (Cable Car)” by the Fray begins to play. “Calvin Szechstein is on his way to the ring with an opportunity of a lifetime! Let’s send it up to Funyon!”

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

“The following contest, scheduled for one fall,” booms Funyon, “is for the SWF World Cruiserweight Championship! Making his way to the ring at this time, from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and weighing two hundred three pounds… ‘Cadillac’ Calvin Szechstein!”

 

“Szechstein appears to be very confident,” says Mak, as the challenger steps into the ring. “But will that be enough? Standing by backstage, let’s go back to Ben Hardy, who’s with Melissa Fasaki, and the Wildchild!”

 

“Thanks again, Mak,” says Ben. “Wildchild, I just spoke with Calvin Szechstein, who warned against you overlooking him to get revenge on Michael Stephens. Would you care to respond to that?”

 

“Look,” says WC, “I’ll deal wit’ Zeck-stein in a minute. Right now, I’ve got somet’in’ t’say t’Michael Stephens: if you t’ink dat you can do what you did t’me an’ I’m not gon’ t’do any’tin’ about it, you’ve got rocks in yer head! You’ve got a date wit’ Tropical Storm LeCroix, an’ dere ain’ gon’ be no where you can hide! I want you t’pay close attention t’what I’m about t’do out dere, because it’s just a sample of what I’m gon’ t’do t’you! An’ as far as Zeck-stein goes… Zeck-stein, t’me, you’re jus’ anot’er notch on dis belt, so don’ take dis ass-whippin’ personally!”

 

With that, WC quickly storms off, with Melissa trotting behind him. “I think you very much!” says Ben. “A very determined Wildchild is on his way out to the ring. King, Mak, back to you!”

[Ace309 0]

Szechstein waits eagerly for his opponent to enter the ring as his music fades out. It is quickly replaced by the sound of Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty.” The Anchorage fans begin cheering as Wildchild streaks down to the ring; Melissa, carrying the title belt, tries in vain to keep up with him.

 

“His opponent,” begins Funyon, “is being accompanied to the ring by…” Funyon suddenly bails out of the ring as WC somersaults into the ring and immediately rolls to his feet, rushing over towards Calvin…

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And knocking him to the canvas with a spear! Referee Red Herrington rings the bell to start the match:

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“Wildchild’s wasted no time starting here tonight!” exclaims Mak. “Let’s Get Dirty” fades out as Wildchild pulls Calvin to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring; the Bahama Bomber rushes over towards the Cadillac Boy, and knocks him back down to the canvas with a running elbow smash! He then quickly hops off his feet and smashes Calvin between the eyes with a fistdrop! Herrington gets in front of Wildchild as he gets up and orders him to remove his shin guards; the Tropical Tumbler hastily pulls his shin guards is off and tosses them out of the ring, before he turns his attention back to Szechstein, pulling him to his feet and then reaching under and around his head to lock his hands behind Calvin’s neck with a three-quarter nelson before talking him over with a snapmare; the Caribbean Cruiser then sprints towards the edge of the ring, hopping off the canvas as he bounces off the ropes and drills Szechstein in the back of the head with a basement dropkick!

 

“Wildchild’s going off on Calvin Szechstein!” shouts Mak, as WC heads out to the ring apron. “He started this match on fire, and he hasn’t let up yet!” Wildchild leaps off the top rope and crashes into Calvin’s chest with a suicide headbutt! He wastes no time in pulling Calvin back to his feet and dragging him over to a neutral corner; he grabs onto the middle ropes with both hands to traps Szechstein in the corner, and then begins to drive shoulder repeatedly into the corner until Red Herrington calls for the break. Wildchild then grabs Calvin by the wrist and whips him across the ring, slamming him chest-first into the turnbuckles; he runs towards the edge of the ring as Szechstein staggers out of the corner and leaps into the top rope, curling into a ball as he springs back into the ring…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And knocking the Cadillac Boy to the canvas with his patented Pinball attack! WC rolls over to Calvin and applies a pin:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Calvin kicks out at two! WC pulls Szechstein to his feet, only for the Cadillac Boy to stun him with an eye rake. Calvin runs to the ropes to deliver a clothesline, but the Tropical Tumbler heads him off at the pass; he leaps into the air, locking his hands behind Calvin’s head, and plants his feet into the midsection as he arches back to toss Calvin overhead with the Freefall monkey flip! WC quickly pops back up and leaps into the air as Szechstein stumbles to his feet, knocking him through the ropes and out to the floor with a running dropkick! Calvin picks himself up and dusts himself off before walking up the ramp, ignoring the referee’s count as makes his way back to the dressing room.

 

“Calvin Szechstein looks like he wants out of here,” says Mak, “and I don’t blame him, not with the way Wildchild has come out in this match!”

 

“Is that he you guys do things in the OAOAST?” mocks Johnny. “Turn tail and run at the first sign of difficulty? Come on, Calvin: don’t run from this ass-whoopin’!”

 

“We don’t run,” replies Zack tersely. “Calvin’s just being smart; he knows where his paycheck comes from, and he knows he can’t afford to put his endorsement contracts at risk by jeopardizing his well-being with some unstable SWF nutjob!”

 

“I’d like to see you call him a nutjob to his face,” snaps Johnny. “Well, I’m sure you tried a couple of weeks ago, but he was probably too busy kicking your teeth in!” As the two continue to bicker, WC decides that he’s not willing to let Calvin take the easy way out, and exits the ring to give chase; he leaps onto Szechstein’s back and knocks him down with a running tackle!

 

“So much for his endorsements!” chimes King, as Herrington is forced to restart his count. Wildchild unleashes a battery of right hands on Calvin’s face, while Cadillac tries in vain to cover up; he pulls Szechstein to his feet and grabs him by the back of the head, leading him back towards the ring. He stops just short of the foot of the ramp and leads him over towards the ring barricade…

 

WHAM!

 

… And slams him face-first into the barricade!

 

“Maybe he can sign a deal to hock sunglasses,” taunts Johnny, “since he’s probably going to have two black eyes when this is over!” WC turns Calvin around to face him, and grabs a handful of Cadillac’s hair with his left hand, to hold his head in place while he punches Calvin repeatedly in the face with his right hand! WC then releases his head and takes a few steps away before suddenly lunging forward, thrusting his foot through the air to blast Szechstein in the face with a shuffling sidekick that sends him tumbling over the top of the barricade and into the crowd! WC turns to look up the ramp and lets out a bone-chilling cry:

 

 

TOOOOOXIIIIIC!

 

“My God!” gasps Mak. “Wildchild is incensed! It’s like he’s seeing Michael Stephens out there instead of Calvin Szechstein!”

 

Johnny shrugs. “Too bad for Calvin if he is!” WC rolls back into the ring at around the fourteen-count; he dashes across the ring as Herrington continues to count Calvin out of the ring and leaps onto the top rope.

 

“Uh-oh,” moans Mak. “If Wildchild’s about to do what I think he’s going to do, that’s real bad news for Calvin Szechstein!” Sure enough, WC runs across the top rope and dives out of the ring, out into the crowd, to crash into Szechstein with a flying missile dropkick!

 

 

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

 

 

“Andros Dive!” shouts Mak. “Andros dive to the outside! Wildchild is in the Danger Zone!”

 

“That’s right!” cheers Johnny. “Show these OAOAST bums how WE do it!”

 

“You might want to be mindful of whom you’re calling a bum,” says Zack coolly, as WC continues to wail on Calvin’s head with piston-like right hands. “Especially when said ‘bum’ is within a superkick’s distance from you.”

 

“Not even on your best day, chump!” challenges Johnny, as WC drags Szechstein over to the barricade and dumps him back into the ringside area; he returns to ringside himself and picks Calvin up and rolls him underneath the bottom rope; he then climbs up onto the apron and grabs onto the top rope to launch into the ring, crashing into Szechstein with a slingshot senton splash! WC applies a lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Calvin gets his foot on the ropes! Wildchild begins to pull Calvin to his feet, but the Cadillac Boy grabs him by the trunks and pulls him through the ropes out to the floor! Wildchild bumps his head on the floor but gets up fairly quickly…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Only for Szechstein to hit him in the face with a baseball slide! Wildchild holds the back of his head as he rolls around on the arena floor, while Calvin tries to catch his breath inside the ring.

 

“That’s what I’m talking about!” cheers Zack, as Red Herrington begins to count WC out. “That’s OAOAST style, right there!”

 

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

“This could be the break that Calvin Szechstein needed to turn this match around,” says Mak. Szechstein heads over to edge of the ring as WC stumbles over to the apron, and reaches over the top rope to grab Wildchild by the hair, but the Bahama Bomber grabs him by the ankles and pulls him underneath the ropes out to the floor! Szechstein reacts quickly, trying to surprise Wildchild with a short clothesline, but the Human Hurricane easily ducks underneath, springing off the floor and whipping his leg through the air as Calvin turns around…

 

CRACK!

 

… And busts him in the mouth with a Gamengiri!

 

 

“Well,” chuckles King, “so much for that!”

 

“That’s OAOAST style, huh?” mocks Johnny. WC traps Calvin in a front waistlock and shoves him back-first into the hard edge of the ring apron! “Keep it up, Nic! Man, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him this aggressive!”

 

“Not since he was kicking your ass at Ramadomination, anyway, right?” snipes Malibu. Wildchild rolls Calvin back into the ring; Szechstein rolls onto his knees and begins crawling across the ring, trying to escape out the other side!

 

“Look at that!” laughs King. “Szechstein is running for his life!”

 

“In the state that Wildchild’s been in,” says Mak, “I’m not sure I blame him; Wildchild’s not in a right state of mind!” Calvin scurries across the ring and lunges through the ropes, but WC grabs him by the trunks before he can get away! Wildchild keeps Calvin trapped between the ropes, and reaches over the top rope with his left hand to grab him by the hair!

 

“Wildchild’s gone off the deep end!” shouts King, as WC, still holding Szechstein by the hair, climbs up to the middle rope. “He’s going to need some psychiatric attention!” As Herrington warns WC to let Calvin go, the Bahama Bomber begins to batter him with brutal crossface forearm shots to the bridge of the nose! When Wildchild refuses to stop, Herrington has no choice but to begin delivering a count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

FIV—

 

 

Just as the official starts to get the word “five” out of his mouth, WC hops down into the ring; he turns to face the ramp with a crazed expression on his face the ramp as he starts screaming again:

 

 

TOOOOOXIIIIIC!

 

“Good grief!” shrieks Mak, as Calvin slumps lifelessly over the middle rope, half in and half out of the ring. “The look in Wildchild’s eyes right now is definitely not a look that I’d want to be directed at me!”

 

“Believe me,” affirms Johnny, “it’s no picnic. It takes a lot to get Nic worked up, but when he really gets pissed off, you’d better hope your MANSONALITY insurance is paid up! Trust me, behind that goofy smile is a mean streak a mile wide; you don’t see it much, because he’s not normally the type to carry a grudge. But, when he does… oh brother!” Szechstein, still seeing stars, reaches up absentmindedly to check his nose for bleeding, when Wildchild suddenly runs to the corner, leaping up to the top rope in one fluid motion, and dives out of the ring, extending his leg as he flies towards the Cadillac Boy…

 

 

WHACK!

 

 

… And nearly cleaving his head off with a springboard guillotine legdrop to the outside! Calvin half-slides, half-oozes out of the ring like an egg that someone crushed in their palm, and coalesces into a lifeless puddle on the arena floor!

 

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

 

“This is way past out of control!” shouts Mak. “Referee Red Herrington may have to step in and take some action to keep Calvin Szechstein from being seriously hurt!” WC rolls Szechstein onto his back and does his best to try and cave Calvin’s skull in with his right hand; Calvin curls into a ball and holds his arms up desperately to protect himself.

 

“This is a mugging!” crows King. “Wildchild’s beating on Szechstein like Szechstein owes him money!” Herrington climbs out to the floor and tries to get WC to get off his opponent, but the Bahaman’s having none of it.

 

“I’ve seen enough,” says Zack, as he begins to rise from his seat. “I can’t let this go on any longer.”

 

“Sit down, punk,” replies Johnny, as WC rolls Calvin back into the ring. “Unless you’re ready to throw down with me!”

 

“Gentlemen, please!” interrupts Mak, as Wildchild climbs back into the ring. “If you’re going to get into this, please take it elsewhere!” Johnny and Zack look at each other wordlessly, and then each man remove their headsets and leave their seats, walking around to the other side of the announce table!

 

“Hell yeah!” cheers King. “We’re getting double our money’s worth here!” The Barracuda and the Prep Star stand face-to-face with each other for a few moments, before they suddenly start trading punches! Johnny takes Zack down to the floor, but Malibu reverses on him, assuming the dominant position and beginning to deliver heavy right hands, only for Dangerous to turn the tables once more.

 

Meanwhile, back in the ring, WC traps Szechstein in a front-facelock before lifting him up into the air, spinning him around, and dropping him back down to the canvas with a corkscrew vertical suplex! He quickly heads over to the corner and climbs up to the top rope; the Human Hurricane then leaps from the turnbuckle, twisting in midair as crashed down onto the Cadillac Boy with the Andros Drop! Herrington drops into position to count the shoulders:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

NO! CALVIN GETS THE SHOULDER UP!

 

 

“You’ve gotta give Calvin Szechstein for being able to survive a lot of punishment in this match,” says Mak, “but I can’t imagine that he’s going to be able to sustain much more of this!” Wildchild glances momentarily at the skirmish going on outside the ring, but quickly turns his attention back to his opponent; the Caribbean Cruiser pulls Calvin to his feet and pushes him over to the nearby corner, where he leans him up against the turnbuckles before straddling the middle turnbuckles in front of him and proceeding to rain down punches as the crowd chants along:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

SIX!

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

EIGHT!

 

 

NINE!

 

 

TEN!

 

 

Wildchild hops back down to the canvas and then grabs Calvin by the wrist, whipping him across the ring; no sooner than Szechstein crashes back-first into the turnbuckles does the Human Hurricane charge across the ring, springing off the canvas and twisting in midair to crash into the Cadillac Boy with his patented Blue Crush splash! WC takes a step back as Szechstein staggers out of the corner, and then surges back towards him, getting a quick step off Calvin’s thigh as he hops off the canvas…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… And knocks him down with a step-up Enzugiri! WC rolls casually to his feet and cups his hands to his mouth:

 

 

WC: CAW-CAW!

Crowd: CAW-CAW!

 

 

“It looks like Wildchild is going for the Bird Dropping!” shouts Mak. Outside the ring, Johnny grabs Zack Malibu by the wrist and whips him towards the ringpost, but the Prep Star reverses, sending Johnny in instead!

 

“If he hits this,” adds King, “It’ll be tough luck for Szechstein!” As Wildchild goes out to the apron, Calvin calls the referee over to him, suggesting that he might not be able to continue; when the Bahama Bomber goes up to the top rope…

 

 

CHING!

 

 

… Zack suddenly runs over to trip him, crotching the Bahaman on the top turnbuckle!

 

“What a big break for Calvin Szechstein!” says Mak. “At least now we know why they wanted Zack Malibu to be a guest commentator at ringside!” With WC suitably compromised, Calvin informs the referee that he has miraculously recovered enough to continue; he gets to his feet and heads over to the corner, locking his hands behind Wildchild’s neck…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

… And sits down abruptly, driving the Cruiserweight Champion’s jaw into his shoulder with a sitout jawbreaker!

 

“Willy Wonka’s World Famous Jawbreaker!” shouts Mak. “That’s got to turn the tide in this match!” Still seeing stars in his eyes, Calvin wearily gets to his feet and cues Zack, who climbs up onto the ring apron to get the referee’s attention; as Herrington goes to chase him away, Calvin pulls Wildchild to his feet and leads him over to the edge of the ring, before pitching him over the top rope, down to the floor!

 

“The Cadillac Boys are working together like this is a tag match,” notes King, as Calvin begins to distract the referee for Zack to run around the ring over to Wildchild. “And look at this! Now Zack Malibu is delivering a beating outside the ring!” Malibu’s kicking assault of Wildchild is only interrupted when Johnny Dangerous comes running around the corner to aid his partner, which leads to yet another fight between the Barracuda and the Prep Star!

 

“This is way past out of control!” says King. “Referee’s gotta do something to regain order in this match!”

 

Finally seeing what’s going on outside, Herrington exits to the arena floor and breaks up the fracas, stepping between the two men. Pointing to Johnny, he yells, “I want you,” he then pauses to point to Zack, “and you… OUT of here!”

 

“Whoa!” exclaims Mak. “Referee Red Herrington is getting rid of both men! He’s telling them that they have to go back to the locker room for the remainder of this match!” In the midst of the chaos, Calvin slips out to the floor, and begins delivering hard boot after hard boot to Wildchild’s head and upper chest. Zack holds his hands up placatingly as Johnny checks on his tag team partner one last time; then, as the Barracuda turns back around…

 

 

WHACK!

 

 

… Zack catches him with a cheap-shot right cross! The Prep Star then starts running back towards the locker room, as Johnny gives chase!

 

“Well, now that that’s over with,” says Mak, “maybe we can get back to the business of the match!” Herrington turns his attention back to the combatants and begins to deliver a count to both men:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

“Zack Malibu may no longer be at ringside,” says Mak, “but the damage has already been done; he gave Calvin Szechstein the opening that he needed, and now the Cadillac Boy has taken the advantage in this match!”

 

 

EIGHT!

 

 

NINE!

 

 

TEN!

 

 

Calvin stops stomping and pulls Wildchild to his feet; he grabs the Cruiserweight Champion by the wrist and whips him towards the corner…

 

 

CLANG!

 

 

… Throwing him into the solid-steel steps!

 

 

FOURTEEN!

 

 

FIFTEEN!

 

 

SIXTEEN!

 

 

Calvin then pulls Wildchild to his feet and takes care to roll him into the ring first, before climbing into the ring himself to stop the count. He applies a lateral press as Herrington slides back into the ring to count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

NO! WILDCHILD GETS HIS FOOT UNDERNEATH THE BOTTOM ROPE!

 

 

“That was a desperation move by the Wildchild!” says King. “He didn’t even attempt to kickout; if he didn’t have the dumb luck to be by the ropes, Calvin Szechstein would be the new World Cruiserweight Champion! And, as much as I don’t care for Wildchild, he needs to retain here, because I couldn’t stomach the idea of someone from down there holding one of our championships!”

 

“King, doesn’t Landon Maddix compete down there?” asks Mak. “And doesn’t he hold one of our championships?”

 

“And didn’t I just say that I couldn’t stomach it?” snarls King. Calvin pulls Wildchild into a sitting position and turns him to face the ring; he positions himself behind his opponent, and slaps on a reverse chinlock.

 

“Reverse chinlock applied,” reports Mak. “And I don’t really think that Calvin Szechstein is going to be able get a submission from this!”

 

“Definitely not,” agrees King. “But, what it will accomplish is that it will give Calvin Szechstein a chance to catch his breath; let’s not forget that Wildchild tore this guy apart, for about ten minutes… He’s probably still recovering from the beating he took!” Wildchild pounds his feet on the canvas, trying to get the fans to rally behind him:

 

 

 

LET’S GO, WILDCHILD, LET’S GO! *CLAP-CLAP!*

LET’S GO, WILDCHILD, LET’S GO! *CLAP-CLAP!*

LET’S GO, WILDCHILD, LET’S GO! *CLAP-CLAP!*

LET’S GO, WILDCHILD, LET’S GO! *CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“Calvin’s definitely got the upper hand at this point in time,” says Mak, as Wildchild begins to fight to get back to his feet. “But, look at Wildchild; he’s fighting back!” WC reaches up to grab the back of Calvin’s neck from behind, and suddenly springs off the canvas, flipping up over Szechstein to escape the hold, and landing on his feet behind him! Wildchild runs towards the ring apron as the startled Cadillac Boy spins around, and leaps into the air as he bounces off the ropes…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But Szechstein snatches him out of the air, rotating on his heel as he drives Wildchild into the canvas with a powerslam! He keeps the leg hooked as he holds WC down for a pin:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Wildchild kicks out at two! Calvin pulls WC to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him hard into the corner; the Tropical Tumbler runs off the turnbuckles chest first, and bounces off like a rubber ball, collapsing onto the canvas! Szechstein runs to the ropes and leaps into the air as he rebounds, measuring the Cruiserweight Champion as he comes crashing down with a kneedrop! He applies a lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

NO… Calvin pulls the shoulder up?

 

 

“Calvin Szechstein just pulled the shoulder up,” says Mak, “and I think that he just made a huge mistake!”

 

“He definitely did,” agrees King. “You don’t pull stunts like that in a title match! It’s those kinds of bush league tactics that define that other promotion, and that’s why it will always take a back seat to the SWF!”

 

“But King,” replies Mak, “didn’t Mister Bruner pull something like that against Landon Maddix just a couple of weeks ago?”

 

“Well, he tried to, but that match didn’t win because it was turned in after the deadline!”

 

“…”

 

“And quit trying to distract me!” snaps King. “Let’s get back to wrestling!” Calvin scoops Wildchild into his arms and slams him roughly back down to the canvas! He then runs to the edge of the ring, measuring WC as he bounces off the ropes, and comes down across his throat with an elbow smash!

 

“I guess Calvin Szechstein has gotten the match back on track,” says Mak, as Szechstein pulls WC to his feet. “Perhaps that little stunt didn’t hurt him as bad as we thought!”

 

“You’re insane!” replies King. “You don’t play games with a guy like Wildchild, especially when a title is on the line! There are only a handful of guys here in the SWF that could pull something like that off; there’s no way some has-been from the Oat Toast is going to be able to get away with that and not pay for it!”

 

Szechstein pulls WC to his feet and delivers a clubbing forearm blow to the back of the neck; he then pulls Wildchild’s head back and hits him with a fierce open-handed slap to the chest! He pulls the Caribbean Cruiser into a front-facelock and quickly pops his hips, ripping WC through the air with a snap suplex!

 

“It appears that Calvin has shrugged off that initial beating, and is in total control of this match!” says Mak, as Szechstein heads over towards the edge of the ring. “But, wait a minute… what’s he doing now?”

 

“It looks like he’s asking for the microphone,” replies an equally perplexed King, as the Cadillac Boy reaches through the ropes and snatches the mic from Funyon.

 

“Look at your hero!” shouts Szechstein. “You people have to nerve to talk trash about the OAOAST… and look at him! Look at your so-called champion! Look at him, crawling on all fours, like the dog that he is! And you had the nerve to talk trash about me? Make fun of the fact that I have lucrative endorsements? Well, let me tell you something, punk, you’re never going to have to worry about having any kind of endorsements when I get done with you! Nobody’s going to want to give you any, after I win that World Cruiserweight Title!”

 

Wildchild, a look of determination on his face, crawls over towards Szechstein, reaching up to grab the microphone and shut the challenger up. “Look at him!” taunts Calvin. “Come to beg for mercy, huh? Well, I tell you what, punk, before I take that belt off you, I’m going to give you something better than mercy. I’m going to give you… the Pause… that Refreshes!”

 

“The Pause that Refreshes!” gasps Mak. “If he hits this, we’ve got a new World Cruiserweight Champion!” Calvin pulls WC to his feet and whips him across the ring; he scoops WC up into his arms as he bounces off the ropes…

 

 

… But the Champion counters, locking his ankles behind Calvin’s head, and reversing into a headscissors takeover! WC beats Szechstein to his feet and grabs the challenger as he charges, lifting him up off the canvas and then falling backwards, spiking Calvin face-first with a flapjack!

 

“Beautiful counter by the Wildchild!” shouts Mak. “Another huge mistake by Calvin Szechstein, and it looks like’s about to pay for it!”

 

“Absolutely!” affirms King, as WC rolls to his feet. “He NEVER should have told Wildchild what he was going to do there!” Wildchild runs to the ropes, leaping into the air as Szechstein pushes up on his knees and extending his leg over the back of Calvin’s neck…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Driving the challenger into the canvas face-first with the Caribbean Cutter!

 

 

“Cutter!” shouts Mak, as Wildchild moves into position to cover. “That ought to do it!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE—NO! Wildchild looks up at Herrington in exasperation, as the referee holds up two fingers.

 

“Boy,” wheezes Mak, “was that a close one! I thought for sure that Wildchild had him there!” WC pulls Szechstein to his feet but the Cadillac Boy stuns him with an eye rake! Calvin lifts Wildchild overhead for what appears to be a press slam, only for the nimble Champion to slip out of his grasp and down behind his him; Szechstein turns around just as the Human Hurricane is springing off the canvas, and is treated to a standing dropkick! WC beats Calvin to his feet and runs to the ropes…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But the challenger is ready for him, knocking him for a loop with a ferocious lariat!

 

“He hit the big lariat!” exclaims Mak. “That could be the final nail in the coffin!”

 

“Evidently he doesn’t think so,” replies King, as Szechstein heads to the corner. “It looks like he’s going for the moonsault!” Calvin climbs slowly up to the top turnbuckle and tries to steady himself on the top rope…

 

 

CHING!

 

 

… When Wildchild suddenly gets back to his feet and rushes the corner, knocking Calvin’s feet out from under him with a running dropkick, and crotching him on the top turnbuckle!

 

“He’ll feel that in the morning!” winces King, as Wildchild climbs up the ropes behind Szechstein; he straddles the middle rope behind the challenger and raises both hands above his head, before pulling them quickly down to his chest…

 

 

… The sign for the Wild Ride!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Oh no,” moans Mak, as WC tucks his head underneath Calvin’s arm. “He’s not going to do what I think he’s going to do… is he?”

 

“If he is,” quips King, “Szechstein had better hope that one of his sponsors is a chiropractor!” Wildchild reaches up to hook his arms underneath Calvin’s arms and pulls them tight, shifting the Cadillac Boy to an upside down position on his back.

 

“Don’t do it, Wildchild,” pleads Mak, as WC strains to advance to the top turnbuckle. “This isn’t necessary, kid, don’t do it… not from the top!” Wildchild situates both feet on the top rope…

 

 

“Oh no!”

 

 

… And promptly plunges off…

 

 

“OH NO!”

 

 

BANG!

 

 

DRIVING THE TOP OF CALVIN’S SKULL INTO THE CANVAS WITH A SUPER WILD RIDE FROM THE TOP ROPE!

 

 

“My God,” murmurs Mak. “He just hit Calvin Szechstein with a Wild Ride from the top rope… Oh my GOD!” Wildchild rolls over Calvin’s motionless body to apply a lateral press, not even bothering to hook the leg as Red Herrington counts:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

 

 

“Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play once more as a snarling Wildchild gets back to his feet; he screams Szechstein, pointing his finger accusingly, as if to say, “Yeah motherfucker, what’s up now?”

 

“A decisive victory for the World Cruiserweight Champion!” proclaims Mak, as Herrington heads over to the edge of the ring to retrieve the championship belt. “Calvin Szechstein threatened to score an upset for a few moments but, for the most part, it was all Wildchild! Let’s go to Funyon for the official word!”

 

“Here is your winner,” booms Funyon, as Herrington hands the belt over to WC, “and still SWF World Cruiserweight Champion… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild snatches the belt aggressively from the referee, and appears to be on the verge of chasing him out of the ring, until Melissa enters the ring to calm him down.

 

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen Wildchild this incensed,” says Mak. “I’m sure he’s going to want to get his hands on Michael Stephens whenever he gets a chance, but for now, what matters is that he is still the World Cruiserweight Champion! Thanks for staying with us through this great match, ladies and gentlemen; for the King, I’m the Franchise, and we’ll see you next week!”

 

The camera cuts to Wildchild one last time, showing that he’s still nowhere near to being calm…

 

 

As we:

FADE OUT

 

 

SWF Storm

© 2007 – Superior One Productions

SWF: “Raising Workrate by Typing Faster”

[Ace309 0]

“Why the hell did you have to go and stick your nose in?” Flesher demands, waving a sheaf of papers around. The object of his ire is standing opposite his desk and, while less physically demonstrative, is still not looking very pleased.

 

“Oh, what’s the problem?” Michael Stephens snaps, “you really want the roidmonkey cluttering up your schedules? Really? Sure, sign him, go ahead!”

 

“That’s not the problem,” Flesher replies, “the problem is that he’ll only sign if you are his first match! Which means that if I’m going to get Danny in to help our company I’ve got to pander to his little stipulation, which means that I’ve got to put you in a high-profile match.” Flesher folds his arms. “Bastard.”

 

“I don’t want Danny!” Stephens exclaims in exasperation, “I’m not interested in Danny! I think you’re a bloody moron for bringing him in but I’ve got no interest in wrestling him, I just want him to sod off.” He plants both black-nailed hands firmly on Flesher’s desk. “I want Janus.”

 

“Williams,” Flesher replies, slamming the contract down.

 

“What?”

 

“You, Danny, From The Fire,” Flesher says, pointing at the contract in front of him. “If I have to have this match, I’m damned if I’m giving it away when I can get Pay-Per-View buys for it.” He points at the contract again. “Sign it.”

 

“No!” Stephens shouts, “Danny’s done nothing except stand in a ring and look stupid! Janus nearly broke my jaw and chokeslammed me out of the bloody Clusterfuck! Janus!”

 

“I haven’t got Janus!” Flesher grinds out through gritted teeth, silently calling on the gods to save him from all Englishmen, “he’s not here! He hasn’t been here since the Clusterfuck! He came in on a one-shot deal, then never contacted us again! As far as I know he’s back in Sydney breeding ferrets, or whatever the hell he does in his free time!” He stabs his finger onto the contract once more, crumpling the paper. “I don’t care how many people you chokeslam out of rings, how many people you slap around, I can’t give you a match with Janus because he isn’t here! Sign the fucking contract, or so help me I’ll pull you from the Pay-Per-View entirely!”

 

Stephens and Flesher are virtually nose-to-nose now across the desk, both men breathing hard and glaring at each other. Finally Stephens draws back a little, although his steel-grey stare doesn’t leave Flesher’s face.

 

“Williams,” he says levelly.

 

“Williams,” Flesher confirms.

 

“Williams,” Stephens says again, levelling a black-nailed finger at the SWF Commissioner, “and when I win, you put me back in the main event where I belong.”

 

“Williams,” Flesher says, holding out a pen, “and if you win, I’ll think about putting you back in the main event.” He sees Stephens looking at him and narrows his eyes. “Don’t try and play cute Mike, this isn’t negotiable.”

 

Stephens grunts and takes the pen, then scrawls his signature onto the paper. Flesher snatches it back the moment the Englishman is done, as if afraid Stephens will change his mind. Mike just tosses the pen back at him, causing Flesher to juggle the contract so as to have a free hand to catch it, then smirks and walks out of the door. Flesher slams the pen down onto the desk, then turns and carefully puts the signed match contract into his ‘Urgent’ tray.

 

“I swear I was never that bad…” the Superior One mutters, picking up the phone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

©2007 Smartmarks Wrestling Federation

‘Raising Workrate By Typing Faster’