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The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents...
Live, Friday, August 3, from STONEHENGE, MOTHERFUCKER!
(7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings)
(Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3)


Theme song: By popular demand, "Protect Ya Neck" by the Wu-tang Clan. :)


Alan Clark © vs. "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke ©

--> The two most coveted singles titles in the biz, and their respective holders, go head to head in the Main Event! Our Disney sponsored World Champion meets the most dominant International Champion we've ever seen, and when the dust settles, the winner will hold the new unified SWF World Championship!
Rules: Standard singles.


Wild and Dangerous © vs. Revolution Zero (Toxxic and Austin Sly)

--> Revolution Zero, now with a little more tag success under their belts, take Wild and Dangerous up on their open contract! And if the events of the past two Storms are any indication, this battle looks to be even more intense than the first! Will tonight mark the beginning of Revolution Zero's dominance of the tag team scene, or can the tried and true methodology of the legendary Wild and Dangerous stave them off once again?
Rules: Standard tag team match.


Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix © vs. MANSON

--> I could say that this match has a long, strange history, but anything involving MANSON usually does. But even now it's gone farther than ever before - not content to simply talk trash and interfere in matches, MANSON made it very personal a few weeks ago when he kidnapped Megan Skye and gave her the Instant Hell Murder before Landon could intervene! MANSON has been demanding a crack at Landon for weeks and weeks, and apparently that was the last straw, as one week later Landon granted him his shot! Tonight, La Cucaracha and the Savage Messiah kick it Hardcore, with the title on the line!
Rules: HARDCORE~~~!~!~!?~!!?!


The Fabulous Jakey © vs. Jimmy the Doom

--> Because Jakey needs a defense, and because Jimmy is awesome.
Rules: Singles, with Cruiser addenda.


Fulminatus © vs. An Octopus

--> Our number one contenders match didn't exactly go as planned... didn't go at all, come to think of it... but we're not letting Fulminatus off the hook that easily! He takes on arguably his most dangerous opponent yet, as An Octopus returns to the ring for one night only... IN THE CAAAAAAGE!
Rules: First creature to escape the cage wins.


"Hollywood" Spike Jenkins vs. Michael Alexander

--> Ask, and ye shall receive.
Rules: Singles.


CIA vs. Jesse James Sanders

--> Get everyone booked!
Rules: Singles.


Chris Raynor vs. Danny Dagda

--> Get everyone booked!
Rules: Self explanatory. You idiot.


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The crowd is huddled inside the unique, makeshift venue of the one and only Stonehenge and nearly rumbling the stone slabs with their fanatic support.


“Know what’s amazing about Stonehenge?” King asks in awe to his partner.


“How incredible it is that an ancient civilization had the persistence and capabilities to construct this astonishing monument?” Mak sincerely replies, seeming to take the moment to savor the grandiosity of it like his partner.


King stares at him before saying, “No, what are you, the tour guide? No, I was going to say how hideous the general population is.”


Mak ignores his partner and continues to say, “This is one packed show and there is certainly one interesting opening match to get us started tonight.”


“Between the up-and-coming Danny Dagda and the delusional Chris Raynor,” King says with the obligatory bias.


“Well, it will be Danny Dagda and Chris Raynor but this won’t be the standard singles match. No, instead it’s the classic Ironman stipulation but with a little twist, the only way these two can score is by putting the other through a table,” Mak says. “It’s going to be a long, long half-hour for these two.”


“Yeah,” King replies in amusement. “Actually, I’m curious just how many tables Raynor can go through before his neck snaps, again,” he maliciously says.


“That’s wrong in so many ways,” Mak flatly says before continuing, “I’m more curious to how Raynor’s endurance will be, he tends to rush his opponents to end it quickly and obviously there won’t be an ending until that half hour ends.”


“Or until he breaks his neck,” King cheerfully reminds him.





“Rubber Neck” by Isle of Q hits and the opening drums are accompanied by white strobe lights and the singing begins, cuing Chris Raynor to step out from the back. He stands tall, keeping a poker face, and looks down at his Genesis III shirt, ripping it off before tossing it off to the side.


“Introducing, from Baton Rouge, Louisiana weighing in at 250 pounds… CCCHHRRIISSS RRRRAAAYYYYNNNOOOORR!”


He begins his walk down the aisle without any flash but simply a stoic face until he reaches the ring, where he grins at two tables already set up opposite of each other at ringside. He steps over to the steel stairs, dismissing the negative crowd, and climbs up, entering the ring through the middle rope, and ignoring Matthew Kivell. He simply stands in the ring, staring at the entrance ramp, ignoring the largely ambivalent crowd, and remains calm until suddenly an unbelievable stuttering drumbeat begins. It’s simply unbelievable because of the familiarity, because of this man’s history with the other, clinging onto the moment where benefit of the doubt is given until-


I said hallelujah!


Not a seat remains empty nor a voice silent as they instantly hail the potential return of the Crowned Prince of Flash and Panache!


To the sixteen loyal fans-ah…


Chris Raynor paces in the center of the ring, shooting a look at Kivell and demanding an explanation, only to get a confused shrug in response.


“I can’t believe it,” Mak loudly says over the roaring crowd to his partner. “No, seriously, I can’t believe that could possibly be Edwin MacPhisto!”




Suddenly the lighting stops and blue sparks begin to rain down on the entrance ramp followed by a gigantic burst of blue pyrotechnics that breaks every fan’s heart one at a time… “Aneurysm” by Nirvana kicks into high gear, confirming Danny Dagda’s arrival at Stonehenge, turning the crowd absolutely venomous. Chris Raynor narrows his eyes before trying to dismiss it with a laugh, almost in relief. “Aneurysm” continues and suddenly an all too familiar voice rings out-


“Now, now,” Danny Dagda says as he walks out with a ridiculously large red leather jacket like MacPhisto. “Now what kind of way is that to treat royalty? Yes, the Prince of… No, King, the god damn King of Flash and Panache or whatnot. Oh yes, the Ringmaster of the fruitiest SWF Creation with eccentric interior designing since the Clan attempted their go at a Hair and Nail Salon, oh yes! Give me a day, you toothless or gingivitis ridden or eroding gums, or whatever other variety of dental plagues and all the other British stereotypes that escape me and I’ll be your new King, oh yes!”


“When did they try to open a Nail Salon …” King muses out loud before getting slapped on the arm by his partner. “Hell, Dagda could easily rule this country as King!”


“King, do you have any clue about British history or the current political system?”


“Sure,” King defensively responds, “I know about King Arthur, King Henry the VIII, aaaannnddd yeah, that’s about it.”


“Well I don’t have time to lecture. But it’s just amazing how far Danny Dagda will go to get his kicks,” Mak says. “It’s almost admirable in a really, really loathe-inspiring way.”


“Or how far he’ll go to get into Raynor’s head,” King corrects.


Danny Dagda Yes, that’s right, now get down on your motherfucking knees and please Daddy Dagda.” He pauses to shoot a look at the crowd, boos increasing before clarifying, “Worship me… not… ‘please’ please me, unless you… know… you want to. In that case, young’ns,’ gays, trannies, bisexuals, and braces need not apply but that’s here nor there because I am here, that’s right, Daddy Dagda is in the house, wait, no, this historic monument!”


“Spare us the bullshit,” Raynor loudly yells from the ring at Danny Dagda, who looks truly offended by his remark.


“Fine, Raynman, fine, you got it. You got it. I just figured, you know, we ought to get acquainted seeing as how we’re going to be stuck together for a whole half hour. But I understand,” he says, lowering the microphone to bask in the jeering, “I truly understand- you just want to cut the foreplay, right? It’s cool; I can see why you wouldn’t want to wait another lingering moment to be graced by Daddy Dagda’s presence!”


“Introducing next, from Newark, New Jersey… WEIGHING IN AT 298 POUNDS… DDDAAANNNNYYYY DDDDAAAGGGDDAAA!”


Danny Dagda drops the microphone and cockily struts down the aisle, whipping off his MacPhisto-inspired attire and throws it into the crowd, only to have it tossed back at him. He doesn’t pay any attention to the rejection, however, and simply takes his sweet time hitting ringside, leaving Raynor increasingly more impatient. He glances around ringside, seeing two tables set up and lifts up the ring skirt to glance underneath the ring, ensuring the numerous tables that may have to come into play. He finally looks up at Raynor with a wide smile and rolls into the ring, standing up, and approaching the center of the ring.


“Chris Raynor is not looking too thrilled with Dagda right now,” Mak says.


They stand next to each other and Danny Dagda listens to Kivell explain the rather self-explanatory rules, or lack there of, to the opponents to an uninterested Dagda and a pumped Raynor. Finally Danny looks into Raynor’s eyes and holds out his hand to an understandably reluctant Chris. He insists that his unique entrance was all in good fun and already feels bad, which leads to Raynor slowly reaching his hand out. Danny Dagda pulls it back, acting sly, and runs his hand through his hair before dropping to his knees, lifting an arm up into Raynor’s crotch!


DING! DING! DING! He stands back up and quickly takes advantage by whipping him into the ropes before leveling him with a clothesline. However, Chris Raynor instantly recovers and stands up to begin socking it to Dagda with rapid-fire forearms, inciting the crowd to begin to cheer.


“Sometimes I wonder if Hitler would go over well if Dagda was having a good day,” King says.


“Danny Dagda’s blatant low blow has already backfired, hasn’t it?” Mak asks, shortly believing in karma until Dagda stops his assaulter with an eye rake.


Kivell feebly protests and Dagda shoots him a look before stomping hard on Raynor’s foot, kneecap, and finally bitch slapping him across the face. He backs away in a Sugar Ray-like shuffle to avoid Raynor’s angered, wild swings and just laughs in his opponent’s face before leaning in to deliver another bitch slap! He continues to degrade his opponent by circling around him, keeping just out of Raynor’s reach, and leaning into sneak in another slap. Finally he overdoes it and stands still to smile before trying to duck out of the way of a right haymaker but it catches him flush, causing him to reel backwards! Raynor rushes up and forcefully shoves him down to the canvas in order to begin stomping on him, venting out his frustrations. Danny Dagda has to roll out of the ring in order to escape, leaning against the ring apron, and shaking his head in a daze with a chuckle. He slowly climbs back up onto the ring apron and gets rushed by Raynor, who gets a knee through the ropes. Dagda grabs a handful of his hair and leads him to the turnbuckle, smashing his face once, twice, and (why not) thrice before reentering the ring. Danny Dagda backs away from the turnbuckle, letting Raynor lean against it, and he simply motions for him to come after him. The Raynman acts upon the suggestion and rushes forward with an overhand right that Dagda blocks in mid-air, until he gets caught with a front kick to his gut.


“Dagda trying to get into Raynor’s head can prove to be a mistake, Chris has proven himself to be an angry individual,” Mak says.


“Who rarely kicks, too,” King points out while he watches Dagda get wrenched by a front facelock.


He continues to crank at Dagda’s neck until he drops down to the canvas, planting him with the simple yet effective DDT. He gets onto his knees and delivers a bit of embarrassment back at Dagda, slapping him on the back of the head, and pulling him up to the canvas. He knees Danny in the gut, causing him to double over, and wraps an arm around his midsection before flipping him over with a crisp gutwrench suplex. Danny tenaciously rolls back up, however, but gets dropped with a clothesline, yet he bounces back once again. He catches Raynor with an elbow and steps forward to lock in the front facelock, lift him into the air, and cut to the chase with a brainbuster, sparing the usual stalling. He rolls up and tries to tug his opponent up but instead gets slammed in the stomach with two hard blows. He doubles over and Raynor locks in a front headlock, trying to take advantage of it but can’t because Dagda lowers his shoulder a bit more, using his superior power to drive them into the ropes, nearly spilling to the outside! He lets go and Dagda backs away, only to nail Raynor with a kick to his thigh. He clutches at his thigh but grits his teeth and comes back with a nasty forearm smash that causes Danny to temporarily lose his balance, falling onto his ass. Raynor, displaying his occasional nasty streak, charges forward and delivers an echoing cowboy kick to Dagda’s chest. He tries to continue his assault but Dagda clutches onto one of his ankles, tripping him down onto the canvas with him. He begins to rain down mounted elbows onto Raynor but Chris is able to reach up and snatch Dagda with a guillotine choke. He applies more pressure and Danny pulls back, forcing Chris to sit up so he can wrap his arms around him. He stands up, face turning a shade of dark red, and finally slips his head free, tossing Raynor down with a scoop slam, followed by a knee drop right into his face. The Raynman rolls away and back onto his feet to collide with Dagda with a grapple. They fight for position but ultimately Raynor is able to clutch his arm and force it between his own legs, setting up for the Pumphandle Slam! He lifts Dagda into the air, slung over his shoulder, and jogs to the turnbuckle, smacking Dagda against it before turning around 180* to slam him against the canvas. He rolls back up and Dagda tries to catch him with an up kick, undoubtedly aimed at his genitals, that instead slaps his inner thigh. Raynor quickly responds with mudhole stomping that causes Danny Dagda to roll halfway across the ring before being able to stand up. Raynor tries to press on with his assault and rushes forward but Danny lunges forward, wrapping his arms around Chris, and heaving him backwards with an unexpected belly-to-belly suplex.


“Dagda just caught him with a beautiful belly-to-belly suplex, I sure as hell hope Raynor isn’t underestimating Dagda,” King says before pausing. “Actually, I guess I do hope is he.”


But Raynor forces himself up to his feet quickly, lunging out with a forearm to halt Danny’s advance. He locks in the front facelock and grabs a handful of tights, lifting him into the air but instead of a suplex he drapes Danny’s legs over the top rope. He then carefully turns into a stunner position before dropping down with a neckbreaker that sends the crowd into a chorus of cheers. Danny Dagda seeks refuge on the outside and he rolls out of the ring, landing on all fours on the outside, and hoping to recollect himself. Unfortunately, for Danny Dagda, Chris Raynor exits onto the ring apron and simply drops down, double stomping Dagda! A loud groan of pain is heard and Raynor looks down to see Danny feebly reaching for something to aid him underneath the ring. Raynor, apparently inspired by Dagda’s idea, reaches underneath the ring to pull out a table to a roar of approval. He jabs at Dagda’s downed body with the edge but then slides it into the ring. He yanks Danny up to his feet and grabs his head, smacking it against the ring apron. He slides into the ring, with Dagda a few seconds behind in pursuit, and hustles to the table, setting it up. He turns around gets bombarded with overhand rights from Dagda but easily holds his own, actually blocking two in a row before grabbing Danny, throwing him against the table before laying his own blows. Dagda toughs through majority of the shots, after a little ducking and weaving, and is able to grab a hold of Raynor’s throat. But instead of a chokeslam he just spins away from the table, throwing Raynor against it. He surges forward only to eat a knee from Raynor and also have his head smacked against it. Chris hoists him onto the table but Danny quickly rolls off of it, grabbing Raynor and showcasing his power by yanking him into the air, over the table, and towards him. He runs to the ropes and begins to bounce back as he watches Raynor stand back up. Danny Dagda simply collides with Raynor in his desperation to get him onto the table, causing them to actually spill over to the side where they rush back up. Raynor shoots two quick forearm blows and tries to grab a hold of him but catches nothing but air since Dagda ducks, standing behind him. He clubs him with an arm to the back before grabbing a handful of hair and tights, spinning around, and trying to toss him clear out of the ring, onto the table of the outside. He cockily smiles at the crowd, doing a little dancing spin, and realizes that Raynor found salvation by grabbing onto the top ring rope and now is standing back up. He rushes forward to pound on the Raynman but gets caught with a forearm blow that stuns him. They each begin to rain down overhand rights in hope to keep their position while Dagda begins to get the better of the exchange. Raynor sways on the apron and Danny uses it as a chance to lock in the front facelock. He grabs a handful of Chris’ tights but he gets bombarded with shots to the ribs, causing him to let go of the hold and the tables turn since Chris gets his own front facelock. He begins to lift but Dagda sandbags his weight and once both feet hit the ground he sneaks a knee through the middle rope, freeing him. He locks in the front facelock once again and wastes not time in grabbing his tights, lifting him vertically into the air, and falls back to send him crashing through the table, inciting the boos from the crowd.


“After a mad scramble Dagda one-ups Raynor after that exchange! Raynor just went crashing through that table, Dagda wins that duel of suplexes and now he leads one-nothing on Raynor,” Mak says.




“Raynor must be getting old,” King muses while he watches Raynor feebly try to roll away quickly from Dagda, who pulls up him up to his feet.


He stands Raynor upright, watching him sway like a drunk, and simply cocks his arm back to deliver yet another bitch slap that sends him falling back into the broken table. Danny Dagda glances down, enjoying the moment, and begins to kidney kick at Raynor, causing him to roll over in defense one kick at a time until he’s forced to scramble up to his feet. He throws both arms up to his face in defense and absorbs an attempt elbow strike before he swoops down, wrapping his arms around Dagda’s midsection, and lifts him into the air before slamming down with a spinebuster, allowing him to recover on the mat. He inhales deep breaths before following through, kneeling beside Dagda, and begins to rain down punches at Dagda, rapidly increasing before hitting a crescendo, the hallow thuds nearly blending together, but finally slow down to cease. He stands up and gives Dagda a stomp to his gut before retreating back to the ropes in hopes to revive.


“Well, I can’t blame him for trying to recover,” Mak says, recalling his own classic Ironman match with Danny Williams. “It’s too grueling and costly if you don’t allow yourself some time to recuperate.”


Danny Dagda grunts and gets to all fours, looking up at Raynor who looks equally, if not more, winded at the moment. He decides not to show potential weakness and forces himself to his feet, walking towards his opponent and nonchalantly pushes the table’s remains off to the side. He grins and gingerly touches the corner of his eye, which has began to swell, to just wag a finger with a “tsk tsk” to Raynor. He rushes forward to the seemingly helpless Raynor, arms wrapped around the ring ropes to lean against, and charges like a bull, only to have Raynor side step like a Matador. The crowd ignites into cheers while Dagda nearly flies out of the ring but they are disappointed to see him wrap an arm around the top rope, narrowly avoiding the table on the outside. He stands up on the ring apron to smack Raynor with an elbow to stun him and then smartly whirls around, kicking the table over to foil any easy plan to get him through that table. Raynor grunts and takes a step forward before launching forward with a forearm that sends Dagda off balance, causing him to spill on the outside. He slides out of the ring and grabs the table, setting it back up right, and turns around, only to get caught by a front kick from Dagda. He then launches a set of three leg kicks to Raynor’s inner thigh before trying to grab him in a grapple, only to get shoved away. Raynor dazes him with a hard forearm and stands to his side, glancing backwards at the table behind him, and the crowd begins to cheer once again. He tucks his head underneath Dagda’s arm to reach across the chest to grab hold of his neck before fluently lifting him into the air, turning around 180*, and sending Danny crunching through the table with the Sambo Suplex! The crowd explodes as Danny Dagda smacks against the cement with a thud and a loud, extended groan of pain.




“Raynor ties it up within minutes after Dagda gains the upper hand,” Mak gleefully says to King’s disappointment.


Chris Raynor looks down at Dagda, who rolls onto his side with a wheeze, and glances around for the next convenient table. He debates reaching underneath the ring but can tell the resilient Dagda may be able to get up quickly enough and finally his eyes lock onto his ex-friend, the Suicide King, at the commentator’s table. He reaches down, picking up Dagda, who lazily flails an arm in resistance, and begins to lead him towards the announcers’ table. He gets an elbow to the ribs from Dagda but he quickly responds by spinning him around, throwing him against the steel steps, which dislodge them.


“He’s beginning to get the upper hand on Dagda, now he’s looking for a front facelock,” Mak gives the play-by-play as Raynor does, indeed, lock in the front facelock. He goes for the lift but Dagda grapevines his leg.


“Yeah, but that hold’s not worth much if you don’t follow it up with something,” King jaunts while Dagda begins to counter with shots to the ribs.


Raynor toughs out the blows from Dagda and seems ready to go for the lift once again but Dagda uses his weight and gravity to his advantage, making it difficult for an easy lift. Finally he releases the facelock in frustration and Dagda instantly jumps on the opportunity, kicking him hard in the thigh before catching him with a straight punch at his chest. He stumbles back from the hard blow and Danny makes his move, trapping him with the front headlock, and drops down for the DDT onto the stairs! Raynor’s head collides with the steel and Dagda can’t help but to chuckle at the fans cringing reaction to the noise. He grabs Raynor, slumped over the stairs with, at the very least, one hell of a headache but that’s not enough to put a Caveman down. He begins to pick him back up but gets an elbow to his gut and Raynor turns the tables, grabbing the back of Dagda’s head, and ramming it against the turnbuckle. He lets Dagda stagger from the blow, facing the dislodged steel steps, and Raynor steps behind him, slightly to his side, extending Dagda’s arm, and wraps his leg around his opponent’s before dropping forward with his Forward Legsweep straight onto the stairs!


“A taste of his own medicine,” Mak says with a chuckle as Danny Dagda clutches his chest, absorbing most of the punishment, and wheezes heavily.


“Raynor dislodged the stairs, he got a taste of his own medicine… so it’d be his medicine’s medicine? Because if you need medicine for medicine then you probably should get a new whole medicine altogether…”


“Enough,” Mak cuts his partner off before the observation continues.


He grabs Dagda and lifts him off of the stairs, looking over at the commentators with a wicked grin, giving them the cue to get the hell out of the way. He knees him in the gut and grabs a handful of trunks with one hand, hair with the other and-


“It’s about time to jump ship, Mak,” King says and leaps out from his chair, getting away from Raynor who launches Dagda onto the table. He looks at his partner, remaining still, and facetiously advises, “Run, Mak, run!”


“I can’t run,” Mak sourly responds, feeling Dagda’s sweat being flung onto him.


“Then wheel, Mak, wheel!”




Raynor steps onto the table and reaches down to pick up Dagda but he’s snatched by Dagda, still on his back, thrown off the table, awkwardly crashing behind it. Raynor shrugs it off, though, and rushes forward, clubbing Danny with a forearm to the back to keep him from getting back up. He hops back onto the table with a handful of Dagda’s hair, lifting him onto one knee, where Dagda lands two gut shots before standing up with the European Uppercut. Raynor sways in his spot and Dagda tries to capitalize but gets hit with an elbow. They collide into a grapple, struggling for control, and Raynor catches him with a knee, doubling him over. He maneuvers into the stand headscissors, arms wrapping around him for the lift, and tries to lift but Dagda sandbags his weight. Once again Raynor seems ready to lift the heavier Dagda but instead he gets his plans foiled by being sent flipping off the table, smacking against the cement. He looks down at his opponent with a smile and looks up at the crowd who are rallying against him. He looks up at the distant, gigantic stone slabs, Raynor’s position, next glances at the top turnbuckle in the ring, Raynor’s position, then he scans the ring apron, Raynor’s position, and finally he just glances down from the table at Raynor’s position. He figures that elevation is elevation and slowly begins to taunt the crowd and the Raynman with pelvic thrusts before dropping off to plant an elbow into his chest. He takes his sweet time standing up, regaining stability after Raynor’s offensive spree, lifting his opponent back up, and throws him into the ring, to the relief of Mak and King.


“Well, was I right or was I right?” King asks with a laugh, trying to salvage the papers on his desk.


“Wheel, Mak, wheel?” He bitterly asks to an apathetic shrug from the Suicide King.


Danny Dagda looks ready to slide into the ring but thinks better of it, staring down at the ring apron with a wide grin plastered on his face. He lifts the skirt up and reaches underneath with a playful look of shock to the discovery of the table he pulls out. He looks up to see Raynor staggering back up to his feet, shaking the cobwebs out of his head, but Dagda cockily takes his time, carefully sliding it into the ring. He rolls into the ring and sees Raynor coming after him, so he grabs the table and jabs him with it in the gut! This opponent doubles over and he then pushes down on the table from his end, sending the other part to crack Raynor with an uppercut! He reels backwards before falling to the canvas and Dagda coxes how he only hurt the table because he loves it, while setting up with a whistle. He spots Chris Raynor already pushing himself up to his knees but he pays no attention, taking a step back and sarcastically framing the table with his fingers like an artist. He gives an approving nod and turns around to get caught with a jab to the face! Raynor, still rather dazed, sticks to simplicity by clutching onto the back of Dagda’s head, slamming his face into the table! He lifts his head up again and smashes it down against the table, nearly making a dent, and goes for the lift once again. Danny plants his hands on the table, battling with Raynor to keep from getting his face rearranging, before he gets an idea. He begins to stomp on the cheap table’s legs, causing them awkwardly bend, letting the table have a sudden lean to it. He pushes his hands off of the higher end and catches Raynor with an elbow to the temple. He grins at his opponent, or at his own genius, and can anticipate the lunge of a wild clothesline, so he naturally ducks. The only problem with Dagda’s hunch is he didn’t give Raynor enough credit to know how to feint- causing Raynor to slip behind him, slightly bend over, and snatch his legs trapped against his shoulders. He hoists Dagda into the air and instantly gets bombarded by shots by a desperate Danny. He nearly releases Dagda due to one particularly vicious blow towards the back of neck but is able to take a strained step forward, dropping him for the Electric Chair position throat-first against the ropes! Dagda comes reeling back, clutching at his throat, and helpless as Raynor wraps his arms around him with the waistlock to arch backwards, throwing him over with the release German Suplex, through the table! The crowd roars at the sight of Dagda nearly flipping over from the impact and the reassuring crunching sound of the table snapping.


“Raynor with the ‘Chris Smash’ and now he has the lead on Dagda, two to one!” Mak exclaims.


“One of the dumbest move names ever,” King bitterly mutters.




“Raynor may have the upper hand now, he has rallied back against Dagda,” Mak says.


“Don’t be such a drama queen, Danny just got caught, and that is all.”


Raynor can’t help but to grin at the tides turning in the match and looks to pick up Dagda, who is suddenly unaccounted for. He scans ringside until he sees Dagda’s head poke out, slowly trying to retrieve a table, most likely desperate to catch up with his opponent. He holds the table upright, one end firmly on the ground, and has to use it as a crutch to stand back up. He dumbly leans it against the ring apron to take a breather and Raynor simply stares at the golden opportunity before seizing it. He runs back into the ropes and charges forward, dropping down to the canvas with a baseball slide that connects with the table and sends Dagda flying backwards against the barricade.


“Raynor just caught Danny, again,” Mak gloats, mostly aimed at his partner.


He slips to the outside and grabs a hold of the table, simply throwing it at Dagda to keep him dazed. Danny grabs a hold of the table and comes out swinging, smacking Raynor with the edge of it, causing him to bounce against the steel ring post. Dagda drops it, flips it over, and gets the legs, and flips it over once again to set it up but the dazed expression and look in his eye seems to imply he has no idea of what’s next. He turns around and, even he isn’t too surprised, gets ambushed by Raynor with a series of forearm blows, European uppercut, and topped off with a simple bitch slap of his own, getting the crowd riled up in cheers once again. Danny staggers back and jukes his upper body backwards to evade an overhand right before he hits the edge of the table, halting him but also just out of the reach of Raynor. He sees the flash of Raynor’s arm and shields his face with his forearms, absorbing the attempted elbow. He tries to fire back a counter strike but Raynor simply tries for another, which is promptly blocked once again. He reaches around and gets a hold of Dagda’s head, pulling him into a brutal elbow shot, which leaves his head hanging low. Raynor decides to throw an unexpected variable into the equation and begins to throw a front kick but Dagda sees it. He catches Raynor’s leg at the thigh and frees his head while Chris resorts to hobbling on one leg for support until Danny wraps an arm around his opponent’s neck, trapping the leg against his body. The crowd burst into jeers while Danny arches back, throwing Chris Raynor back with the Capture Suplex! He releases him, falling to the cement with a huge breath, and suddenly hears a crunching noise. He immediately seats up and glances behind him, seeing Raynor writhe in the wreckage from the table set up beyond him.


“Yes! Raynor just got dumped right through that table, ha, Dagda always has a plan,” King taunts his partner.


“The look on Dagda’s face tells otherwise but now it’s tied at two a piece with less than ten minutes to go,” Mak replies.








“Do you hear that, Mak?” King asks, watching Dagda use the ring apron to get back up to one knee.


“Of course I hear it, it’s damn near deafening,” he replies in confusion.


“Oh, the pitiful, woeful sound of jealousy- at least, that’s what I’ve always heard when people booed me.”


Danny, refusing to show his consuming exhaustion, remains on one knee for a moment before lifting up the ring skirt to fetch yet another table out. This time he doesn’t waste time in sliding it into the ring and he turns around to stomp on his opponent. Raynor weakly rolls away and onto one knee, which Dagda takes as the green light for assault and he comes at him. But Raynor’s prepared, dropping down, and catching Dagda with the drop toehold, sending him crashing against the barricade. Raynor rolls up to his feet as Danny remains slumped over the guardrail, with security guards hustling towards him for Dagda’s sake, and he grabs him, throwing him into the ring. He leans against the ring apron and slowly climbs up it onto both feet, letting the moments pass in hopes of regaining some stamina. Meanwhile Dagda pushes himself to one knee and soon stands up, stumbling at Raynor with a sloppy right. It grazes Raynor, which snaps him back into reality, and he responds by reaching over the ring ropes to get the front facelock in. This time, however, he doesn’t seem to get much resistance as he hoists him up into the air with a loud grunt, nowhere to go but down. But he can feel his arms waiver and soon he feels the weight disappear, Danny slipping free onto his feet on the outside, and he simply yet brutally grabs Raynor’s ankles, yanking them from underneath him! He smacks against the ring apron and Danny looks on in glee while he plops onto the outside. He reaches down and snatches him up, lifting him up to his feet, and takes a step back to unleash a karate kick to his gut. He then continues his assault by clutching Raynor’s throat with his hand, his other hand placed on his back. He lifts him into the air and holds him high, showing off, before heading towards the barricade, hoping to toss him over.


“Dagda might want to give the front row more than they bargained for,” Mak humorously says to his partner’s groan.


“If they tear him apart then I’m fine with that.”


He hovers above the guardrail, causing fans to flee the immediate area, and swiftly reacts with two sharp elbows. He falls onto his feet but not before he grabs the back of Dagda’s head while dropping, sending him throat first into the barricade! Danny staggers back, struggling to catch his breath once again, and Raynor begins to climb back over, one foot on the top of the guardrail when he gets inspired. He steps up onto the top of the guardrail and watches Danny bend over, gasping for air, so he takes a chance- he leaps off of the barricade with one leg thrown high in the air, hoping for the scissor kick! But the wild cheers from Raynor’s rare display of agility gets Danny’s gut churning and he glances up, realizing what could potentially happen. He evades with a dive as Raynor were an incoming grenade, causing Chris to awkwardly land, the momentum carrying him to smack against the ring apron. Danny rolls up to his feet and taps Raynor’s shoulder as he stumbles back, causing him to whirl around right into a front kick. He doubles over and Danny locks in the front headlock, grabs a handful of tights, and elevates him in the air before dropping down with the Implant DDT! He scrambles to his feet but looks down to see a crumbled Raynor, who flops onto his back in agony. Danny Dagda looks around and points to the turnbuckle, inciting jeers from the fans, and he simply dismisses them with a wave of his hand. He climbs onto the apron and stares at Raynor still down while the idea of taking flight is progressively becoming more and more appealing.


“Brutal Implant DDT from Dagda, this could really cost Raynor,” Mak says.


“Oh Christ, this could cost Dagda a lot, lot more,” King says, pointing to Dagda scaling up the turnbuckle, to everybody’s disbelief. “Why?”


“Because he may have felt one-upped by Raynor’s short-lived attempt at flight? Maybe because if he did hit whatever the hell he’s trying for that it’ll keep him down?”


Danny Dagda slowly stands up on the top turnbuckle, surveying the audience, and beginning to point in all general directions, dedicating the following pelvic thrusts towards them. He glances at the SmarkTron with a smirk and he hears Funyon’s deep voice chime in right on cue-




He does one final slow pelvic thrust before bending his knees and taking the leap off, flying through the air with an elbow aimed right at Raynor, who is loudly stirring. Danny Dagda goes to cockily laugh but instead finds himself unable to speak because Chris gets his knees up in time, causing the crowd to break into an absolute frenzy!


“Dagda missed, he took a stupid, cocky risk and look what happened!”


“Your bias is staggering, Mak… just like Raynor’s lack of skill,” King replies, oblivious to the irony.


They both lie on the cement, breathing heavily, and trying to grasp their bearings once again before moving but time is of the essence. Raynor takes his time but rolls onto all fours, crawling over to Dagda, and aiding him up to his feet. He draws back Dagda’s head with a smirk and musters up the strength to send his head colliding with the steel ring post. He rolls him into the ring and hunts underneath the ring to pull out another table, sliding it into the ring while Dagda rolls up, clutching his ribs. Chris slides into the ring and gets ambushed with stomps by Dagda, causing him to frantically roll towards the turnbuckle to use for getting up. He uses the turnbuckle as his aid and leans back to throw a mule kick that sends Dagda staggering and now he goes on the offensive with a flurry of overhand rights. He begins to get the best of Dagda until he gets caught with a counter jab that stuns him, followed by an eye rake, a shot to the kneecap, and a headbutt. Dagda throws Raynor against the turnbuckle and unleashes a flurry of elbow strikes to stun him. He then sends a kick into Raynor’s gut that doubles him over and follows it with a cracking knee to his face. This opponent slumps against the turnbuckle and Dagda grabs the table, throwing it against Raynor to sandwich him in. He smacks it twice with a laugh and jogs backwards before breaking into a sprint forward but it is ultimately ill fated as Raynor instinctively shoves the table off of him, letting it fall over and collide with Danny! The blow from the table, more so stunning than lethal, halts him in his tracks and he shoves it away from him, leaving it to teeter back towards Raynor, who steps away from the turnbuckle, letting the table fall against the turnbuckle at a slant.


“Look at them battling it out, even finding unique ways to use the table as a weapon.”


Danny steps forward with a hard right overhand, causing Raynor to nearly trip back onto the table. Dagda lunges forward, even if it means a simple body splash to put Raynor through the table, but instead he eats a big boot to the face that sends him staggering backwards. Raynor rushes forward and telegraphs an overhand right that Dagda blocks in mid-air and uses the chance to spin around behind him and catch him with the waistlock. He glances behind him, knowing the table’s only a German Suplex away, and gets ready to throw his weight back but he eats two sharp elbows to the temple, letting Raynor break through the hold. This time Chris slyly slips behind him and secures the waistlock but the shameless Dagda finds an easy out with a well-placed low blow. He breaks free of the hold and throws a back elbow just for good measures before smacking him in the gut with a knee. He snatches Raynor and lifts him high into the air with Guerilla Press, eyeing the table like a predator eyeing prey and looks ready to drop him face first through the table! But instead Raynor wisely pushes down on Dagda’s head, in a slight distraction, and swings himself off, freeing himself. He tries to take advantage but Dagda simply throws a hard thigh kick, allowing him to go behind once again positioning his head underneath Raynor’s armpit, an arm wrapped around him, and looking for the backdrop suplex. But Chris Raynor throws his body weight backwards and with amazing agility lands on his feet behind Dagda. The crowd explodes while Dagda whirls around with a desperate spinning back fist that he ducks underneath and then counters with the European uppercut.


“These two have just hit desperation mode with little time left and that table being just feet away,” Mak says. “They’re doing anything they can think of to avoid being the one to be sent through that able.”


“They’re reacting, not thinking anymore like this is some sort of chess match,” King points out to Mak.


“Hell, there isn’t time to think,” Mak says while glancing up at the timer.


Chris Raynor looks up at the SmarkTron in a panic, now clutching the back of Dagda’s head before driving a knee into his midsection, followed by another. He locks in the front facelock and doesn’t waste a millisecond before hoisting him into the air with the table still leaning in the corner behind him.


“It’s coming down to the final moments now,” Mak excitedly says. “Dagda has been caught in this position by Raynor a few times now but he’s been able to slip out.”


“All the previous times he’s escaped it doesn’t mean a damn thing if Dagda doesn’t pull something out of his ass quickly,” King responds.


However, once again Dagda manages to slip out of Raynor’s suplex, while the crowd burst into jeers, but this time Raynor’s prepared. He instantly whirls around and catches Danny with a right hand, the jeers dissolving into cheers, followed by another shot, another one that whips his head, and draws back to deliver one last heavy shot. Dagda stumbles back and Raynor unloads another spurt of rights until Danny ducks one, quickly spinning around to face Raynor’s back. He snatches one of Raynor’s arms, twisting it back but gets caught with a back elbow before he can get the other. Dagda simply tosses Raynor face first into table and he quickly turns around, still leaning against the table, and watching Dagda take a few steps back. But the Raynman surges forward with a big boot that smacks Dagda in his face and he charges forward with a flurry of forearms.




He lunges forward, desperate to do something, and gets a hard, resounding kick against his inner thigh from Dagda. Raynor’s leg almost gives way and the sinking feeling of momentum swinging the other way creeps over him. He continues to assault Raynor’s sore leg and peppers in a wicked bitch slap and he slips behind Raynor. He clubs him with a forearm to the back of the head and a cheap kick to the back of his knee for good measures. The crowd begins to erupt in disapproval while Dagda hooks both of Raynor’s arms back, pressing his palms flat against his back, the prelude to his release tiger suplex that is aimed right at the table. Danny Dagda suddenly knows he has it because this one feels right and he can’t help but to smirk. Chris Raynor suddenly knows because his body lurches in that awful second knowing the inevitable coming and he can’t help but to grimace. Suicide King suddenly knows it because he can see his former friend’s weight lifted off of the canvas and he can’t help but to laugh. Finally the fans know it because they watch Chris Raynor being launched at the table with the release tiger suplex and they can’t help but help but to groan in disappoint. He smashes through the table, the table sending wooden shrapnel flying, and his body awkwardly crunches over itself, allowing Raynor to be staring upside down at the SmarkTron, revealing there were only a few seconds left and shortly after he can hear the bell ring. He slowly slumps down to the canvas, beaten and battered, and lets out a loud moan before cranking his neck from side to side, just for the reassurance of mobility.




“He just caught Raynor with the release tiger suplex straight into that table! I can’t believe it, Danny Dagda is able to pull off the sudden victory with the release tiger suplex,” Mak says in blatant disappointment.


“WINNER OF THE FIFTH FALL AND YOUR WINNER OF THE IRON MAN TABLES MATCH… DDDAANNNYYYY DDAAGGDDAA!” Funyon’s deep voice bellows over the jeers that the Queen may be able to hear.


“What did I say?” King joyously taunts, “Danny Dagda gets the job done.”


“You mean ‘Daddy Dagda?’” Mak points out.


“No, no… God no,” King looks over at his partner in disgust with a slight shudder. “I feel dirty if I say that,” he concludes.


Danny Dagda rolls up to his feet, nearly stumbling in fatigue, and tries to shake off the test of endurance as if it were nothing. He looks down at Raynor, slowly falling forward on the canvas, and tilts his head to the side to give a small wave at his defeated opponent. The jeers grow even louder as Kivell hold up Dagda’s hand and he shakes him off, cockily cracking his knuckles and neck. “Aneurysm” begins to blare, to the bitterness of the fans, while Danny climbs the turnbuckle, sending kisses to all his adoring fans in the audience.


“Well, that ends one hell of a way to open up Battleground,” Mak admits. “But there’s a lot, lot more!”


-Screen Fades to Black-

Edited by chirs3

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The outdoor seating is filled to capacity and the audience is roaring. "Well, King," Mak Francis pipes up. "We've returned to the United Kingdom for Ground Zero, and we're back at Stonehenge for our next match, which promises to be a very brutal contest."


"Brutal in that I'm being subjected to Spike Jenkins again? Or is it the horrible maiming that Michael Alexander's going to visit on Jenkins? Both are definitely brutal experiences, but I'll like that last one much better." King smirks.


"Well, both of these men have had a mixed record of late," Mak points out. "Spike just recently hit a big bump in his return road by losing his title match against Alan Clark, and Alexander has had a rough month himself, losing the New Blood Title Tournament to Fulminatus and losing a tag match against Revolution Zero. Both men are looking for a little redemption here."


"I think it's still in dispute as to Alexander losing that title match. I mean, Fulminatus tapped out. That's means you lose the match in my book. And Alexander did have some bad luck in that tag match, it's true. However, Francis, you've got to admit that he got a bit of revenge last week when he planted that freak Fulminatus for the win in he and MANSON's (hallowed be His Name) match against Winston Churchill. That, if nothing else, means Alexander is the favorite."


"It also means Spike has more to lose," Mak reminds him. "He's coming off that loss, and to follow it up at Ground Zero with a loss to an SWF rookie...well, I don't see Spike letting that happen without a serious fight. And he does have a definite edge in experience."


In the ring, Referee Brock Samson leans nonchalantly on the ropes. Funyon enters the ring holding his wireless mike. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he begins, "the following match will be one fall. Introducing first..."


“Dread Rock” by Paul Oakenfold begins to play, the harsh technoelectronic tones reverberating amongst the menhirs and lentils, and the a video montage of Alexander’s previous in-ring exploits interspersed with Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” highlighting the areas that the various moves depicted injure on his opponents. The strobe lights in the outdoor venue flicker in time with the Smarktron.




Alexander steps out onto the stage, and the flicker lighting stops dead. He gazes out over the crowd, smirks, and makes his way to the ring, trash-talking to the crowd. He will roll into the ring, taking up a position in his corner and stretch, adjusting his boots, apparently disinterested in the crowd, while smirking to himself.




"These Brits need to learn some respect," King complains. "Alexander may be new to the SWF scene, but he deserves respect, if for nothing else but his association with MANSON. Add to MANSON's tutelage the irrefutable fact that he is the best technical wrestler on the roster right now."


"I don't know, King. The 'best?' There are a lot of guys with championship belts that would dispute that."


"Look, so far Alexander has lost in that fluke match after his opponent tapped out and he was double-teamed by Revolution Zero. He's been dominant in every other match so far, and working with MANSON can only make him better."


"King, MANSON's got other things to deal with tonight, and Spike Jenkins is no rookie. Alexander's going to have his hands full."


"Francis, MANSON can handle Landon in his sleep. And mark my words, Alexander will fare just as well against Spike. No question."


The lights begin to flicker around the stone circle arena as the violent guitar riffs and the blaring trumpets of Emmure’s “When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong” blast through the PA system.




The horrifying shriek of a laugh from lead singer Frank Palmieri sends a shiver down the spines of everyone in attendance.




“I hope this is a passing phase.

There is no future where I stand,

Here with you!”


“I would have thought the British would have better taste…I mean, they love TOXXIC, but they also cheer this guy? I can’t understand them at all.”


“King, it’s not that hard. TOXXIC’s from England, so they like him. Spike is…well, Spike.”


“And that makes sense why?”

The lights on the stage begin to flicker on and off. The audience begins to stomp their feet and clap their hands as they await The New Straight Edge Sensation.


“This Is…


…The End!”


With that, the crowd goes into frenzy as “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins steps out from behind the curtain. Wearing an official SWF Spike Jenkins (SWFShopZone.com) black “Heartless” zip-up sweatshirt, Jenkins stomps down the ramp towards the ring.




Jenkins stomps down the ramp, unzipping the sweatshirt and tossing it to the side. Climbing up the steel steps, he slowly climbs onto the ring apron. Carefully watching his opponent, he steps into the ring.


“Spike’s looking as intense as ever, King. I’m telling you we’ve really got a match on our hands here.”


“All this ‘intensity’ didn’t help him against Clark last week, Francis. And it’s not going to get him past Alexander today. I mean, if you can’t outwrestle someone who’s sponsored by Disney…”


“We’ll see, King.”


Samson looks at both men irascibly. Alexander nods, smirking. Spike frowns and nods to Samson, who motions to ringside.




Spike and Alexander begin circling each other warily. The two collide in a collar-and-elbow tieup. Alexander shifts into a side head lock, then segues quickly into a hammerlock. Spike, no slouch himself, twists his body and reverses the hammerlock into a standing wristlock. He wrenches the arm sharply, drawing a grunt of pain from Alexander. The Evil Genius grabs Spike’s wrist with his other hand, and reverses into a standing wristlock. Before Spike can attempt to reverse again, Alexander executes a drop toehold, taking Spike down to the mat. He then floats over into a front facelock.




“These two are going hold for hold, here, King,” Mak says. “Looks like Spike could show us something here.”


“Hold for hold? Francis, he’s on the mat face down. In my book, that means you lost the exchange.”


Spike pushes himself up to his knees, with Alexander holding on to the facelock. The Professor of Pain tries to go for an underhook with his left arm to set up another takedown, but that gives Spike an opening, and he takes advantage of it by reversing quickly out of the facelock, twisting Alexander’s arm into a hammerlock. Not to be outdone, Alexander reverses the hammerlock, and then chains into a side headlock. He grinds on it viciously, then slaps Spike’s head. The New Straight-Edge Sensation illustrates his disapproval of this maneuver by two sharp elbows to Alexander’s ribs, and then tossing his opponent into the ropes. Spike spins around to hit a nasty roaring elbow to the face of the rebounding Evil Genius, sending him crashing down to the canvas.




“And now Alexander’s the one on the mat, King,” Mak remarks smugly.


“Look, it’s no secret that Spike is really good at hitting people in the face. But even you can see that he didn’t take Alexander hold for hold, Francis,” King replies petulantly. “Spike knew he couldn’t match up with Alexander in wrestling, so he had go back to hitting people in the head.”


“That’s a perfectly legitimate tactic, King. Play to your strengths.”


“I didn’t say it was a strength, Francis,” King snarks. “It’s just all Spike’s got.”


Alexander rolls on the mat, clutching his face, and Spike continues the assault with a double stomp right to the Evil Genius’ midsection. He gasps as Spike’s stomp forcibly ejects the air from his lungs. The New Straight Edge Sensation howls to the crowd as his opponent now curls up into a protective knot, gulping down air as swiftly as he can. Spike stalks Alexander while playing to the crowd. As the Evil Genius pulls himself up to his knees, Spike moves in with two short shin kicks to the chest, and spins around to connect with a roundhouse kick right to Alexander’s head.




“Spike continues to dominate Alexander with those brutal kicks!” Mak exclaims.


“Dominate?! It was three kicks, Francis!”


Alexander collapses again with a meaty thud, lying face down. Spike rolls him over and goes for a quick pin!


“And he’s going for the pin!” Mak yells.


“There’s no way he’s taking out Michael Alexander this early,” King growls, but there is a squeaky edge to his voice.








The Mad Scientist kicks out, although a close camera shot shows his eyes looking a little glazed over.


“See! I knew he wouldn’t pin him with that, Francis!”


“You had that little squeak in your voice, King.”


“That’s probably just your chair needing some grease—ow!” King yelps as Mak punches him solidly in the shoulder.


Spike shrugs his shoulders, and then lifts Alexander back up to his feet. He stumbles a little, and Spike unloads with two lightning fast palm strikes, and follows them up with a spinning back fist…but nobody’s home for the back fist! Alexander ducks, and delivers a spinning back kick to Spike’s gut! He doubles over in pain and shock, and the Evil Genius grabs Spike’s head in a front facelock position, then flips over the Straight-Edger and pulls Spike’s neck along for the ride in a rolling neckbreaker!




“Ha!” King yelps in triumph, still rubbing his shoulder and glaring at Mak. “Who’s dominating now…Alexander’s hit two moves in a row.”


“He’s turned the tide, no doubt about that, but he’s still suffering some ill effects from Spike’s assault.”


Spike clutches his neck in pain as he lies on the mat. Alexander is slow getting back up though, holding the back of his head. This allows Spike to haul himself up almost as quickly as his opponent. The Mad Scientist is not letting up in his newly renewed offense, and rushes in to hit the rising Spike with a knee lift, sending him careening into the ropes.


“And now it’s three moves in a row for Alexander! That’s ultradomination!”


“Quiet, King. Momentum can shift quickly in a wrestling match…”


Spike’s head rolls a little, and he shakes it in an attempt to clear it. Alexander has no intention of allowing that to happen, as he grabs Spike by the arm and whips him into the opposite ropes. The Evil Genius’ plans come to naught, however, as the New Straight-Edge Sensation bounces off the ropes and leaps into the air, planting both feet into his opponent’s chest with high-impact front dropkick! Alexander is blasted backwards, causing him to crash to the mat, the force of the kick carrying him onto the ring apron. He lies there clutching his chest as Spike slowly makes his way back to his feet.






“And it looks like Spike has taken control again! That was a wicked dropkick, King!”


“Yes, a good dropkick. But does a dropkick warrant a chant? For MANSON’s sake, any snot-nosed rookie on their first day can do that! If British women are that easy to please, maybe I should fix you up with one. Sure, you couldn’t dropkick but…ow!” King is cut off again by a much-deserved wallop from Mak.


Jenkins sees Alexander lying on the apron and bounces off the opposite ropes, sliding in for a baseball slide to send the Mad Scientist to the floor. Unfortunately, Alexander sees it coming and grabs the second rope, using it to bridge up and out of the way! Spike slides right underneath the bridging Alexander and, unable to compensate in time, drops stiffly to the floor himself.




“Now that’s what I call a dropkick!” King chirps gleefully. “He kicked and then he dropped! Hahahahahahaha!”


“A very savvy move by Michael Alexander, King. It gives him some breathing room and injures his opponent.”


“They don’t call him the Evil Genius for nothing.”


“I don’t know that getting out of the way of a kick qualifies you as a genius, but he is definitely a bright guy, and ring-smart most of the time, when he doesn’t let his ego get the better of him.”


Smiling mirthlessly, Alexander drops down to the floor as Samson begins to count. Spike is already making his way to his knees, the fall stunning and annoying him more than actually injuring him. He does not get the chance to fully recover, however, as Alexander spins around and cracks him in the jaw with a spinning back elbow!






“This is uncalled for,” Mak complains. “Alexander needs to get this match back in the ring.”


“You can’t let up once you’ve got control, Francis. Inside the ring or outside, Alexander knows he’s got to stay on Spike. Not that Spike’s any danger, mind you, but even a broken watch can be right twice a day. No need to take any risks. Unless it’s funny or humiliating for your opponent.”


Spike manages to stumble backwards and retain his shaky feet, but the Mad Scientist isn’t done yet. He grabs the Straight-Edger and slams him face first into the guardrail. Spike grunts in pain and slumps over the guardrail. Alexander bares his teeth a horribly portentious smile, pulling Spike off the guardrail. He grabs the right leg of the Sensation from behind and puts him into position for a shinbreaker.


“He’s not going to do what it looks like, is he?” Mak’s voice raises with horror.


“Do what you can when you can,” King quips. “That’s how you hurt people and win matches.”


Alexander lifts Spike up and then drops him leg first onto the guardrail! Spike howls in agony and collapses back onto the floor, by luck falling toward the ring instead of into the crowd.




“Good God!” Mak shouts. “He could have broken his leg there!”


King beams. “Well, maybe not…I mean they don’t make the guardrails like they used to. I think they’re aluminum now or something, so his leg might not be broken. But it definitely is hurt…I’ll take what I can get.”







Alexander rolls back into the ring, breaking the count, and quickly rolls back out again. Samson snarls at him to bring it back to the ring and begins his count again. The Evil Genius laughs and stomps around his injured opponent, mocking Spike’s ring entrance.









The Mad Scientist then begins stomping away at Spike’s injured leg, drawing grunts of pain from the grim-faced Sensation.


“That’s right, Alexander! Keep working that leg! Francis and Megan can recommend a good wheelchair for Spike—ow!” King yelps as Mak connects with another shot to his arm.


Mak barks. “That’s enough of that! Alexander can’t pin him or make him submit outside the ring. Since I’m sure he doesn’t care to win this match by count-out, he needs to bring it back to the ring.”


“I guess you’re right, Francis,” King admits while rubbing his arm and shoulder. “I really want to see Spike tap again, anyway.”







Seeing the count getting close again, Alexander finally decides to return his opponent to the ring, as he lifts Spike roughly and rolls him into the ring. The Evil Genius follows him in, climbing in through the ropes. Referee Samson growls at him to keep it inside the ring. Alexander smirks smugly and ignores him, turning his attention to Spike, who has crawled toward the ropes and is pulling himself up to a vertical base again, even though he is obviously unable to put any real weight on his right leg.


“See, Francis? Alexander magnanimously helped his opponent back into the ring, just like you suggested. Feel better?”


“I’ll feel better when Michael Alexander learns to focus more on the ring and the wrestling and less on stroking his ego and hurting his opponents, King.”


“I guess I better get you some aspirin or something, because Alexander isn’t changing his winning ways anytime soon.”


A series of alternating forearm shots pepper Spike against the ropes as Alexander goes back on the attack. The Evil Genius then shoves his opponent into the nearby corner, applying a boot choke. He breaks it at a count of four, earning a rumbling reprimand from the referee. Turning back to Spike, Alexander lifts his opponent’s head and laughs, polishing the insult off with a stiff slap across Spike’s face. The Straight-Edger is not amused by this, and his lack of amusement takes the form of a snapping European uppercut to the chin of Alexander in mid-gloat. He staggers back in shock and surprise.




“Again, Michael Alexander’s attitude allows his opponent to take advantage of a lapse in his focus,” Mak observes. “He’s got to get past this sort of thing; a veteran like Jenkins or Toxxic can use these openings to take him out. We saw that in his match against Revolution Zero.”


“There’s a big difference between the threat posed by Toxxic and the joke that is Spike Jenkins,” King snorts. “It’s like the difference between baiting a bear and tickling a kitten.”


Spike follows this up with two echoing chops to the chest, each drawing an excited “Woo!” from the crowd. The Evil Genius puts a stop to Spike’s resurgence with a quick kick to the right leg, and then drives a knee to the gut. Alexander then grabs Spike’s head a front facelock position, putting him in position for a vertical suplex, and whips him to the mat with a crisp snap suplex.


“Alexander was able to shut down Jenkins without much trouble, Francis. No harm in a little posturing to aggravate and humiliate your opponent. Especially when that opponent is Spike Jenkins.” King’s mouth twists with this last comment.


The Mad Scientist gets back to the feet and steps back out onto the apron, getting into position for a springboard. He turns to the crowd and mocks them with a “Woo!” as he waits for Spike to get back to his feet. The Sensation hauls himself to his feet again. Alexander leaps up to deliver his springboard calf kick, but Spike drops sharply down, and the Evil Genius hurtles unceremoniously to the mat.




“He took too long there, King. Spike was able to see that coming, and he left Alexander high and dry.”


“Spike fell out of the way!” King grumbles. “You make it sound like skill or planning, things Jenkins can’t do! That fall just shows the quality of the work Alexander has done to that right leg.”


Smirking ruefully, Spike gets back to his feet, still severely favoring his right leg and heads over to the fallen Alexander. The Straight-Edger viciously kicks him in the head, and Alexander rolls away holding his head. He tries to recover his feet, but Spike follows him, stomping away at his head, neck and shoulder. Deciding discretion is the better part of valor, Alexander rolls out of the ring to escape the barrage of stomps and kicks. The fans jeer at the Mad Scientist as he shakes his head clear and stalks around outside the ring. Referee Brock Samson begins to snarl out a count as well.









“Alexander is dodging Spike now. He didn’t want to be on the receiving end of those vicious kicks and stomps by Jenkins, King.”


“Please, Francis. He’s obviously just breaking Spike’s momentum. Classic tactical maneuver. You make it sound like he’s running away instead of using sound strategy.”


“Call it what you want. Spike’s standing in the ring, and Alexander’s on the floor. It’s pretty obvious who got the better of that particular exchange.”


Spike takes advantage of the momentary breather to rest his leg, testing it for stability as he leans on the ropes. Alexander berates the fans at ringside as he takes his own breather, but the chants continue to rankle him.







Spike waits in the ring, seemingly able to put at least some weight on his right leg again. Alexander rolls back into the ring on the side opposite Spike. As the Mad Scientist gets back to his feet, Spike just waits for him, stone-faced. The two men stare each other down, violence in their eyes. The fans start up their chanting again.




“More chanting! He’s not doing anything but standing there!” King whines. “This is just ridiculous!”


“He’s standing up to Alexander and showing that he is still in this match despite the questionable tactics of his opponent. That’s what they’re cheering for, King. That, and they probably want Spike to kick Alexander in the face again.”


“The bastards!” King growls.


As the men close again, Alexander shoots in for the right leg, but Spike anticipates it, dropping forward to catch him in a front facelock. He grinds it in, and tries to slip it into a guillotine choke position! Alexander immediately shoots one of his feet over to just barely reach the bottom rope. Samson growls at Spike to break it, which he does after a little grind for good measure.


“That is just blatant rulebreaking!” King bemoans. “Even you can’t make an excuse for that, Francis! He ignored the referee’s instruction to break the hold.”


“And I’m supposed to feel some sympathy for Alexander after his own disregard for the rules and for his opponents?”


“I wouldn’t expect you to, Francis. I just wanted to highlight your obvious bias in this match.”


Samson forces Spike back, which allows Alexander to get back up to his feet. The Evil Genius rubs his throat and glares at his opponent. Spike comes at Alexander once more. Alexander teases a collar-and-elbow tieup, but then shoots behind Spike, who is hampered in his attempt to counter by his injured leg, and grabs the Sensation in a full nelson grapple, and whips him back to the mat with a release dragon suplex!




“Even after Spike’s flagrant rulebreaking, Michael Alexander is able to come back with a great move to take control again! I suppose you disapprove of that, too, Francis?”


“Actually, that was a picture perfect dragon suplex by Alexander. It’s not his skill I doubt, King, it’s his attitude and his obvious attempts to severely injure his opponents that I don’t care for.”


Holding the back of his head, Spike rolls toward the ropes. Alexander spreads his arms, calling for more from the crowd. The fans oblige him with howls and jeers.




Returning to his opponent, the Evil Genius stalks around behind Spike as the latter pushes himself back up to his feet. Alexander then charges in for a chopblock, but Spike sees it coming out of the corner of his eye, kicking his legs away from the chopblock, and drops a sharp elbow down onto the back of Alexander’s neck, crunching him to the mat!




“Great counter by Spike, dropping that elbow onto the charging Alexander. Alexander may be visiting his chiropractor after that blow to his neck, King.”


“Great counter? He basically fell on top of him!” King gripes.


Spike rolls Alexander over and goes for another quick pin.


“He’s going for the pin!” Mak whoops.


“No!” King squeaks in horror.


Samson drops to count…








The Mad Scientist kicks out at two. Spike grumbles to the referee, who snarls in reply. Alexander rolls away, again holding the back of his neck. Spike gets back to his feet, stomping after Alexander, with a little wobble on his right leg.


“I knew he couldn’t pin Michael Alexander after a stupid elbow drop,” King says with faux certainty.


“I guess that squeak was my chair again, then?” Mak asks innocently. “Anyway, Spike is getting back on his offensive track here. Alexander could be in trouble…again.”


As Alexander attempts to pull himself up by the ropes, Spike grabs him in a rear waistlock and bridges back to drop his opponent on the back of his head with a German suplex. He crumples to the mat, lying face down and holding the back of his head.


“Brutal German suplex by Jenkins!” Mak remarks. “Spike has been putting a lot of pressure on the neck and head of Alexander. He could be setting Alexander up for something.”


“A plan by Spike? You’ve got to be kidding me, Francis. Most of Spike’s offense involves kicking or hitting people in the head…that’s not a plan, it’s a limitation.”


“Call it limited if you want, it’s worked for him pretty well against several opponents, King. And pretty much every finisher Spike consistently uses involves trauma to the head and neck, so it does work for him.”


Spike clambers up to his feet, looking down at Alexander, then goes up the turnbuckle, slowed only slightly by his right leg. He is poised to spring toward Alexander as he slowly makes his way back to his feet, still hunched over. Jenkins leaps off the turnbuckle, extending his knees for the Super Ego Trip!


“Spike’s going for the Super Ego Trip! If he hits with this, it’s over!” Mak yells.


King shrieks. “This is insane! He can’t use that! Doesn’t Flesher have that trademarked or copyrighted or something? He’ll sue!”


Spike’s expression changes to one of shock and pain as Alexander dodges out of the way, and Spike crashes knees first to the mat!




“Now that’s a counter!” King laughs.


“Spike’s knee is in even worse shape now,” Mak laments. “I don’t know how much longer he can last after that, even if Alexander had not injured his knee earlier.”


Spike rolls on the mat, holding his right knee in pain, trying to go the ropes. Alexander grabs Spike’s legs and pulls him back towards the center of ring. Spike rolls over onto his back and, reaching up, drags the Mad Scientist into a small package rollup! Samson pounces to the mat for the count.




“Spike surprises him with a small package!” Mak gasps. King’s jaw bounces off the table as it drops.










Alexander is able to kick out at the last second, Spike being unable to hold him in the package due to his weakened leg. The Straight-Edger grunts in pain and rolls away from his opponent, attempting to give himself some breathing room by going to a corner.


“Spike couldn’t hold him with that injured leg,” Mak sighs.


“He couldn’t hold him anyway,” King recovers. “Don’t sound so disappointed, Francis. I’m sure Spike will surprise us again with some more utterly futile moves.”


Alexander scrambles back to his feet, furious that he was nearly pinned by such a basic maneuver. He approaches Spike more warily this time, despite his anger, and resumes his assault with a series of Garvin-style stomps to Spike’s right leg. The New Straight-Edge Sensation growls in pain from the stomps, trying to pull himself to a vertical base using the ropes.


“That’s right, hit the leg!” King shouts in encouragement. “Without those kicks, Jenkins has no real offense!”


“Classic Michael Alexander tactics, here,” Mak states clinically. “But kicking isn’t Spike’s only offense, and you know it. With his training in juijitsu, he is just as dangerous in the clinch.”


“But that puts him in a wrestling match with Alexander, which the beginning of the match showed us is a losing proposition for him. It’s all downhill from here, Francis.”


Snarling, Alexander hoists Spike into the turnbuckle, softening him up more with a sharp kick to the inside of his right knee. He very nearly collapses again, but the turnbuckle provides him enough support to remain upright. A vicious series of alternating knife-edge and kesagiri chops pepper Spike’s chest.


“Alexander goes to work on Spike in the corner. He better watch this sort of exchange, as a slugfest would definitely be Spike’s territory,” Mak points out.


“If Spike weren’t done for already, you might have a point, Francis, but just look at him. He’s obviously dead in the water.”


“Careful, King…you can never count a survivor like Spike out.”


“You’re right, Francis. It’s the referee that will count him out. Fairly soon, too, I’ll bet.”


Leaving Spike slumped in the corner, Alexander stomps out and charges in for a flying forearm…but Spike ducks out of the turnbuckle, almost collapsing out of the way, yet still holding on to the ropes to retain his footing, as his opponent crashes into the corner. The Mad Scientist staggers backwards off of the turnbuckle, and Spike grabs him in an inverted front facelock, and rolls over and drops him down in a reverse swinging neck breaker!


“The Fall of Rome!” Mak howls. “This is it!”


“Wha--?!” King is rendered momentarily speechless.




Spike groans from the shock to his knees, but manages to roll over for the pin on Alexander. Brock Samson drops to the mat for the count!










The men were too close to the ropes, and the Evil Genius’ foot can be seen resting on the nearby bottom rope. Brock informs an annoyed Spike Jenkins of this with a frustrated grunt.


“Michael Alexander takes advantage of some fortunate positioning in the ring to sneak out of yet another pin by Jenkins. Luck is with Alexander tonight, King.”


King manages to choke back the surge of bile he suffered during the pin attempt. “Luck? That was serious ring-savvy, Francis. Alexander knew exactly where he was, and he took the smart, easy way out. Maximum return, minimum effort. Brilliant.”


Mak shakes his head as Spike rolls off of Alexander and pulls himself back up to his feet again, growling at the pain from his knee. The Mad Scientist holds his head and neck as he tries to do the same, but he wobbles, obviously dazed, and is slow in getting back up. Spike tries to follow up with a kick to Alexander’s head, but he can’t muster a lot of force. Realizing this, a disgusted Straight-Edger begins to rain down elbows on his hunched opponent.


“Spike’s injury is hampering his kicks, but he manages to improvise a few nasty elbow strikes for good measure.” Mak says.


“Showing again Alexander’s masterful strategy. Spike can’t kick him in the head, so he’s forced to rely on other ways to hit him in the head. What a range, eh?”


“I don’t hear this criticism when Alexander focuses on the leg all the time, King.”


“That’s different, Francis; Alexander’s focus is a matter of strategy. Spike just doesn’t know any better.”


“Even you can’t buy that line, King.”


Spike then lifts Alexander and whips him into the opposite ropes. As he bounces back, the New Straight-Edge Sensation charges forward to hit with a lariat! Alexander and Jenkins both fall to the mat, one from the force of the lariat and one from a weakened knee. Jenkins manages to drop an arm over his opponent, going for another pin!


“Spike connects with a vicious lariat! And he’s going for the pin!” Mak shouts hoarsely.


“No! I’m not seeing this…!” King covers his eyes in despair.


Samson goes in for the count…










The Mad Scientist manages to roll his shoulder up just in time. Spike slaps the mat in frustration. He slowly makes his way to his feet, favoring his right leg still.


“Even after that lariat, you can’t expect to hold Alexander’s shoulders down with one arm.” Mak groans.


“Of…of course not!” King pipes up again, relief flooding his expression. “You can’t beat somebody like Alexander with a lariat!”


“MANSON uses a lariat as his finisher, King. I never hear that kind of criticism about MANSON…”


“Sacriledge is uncalled for,” King replies smoothly. “MANSON is beyond mere human limitations, and a lariat fueled by MANSONOSITY is a lot different than that puny move of Spike’s. It’s like comparing a bee sting to a tack nuke; you’re only hurting yourself with this sort of thing, Francis.”


As Alexander is making his way to his knees, Jenkins hoists him up, and places his head in position for a piledriver, hooking in both of his arms for a pedigree!


“Spike’s going for the Endwell, King!”


“He can’t get Alexander with this!” King chokes. “Look out, Michael!”


Just before Spike cinches in the underhook, Alexander shifts his weight back and away, bridging and twisting Spike’s right arm into a hammer lock, then clipping his right leg with a drop toehold.


“Quick counter by Michael Alexander, and he takes Spike down to the mat again. Once again, Alexander goes back to the leg, King.”


“No surprise there, Francis. Once you’ve got your opponent hurt, it always leaves you that opening to exploit. That’s what makes Alexander’s strategy so perfect.”


“And Spike’s head and neck work doesn’t do that?”


“Francis, we’ve discussed this.”


Mak makes a disgusted noise and turns back to the match.


Jenkins collapses to the mat with a snarl of pain, and the Evil Genius immediately rolls up, placing Spike’s legs into the deathlock position around his own, then drops back into a reverse Indian deathlock, tying the Gordian Knot!


“YES! He’s going for the Gordian Knot! Spike is gone!” King yelps happily.


“Spike is in a lot of trouble if he locks this in…!” Mak exclaims. “This may be over!”


However, before Alexander has managed to brace himself, Spike, howling with anguish from his injured leg, wrenches himself forward, just close enough to grab the bottom rope! Samson growls at Alexander to release the hold, but instead the Mad Scientist continues to wrench the hold furiously. Samson starts the count…










With a snort of disgust, Alexander breaks the hold just before the disqualifying count is finished. Jenkins groans in pain and curls protectively, cradling his right leg.


Mak sighs in relief. “Spike managed to cut off the hold by getting to the ropes, but Alexander had to be forced to release it by the referee. Like you said before, King, that sort of thing is uncalled for.”


“Francis, Spike was clearly violating the rules earlier. Alexander just didn’t hear the referee say to break it. With his focus on the match, he couldn’t hear the referee, that’s all.”


“Oh, come on!” Mak moans. “You really think he couldn’t hear the referee? The ref was right in his face growling out the count for the break!”


“Listen,when you’re as focused as Alexander, you can sometimes lose track of other nonessential things.”


“Like the rules? The referee screaming at you?”




Mak groans and pops a travel pack of aspirin out of his jacket pocket. He came prepared.


Samson pushes Alexander away, roaring a warning at him; he doesn’t even bother protesting his innocence, but shrugs nonchalantly, leaving the referee fuming. Spike meanwhile has dragged himself up to a relatively vertical position using the ropes. Grinning evilly, Alexander rushes past the referee and grabs Jenkins’ head, clubbing him with a wicked forearm shot. Spike fires back with an elbow to his gut, doubling the surprised Mad Scientist over. Another elbow drives the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping.




“This again?” King snipes. “Come on, it’s a couple of elbows!”


“But they’re elbows to Alexander, King. That makes all the difference to these people.”


“And I thought the British were supposed to be sophisticated and cultured. I guess all of them can’t be as like Toxxic.”


The New Straight-Edge Sensation then grabs Alexander in a front facelock, and hooks him into a vertical suplex position. Spike goes for a vertical suplex, but Alexander blocks it with a sharp kick to Jenkins’ right leg, which nearly buckles. The Evil Genius then lifts him up into a vertical suplex himself, then sharply reverses the motion, sending his opponent crashing face first to the mat with a gordbuster!




“Alexander blocks the suplex by going back to the leg,” Mak says. “And then takes advantage with an old school gordbuster.”


“And Spike’s lying on the mat again. Looks good on him, doesn’t it?” King quips smugly.


While his opponent is stunned by the impact, Alexander moves quickly to his legs, and wraps them around his own in the reverse Indian deathlock, and drops backward, once again cinching in the Gordian Knot!


“He’s tied the Gordian Knot!” King yells in satisfaction. “Now we get to see Spike tap again, just like against Clark!”


“It looks bad,” Mak admits. “He’s nearly dead center in the ring; I don’t know if he can make it to the ropes now, and there’s no other way out of this once it’s locked on.”


Spike snarls in anguish as the Mad Scientist wrenches away at the hold. Stretching desperately, the Straight-Edger reaches for the ropes, but the gordbuster left him lying nearly in the center of the ring. His arms strain to drag him closer to the salvation of the ropes, but every time Alexander wrenches him back, refusing to let him gain any ground.




“That’s right, chant, you idiots!” King shouts at the ringside fans. “It’s too late now!”


“Spike’s pushing himself to his limits, but will it be enough to get out of this hold?” Mak asks worriedly.


The fans chant, but he has nowhere to go…he strains, stretching himself to his limits as the pain wracks its way through his legs.


“Come on, Jenkins, tap out! Just like you did to Clark!” King snarls vituperatively.


“King, losing a close match to the world champion is no reason to be embarrassed. It was a close match, and Clark came out on top. No one goes undefeated at this level of competition.”


With one last titanic effort, his hand whips out…but the rope is still out of reach…but the mat is not.










Alexander continues to wrench away at the hold until Samson forces the break by threatening to reverse the decision and disqualify him. Holding his right leg in pain, Jenkins snarls something at him, but the Evil Genius laughs grimly as Samson raises his hand.


“Even after winning, Alexander can’t resist punishing his opponent unnecessarily.”


“Unnecessarily? Francis, Alexander just made a top contender tap out. This is all about sending a message to everyone on the roster that he’s a force to be reckoned with.”


“That doesn’t mean he has to vindictively try to inflict further injury after the match is done, King.”






“Well, I must admit that Alexander did put himself on the map with this victory. Victories over Spike since his return have not been common. He’s beaten the Cruiserweight Champion, and he’s taken our World Champion to the limit; taking Jenkins down is no small accomplishment,” Mak notes.


“He was already on the map, if for no other reason than his alliance with MANSON, hallowed be His Name. This highlights him even more, though. But even more importantly, it involved hurting Spike Jenkins. And that’s the really important part.” King remarks mirthfully.


Leaving the ring to the resounding disapproval of the audience, Alexander walks slowly up the ramp, a evil rictus grin on face as he looks back at the fuming Spike Jenkins, who is up, if still hobbling a little.


“I still say Alexander needs to get a handle on his impulse to go out of his way to mock and injure people; it’s not going to make him any friends and it gives his opponents openings.” Mak ruminates.


“MANSON’s the only friend he needs, Francis,” King pronounces. “And as long as he deals with his opponents like he dealt with Spike tonight, he’s got nothing to worry about.”


Mak shakes his head in dismay as we…



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“If violence is an art, mate, then the Dace Night brand weedwhacker is my paint brush!”


The advert fades from the screen with Night’s scarred face giving the camera a horrifying wink. We are brought back to the ruins of ancient Stonehenge, where nearby at the makeshift arena that has been constructed, tens of thousands of British fans scream back to life, eagerly anticipating more exciting SWF action.


“Welcome back to SWF Ground Zero!” Mak Francis screams into his headset over the mammoth roar of the crowd. “We’re coming to you live from beneath the ruins of Stonehenge in the county of Wiltshire, England.”


“Why the hell do they call it a monument, anyway?” The Suicide King complains. “It’s just a pile of friggin’ rocks. Has been for centuries.”


Francis is stunned by King’s lack of appreciation for history. “It’s one of the most important sites in the history of human society, King.”


“No, you know what one of the most important sites in the history of human society is?” King asks. “Gund.”


“Oh, god…” Francis moans. “Whaddya say talk a little bit about our upcoming match?”


“What the hell is there to talk about?” King asks, almost insulted. “It’s a crazy bastard wearing a mask fighting a goddamned squid.”


“It’s An Octopus, King,” Mak corrects. “And if what we’ve seen in the past is any evidence, this match is gonna blow the roof off the place!”


“We’re outside, Francis,” King bluntly states. “There is no roof.”


We are then treated to a shot of the ring, ominously surrounded by the twelve foot high cage. The cage looms over the ring like a black-barred prison, and Funyon standing in the center looks like the lone inmate. “Ladies and gentlemen! The steel bars surrounding the ring can signify only one thing… it’s time for our CAAAAGE MAAAATCH!!” The crowd explodes with cheers at the mention of the match. “In this contest, the winner of the match will be the first man… err… creature to climb over the wall of the cage and touch the floor with both feet… or six tentacles respectively.”


“Well, that makes everything even,” Mak observes.


“Damn ‘Political Correctness’,” King whines.


“Introducing first…” Funyon says, knowing for certain that he’s about to be cut off.




White sparks spew from the stage as the mythic “Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida” rocks the loudspeakers, much to the delight of the fans. Out through the backstage area steps Fulminatus with a visibly worried look on his face, the belt in his hand dragging behind him absently on the ground. As he shambles down the ramp, the Cruiserweight Chaos Engine seems oblivious to the encouragement of the crowd, his eyes fixed on the steel monstrosity erected around the ring.


“Well that’s different,” King remarks. “The freak’s doing something besides grinning like an idiot.”


“He does look surprisingly focused,” Mak realizes. “I wonder what he’s got on his mind.”


“What mind?” King asks.


“Introducing first… he weighs in tonight at one hundred and ninety pounds… he is the SWF New Blood Champion… FULMINAAAATUUUUS!!”


The referee opens the door to the cage and allows Fulminatus to enter; the masked man stepping tentatively into the ring. He then stands in the center of the ring, wobbling back and forth, looking intently at the entrance, awaiting his opponent. Funyon speaks again, “And his opponent…” and is cut off by the sound of a massive gong.




A lone spotlight lights up the entrance way as eerie flute music drifts through the cool night air.




There is stirring behind the curtain and through it emerges an ancient old man pushing a cart. This old Asian man is dressed in some strange manner of robe and looks to be about eighty years old. Seriously, motherfucker looks like he’d try to sell you a Mogwai… and he want’s you to feed it after dark. He pushes a rickety brass cart with something clearly heavy suspended on top, covered by an old and highly decorative piece of tapestry. The fans are more or less silent as they watch this decrepit old man slowly push a cart down to the ring.


“And now we have an old man pushing something down to the ring,” Mak states. “You don’t suppose that’s An Octopus, do you? This isn’t his usual entrance.”


“Did he leave his iron lung in the back?” King quips. “Looks like the guy just crawled out of Assisted Living Dracula.”


Fulminatus is frozen still upon seeing the old man. Well, as still as Fulminatus can possibly be. On what little is exposed of his face, lies a terrified expression. Upon reaching the ring, the old man has two stage hands lift the cart into the ring, as there is no old-rusty-brass-cart-accessible ramp. After taking a ridiculously long amount of time getting up the stairs and into the ring, the old man approaches the side of the cage and asks for a microphone.


“Oh great,” King sardonically states. “It’s going to try and speak.”


“Fool-uh-meen-ahh-tuuusss!” the old man squeaks like an old screen door. “Do yoo ah-reemembuh my uh-face? Shooley you ah-reemembuh my voice! I uh-knew yoo long agoh, when eeven yoo wuh young…”


The face of the masked man is filled with dread as he listens to the man who looks as old as the trees.


The Suicide King murmurs, “What the hell is this old codger raving about?”


“Wait, Mark Stevens is here?” Mak asks.


The Fu Manchu look-alike continues. “Ah, so uh-yoo hahven’t fo-gotten about me-uh. Den that means you ahl-so haven’t-uh fo-gotten about someone else ah-from yo past!”


At this, Fulminatus begins shaking his head “no” repeatedly. He’s obviously shaken by what the old man is saying.


“Yes, Fool-uh-meen-ahh-tuuusss!” the old man declares, far more excited than is healthy for a man of his age. “Now-uh yoo know! Why doo-uh yoo tink that yoo were to fiiiiight een a cage uh-match dees eve-un-ing, hee-uh at Ground Zeeerooh? Eet was uh-wreeten een the stahs!”


Mortified, Fulminatus backs up against the ropes, instinctually not wanting to be in the cage.


“Too-uh-night, yoo meet-uh yo dessstineee!” says the old man with sadistic glee. “Yoo-uh weel pay fo all of yo-uh past transgressions! Fo-uh tonight you fight… YO BRUDDAH!!”


“Wait… what?” King blankly asks.


The old man whips off the cloth covering the cart and reveals a large octopus. It’s colorings are blue…





and red…




Just like Fulminatus.




At the sound of the “glurb,” Fulminatus cries out in terror and drops to his knees, confronted with the horrible realization of what he must do.


“Wait… what?” Kings asks again.


“I’m fairly certain that old man just said that the octopus in the tank was Fulminatus’ brother,” Mak answers.


“Wait… what?” is all King can muster.


“Yoo uh-bandoned heem when you both were-uh young. All those yee-ahs ago een Jap-an. Do yoo reemembah Fool-uh-meen-ah-tuuusss? Sweemming around-uh the ocean flo-uh, eating brine shreemp and clown-uh feesh? Yoo left heem fo dead aftuh the acceedent with the Man-uh-tee, cryeeng at the bottom of-uh the ocean. Cryeeng fo-uh hees big-uh bruddah! Now-uh hee ees back fo REVEEEENGE!!”


Fulminatus is still on his knees sobbing into his hands as the old man leaves the ring in a laughing/coughing fit. The cage door is closed and locked and Another Octopus begins crawling out of his tank. It sits perched on the edge, waiting to strike, savoring every moment of his sweet, sweet revenge.




“ATAAAACK!!” the old man screams.


With only a fraction of the titanic strength in his cephalopod body, Another Octopus leaps off the tank and straight onto Fulminatus’ face! The Great Northern Octopus quickly wraps his eight arms around his brother’s masked face and begins squeezing tightly, but Fulminatus simply stands and refuses to move. Gripping tighter still, Another Octopus attempts to suffocate his kin, but the Deconstruction Dynamo just shakes his head in refusal.


“Another Octopus is almost choking the life out of Fulminatus!” Mak says. “Why wont he fight back, King?”


“Fuck this. I’m leaving,” King adamantly replies. “Call me when this shit’s over. I can’t take any more.”


And with that, the Suicide King simply removes his headset and leaves the announcing table, idly shoving the old Asian man watching eagerly by the cage.


“Ummm…” a confused Mak Francis says.


Back in the ring, the blue, orange, and red amorphous blob releases a single tentacle and whips Fulminatus in the nuts, causing the vertebrate to collapse to his knees. Having been brought to the breaking point, Fulminatus finally retaliates and starts throwing punches to his spongy brother attached to his face. With great effort, Fulmy manages to remove Another Octopus from his face and grabs him in a fit of rage and plants him with a brutal backbreaker…










“Another Octopus just completely shrugged off a backbreaker from Fulminatus,” Mak states. “That was just incredible!”


“It sure was, Mak,” says Ed Begley, Jr.


“Wait… what?” Mak says. “Ed Begley, Jr! What are you doing here?”


“I saw your partner ran off, so I figured I’d come down and give you a hand,” Ed thoughtfully poses. “If that’s ok, of course.”


“Yeah, of course that’s ok,” Mak says, excited to have a celebrity present. “We’re always glad to have celebrities help out here in the SWF.”


“Good. Because I don’t want to have to staple your FACE to this FUCKING DESK!!”


As Another Octopus simply ignores the effects of the backbreaker, Fulminatus takes the initiative and charges forward at his low-center-of-gravity-ed opponent. But Another Octopus is wise to his game, and grabs Fulminatus’ foot with one tentacle and drop toeholds him face first into the large glass tank! The glass shatters and the water pours out as Fulminatus crumples into a bleeding heap on the ground.


“Oh, god!” Mak exclaims. “Another Octopus is just sick! He just sent Fulminatus head first through that glass fish tank!”


“A man does what he has to, Mak,” the wise Ed Begley, Jr. answers. “Just like I have to run a meth lab out of my basement.”


“You have a meth lab?” Mak asks.


“If you tell anyone about my meth lab, I will fucking dig up your dead family and feed them to you! GOT ME?!” Ed Begley, Jr. insists.


“What’s the matter with you Ed Begley, Jr?” the shocked Mak inquires. “This isn’t like you at all!”


“Listen, I just murdered a whore and hid her body behind the Heelstone,” says ed Begley, Jr. “You keep quiet and this will all blow over soon.”


Before Fulminatus even thinks about getting up, Another Octopus grabs him by the back of the head and begins grinding his masked face into the broken glass on the mat! Fulmy begins bleeding from the exposed area around his mouth; his beard filled with bits of broken glass. This amount of punishment should be sufficient to keep anyone down, but Fulminatus’ vicious brother isn’t satisfied. He begins laying in what would be the octopus equivalent of HEAVY boots, despite the fact that he isn’t wearing boots.


And he doesn’t have feet on which to wear them.


And he’s not all that big, so they’re not very heavy.


In all fact he’s just sort of whipping him sluggishly with his tentacles.


It probably stings a lot though.


Well, a little.


“That octopus is one of the most brutal sea creatures I’ve seen since the shark in Jaws… are you lighting up a crack pipe, Ed Begley, Jr?!” Francis asks.


“You shut your mouth or I will shut it for you, you paraplegic piece of filth!” Ed Begley, Jr. exclaims. “It’s medicinal.”


“Medicinal crack…” Francis mutters.


Another Octopus then gets his own flesh and blood into a side tentacle lock, again intending to choke the life out of his opponent, but something instinctive stirs inside Fulminatus and he begins to battle back, throwing elbows at his squishy body! After a few quick body shots, Fulminatus manages to dislodge Another Octopus and starts throwing chops at his brother, but every one of them is blocked and countered by Another Octopus. Perhaps it is a classic case of a brother knowing another’s moves all too well.


His onslaught waning, the bloody Fulminatus has run out of options. In a move that makes the English crowd cringe and PETA representatives reach for their phones, the Cruiserweight Chaos Engine grabs Another Octopus by the tentacle and simply hurls him against the far side of the cage! There is a disgusting squishing sound as the spineless lump hits the mat and lies motionless.


“Another Octopus looks to be down for the count, Mak,” Ed Begley, Jr. declares.


“I’m absolutely terrified of you right now, Ed,” a shaking Mak Francis states.


Gifted a moment of rest, Fulminatus takes the time to sweep some glass from his beard and then begins to climb the side of the cage as quickly as he can muster. Suddenly on the other side of the ring, Another Octopus springs to life and does whatever one of his species would do that could be construed as sitting up quickly! Still climbing the cage, Fulminatus is unaware of the response of the crowd as Another Octopus gets to his tentacles and begins methodically approaching the cage wall.


“Fulminatus cant see Another Octopus sneaking up behind him!” Mak screams.


“I will arm wrestle anyone in the crowd for five pounds!” says Ed Begley, Jr, tearing open his shirt and screaming to the heavens.


Quickly, Fulminatus reaches the top of the cage and is about to swing his leg over to climb down when his dastardly brother grabs the cage and begins shaking it with his incredible strength. Afraid to lose what little balance he already has, Fulminatus holds on for dear life to the cage as Another Octopus shakes it violently. Abruptly ceasing his shaking, Another Octopus grabs hold of the bars of the cage and begins to climb, methodically as always.


“FEAR NOT, SPIRIT OF THE EARTH, I WILL RESCUE THE FUCK OUT OF YOU!!” bellows the booming voice of Ed Begley, Jr, as he leaps up from his announcing position and grabs his chair out from beneath him.


“Where is he going?” Mak asks. “Ed Begley, Jr. is stoned out of his mind and making his way to the ring!”


As Fulminatus tries to get his bearings on top of the cage, a maniacal film actor runs up to the cage and screams “CTHULHU WILL REIGN OVER ALL!!” The former Boston Legal star then throws his chair full force, clocking Fulminatus upside his masked head and sending him crashing a full ten feet below to the mostly unforgiving mat!






Another Octopus then finishes his climb up and over the cage, touching all eight tentacles to the matted concrete below, before being whisked away by the maniacal Ed Begley, Jr, chanting something in a tongue not quite of this world. The old man watching from ringside then follows after as fast as he can as the crowd boos loudly.




“Your winner of the match,” Funyon confusedly bellows. “ANOTHER OOOOCTOPUUUUS!!”


“I have absolutely no idea what just happened,” Mak states. “Please stay with us, we’ll be right back.”


The camera fades to commercial on a shot of a broken Fulminatus lying in the center of the ring.


* FADE *

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“Well, up next, King, is our first title match of the evening!” Mak Francis informs King.


The lights dim in the arena, as two columns of druids march down the entry ramp, their spooky chant filling the arena:








As the last of the druids make their way to the ring, stretching from the ring to ramp, a blast of pyro emits from the entrance way. The lights turn back on and the chanting subsides in favor of “Yakety Sax” blaring from the speakers. This leads to the emergence of Jimmy the Doom, with Lois the Unethical walking behind him.


“The following contest, scheduled for one fall, is the SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!!” Funyon bellows. “Introducing first, the challenger, being accompanied by Lois the Unethical, from Doomopolis, Doomtopia, weighing in at 230 pounds: JIMMY! THE! DOOM!”


Jimmy and Lois nod at some fans, then Jimmy dives under the bottom rope to enter the ring, while Lois takes the steps. Lois gets in the ring with Jimmy and half-heartedly claps, then leaves the ring to stand by the announcer’s table.


“And Lois the Unethical, enthused as always!” Suicide King laughs.


The Druids slowly turn around and begin clearing out, with the music still filling the arena and adding life to the crowd, which was already on their feet for Jimmy.


“Jimmy the Doom has stated that he’s really gunning for the Hardcore and Tag Team Titles,” Mak Francis tells King. “Both those belts still to be decided tonight …

…but perhaps regaining Cruiserweight gold will add to his credibility, move him up in the pecking order! It’s not uncommon to wear double gold in the SWF, and Jimmy's simultaneously held two belts before!”


“Say what you will about how strange Jimmy the Doom is,” Suicide King is, “but he does have an admirable work ethic!”


Jimmy’s music stops, but a silence fills the arena as opposed to music.


“Are we gonna be getting James Bonds again?” Mak asks, referring to Jakey’s entrance the last time he faced Jimmy.


“We are in the UK,” Suicide King concedes.


Finally, a red flash fills the arena …


“…and apparently less is more,” Mak Francis states.


Eschewing any flashy entrance, The Fabulous Jakey emerges from the curtain wearing his standard white T-shirt with JAKEY on the back of it and track pants. The Cruiserweight Championship is held over his shoulder. The only thing flashy about his entrance this evening is a hint of lip gloss. He also looks really, really pissed off.


“Jakey being a bit subdued tonight for his first title defense,” Mak Francis demurs.


“His opponent!” Funyon bellows. “From MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA, weighing in at 160 pounds, he is a member of Revolution-Zero and the reigning SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION, THE FABULOUS JAKEY!”


Jakey sneers at a few heckling young lads before walking up the steps into the ring.


“And we want to mention that Jakey is hailing from the great city of Minneapolis,” Mak tells the home viewers. “We here from the SWF would like to wish our best to everyone in that area in light of current events!"


The groovy *SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP* graphic airs on the screen for home viewers.

Jakey, in the center of the ring, holds his title in the air, then hands it to referee Nick Soapdish. He stares down Jimmy the Doom with a smirk.


“And Jakey is a two-time Cruiserweight Champion, his first reign lasted about as long as a hiccup,” informs Mak, referring to Jakey’s seven-day reign as champ.


“But who did he defeat for that title?” Suicide King asks. “Jimmy the Doom!”


Nick Soapdish calls for the bell:




And Jakey stares down Jimmy the Doom, with the height difference laughable. Jakey starts trash-talking, while Jimmy replies by shoving Jakey to the ground, knocking him on his BUTT. Jakey stands up in the turnbuckle, which leads to Jimmy running at him with a splash into the corner, followed by a barrage of low kicks to the stomach.


“Jimmy taking it to the champ!” cries Mak.


Jimmy then violently whips Jakey into the turnbuckles, then, immediately after:




Jimmy sprints to the turnbuckle, then takes Jakey down with a headlock takedown, causing an uproar from the audience. Upon Jakey’s return to his feet, Jimmy knocks him down with a snap kick that knocks the shorter man to his face.


“Jimmy came to play tonight!” Mak cries, and Jimmy quickly covers the champ:






“and the first near-fall of the match!”


With full advantage, Jimmy picks Jakey up, then clubs him in the neck a few times before sending him off the ropes again …


…but Jakey ducks the clothesline, then comes back with a Lou Thesz press of his own! The crowd boos as Jakey hits Jimmy with an array of admittedly mediocre punches!


“You want my title??” Jakey yells, and referee Nick Soapdish calls for a break before Jakey jumps off of Jimmy. With Jimmy en route to his feet but on his hands and knees, Jakey kicks him swiftly in the ribs on two consecutive occasions!


“Maybe Jakey gets in a bad mood when he’s not in a flashy outfit,” Mak hypothesizes.


“Well, when the belt’s on the line, you’re in a different state of mind!” Suicide King says.


With Jimmy still on the way up, Jakey goes off the ropes for a running kick, but Jimmy deftly slides out of the ring just in time, causing Jakey to crash and burn into the ropes, his leg getting caught up in the middle rope in an ugly way before he collapses to the ground.


“Jakey crashing and burning!” Mak cries.

“He could be seriously injured!” Suicide King yells.


An instant replay is played on the SWFTron of Jakey's rude welcome by the middle rope!


Not being sympathetic, Jimmy the Doom grabs Jakey by the arms and violently pulls him out of the ring, causing the champion to land on the concrete with only his arms and face to break the fall!


“What a hard landing for Jakey!” Mak yells.

“That was unnecessary!” Suicide King protests.




Jimmy the Doom yells to get the crowd in a frenzy, then picks up Jakey’s battered body in position for what appears to be a suplex …


“Oh, he’s not gonna do this!” Mak yells.


Jakey gets out of the maneuver by lowering his head and burying it in Jimmy’s stomach, taking him down in an ugly (but effective) fashion, as Jimmy breaks the hold and collapses to the floor, with Jakey on top of him! Jakey strikes Jimmy a few times, and referee Nick Soapdish gets out of the ring to encourage the competitors to get back in the squared circle. Jakey trash-talks the ref a bit, and Jimmy grabs Jakey, but Jakey counters his whip into one of his own –




sending the bigger man shoulder-first into the steel steps! The usually aloof Lois takes notice, as Jakey gets back in the ring, while Jimmy grabs his shoulder in pain.


“And is the ref gonna finally start a count?” Suicide King cries. “The ineptitude of some people!”


Instead of counting, Nick Soapdish is arguing with Jakey, who has apparently taken the opportunity to start chastising the ref. Their argument gets heated while Jimmy gets back up to his feet, and hops on the apron, then ascends to the top rope. Jakey turns around just in time to notice …


“A majestic cradle!” cries Mak Francis, as Jimmy flies and gets a cradle from mid-air …’


“The referee is in position!






--and Jakey kicks out!”


Still pissed about his harsh landing on the concrete, Jakey kicks Jimmy in the gut, then buries his head in his stomach (again), sending him into the turnbuckle.


“When you’re at a weight and height disadvantage, that’s how you do it!” Suicide King surmises.


Rather uncharacteristically, Jakey begins pummeling Jimmy the Doom with clubs to the head and neck, which the taller man fends off by shoving Jakey to the ground. Not to be outdone, Jakey runs at Jimmy again, but Jimmy counters it by dodging the attack just in time and shoving Jakey shoulderfirst into the turnbuckle!


“MY GOD!" Mak yells. "Someone’s gonna be leaving here in a body cast the way this is going!” Mak Francis yells.


“I thought you said Jimmy didn’t want the Cruiserweight title?” Suicide King retorts.


“That doesn’t mean he was gonna just lay down!” Mak yells. “He knows what it does for your profile to have a title in this company – Jakey was in the main event last week!”


Jakey's body limply remains sandwiched between the top and middle ropes. With the crowd cheering him on, Jimmy capitalizes with a quick schoolboy on the champion:








--and Jakey still too tenacious!”


Jimmy picks up Jakey again, then hits a swift snap suplex to make sure he stays on the ground.


"Jimmy taking advantage of the situation here!"


Shaking off his shoulder, Jimmy points to the top rope, with approval of the crowd. Jimmy spryly gets to the top rope via the ring apron, just in time for Jakey to stagger to his feet …


“High cross body!” Mak yells. “Will that be enough?”






…and it’s not really a kickout, but rather, Jakey slides out of the pin attempt, again making his smaller frame advantageous.


“He slid from under him!” Mak cries.


Jimmy gets to his feet before Jakey does, and when Jakey finally staggers to his feet again, Jimmy delivers:




“What a headbutt!” Mak shouts as Jakey again falls to the ground.


“Jimmy’s sure got a hard head!” Suicide King agrees.


With his opponent down, Jimmy picks him up, then yells to the crowd’s delight.


“Could this be it?” Mak rhetorically asks.


With force, Jimmy picks Jakey up with his hands around his throat, then sits him out and crashes to the mat!


“The JIMMY BOMB!” Mak yells. “We’ve got a new champion!










Taking advantage of the fact that the move doesn’t lend itself to the best cover, Jakey gets a shoulder off the canvas! Jimmy, looking frustrated, gets back to his feet and picks up the limp Cruiserweight Champion. Jimmy sends Jakey off of the ropes and aims for what looks to be in the sidewalk slam family –


--but Jakey, out of nowhere, counters the move by hooking his legs around Jimmy’s head in a headscissors-lock, while the shoulder is hyper-extended in a Fujiwa armbar!


“The Christo!” Mak cries. “It’s been a while Jakey’s brought this one out!”


“Jimmy’s got almost a foot of height advantage!” Suicide King explains. “This might be the only way for him to bring Jimmy down!”


A glutton for punishment, Jimmy tries his best to thrash off Jakey, but Jakey has a parasitic grip on him!


“You can see the anguish on Jimmy’s face!” Mak yells, as the Doomtopian still continues to literally shake Jakey off. Jimmy finally collapses to his knees, with the crowd getting behind him:








But Jakey stays firm, with a look of rage on his face, and Jimmy ends up on his stomach, letting the hold take full effect!


“No!” Mak yells. “Jimmy’s got to get to the ropes!”


Jimmy is able to change his position on his stomach so that he can crawl towards the set of ropes that are closer to him …


“And here’s where that ‘wingspan’ comes in handy!” Mak cries.


Jimmy crawls to the ropes, with the crowd’s approval.


“Can he make it??” Mak asks. “Or could Jakey get his first ever submission victory here?”








With the crowd fully behind him, Jimmy inches to the ropes, and extends his long free arm out …


“He got the bottom rope!” Mak yells, with the crowd roaring in approval. “Jakey’s got to break the hold!”


“Break the hold!” yells Nick Soapdish.










And Jakey finally breaks the hold, giving the ref a palms-up gesture. With Jimmy on his stomach, Jakey violently steps on his back, holding his arms back. Jimmy screams in pain and grabs the bottom rope instinctively.


“Come on, break!” Soapdish yells, but again Jakey utilizes his full five-count.


“You’re all just jealous!” Jakey yells to the hissing crowd.


“I wasn’t aware we had a crowd full of wannabe wrestlers,” Mak says.


Jakey picks Jimmy up and gets him in a front face lock …


“And if he hits the Jumping Jakey Flash, you gotta believe it’s over!” Mak yells. “And if Rev-Zero is watching, they’ve gotta be proud!”


But Jakey takes too long trash-talking, and Jimmy snakes out of the hold, grabbing Jakey’s arm and twisting it into a hammerlock-like position. Before Jakey can react, Jimmy speedily delivers a …


“Reverse DDT!” Mak cries.


Jimmy gets enough wits about him to make an instinctive cover ….


“What a counter! And the cover!










Jakey barely kicks out, and with a rush of energy, Jimmy gets the champion in a mount position, decking Jakey with lefts and rights.


“And Jimmy, fighting for Doomtopia!” Mak yells.

“What?” Suicide King asks incredulously.


With another burst of rage, Jimmy picks Jakey up and knocks him to the ground with another DDT, then---




“I don’t know what that yelling was about, but it got the crowd on its feet!” cries Mak.


Jimmy stands in position for any kind of attack, and Jakey slowly gets to his feet …


…and Jimmy attempts a strike attack, but Jakey ducks it, and upon Jimmy’s return, Jakey jumps onto him (almost into him from the way it looks), wrapping his legs around Jimmy’s upper body and his arm around Jimmy’s head in a front face lock!


“And Jimmy’s shoulders have already taken a lot of punishment!” Mak reminds us. “Jakey’s on him like a leech!”


The crowd is with Jimmy again:






JIM - MY!"


"And can Jimmy evade another painful maneuver?" Mak asks.


With nowhere to go, the taller man collapses to his knees, and Jakey cranks the hold as far back as he can ...


"And all of Jakey's 160 pounds being pressured on Jimmy's upper body!" Suicide King cries. "And let's face it, he's the most built guy ..."


"But you don't have a year-long reign as Hardcore Champ without being tough as nails!" Mak asserts.


Nevertheless, Jimmy is in the middle of the ring, with Jakey showing no signs of relinquishing the hold, cranking on Jimmy's neck and shoulders ...


...Jimmy begins frantically waving his arms, with the ropes nowhere in sight, until finally ...




“And Jakey has done it!” Mak Francis yells. “Now break the damn hold!”


Nick Soapdish tries to get Jakey to break the hold, and after some yelling, he finally does.


“Here is your winner, by submission, and STILL the SWF Cruiserweight Champion, THE FABULOUS JAKEY!”


As Jimmy lays on the ground postmatch, Jakey kicks him again for good measure.


“Good God!” Mak yells. “Is Jakey having PMS or what?”


“It’s all about aggression!” Suicide King defends.


“Well, Jimmy the Doom is not one to tap out regularly,” Mak says. “You gotta believe it was a combination of going into the steps, plus the Christo …”


“…And the fact that admittedly, the Cruiserweight Title is not an immediate goal of his!” Suicide King adds. “Nevertheless, Jakey makes his first successful defense of the prestigious SWF Cruiserweight Championship!”


Jakey gets his hand held in victory, then walks up the ramp to a chorus of boos.


“And is this a sign of things to come?” Mak asks. “Could this be a positive omen for Toxxic and Austin Sly? Will Rev-Zero be leaving tonight with all the gold??”


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The sun is beginning to dim through thee solid pillars of Stonehenge as we pan around the crowd of tourists and pagan dignitries (if such people exist that is). Your typical pro wrestling crowd, you know. After we're sure everybody knows where we are, we then zip over to The Suicide King and Mak Francis, their announce table sat in the shadows of one of the giant stone structures.


"What's with the druids? I thought Jimmy wrestled already." King muses, looking around the crowd.


"They're the locals King. And they're not druids, they're Muslims."


"I thought we were in England?"


"We sure are. That's why there's so many Muslims!" quips Mak, as the production team curse not bringing any canned laughter with them. "Anyway, on with the show, as I'm sure you can all tell we are coming to you from National Trust site Stonehenge, a unique venue the likes of which we haven't seen since... well, since that ghastly Fake World's Tour or whatever it was called. King, truly an historic setting for this show tonight."


"It certainly is and I've been doing my research, thanks to the wonderful people at Wikipedia.com. And did you know Mak, that Stonehenge is actually located in sunny Monterrey, Mexico and owned by the Microsoft Corporation."


"...I, uh... I think you're mistaken there partner."


With a wry smile, King taps his nose knowingly. Mak just shakes his head.


"Coming up next it's the Hardcore Championship on the line. And it will be a very personal battle as Landon Maddix finally meets the man who's been terrorising him for week upon week in pursuit of not a title-shot, but just the chance to inflict pain upon him, in MANSON. Just two weeks ago now, MANSON raised the stakes in a BIG way with his sickening attack on Megan Skye and we saw a very different Landon Maddix last week on Storm."


"Oh yeah, Maddix has been dragging his feet on this match for a long time. It took some slightly drastic measures. But it just makes the point more evident- what MANSON wants, MANSON will get. And tonight, MANSON wants the Hardcore Gamers Title!"


"And Landon Maddix wants MANSON off of his back, after months of this obsession The Savage Messiah has seemed to develop towards him. On paper, this seems like MANSON's type of environment. But I'm sure Landon Maddix will leave no stone unturned in his pursuit for revenge tonight!"


Still no canned laughter.


"...let's go to the ring."





"Ladies and gentlemen, this contest is scheduled for one fall and it is for the SWF HARDCORE GAMERS CHAMPIONSHIP!!"


The artificial lights dro and leaves just the dimming sunlight, cueing a guttural, distorted warbling from the speakers. The fans up to their feet as tension builds through the already eiree setting. Then a final growl kicks "Scientific Remote Viewing" by Cephalic Carnage into gear, as flashing strobes begin to pulse and smoke pours out over the stage. The crowd begins to boo as the curtain parts and Manson walks out, obscured by his cloak and mask as he strides down the aisle.


"Introducing first, the challenger! From Denver, Colorado... he weighs in tonight at two hundred and thirty pounds. A former Hardcore Gamers Champion, he is "THE SAVAGE MESSIAH"... MMMMMMMMMMMMMM - AAAAAAAAAANNSSSSSSSOOOOOOOOOONN!!!"




Eyes darting around the historic landmark, MANSON marches to the ring while the numerous chains on his person rattle ominously. On his approach he rolls into the ring and stands, pulling out his trademark metal bat from underneath the cloak and stomping about the ring. After a threatening look at referee Matthew Kivell, MANSON then removes both the mask and cloak, placing both over the post.


"And of course, that bat is perfectly legal in this match," Mak hastens to point out, "not to mention that mask and whatever the hell else he can get his hands on tonight!"


"Hey, maybe he'll use MANSONOSITY~! to pick up one of those stones... like, with his mind 'n stuff... drop it on Landon. That'd be cool."


"This isn't Heroes King. Humans don't have super-powers, no matter how deluded they may be and how much they believe they do."


"But, what about the laser-bea..."


"You dreamt it."


"But I saw hi..."









"And, introducing his opponent! Accompanied to the ring by MEGAN SKYE! From Huron, South Dakota by way of Madrid, Spain... weighing in at two hundred, eight pounds... he is the reigning SWF HARDCORE GAMERS CHAMPION... LANDON "LA CUCARACHA" MMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAADDIIIIIIXXXXXXXX!!!!"




"Landon has said many times, this isn't about the title. But the moment that bell rings, it will be about that title whether either man cares or not."


"The Hardcore Gamers Championship has lost overness from this segment." quips King.


"Very good. So... where is he exactly?"


Right on cue, we cut to two of the 'pagan druids', who unmask to reveal MEGAN SKYE and the Hardcore Title wearing LANDON MADDIX!! The two jump the barrier, much to MANSON surprise, only spotting Landon as he slides into the ring and charges right for him!







Wasting no time, Landon and MANSON instantly start unloading on each other, both men wailing away with lefts and rights to the cheers of the assembelled crowd. Surprisingly, it's the Champion who's gaining the advantage, driven by rage as he pounds away on his opponent like a man possessed. Eventually, the barrage becomes too much for even MANSON and he decides to bail out and regain his composure. MANSON walks around the ring rambling away to himself as Maddix follows in hot pursuit. Unstrapping the title belt from around his waist for the first time, Landon jogs up behind MANSON...






...and just FLOGS him with the heavy leather strap!!






...and again!! Rounding the corner, MANSON slides quickly back into the ring as he continues to try and create some distance. Or so it seems. Instead, he manages to lure Landon in, waiting for the Hardcore Champ to slide in before stomping him in the back of the head.


"There we go, smarts!" proclaims King. "MANSON's been around too long to be pushed around by anyone!"


MANSON drives his boot into the back of Landon's head a couple more times, just to be sure, before pulling him to his feet and sending him into the ropes. A clothesline attempt is ducked though. And as MANSON wheels around to try again, Maddix is already airborne with a big Flying Forearm to knock the challenger down. Quick as a flash, Landon mounts MANSON and again rains down on him with wild lefts and rights as emotion gets the best of him. Behind him with every shot is Megan Skye, cheering her man on as he eventually dismounts and fires up the crowd.




"You were saying about being pushed around, King?"


"It's early days Mak."


"Well, sure but, it was early days when you said that about MANSON."




"...what are you talking about?"


As MANSON gets back to his feet, Landon backs into a corner and gets a run-up on another forearm. This time though, MANSON is ready for it and cuts his opponent off with a quick kick. Landon doubles over and the challenger wastes no time in routing into his tights, emerging with a small length of thick, dull metal chain!


"Uh-oh!" Mak calls.


Where-as he wasted no time in conjouring the weapon, MANSON takes a second to actually get the chain wrapped around his fist, which allows Landon to quickly shoot for his legs. The tactically deficient Spaniard gets enough grip on MANSON to barge him back into a corner at least and with no room to manouever, MANSON can't get the chain wrapped, shoulders being rammed into his gut until MANSON loses his grip. The chain falls from his hand and to the ground outside, a relief to Landon who comes up for air, landing with a forearm strike. A second. And a third, setting MANSON up for a whip across the ring. MANSON hits the opposite turnbuckles and Maddix follows in... face-first into the flat of The Savage Messiah's boot! And as Landon staggers away, MANSON quickly drops to one knee, adjusting his boot...




...to free ANOTHER steel chain!


"Another chain!?"


"You can't accuse MANSON of a lack of preparation!" shrugs King.


This time MANSON pulls the chain tight between his hands, trying to simply clothesline La Cucaracha with it as he rushes out of the corner. Spotting the chain quickly enough to react, Landon manages to scyth MANSON down with a drop toehold though! MANSON drops the chain and Maddix quickly kicks it out of the ring, before cracking The Raging Bull in the face with a Dropsault! Cover...

















Both men to their feet, it's Landon who strikes with a straight kick to the chest! The force rocks MANSON back, windmilling his arms in an unorthodox menthod of stabilising himself. As MANSON comes to a stop, Landon then rattles him with a second straight kick. Pointing out Megan on the outside and signalling that this is for her, Maddix then throws a third consecutive kick... and finds MANSON's forearms pretty sturdy as he blocks. Landon cringes a little and his concern over his aching shin allows MANSON to grab a waistlock. German Suplex is blocked, Landon landing with an elbow and switching behind. But MANSON isn't going anywhere either...




...except LOW on Landon with the leg!!




"Lowblow, all legal of course." Mak reminds us.


"I doubt it'll be the last we see in this one either. Not with Landon involved."


With Landon nursing his little Cucarachas, MANSON sees his opportunity as his this time reaches into his elbowpad... for yet ANOTHER CHAIN!


"Where the hell is he getting all these chains from!?" despairs Mak.


Wrapping the chain loosely around his fist, MANSON finally has Landon in his sights. He balls up the fist and with the English crowd trying to warn the Champion of what awaits him, around his turns. MANSON comes charging with the chain... but gets caught and hung up over the top rope! Sure enough, the chain goes flying. So too does Landon moments later, over the top rope, bringing MANSON's neck down across it in the process with the Macho Neck Snap!!


"OH YYEEAAHH~!" shouts Landon upon landing, in his best Kool-Aid man impersonation.


The British crowd just look on perplexed.


Maddix slides back into the ring and quickly makes the cover...


















"Landon with a couple of quick pin attempts here. He's given MANSON what he wants by accepting the match and now he just wants the win, to rid himself of MANSON finally."


"No no," King prepares to argue, "he's just trying to get out alive. Now he's seen all these chains flying around, he's scared out of his wits, that's why he's trying to get such a quick victory!"


Pulling MANSON off of the canvas, Landon scores with another forearm strike. A second connects. And so does a third. With MANSON woozy Landon then double-checks his 'boys' are okay after that lowblow, before making off for the ropes. However, as he shoots back, MANSON comes bulling towards him like the Raging Bull he is (see what I did there?), ducking low to check La Cucaracha right across the thigh muscle! Maddix goes tumbling overhead and since I know nothing about American Football and have no puns regarding this, I'll just say it hurt. A lot.


"Good move on MANSON's part." notes King. "Take out the legs, you take out Landon's mobility and you take out one of his greatest assets."


Maddix comes to rest up against the ropes and clutches his thigh, bringing Megan over to check on her man's condition. She's soon scuttling back off however as MANSON walks over, basically shooing her away. And after what happened a couple of weeks ago, she sure doesn't want any part of The Savage Messiah.


"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"


Once he's sure Megan is out of the way, MANSON notices the chants of the crowd. He starts vehemently shakes his head and waves at them to quieten down. To no avail, of course.


"MANSON... getting into it with the crowd, which isn't smart." points out Mak.


"Not at all. I mean, I can't blame anyone for having a problem with Landon, but MANSON seems to be really, really..."




"Well, I don't know if I'd go that far."


MANSON eventually realises the crowd aren't stopping any time soon. And as Landon begins to pull himself up on the ropes, The God Machine quickly goes over to his corner and retrieves the signature metal mask he wears to the ring. Wielding it like a weapon, he then waves Landon towards him. Megan screams for her man to 'watch out', which gets MANSON's attention more than Maddix's. But as MANSON starts to yell and shout at Megan, he turns his back on Landon, allowing him to sneak up behind with a schoolboy...


















Still holding the mask, MANSON rolls to his feet and swings for the fences. Landon just ducks the shot, pushing MANSON in the rear to send him forward into a corner. Hitting the turnbuckles chest first MANSON then turns around...







...and gets struck in the chest with a chop!







...and again! MANSON drops the mask and Megan braves reaching into the ring to grab the mask, while her man...







...lands a third chop!


"Can someone please tell our Hardcore Champion he's in a Hardcore Match please?" snaps King. "Which means he doesn't have to get RID of all the weapons, he can USE them. Jesus."


Side-stepping MANSON, Landon now scales the middle rope and signals for the end, presumably meaning Crash Landon time. A quick cheer goes up from the crowd. However, MANSON has other ideas, hitting reverse and barging into Landon with his elbow extended. Landon manages to avoid falling over the top and to the floor but it's of little consolation once he starts to fall forward, onto MANSON's shoulder, The Savage Messiah quickly cradling the head and bringing Maddix off the second turnbuckle with a DEVESTATING Ace Crusher variation!!




Megan holds her head in her hands, as Landon goes limp (sexjoke!?).


"WOW!" gasps Francis. "Maddix's neck snapped violently off of that one!"


"And now it may be time to have some fun!" King smiles, showing nowhere near the concern that his partner had.


Despite the fact Landon is clearly hurt, MANSON for some reason doesn't go for the cover. Instead his eyes start to dart around, looking for one of his many weapons, all of which seem to have disappeared from the ring. MANSON looks confused at first...




...until he spies Megan Skye and points a finger at her.


"Oh no, come on... not again!"


MANSON climbs out of the ring and with Megan already cowering against the barricade, MANSON starts to scream and shout at the top of her lungs towards her. Poor Megan is defenceless as the Raging Bull continues to rant away.


"MEG - AN!"

"MEG - AN!"

"MEG - AN!"

"MEG - AN!"


"What the hell is MANSON's problem!?" Mak snaps.


"He's telling her to give all the weapons back! You saw it yourself, she grabbed his mask..."


"Yeah, but MANSON dropped everything else, Megan didn't have a thing to do with that!"


Just as he begins to get within touching distance of the cowering manageress, MANSON spots Landon beginning to stir back in the ring out of the corner of his eye. With another warning to Megan he then rolls back in, leaving her to breathe a sigh of relief. Picking up Landon, MANSON strikes the Hardcore Champion right across the neck with a couple of Kesagiri chops. With Maddix softened up, The Savage Messiah then turns on his heels, whipping around 360 degress with a Spinning Back Fist, again catching Landon across the weakened neck and dropping him to the canvas! Straight away the Hardcore Champion clutches at his neck, whilst his opponent stands over him. And again he declines the chance to cover him, going right back out of the ring again after Megan Skye!




MANSON again corners Megan, who looks absolutely petrified at the sight of the unpredictable Raging Bull. Finally referee Matthew Kivell has seen enough and demands that MANSON get back into the ring, stopping short of actually coming to Megan's rescue of course. Angrily MANSON again warns Megan about something as he re-enters the ring.


"This guy is a lunatic!"


"All the more reason why Megan should give him his weapons back." shrugs King unsympathetically.


Kivell gets a warning too from The Savage Messiah, as he helps Landon back up. Gutwrench... and a suplex, dead centre of the ring. Finally MANSON sees his opponent is hurting and makes the cover...










...only to pull him right back up, shaking his head.


"Not yet." smiles King. "MANSON hasn't spent as many weeks as he has pursuing Landon to put him out of his misery with a Gutwrench Suplex. Unless it's through a table or into a pit of fire or something."


Still MANSON seems completely pre-occupied with getting his mask and/or chains back rather than actually winning this match. And the person he holds responsible for him not having those weapons, Megan Skye, is right back in the firing line as he AGAIN rolls to the outside. This time Megan doesn't get away and MANSON grabs her by the wrist as he demands she 'give it to him'. And whatever Megan must think he means by that, it's not pleasant. MANSON continues to ramble away with Megan pleading with him to let her go, as in the ring, Landon is struggling to his feet. The moment he sees MANSON with his hands on Megan though, he struggles no more, suddenly possessed with a burst of energy as he shoots himself through the bottom and middle ropes, WIPING OUT MANSON WITH THE TOPÉ ESPECIAL!!!




As he rolls off of MANSON, Maddix comes to a stop... and dives right back on top of The Savage Messiah, just choking him with his bare hands, as the crowd go wild!


"A sudden jolt of adrenaline has taken over Landon Maddix! MANSON was playing with fire going after Megan and it looks like he's just been burnt!"


MANSON reaches up and manages to claw Landon off of him. The two then crawl away, with Landon helped to his feet by Megan. MANSON uses the ring steps for help as Landon starts to go right back after him... only to be stopped by Megan. The Hardcore Champion looks confused for a moment, as Megan begins to reach into her top...





...pulling out a small length of thick, dull metal chain!!




"SEE!" King yells, coming out his chair in anger! "YOU SEE! WHAT DID I TELL YOU!"


"SIT DOWN!" Mak yells back at his partner, of course unable to come out of his chair, in anger or in any other emotion.


King eventually complies, muttering to himself "They cannot be trusted." over and over.


Still fixated on the source of the weapon rather than the weapon itself, Maddix quickly shakes himself out of his trance and takes the chain. Balling it around his fist, the Hardcore Champion then stalks after MANSON. MANSON is hung over the steel steps and has to be pulled up by Landon, taking a step back as MANSON begins to turn around...














"Oh! What a shot with the bat, MANSON may have mashed Landon's internal organs with that swing!"


"There's one weapon that Megan didn't get to! Although, I'd love to know where she'd have hidden it..."


Still looking a little shaken, MANSON wipes away the cobwebs as Landon sits on his knees against the ring apron wheezing after that vicious shot with the bat. Megan looks on aghast at what just happened, but is soon sent on her way as MANSON points the crooked bat in her direction with a demented look on his face. Cringing, Landon tries to pull himself up with the apron for help. But MANSON spots him and raises the bat high overhead...




"Batter up!"










"Welcome to your life as Hardcore Gamers Champion." smirks King.


MANSON tosses the bat into the ring and stands over Landon. The Hardcore Champion writhes at his feet and MANSON begins to smile, as he spits down on La Cucaracha!


"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"


By hair and tights, MANSON drags Maddix up and tosses him into the ring with the same amount of care he showed the bat. I.e, none. MANSON follows the Champion in and drops his knee across the throat, keeping the leg pinned over the windpipe to choke the air out of Landon's lungs! Landon manages to 'kickout' and sits up, struggling for breath. Which is when MANSON lines up behind him...





...and cracks him in the spine with a Cowboy Kick!





...and a second!


"Wow! He can tackle, punt, swing a baseball bat... MANSON is the ultimate multi-sport superstar!" quips King.


Holding Landon by his long blond locks, the crazed MANSON starts to laugh in his ear to show just how much he's enjoying...





...kicking the living crap out of him! MANSON eventually lets Landon go and he flops onto his back, whilst The Savage Messiah retrieves his metal bat again ready to inflict some more damage. Standing over Landon, he raises the bat up... and DRIVES the point of it down like a stake through the heart! A second time, the tip of the bat is jammed into the sternum! And with a loud yell... it comes down a third time! Landon looks lifeless and MANSON seems to think he's finished him off, finally going for a cover...





















MANSON grabs the bat again and backs up into a corner, waiting for Maddix to get back up. The Hardcore Champion is sucking wind and takes his time about actually getting to his feet, seemingly everybody in(?) Stonehenge trying to warn him about MANSON. He doesn't seem to understand though and as MANSON comes charging, he raises the bat, CLOTHESLINING Maddix with the crooked metal stand-by!


"Right in the throat!" calls Mak. "That'll do the already breathless Champion no good what-so-ever!"


Dropping the bat, MANSON looks over at Megan all the while as he covers Landon...




















"But if Landon is anything in that ring, he's gutsy!"


MANSON snorts, climbing off of Landon and grabbing the bat once more.


"We might just see his gutsys pretty soon if he doesn't stay down."


"I can guarantee you King, he's not going to stay down unless MANSON makes him."


"In that case, good news! Seriously though, Maddix should live to fight another day and quit at the next convenient opportunity. It's not like he cares about the Hardcore Title anyway, so what's he got to lose?"


As MANSON hovers over him with the bat wielded, Landon begins to crawl towards the ropes. A foot pinned on the back of his calf stops him however, MANSON well and truly toying with the Hardcore Champion now. A sharp dig in the kidneys with the point of the bat seems to knock the energy out of La Cucaracha for a second. And with a quick step to the side, MANSON raises the bat high overhead and brings it crashing down...





...into the canvas, Landon JUST rolling out of the way! Angrily, MANSON tries again to crush the cockroach...




...but again Landon JUST moves in the nick of time! This game of cat and mouse doesn't seem to be satisfying MANSON and with a loud, guttural yell, he raises the bat for a third time in the hopes of finally connecting...





...but Landon suddenly sweeps out the legs and knocks MANSON off his feet!




Both men scramble to their feet, with MANSON having to leave the bat behind. He has just a split-second's hesitation thinking about retrieving it though. Which proves costly, as Maddix traps the head and the arm, bringing MANSON down with the Complete Shot!




"Desperation move from La Cucaracha, both men are down! But Landon's taken a lot of punishment and he may only have bought himself a little time."


After what seems like an eternity to Landon's fans, the Hardcore Champion manages to slowly turn himself and MANSON over, draping his arm over top for the pin...




















Reaching out, Landon grabs the bottom rope and levers himself out of the ring with it. As he hits the floor he quickly drops down, rummaging underneath the apron. In the ring, MANSON has stirred and is nearly on his feet, reaching out for his bat...





...as Maddix produces A TABLE from underneath the ring!!


"Hey, Dagda and Raynor didn't destroy them all after all!"


Realising he has little time to do anything with it, Landon props the table up against the ring apron, before MANSON leans out of ring with the bat...









Swing and a miss from MANSON, hitting only the table. Quickly, Maddix pulls himself onto the apron and capitalises before MANSON can react to his miss-swing, grabbing the head and dropping to the floor again. MANSON's throat gets hung up on the middle rope and he is sent rolling into the centre of the ring. Forgetting about the table for now, Maddix then scales the apron again, this time on his way to the top rope!


"High-risk from Landon." Mak critiques.


Reaching the top, Maddix sets himself and quickly takes off. But as he takes off, MANSON makes sudden burst forward. Landon thinks quickly and rights himself in mid-air, managing to abort whatever move he had planned in order to land on his feet... but he gets CAUGHT by MANSON! The Savage Messiah hooks the head and the arm and throws Maddix overhead with the Gargoyle Suplex!!


"And the high-risk didn't pay off." drawls King. "Boy, didn't see that one coming, Landon NEVER goes for a high-risk move when it's a bad idea."


"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, you know."


"You know, I'm okay with it."


MANSON sits up and brushes the hair from his eyes, nodding to himself. The Savage Messiah then crawls over and makes the cover...




















Rolling out of the ring, one glare from MANSON sends the timekeeper and Funyon scuttling out of their seats. MANSON takes his pick and slides the chosen chair into the ring, before making his way back up the steps.


"You know it's amazing to think MANSON has only been a Hardcore Gamers Champion once in his career, for just five days." Mak thinks aloud. "He's so comfortable in this environment and yet doesn't have the accolades to show for it."


MANSON enters the ring and sets up in the chair in the middle of the ring. Dragging Landon to his feet, he then sends the Hardcore Champion off the ropes, setting him up for a drop toehold across the chair. Of course, if I can tell that, no doubt Landon can telegraph the move as well. And sure enough as MANSON drops down, Landon jumps over the feet. MANSON quickly scrambles up, but Landon climbs onto the chair, hooking the head...








...still swinging...













"That brings new meaning to the term 'have a seat'!"


"Mak, did you not hear the narrator earlier? We don't have any canned laughter. Stop with the jokes already."


The seat buckles under the force of Landon's 208lbs, but doesn't break completely. Landon is therefore left laying across the chair while MANSON hits the ropes on one side. On his way back, MANSON shoots out his leg, whipping himself around and connecting with a Flashing Elbow to bring Maddix awkwardly off the chair on the back of his head!! Megan looks on concerned as MANSON then makes a lateral press...





















"No, just a two!" exclaims Mak. "Again, Maddix showing his heart and determination."


"And all while getting systematically destroyed for these people's enjoyment. No wonder Tom thought he'd make a great Hardcore Champion!"


Climbing right back up, MANSON folds up the chair. The metal is still pretty mangled so he has to flatten it out with his feet before setting up his next move, using Landon's hair to force him to his feet before he's ready. Positioning him over the chair, MANSON forces Landon right back down to the canvas (which doesn't take much in Maddix's current state), his face hovering over the steel. A sick smile forms on MANSON's face as he laces up Landon's legs, placing one of his own in between to keep them grapevined. MANSON then delivers a jab to either side of the gut, forcing Landon to feed out his arms.


"Oh no... he's going for the Curbstomp! This is what started this whole mess, MANSON has used this Curbstomp on Maddix twice in recent months on the outside of the ring and now, he's going to try and smush his face into this steel chair!"


Maddix realises that and starts to fight. His legs basically hogtied, he's not in a position to do much, except pull with his arms and hope MANSON loses his grip.


"And what a shame it'd be if pretty boy Landon's looks were ruined, huh Mak? Then he'd really fit in with the Hardcore Division!"


Still Landon fights, but MANSON isn't letting go. With his free leg he kicks Landon in the back, stopping the resistance long enough to elevate Maddix's upper body off the canvas...






...and stops. Namely because the chair he'd intended to hit the move on is now in the hands of MEGAN SKYE!




"Get her the hell out of there!" snaps King, as Megan sees MANSON's head snap towards her and freezes.


"Uh-oh. I think MANSON has got Megan in his crosshairs."


"You know what, on seconds thoughts, leave her in there. Yeah. Just until MANSON's had his way with her, so to speak."


Rapidly regretting saving her man's looks, Megan has no other choice to wield the chair and threaten to crack MANSON with it if he doesn't get back. MANSON just laughs at the threat as he slowly approaches her, backing Megan up into a corner. Megan cowers behind the chair as MANSON closes in... before suddenly throwing it, the distraction proving enough to give her time to escape from the ring! Left holding the chair now, MANSON just smiles down at Megan and mouths the words "thank you as he turns around...















MANSON topples. The chair topples on top. And Maddix topples on top of both!


























Barely in possession of all his sense, Landon crawls in the direction of the table he brought into play earlier. But instead of dragging the table into the ring, Landon comes to a stop near it, leant against the ropes. Meanwhile MANSON pulls himself up and takes a second to get his balance, head still spinning judging by the look on his face. Through his cloudy thought he notices Maddix up against the ropes and rushes towards him. Maddix dips the shoulder though and catches MANSON with a backdrop...




...over the top...





...but MANSON lands on the apron, right next to the table propped against the ring apron! MANSON notices the table just as he lands and breathes a sigh of relief, before threading his shoulder through the ropes. Landon avoids the shoulder though, sidestepping and dropping the leg across the back of the head to hang MANSON up on the rope! Collapsing across the apron, MANSON again avoids going through the table and rolls underneath the bottom rope. The Hardcore Champion settles for that as he covers MANSON, cradling the leg...






















"Landon almost suckered MANSON into the trap. Almost, but not quite, MANSON able to avoid plummeting through the table."


"Yeah, this match has been as much about avoiding weapons as it has been using them," analyses King, "which goes to show how 'hardcore' our Hardcore Champion really is."


"That's one way of looking at it, I suppose."


Both Landon and MANSON get back to their feet and it's Landon who strikes first...







...with a knifedge chop. MANSON absorbs the shot and retaliates with an elbow smash to the jaw! Maddix is rocked and falls back into the ropes, which ironically keep him up and push him right back towards MANSON to deliver a retaliation forearm! Shaking that off, MANSON nails another elbow. Maddix stays on his feet this time though and finds the answer to break the chain; two fingers to the eyes! Covering his eyes, MANSON howls and starts swinging blindly, all avoided by Landon who finds room to boot MANSON in the gut and whip him into a corner. And he follows in, crushing The Savage Messiah in the buckles with a running forearm smash!


"ONE MORE?" asks Landon.


"YYYYAAAAAAAAAYYYYY!" reply the crowd.


Not one disappoint his shirt-buying public, Maddix wrings out the arm and sends MANSON corner to corner, ready for another forearm. However MANSON throws his foot up, planting it on the middle turnbuckle. Pushing off, he manages to turn around and run at the charging Landon. Thinking quickly, Landon ducks his head early to avoid the attack. He thinks quickly, but he doesn't think correctly, as MANSON tumbles forward and catches the Hardcore Champion across the crown of the head with a Rolling Koppou Kick!!




"Caught him!"


"That might be the knockout blow right there Mak!"


As Maddix's head snaps back and he crashes to the canvas, MANSON quickly dives on top with the cover...






















Looking a little frustrated now, MANSON immediately starts to bring both himself and his opponent to their feet. Once there he turns Landon around so that he's facing away from him, applying a half nelson from one side and a chickenwing from the other side. The Half and Half is broken by Landon though, kicking MANSON in the kneecap and taking him over with an armdrag of sorts. MANSON rolls through to his feet, trying for another Koppou Kick...




...but Maddix sidesteps it this time! Again MANSON rolls through with his momentum, just in time for Maddix to dive at him. The Champion lands with his knees pressed on MANSON's thighs and pushes off for the Thesz Plant...





...but ends up faceplanting himself as MANSON throws him off!


"It looks like the personal issues have been pushed aside for the moment, these two are going all out for the victory and it's real back and forth stuff here!" calls Mak.


Landon climbs back up holding his nose, wandering aimlessly into the path of MANSON's IRON CUTTING SW... NO! Duck of the lariat, Maddix landing with a quick shot to the kidneys before hooking the head from 3/4 around and running to the corner. Scaling the turnbuckles, Maddix floats over, bringing MANSON down with the Seated Shiranui...




























Maddix doesn't waste time crying over spilt milk however and scrambles right back to his feet, ready for a Shining Wizard!


"He's setting him up, could be Shining Wizard time right here!"


"Okay, eye-beams, let's see those eye-beams baby! Melt that cockroach!"




Pulling himself up, MANSON comes to a stop on one knee, all the invitation La Cucaracha needs to charge and... MISS! MANSON ducks the Wizard and Maddix ends up crashing forwards into the turnbuckles! Coming out of them, Maddix's woe is compounded as he falls right into MANSON's arms. Half nelson, chickenwing... and a Half And Half Suplex, dumping the Hardcore Gamers Champion on his head!!




"Not quite eye-beams, but still very satisfying! Now pin him!"


Seemingly in two minds about it, MANSON does eventually (indirectly) take King's advise as he turns Landon over, hooks the leg...




























Needless to say, MANSON is pissed.


"Okay, how did he kick out of that!?" King asks increduously. "Anybody!?"


"Landon Maddix is still in this match but by the skin of his teeth and no more! Look at Megan Skye on the outside, she's hardly able to watch right now!"


Indeed, Megan offers only half-hearted support as the Raging Bull climbs back up. Referee Matthew Kivell harmlessly confirms the count with the challenger and earns a shove onto his keister for his troubles, MANSON giving him a long-winded dressing down for the 'slow count'.


"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"


Looking back at Landon, who is slowly stirring but little else, MANSON scans the Stonehenge crowd with an evil glint in his eyes. Walking across the ring, he reaches over the ropes and starts to rummage around in his brown, hooded cloak. The crowd murmur a little during the delay. And the murmuring only gets louder and more rushed, as what MANSON has in his bag of tricks becomes clear. Hand emerging from the cloak, MANSON holds the weapon aloft.



A single strand of BARBED WIRE!!







"Oh my God..."


"NOW we're getting somewhere!" insists King, one of the few excited about what's to come. "Now we've got a Hardcore Title Match on our hands!"


"This is not good. Not good at all."


Megan again looks utterly petrified as MANSON drags the wire from his cloak, the barbs caught up in the lining. Eventually he gets it free. But then, to the surprise of everyone, instead of using the barbed wire on Landon, HE BEGINS TO WRAP IT AROUND HIS OWN ARM!?!?!?




"Ugh... that is SICK!"


"These are the lengths MANSON will go to! Face him at your own risk!"


"MANSON is wrapping that barbed wire around his OWN arm! Don't tell me, he's going for the Lariat with that barbed wire!?"


Once the strand of wire is right the way around his forearm MANSON, grimacing just slightly as a trickle of blood runs down past his elbow, turns to Landon and waves him up. A look of determination fills his eyes as he winds up the wire covered arm.


"Oh boy. Talk about an Iron Cutting Sword Mak!"


Megan can't look, covering her eyes with her hands on the outside. In the ring, Landon is being warned by the shouts of everyone in the crowd. They do him no good however as he still turns around in search of his challenger. Eyes lighting up, MANSON comes off the ropes, extending the barbed arm and letting out a wild roar as he swings out with the IRON CUTTING SWORD...












THANKFULLY Landon ducks the line again! MANSON puts on the brakes, only to turn around and get lifted up into a fireman's carry. However, Landon stops suddenly, feeling something digging into his shoulder. Just now noticing the barbed wire for the first time he sets MANSON down, shaking away a moment of confusion and schoolboying up MANSON...

























Both men are slow to get up...





...which Megan Skye sees as her chance, realising MANSON is ready to throw the Cutting Sword again and thinking she has to take action!


"Megan needs to get out of there..."


"Damn right she does!"


"...for her own safety." Mak finishes.


Megan slides into the ring to the cheers of the Stonehenge crowd, jumping up to the middle rope and waving MANSON around. MANSON looks understandably stunned to see Megan in the ring and doesn't react at all, as she dives off the ropes, hooking the head AND PLANTING MANSON WITH THE SKYE LYTE TORNADO DDT!!!!






"What is going on!? This isn't supposed to be a Handicap Match, get her out of there!!"


The crowd are going wild as MANSON lies KOed in the middle of the ring. Already on his way up the ropes, Landon shooes Megan out of the way, cheering her man on from the opposite corner as he sets up top AND DELIVERS THE FROG SPLASH!!



























"Damn, only two!"


"Hang on a second, you suddenly became very un-impartial." sneers King.


"Hey, I got caught up in the moment, what can I say?"


Landon looks surprised at the kickout and seems lost as he just now realises Megan is still in the ring. In this time, MANSON is up and as Landon goes towards him, an elbow cuts him down. Maddix stays down too. Which leaves Megan cornered and in MANSON's eyeline.


"What was that you were saying about payback a second ago Mak?"


Walking gingerly over to Megan, MANSON has a sudden change of pace as she tries to get out of the ring. Reaching out, he grabs her by the hair, barbed wire entangling itself in Megan's blonde hair and leaving her unable to get away! MANSON drags her away from the corner, eyes piercing through hers as he rambles away wildly at her. Again Megan pleads for mercy. But mercy has long since been used up. And now, Megan is helpless, as MANSON hooks her in an inverted front facelock (thankfully not with the barbed wire covered arm).




Kivell starts waving his arms at MANSON in a vain attempt to get him to call off what's he's planning But MANSON has complete tunnel vision by now and ignores the referee as he untangles his arm from Megan's hair, taking quite a few strands of it with him in the process. Reaching down, he hoists Megan up...



















"Thank God, Landon able to save Megan this time!"


MANSON goes rigid and drops Megan, who lands safely on solid ground and scuttles to the outside. Meanwhile, Maddix wields the bat again as MANSON doubles over...











"OH! Barry Bonds, eat your heart out!"


Throwing the bat aside, Maddix breathes a large, clear sigh of relief at saving his closest friend... before turning his attention back to the match at hand, at her demand. Not settling for just KOing MANSON with the bat shot, Maddix brings the 230 pounds of limp Raging Bull off the canvas, checking around him quickly before making a concerted physical effort in lifting him off the mat. Not easy, with 230 unco-operative pounds of MANSON. But Maddix manages to get him over his shoulder and eases him down, very slowly walking him into position...
















Very simply dropping his body on top of MANSON's chest, Maddix makes the cover...


































Landon rolls off of MANSON and raises his arms wearily over his head, Kivell taking one of the hands and pointing out Landon as the winner for anyone unaware of how professional wrestling works. Megan also punches the sky in relief, looking on the verge of tears, for so many reasons.






Taking the title from ringside, Kivell follows Landon out of the ring as the Champion falls into the arms of Megan Skye. The two embrace, happy just to see each other in one piece after the match. Kivell reminds Landon of the belt to break up the party. Which doesn't get quite the reception the ref expected, Landon pointing to Megan with a shrug and extending his arms to the crowd while Megan takes possession of the title.


"Revenge has been served tonight here at SWF Ground Zero! Landon Maddix, not without help from Megan Skye admittedly, gets the final word on MANSON after weeks and weeks or torment and turmoil. And I just hope that now, we've seen the last of this issue between these two men!"


"After the way Maddix won?" scoffs King. "I don't know. One thing is for sure, MANSON is NOT going to be happy!"


"When he wakes up that is." adds Mak, pointing out the still KOed Savage Messiah.


Landon and Megan walk arm in arm up the aisleway, cheered on by the crowd, as we





Edited by chirs3

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The hard-hitting sounds of the Wu-Tan Clan ring out around Salisbury Plain as the cameras pan around to show the thousands and thousands of fans in attendance. The evening is wearing on and the red-tinged sky is now being supplemented by the portable floods drawn into place for the occasion. Standing in the middle of the squared circle, Funyon raises his microphone and begins to speak.


“Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall,” he booms, “and is for the SWF World Tag Team Titles!”




“Introducing first-”




The deep voice booms out, seeming to shake the very stones of Stonehenge themselves, and is followed immediately by the epileptic guitar that signals the arrival of the challengers. However, unlike France, unlike Belgium, unlike Norway, unlike the United States of America, the rotating ‘REV-0’ logo on the huge portable Smarktron garners a different reaction from the British fans.




The drums come in, and clips start to flash up, serving not just to remind the crowd and the opponents what they’re in for, but also to heighten the tension. And then, as the song builds to a creschendo…


…the guitar riff kicks up. For a few seconds the ‘REV-O’ logo remains frozen in place, and the floods drop out. Then:










Three blasts of pyro erupt to shatter the twilight, and Zack de la Rocha’s voice roars out as ‘Know Your Enemy’ by Rage Against The Machine kicks into high gear! The fans voice their approval, but the volume gets kicked up another notch as two figures emerge from the covered tunnel that leads onto the entrance ramp…


“…introducing first,” Funyon repeats, “the challengers; at a combined weight of 458lbs, they are Austin Sly and ‘The Straight-Edge Sensation’ Toxxic… REVO-LUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTION… ZERRRRRRRRRRRR-RRRROOOOOOOOOOO!!”




Toxxic performs a twirl on the ramp, his canvas trenchcoat billowing out around him as he soaks in the cheers of his fellow countrymen; Austin takes the chance to bask in a little reflected glory and slaps hands with the fans as he walks down the ramp, then emphatically high-fives a kid with an ‘I CAME TO SEE AUSTIN SLY’ sign.


“King, you can tell we’re in England because all the normal rules have been thrown out the window!” Mak Francis comments, “who’d have thought we’d see this reaction for the challengers?”


“I normally consider the English to be nothing but inbred hicks,” King replies, “but on this occasion they’ve shown a flash of sense; who wouldn’t cheer for Revolution Zero over Wild & Dangerous?”


Austin climbs the ring steps while Toxxic just rolls into the squared circle underneath the bottom rope, then each man takes an opposite corner and climbs to the second buckle to fire up the fans. Toxxic finds a large portion of the crowd bowing down to him with the ‘we are not worthy’ salute, which causes him to grin widely and return it in kind. Meanwhile Sly has, much to his amusement, managed to coax a mass double middle-fingered salute from the fans on his side. Both men hop down and meet in the middle of the ring where a lip reader could make out Austin telling his partner ‘I could get used to this’ before Toxxic shrugs out of his trenchcoat, strips off his England soccer shirt and wads it up…


…and ‘Party To Damascus’ by Wyclef Jean starts up over the PA system.




It’s not the reaction that normally greets the clips of Wildchild’s high-flying or Johnny Dangerous’s martial arts expertise, but the response of the crowd is unequivocal. The Tag Team Champions each seem a little taken aback as they emerge with the tag titles strapped around their waists, but they recover quickly.


“And their opponents,” Funyon declares, “at a combined weight of 439lbs, they are the reigning and defending 5-time SWF World Tag Team Champions… WIIIIIIIIIIILD… ANNNNNNNNNNNND… DANNNNNNNNNN-GEROUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!”




Johnny seems to be having difficulty in finding women to chat up as he advances down the entrance ramp, although whether that’s because they’re ignoring his advances or because they all have bad teeth is unclear. Meanwhile Wildchild has run ahead to engage in his normal pre-match ritual of circling the ring and slapping hands, but much to Austin Sly’s amusement the Bahaman Bomber is greeted only with a barrage of middle fingers.


“You’ve got to wonder how this unexpected reception will play on the minds of the champions,” The Franchise remarks to his commentary partner, “although Johnny Dangerous has had his differences with the crowd in the past Wildchild is usually the fans’ golden boy; will it throw him off his game?”


“Mak, in order for it to play on Wild & Dangerous’s minds they’d have to actually have minds,” the Suicide King retorts, “so sadly I don’t foresee much effect.”


Johnny Dangerous hops up to the apron and steps in through the ropes while Wildchild simply somersaults in between the bottom and middle ones. The two men each pick a corner and climb to the second buckle raising their title belts overhead, but the crowd are just as hostile as before:




Johnny and Wildchild climb back down looking a little put out, Wildchild in particular seeming a little lost without the support of the crowd, but they set themselves and hand the title belts over to referee Ronald ‘Red’ Herrington who takes them and shows them to all four sections of the crowd (while Austin Sly motions to make it clear that one of them is destined to end up around his waist). Herrington hands the belts out, then goes to call for the bell… but Toxxic catches his wrist.


“What’s Toxxic up to?” Mak asks in confusion, but all will be revealed as the straight-edger wads his England shirt up again, then points to a section of the crowd to ask if they want it…




Toxxic grins, then turns ninety degrees to the right and points again…




He cocks an eyebrow questioningly at Sly, who wobbles his hand to indicate uncertainty. Toxxic grins again, turns ninety degrees to the right again, then points once more…




Sly gives his partner the thumbs up, but Toxxic hasn’t finished yet; shouldering Wild & Dangerous aside, he points to the section of the crowd sitting on either side of the entrance ramp…




Sly grins as the crowd cheers louder than ever, but Toxxic still seems undecided. He goes across…




…to the right…




…to the left…




…across again…




…across again




…then turns and points at Wild & Dangerous.




The Straight-Edge Sensation laughs at the expression on his opponents’ faces, then turns and hurls his shirt into the crowd behind him (where two girls in heavy eyeliner fight over it) before consulting with Austin Sly about who will start the match. Johnny Dangerous steps out to the apron and Wildchild hops up and down a couple of times to loosen up, while Sly turns to start the match as Toxxic exits to the apron…




…but Sly gives Wildchild the finger, then turns around and tags Toxxic back in!






The former World Champion hops over the top rope back into the ring and beckons Wildchild towards him while referee Herrington rolls his eyes and asks Revolution Zero if they’ve quite finished. Wildchild and Toxxic start to circle each other, Toxxic still grinning slightly but keeping a careful eye on his quicksilver opponent. The Bahaman Bomber is looking for an opening but nothing immediately presents itself, so he approaches cautiously into a lock-up. Both men jockey for position for a moment, then Toxxic slips behind his opponent and pastes Wildchild in the back of the head with a slap!






“Toxxic’s done that before!” Mak Francis says as the Englishman grins infuriatingly at his opponent, “he was treating Wildchild just like this in the last successful defence he and Landon made!”


Wildchild remembers too, and he doesn’t like it; the Bahaman’s eyes narrow, and he seeks to wipe the smile off his opponent’s face with a series of lightning-quick right hands that send Toxxic staggering backwards, caught totally off-guard! The Caribbean Cruiserweight grabs Toxxic’s wrist and goes for an Irish whip, but as Toxxic is wrenched into motion he twists Wildchild’s arm overhead, kills his own momentum and then pulls the Tag Champion into a short-arm knee lift to the gut that blasts the breath from his opponent’s lungs. With Wildchild winded Toxxic follows up with a European uppercut that drops his opponent to the mat.






Wildchild seeks to get back up to his feet quickly and minimise the time he’s at his opponent’s mercy; a worthy goal, but Toxxic simply grabs a double handful of braids and hauls Wildchild into a vicious headbutt!




Wildchild staggers into the ropes and Toxxic heads over to tag Austin Sly, then drops to one knee. Sly grabs the dazed Wildchild and hoists him off his feet by one leg, then powers the Bahaman Bomber down onto Toxxic’s knee with a shinbreaker. Wildchild yells in pain and falls forward, allowing Sly to transition into a single-leg crab while Toxxic gets up and runs for the ropes, bouncing off to fire a basement dropkick into the trapped limb!


“Toxxic’s had the beating of both members of Wild & Dangerous on virtually every occasion he’s faced them one-on-one,” Mak Francis reminds viewers as Toxxic rolls out of the ring, “but the honours in tag team competition are decidedly mixed; both of his reigns with the Tag Titles have been ended by the most successful team in SWF history, and you can bet he wants revenge tonight. The only question is, will his team with Austin Sly be slick enough to stand up to the unparalleled teamwork of the champions?”


“Don’t doubt it,” King advises Mak, “Austin was unlucky last time they met and Wildchild had to resort to the Bahaman Destroyer to pick up the win; this time things will be different!”


Wildchild is clawing his way towards the ropes as Austin cinches back on the single-leg crab, hoping to do as much damage as possible to his opponent’s back and leg and limit his mobility. Wildchild is determined though, and his natural flexibility means he is less affected by the move than some other SWF superstars would be; accordingly the Bahaman Bomber is able to make steady, if slow progress towards the ropes despite Sly’s best efforts to the contrary. With the bottom cable finally just inches away Wildchild makes a final lunge… and grabs it!












…and Austin breaks just before the five count, smiling as Red Herrington reprimands him for his apparent slow reactions. Wildchild looks to make the most of his time at the ropes by holding his leg and trying to nurse some of the pain away, but Sly shows no more respect for their sanctity than he did when Herrington was issuing his five count and the Sly One grabs Wildchild to pull him up to his feet, then pops him with a right hand and Irish whips the Bahaman Bomber across the ring. However, Wildchild’s leg is still up to a bit of acrobatics as the Tag Champion leaps to the middle rope as he approaches, then launches himself back off to take down the startled Sly with the Pinball!






Wildchild considers following up for a moment, but instead hurries to his corner and tags Johnny Dangerous in to ensure that a fresh man gets into the match as soon as possible. Johnny tries to take advantage of Sly being off his feet but Austin scrambles back up a vertical base and faces Johnny down.






Sly and Dangerous advance towards each other for a lock-up… but Sly suddenly shoots low instead and grabs a single-leg pick that takes Johnny off his feet and down to the mat. Austin tries to turn his opponent over into the same crab that he executed on Wildchild moments before, but Johnny is wise to it and uses his free foot to kick Sly off, then kips up to his feet and lunges at the Sly One. He grabs a low waistlock, then snaps his foot up and over his own back to kick the startled Sly in the face; with Austin in retreat again Johnny pops upright, then spins on an axis to slam a Uraken into Sly’s face and sends the larger man staggering into the corner! Johnny looks to capitalise by grabbing Sly’s wrist and Irish whipping his opponent across the ring from one neutral corner to another; Sly hits hard and Johnny charges after him, looking for an avalanche, but Sly gets his knees up at the last moment and Dangerous simply crashes into them!




Johnny falls back with the breath blasted from his lungs and Sly jumps into action, leaning down and grabbing his opponent’s leg before spinning through three hundred and sixty degrees to apply a spinning toehold. Johnny grunts in pain, but the ropes are not far away so he gasps to catch his breath, then starts to try and reach for them…


…and makes it!












Sly releases the hold, then pulls Johnny up and goes to the eyes to ensure that the Barracuda remains subdued. Herrington is unimpressed but Sly couldn’t care less; he grabs Johnny by the head and starts off at a run, then leaps into the air to finish with a knee-drop bulldog on the unfortunate Secret Agent.






“Revolution Zero certainly seem to be holding their own in the early stages here,” Mak comments as Austin Sly rolls to the apron while Johnny holds his face, “but can they maintain this momentum through the match-LOOK AT THAT!”




Austin Sly has gone airborne, leaping to the top rope and then springboarding across the ring to nail a flying elbow drop on Johnny Dangerous! Johnny clutches his ribs, but only for a moment; Sly pushes his shoulders down to the mat, then makes a cover…


















…but Johnny kicks out just after two!






Sly rolls off his opponent and grabs Johnny’s leg again, then starts to spin in the hope of applying the Figure Four. Johnny is alert to his plan however and plants his free foot firmly in Sly’s backside, then shoves his opponent away! Sly staggers forward, off-balance, and Johnny scrambles up to his feet before reaching out and grabbing his opponent by the neck to bring him down with a neckbreaker!






Austin holds his neck and Johnny gets back up to his feet to tag Wildchild back in. The Bahaman Bomber steps back into the ring with determination written on his features and he and Johnny join forces to pick Sly up and fire some kicks into his gut to soften him up before Wildchild lifts the Sly One up for a suplex and dumps his legs onto Johnny’s shoulders. They then swing Sly off so he is draped chest-down over the top rope with Johnny holding him in place, and Wildchild runs for the far ropes before rebounding and leaping into the air straight over Johnny to land on Sly’s back!


“Slam Dance by Wild & Dangerous,” Mak Francis calls as Austin is brought crashing down to the mat, “and the champions will be looking to reassert their hold on the match here.” Sure enough, Wildchild rolls Sly over into a cover as Johnny leaves the ring…


















…but the man from Missouri kicks out! Wildchild doesn’t give him any time to recover and instead grabs hold of Sly’s head and hauls the bigger man up towards his feet; any thoughts Sly may have had of fighting out of his predicament go as WC plants his feet and hoists Austin up - not without some effort - then twists around and dumps the Sly One back down with a corkscrew suplex.




Sly has barely stopped moving when Wildchild scrambles up to his feet again and, with barely a twinge from the leg Sly and Toxxic were attacking, vaults to the top rope in one fluid motion before backflipping off with a moonsault that comes down right across Austin’s ribs! Red Herrington dives to count…


















…but Austin kicks out again! Wildchild takes this disappointment in his stride and gets up to make the tag to Johnny Dangerous, then turns back and grabs Austin’s legs. Dangerous runs for the far ropes, rebounds off as Wildchild tucks his opponent’s legs under his arms…


…Johnny hits the near ropes and rebounds again…


…and Wildchild falls backwards to slingshot Sly up into a clothesline from Johnny!




Wildchild looks around in confusion at the reaction from the crowd and shakes his head as he rolls out of the ring. Meanwhile Johnny covers the agonised Sly and hooks the leg…



















-broken up by Toxxic!




Johnny glares after Toxxic as the Straight-Edge Sensation retreats back to his corner under urging from Red Herrington, but the count was well and truly broken so the Barracuda makes the best of it and carries on. He grabs Sly and drags the bigger man up to his feet, then measures him and leaps into the air to deliver an enzuigiri…


…but Austin ducks and Johnny’s foot sails overhead before the Tag Champion lands face-down on the canvas! Sly drops and grabs his opponent’s foot to try and apply the Slylock but Johnny has no intention of being trapped in another submission and he rolls over onto his back, then kicks Sly off with everything he has. Sly staggers back and Johnny rolls the other way, then tags Wildchild back in.


“A succession of quick tags here from the champions, good strategy,” Mak observes.


“They just can’t handle Sly so they each keep ducking out!” King retorts.


Wildchild hops over the ropes and charges at Sly, taking him down with a leg lariat that draws another round of boos from the crowd. Both champions then pull the Sly One back up, take a collective step back, then-




“Super Chicklit Buster!” Mak yells as the double superkick strikes home, knocking Sly off his feet.


“That’s a stupid name for a move!” King shouts back as Wildchild makes the cover while Johnny wheels around to block Toxxic off in case the straight-edger decides to try and break this pin as well…



















-but Sly gets a foot on the ropes!






Wildchild looks disappointed and Johnny grudgingly steps out to the apron under Herrington’s five-count before the Bahaman Bomber grabs Sly and brings him up to his feet again. He takes hold of Austin’s wrist and Irish whips the St. Louis native across the ring into the turnbuckles, then follows him in and leaps and spins into the Blue Crush!






Once again the crowd jeers the Caribbean Cruiserweight, and once again Wildchild seems slightly perturbed by the reaction, looking around to make sure that he’s not imagining it. Yes, they really are booing him… so he shrugs and steps out to the ring apron as Sly staggers out of the corner, then grabs hold of the top rope and jumps upwards. The Bahaman springboards into the ring and flies towards the winded Austin, catching him in a front facelock and spinning around to deliver the Presumed Guilty…


…but Sly manages to wrap his arms around Wildchild and hold him up off the mat, then takes a few unsteady steps backwards before bridging back and hurling the Tag Champion overhead to collide backfirst with the turnbuckles with a sickening release Northern Lights suplex!






“Good God!” Mak shouts, “Wildchild just hit the buckles, then landed on his head!”


“Maybe that’ll knock some sense into him,” King says spitefully as Austin Sly pushes himself back to his feet. “This should be the end of Wild and Dangerous’ fifth reign right here!”


Austin shakes his head awkwardly, trying to gather his bearings again. With his opponent down in the corner, the Sly One realizes this may be his best chance for redemption and quickly grabs Wildchild by the hand and drags him towards the center of the ring before pinning his shoulders to the mat. Herrington slides in for the count…





















-but Wildchild kicks out before the three. Slightly perturbed, Austin quickly covers his opponent again!













The Tropical Tumbler again gets out before the count of three. Frustrated, Austin pulls his opponent up by a chunk of braids before twisting his head around and slamming down to the mat with a neckbreaker. The Revolutionary quickly latches hold of Wildchild by the hair again, dragging him into the corner to tag in Toxxic once again.








Sly grabs Wildchild by the throat, lifting him in the air and slamming him down across an extended knee as Toxxic comes off the top rope with a Hangover! Referee Red Herrington dispatches Austin from the ring as Toxxic makes the cover on the hapless Dub-Cee.




















- Johnny Dangerous breaks up the cover just in time!




“Get him out of there, ref!” King yells.


“Smart move by Johnny, breaking up the pin and preserving those Tag Team Titles.”


“More like a cowardly move, Mak.”


Herrington is once again right on top of the situation, forcing Johnny out of the ring before he can interrupt the match any more than he already has. Toxxic isn’t discouraged though, pulling his opponent up into a front facelock before hitting the -


“Unfinished Business!” shouts King, obviously still excited.


- and transitioning directly into another pin. Herrington slides in again to make the count…



















… but is once again interrupted by Dangerous! Johnny is escorted out of the ring, this time with a stricter warning from Herrington as Toxxic climbs back to his feet, dragging the groggy Wildchild along with him to his corner. Toxxic makes the tag to Austin, who casually enters between the second and third ropes as his partner climbs the turnbuckles. Sly bends Dub-Cee’s leg back into a ninety degree angle before lifting him up as Toxxic comes off the top rope to assist in the spiked shin breaker!




“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone take Wildchild out of his game like the team of Sly and Toxxic have here tonight!” Mak says, disappointment in his words. “If they’re able to keep this up, I think we might have new champions here tonight!”


“You sound shocked, Mak. I came to that conclusion a long time ago.”


The Caribbean Cruiser writhes in pain while trying to protect his leg, but Austin has spotted an opportunity. Prying the injured leg of his opponent free, Sly locks Wildchild’s ankle in between his thighs before collapsing down on top of him and placing him in an STF! The Tropical Tumbler cries out as the pain that originated in his leg begins to spread to his back and neck causing Herrington to check for a submission. It’s refused, though, as the Tag Team Champion tries to figure a way out of this situation.








… and that’s not helping him much. Johnny Dangerous looks on anxiously, but he’s aware that he’s pushed his luck with breaking up pins recently and stays on the apron with anxiety writ large across his face.








However, Wildchild is not out of it yet. The Bahaman Bomber grits his teeth and starts trying to claw his way towards the ropes, fighting through the pain. It takes a lot of effort to haul 240lbs around, but he has three limbs to do it with and is strengthened by a burning desire not to lose the Tag Titles. Even the chants of the fans, so usually on his side, can’t take the fight out of him…








…and he reaches the ropes! Referee Herrington grabs Austin to pull him away, clearly not trusting the Sly One to break the hold until just before the DQ mark, but to his surprise Sly releases almost immediately… then gets to his feet and starts laying stomps in on Wildchild!


“That’s not necessary!” Mak shouts.


“Necessary? Maybe not,” King concedes, “but most certainly fun!”


Not fun for Wildchild though, that’s for sure. The Bahaman can do little except curl into a protective ball against Sly’s stomps, and once the more powerful man has laid in a few more shots he grabs Wildchild and hauls him back to the centre of the ring. Dub-Cee wakes up and tries to scramble for freedom but Austin traps his leg again, then unwinds some of his wrist tape to drop down and apply what would be an STF, if it wasn’t for the fact that the tape was wrapped around Wildchild’s windpipe! Needless to say, Red Herrington is less than impressed…












…and Sly breaks it just before the referee is forced to disqualify him. Herrington is furious, as is Johnny Dangerous, and Wildchild… well, Wildchild’s just concentrating on breathing right now. The thing is, Austin Sly has something to say about that…












…and once more, Sly releases his opponent within a millisecond or two of having the match thrown out! Herrington has had enough and actually leans down to rip the rest of the offending wrist tape off Sly’s arm, but Austin just flips him off and rolls Wildchild over into a cover…



















-broken up by Johnny!




“Get him out of the ring!” King screeches, “Wild & Dangerous have been allowed to flout the rules for too long Mak, something needs to be done!”


“Austin Sly was just choking Wildchild with his damn wrist tape!” Mak shouts back, “get a sense of perspective!”


Sly grabs Wildchild’s leg and hauls the wheezing Bahaman over towards the Revolution Zero corner as Johnny is ordered to leave the ring by Herrington, then tags in Toxxic. The Englishman raises his right arm and slaps the forearm to a cheer from the crowd, then climbs the turnbuckles and sits on the top, ready to come off with a flying European uppercut. Sly brings Wildchild up to something approaching a vertical base, then bends down and folds his opponent’s knee up under him. Sly heaves upwards to lift his opponent for another shinbreaker… but Wildchild pushes himself off the mat at the same time, and is able to backflip over the Sly One to land on the mat behind him! Wildchild staggers, but pushes Sly in the back before the bigger man can react to send him stumbling towards Toxxic; the Englishman performs a hasty leapfrog off the buckles to avoid being headbutted in the groin by his own partner, but the moment he lands Wildchild leaps upwards and wraps his legs around the straight-edger’s head, then snaps backwards with a hurricanrana!




Toxxic goes tumbling across the ring towards the Wild & Dangerous corner where Johnny is waiting for his partner with an outstretched arm. Wildchild gets back to his feet, tries to regain his bearings and then turns away from where Austin Sly is being ordered out of the ring by Red Herrington to lunge towards Johnny…




…and gets brought down by a desperation soccer tackle from Toxxic!




Johnny pounds the top buckle in frustration as his partner is cut off from reaching him, and the damn crowd cheers for his enemies again! Toxxic picks himself up, shaking his head to clear the remnants of the dizziness brought on by Wildchild’s rana-




-and they seem to clear rather quickly as he suddenly lashes out and catches Johnny with a Stephenskick that knocks the unsuspecting Barracuda clean off the apron!






“A cheap shot from Toxxic,” Mak growls through gritted teeth.


“Oh, and Johnny hasn’t done any offensive moves whilst not being the legal man in this match,” King says, dripping sarcasm. “You just can’t handle the fact that Revolution Zero are holding their own against the Tag Champions, Francis.”


Wildchild is brought up to his feet, listing slightly to one side from the effects of the soccer tackle; not that Toxxic cares, as he just grabs the Bahaman Bomber’s wrist and Irish whips his opponent into the ropes. However, Wildchild latches both arms around the top cable and catches himself before he rebounds into whatever nasty surprise the Englishman has waiting for him, a move that Toxxic does not appreciate. The straight-edger charges at his opponent immediately, hoping to catch his opponent off-guard, but Wildchild sees him coming and ducks his head at the last moment to elevate Toxxic up and over the ropes, back bodydropping him clean out to the floor!








Wildchild looks around in astonishment at the continued hostility of the English crowd, then turns and heads towards his corner… but there is no Johnny Dangerous there, a fact that causes him to pull up in his tracks and receive a barrage of jeers and middle fingers from the fans as they enjoy his momentary confusion. It takes Wildchild a couple of seconds to realise that Johnny is down, not having seen the superkick that knocked Dangerous off the apron…






…and now the crowd are really getting on his nerves. He is the Wildchild, the premier high-risk, high-flying performer of the SWF. He has put titles, his well-being, his career on the line again and again by pulling off stunts that no-one else is prepared to do, perhaps no-one else can do. And now a simple accident of geography, the fact that he was born in the Bahamas and his opponent was born much closer to their current location, has turned this entire crowd against him. It is perhaps with this in mind that Wildchild turns. Instead of going to his corner and waiting for Johnny to get back up, perhaps going out and helping him up, he heads for the side of the ring where Toxxic is starting to pick himself up off the ground. By God, this crowd will see what the Wildchild can do tonight, whether they like it or not.


So he runs to the ropes and vaults up and over them, twisting in midair to land with his feet on the second rope and facing back into the ring, then backflipping off towards Toxxic. He did this in their last match and caught the Straight-Edge Sensation with an Asai moonsault variation of the Sunny In England, an irony that wasn’t lost on him.


The trouble is, this time we are in England. And the sun has most definitely set.










“Toxxic just dropkicked Wildchild out of the air!” Mak Francis yells as the crowd erupts, “he saw him coming this time!”


“That’ll teach you to steal someone else’s move!” Suicide King roars as Wildchild clutches his ribs. Toxxic gets back to his feet, wipes fake sweat from his brow, grins at the crowd and rolls back into the ring. Herrington quickly checks him over to make sure he didn’t take any bad bumps to the head on his fall to the outside, and this allows Austin Sly to drop off the apron, grab hold of Wildchild and first haul the Bahaman Bomber to his feet, then propel him into the ringpost!




Wildchild staggers away and Sly takes hold of him again, then rolls him in under the bottom rope. Toxxic sees his chance and dives on top for the pin…



















-but Johnny gets back into the ring just in time to break it up!












The double chant starts ringing around Salisbury Plain, one half of the crowd leading and the other half responding. Johnny might normally get rather annoyed at this sort of heckling but right now he’s just relieved that he saved the match for his team. Red Herrington ejects him from the ring and a sneering Toxxic makes ‘shooing’ motions with one black-nailed hand, then reaches down and grabs a handful of braids to raise Wildchild up again. The Straight-Edge Sensation applies a standing headscissors, underhooks both of his opponent’s arms and hoists him UP…










…but Wildchild lands back on his feet to counter the Stephens Shock Syndrome, then bridges backwards to send Toxxic flying overhead and onto the mat! Johnny whoops in delight and starts pounding on the top buckle again to encourage his teammate onwards, and Wildchild lunges for the tag…


…but Toxxic grabs his foot and stops him in his tracks! Wildchild turns, hopping on one foot as the Englishman waves a mocking finger-




-and catches an enzuigiri as Wildchild leaps up and brings his foot around in a whistling arc to connect with Toxxic’s skull! The Englishman staggers but retains his grip, so Wildchild simply leaps up again and lashes out with a spinning mule kick that catches the former World Champion square in the chest and not only throws him backwards but propels the Caribbean Cruiserweight forwards! Wildchild reaches up and finally there are no obstacles between him and his partner…






Johnny leaps over the top rope to chorus of boos, but the unfamiliar reaction doesn’t phase the Barracuda who clotheslines Toxxic down as soon as he gets up again, then runs on to Shotei Austin Sly off the apron!


“Johnny Dangerous is back in the match, and on fire!” Mak shouts.


“I wish…”


Dangerous turns around again and finds two arms suddenly wrapped around his chest as Toxxic looks for the Sambo Slam, but Johnny’s reflexes are up to the task and before his eyelinered opponent can hoist him off his feet he’s fired one, two, three elbows into the side of Toxxic’s head! The Englishman staggers sideways and-




-Johnny nails him with the Johnny Kick! Toxxic slumps backwards to the mat and Johnny runs to the ropes, bounces off… pauses to give the finger to the crowd…




…then leaps into the air to come down with a fistdrop to Toxxic’s face!


“Armed & Dangerous,” Mak shouts, “he’s got the cover!”



















-but Toxxic kicks out, it taking more than a jumping fistdrop to dampen his desire for the Tag Titles. Dangerous slaps the mat, more to fire himself up than real anger at not getting the pin, and starts to haul the Englishman back up to a vertical base. He slips behind Toxxic and tucks his head under his opponent’s arm, then hoists the straight-edger upwards…




…but no, Toxxic wriggles out and rolls away, countering it into an armdrag! Johnny rolls through and back up to his feet, and as Toxxic charges the Barracuda ducks his head and takes his onrushing opponent up into a Fireman’s Carry, then flips forward to drive the Englishman’s back into the mat with the Spinal Explosion! Johnny leans back into the cover…



















-broken up by Austin Sly!






Johnny exchanges some angry words with Austin Sly as the Sly One is herded back out of the ring by Herrington; Sly places one hand on his bicep and makes an obscene pumping motion as he retreats, which further infuriates Johnny who has to be held back by Red Herrington as Austin steps out through the ropes, laughing.


“Johnny needs to refocus,” Mak says with worry in his voice, “he can’t let Austin Sly distract him from Toxxic, it’s Toxxic’s who’s the legal man…”


Johnny turns around, only for Toxxic to have got back to his feet and grab the Barracuda’s head in both hands to sit out into a jawbreaker!


“Too late!” King laughs as Dangerous staggers backwards clutching his face, “five-second attention span, that’s Johnny Dangerous! Or so the ladies tell me…”


“King, the only thing the ladies tell you is to stop calling them,” Mak snorts.


As Johnny holds his jaw Toxxic takes advantage of the distraction to launch himself into a forward roll across the mat. Johnny makes a grab but misses and the straight-edger comes up to tag in Austin Sly; the two Revolutionaries rush Dangerous and start beating on him, then Sly hooks Johnny up in a front facelock and throws the Barracuda’s arm over his neck before hoisting him up and dumping a leg down on each of Toxxic’s shoulders…


“Welcome to the Revolution, Johnny!” King yells in delight as Toxxic and Sly set up for their devastating elevated rolling neckbreaker… but suddenly Wildchild is there, and the Bahaman Bomber launches himself into a chopblock that takes Toxxic’s right knee out! The Straight-Edge Sensation crumples backwards and Johnny lands back on his feet; Sly hasn’t seen what went on, and the momentary confusion allows Johnny to regain the initiative. Wildchild drags Toxxic out of the ring and Johnny sets himself, then brings Sly up and over with a suplex of his own!




“Johnny’s not finished,” Mak calls, “he’s going for the rolling verticals!”


…and sure enough, Johnny rolls his hips and comes back up to his feet with a pained Austin in tow. He sets his feet, braces himself and-




-nails the second!


“Fight him off, Austin!” King yells.


“King, Wild & Dangerous were working over Austin Sly’s back earlier,” Mak reminds his commentary partner, “if Johnny gets the third one in this series that could be it for Revolution Zero!”


Johnny rolls his hips again and comes back up to his feet; Austin is trying to sandbag but the Barracuda remorselessly hauls him up…


“Toxxic will save him!” King snaps.


At this moment Wildchild grabs a handful of Toxxic’s hair and, with a certain amount of glee in his eyes, rams the straight-edger headfirst into a ringpost.






Johnny sets himself for the third time…




“He hit it!” Mak shouts as Johnny floats over into a cover and hooks the leg, “they could retain the titles here!”






















“He kicked out!” Mak yells, winning the Obvious Announcer award for the second year running, “Austin Sly kicked out, and this match is still in progress! But,” the Franchise adds, “Sly is in trouble, and Toxxic has been busted open on the outside! The Champions have taken control, and I’m not sure if even Toxxic’s countrymen in the crowd can provide enough of an edge to turn this around!”


Johnny slaps the mat three times in frustration, angry that Herrington didn’t call for the bell, but the referee remains firm in his decision. Dangerous rolls his eyes and grabs Austin, then hauls the bigger man up to his feet. Austin tries to fight him off but the pain in his back is too great and Johnny is able to duck under Sly’s right arm, wrap his own across Sly’s chest and then hoist him up to plant the Revolutionary into the mat with a Uranage. Austin hits hard and lays there gasping with the wind knocked out of him…


…and Johnny turns to point to a ringpost.




“Johnny Dangerous is going up top, and this could be the moment where the match is won or lost,” Mak Francis predicts as Johnny starts to climb while Wildchild watches him from the apron. “If he hits whatever he’s going for I can’t see Sly kicking out, but if he misses…”


Johnny reaches the top rope, facing into the ring, and raises both arms above his head to draw even more boos from the crowd. Then he swings his arms down and back before snapping them forward and leaping into the air…


…flipping backwards as he goes…


…and coming down into a Shooting Star Press!






“YES! YES!” King roars, “no-one home! Suck on that, Secret Agent Man!”


Wildchild clutches his face in despair as his tag team partner crashes and burns, Austin Sly having rolled aside at the last second! Red Herrington dives down to check on Johnny, and as the Barracuda rolls over onto his back the referee satisfies himself that Johnny is hurt but not seriously injured…


…and Austin Sly rises to his feet, staggers to the ropes and leaps upwards to springboard off into the Sky Surfer!




“THAT’S IT,” King roars as Herrington drops back down to count…































Oh, but it wasn’t. Ronald ‘Red’ Herrington holds up the damning two digits to make it clear to Austin Sly and all the fans in attendance that no, Johnny Dangerous got the shoulder up! Austin Sly looks at Herrington in frank and exhausted disbelief as what he thought was his last gasp fails to get the three, an emotion echoed by the spluttering sounds the Suicide King is making on commentary, but the referee remains adamant and Sly sighs before starting to bring Johnny Dangerous back to his feet.


“I thought you were right there King,” Mak admits, “I though Austin Sly had sealed the deal, but Johnny Dangerous was just that little bit too tough! Now we’re going to have to see if Sly can bring it home… but don’t forget that Johnny’s partner is on the apron, while Toxxic is still down on the outside!”


Wincing in pain, Sly brings the winded Dangerous up and wraps his arms around his opponent’s head and neck, looking for the Sold Out, but Johnny starts firing elbows into the Missourian’s head which knocks him sideways; Johnny follows up with a desperation Uraken that knocks Sly staggering, and this allows the Barracuda to make it to his corner and tag in the Wildchild!




Wildchild climbs up the ropes and takes a seated position on the top turnbuckle, then beckons to Johnny - the Barracuda grabs the dazed Sly and shoves him towards his partner, then starts lifting Austin off the ground. Wildchild leans forward to bring the Sly One into position, and the crowd starts to get the idea…






“They’re setting Sly up for the Bahaman Destroyer!” Mak calls, “this pinned him last time, and it’s pinned Toxxic in the past to win Wild & Dangerous the titles they currently hold!”


Johnny gets Sly up into a sort-of standing position on the first rope where Wildchild can hold him in place in preparation for the move… but at that moment two black-nailed hands suddenly reach into the ring and grab Johnny’s ankles, then pull the Barracuda off his feet and out under the ropes!




“Toxxic’s back in the game!” King yells, “there’s hope yet, Francis!”


Toxxic, blood trickling down his face, delivers a stunning European uppercut to the startled Johnny to floor him, then scrambles into the ring and leaps up to start pounding away on Wildchild. The Bahaman is forced to release his grip and Toxxic drags Sly away from him, then leaps back up onto the ropes himself, delivers a headbutt that causes both men to sway and smears a little blood onto Wildchild’s forehead-




…and then Toxxic clamps one hand around his opponent’s throat.


“CHOKESLAM!” Mak shouts in a sudden frenzy, “NOT THIS AGAIN! TOXXIC, NO!”


No. Not because Toxxic has had a sudden change of heart, but because the malicious lopsided grin that’s crept across his face has been wiped clean off by the return of Johnny Dangerous who delivers a kick to the back that cuts the Englishman off in his tracks. Sly charges at Johnny but the Barracuda drops down and low-bridges the ropes to send the Sly One tumbling to the outside, then gets back to his feet…


…and takes Toxxic off the second rope and onto his shoulders in the Electric Chair position.


“Dangerous Drop coming up!” Mak calls, trying to keep up with the action. Wildchild eyes Toxxic darkly, swallowing and rubbing at his throat, then signals for Johnny to turn around so he can deliver the bulldog that will surely finish this match.


But Toxxic is nothing if not a tricksy bugger, and he rarely stays where his opponents want him to.




“HA! Reverse hurricanrana!” King shouts as the Straight-Edge Sensation suddenly snaps backwards, spiking Johnny Dangerous onto his head, “eat that, Johnny!”






“Eat that, Toxxic!” Mak shouts back as Wildchild comes off the top rope with a forward flip to deliver the Shooting Star Dropkick to Toxxic as the Englishman gets back up. Wildchild scrambles back up to his feet and after his opponent, not wanting to give him time to recover; with Johnny rolling out of the ring holding his head Wildchild drags Toxxic up, doubles him back over with a kick and turns around to face away from the straight-edger before threading his right arm underneath Toxxic’s right and his left arm underneath Toxxic’s left… he twists around, bringing the Englishman up onto his back with his head pointing down towards the mat…


“WILD RIDE!” Mak shouts.




…but the Caribbean Cruiserweight’s primal scream that precedes the move is cut short as Toxxic kicks his legs and flips back off his opponent’s shoulders, landing in a crouch! Before Wildchild can reach Toxxic lunges forwards and takes the startled Bahaman up onto his shoulders off the mat into an Electric Chair of his own and reaches upwards to try and lock his hands around Wildchild’s neck…




“DANGERLUST!” King screams… but Wildchild knocks Toxxic’s hands away and fires one, two, three right hands down onto his opponent’s skull, then throws his weight forwards and down to bring the Englishman over with a victory roll! He grabs Toxxic’s legs on the way past and ends up with his opponent’s shoulders pinned to the mat, ready for the referee to count…




…but Herrington doesn’t count, because Toxxic’s not the legal man! Wildchild looks around in puzzlement for a moment until the referee is able to communicate this problem to him, and just as Wildchild realises Toxxic manages to break the pinning cradle. Both men get to their feet but Wildchild is the faster, and even as Toxxic gets up to lunge at him the Bahaman Bomber drives a kick into his opponent’s midsection to double him over, then leaps up for the Caribbean Cutter…


…but Toxxic spins out of the way…


…but Wildchild readjusts and lands on his feet instead of his backside, then spins around himself and pops Toxxic with a tornado right hand even at the Straight-Edge Sensation looks to try and regain the advantage! Toxxic staggers and Wildchild prepares himself-




-but for what we’ll never know, because Wildchild made the mistake of forgetting about Austin Sly. Sly jumps up onto the apron behind Wildchild and reaches out to snare the Bahaman in a reverse facelock, then twists around into a ¾ facelock and simply drops off to the ground to guillotine his opponent’s throat across the top rope. Wildchild is whiplashed back clutching at his windpipe…


…and staggers straight into Toxxic, who drags him into a standing headscissors. The straight-edger hooks one arm… hooks the other arm… then hoists his opponent UP…



…straight up. And holds him there.


There is just enough time, perhaps, for Wildchild to realise what’s about to happen.








Johnny Dangerous clambers back into the ring a moment too late, takes one look at his fallen tag team partner and charges at Toxxic in a frenzy of bloodlust, but the Straight-Edge Sensation meets him and starts exchanging blows with the maddened Barracuda. As a result, when Austin Sly starts climbing the turnbuckles to the top rope, there is no-one to stop him.








Sly grins, crouches down and tenses like a coiled spring, then leaps…


…through the air…


…and backflipping as he goes…


…to land squarely on top of Wildchild.




“SHOOTING SLY PRESS!” Mak shouts. ‘Red’ Herrington dives to count…


























“YES!” King shouts, “what a glorious day for wrestling, Francis! What a glorious day for the SWF! Wild & Dangerous have been removed from the throne they’ve polluted and… take a look at Johnny, Mak, take a look at him! Have you ever seen such a sore loser!?”


Johnny Dangerous has ignored the final bell and is still exchanging blows with Toxxic, although in all fairness the straight-edger is making no move to pull away from the conflict either. Herrington calls for the bell again and rushes over to try and separate the two.


“King, I think Johnny is mad at Toxxic for what he did to Wildchild!” Mak retorts, “Toxxic could have crippled him with that move! Johnny Dangerous would be man enough to take the loss of a match, even of a title, but not for someone to injure his friend!”


Herrington is having no luck, but a moment later it all becomes academic anyway. Austin Sly steams in and starts firing rights at Dangerous, and the combined assault gets too much for Johnny. With the bell still ringing manically in the background, the Revolution Zero pairing start beating Johnny down, and then Sly hooks him up in a front facelock.


“There’s no need for this!” Mak shouts, “you’ve won the match, you’ve won the titles-”


“He was the one who kept fighting, Francis!” King replies, “as ye sow, so shall ye reap!”


Austin heaves Johnny up, then rests his legs on Toxxic’s shoulders. Herrington, still calling on them vainly to stop, barely gets out of the way as Austin suddenly twists and drops to bring the Barracuda down with the Welcome To The Revolution.




Toxxic and Sly rise back to their feet, raise their hands in victory, then turn around and look expectantly at Herrington. The referee glowers at them, but leans out of the ring to take hold of the precious Tag Team Titles before passing them - with only the faintest hint of reluctance - to their new owners.










“Fans, we all heard Toxxic say it was ‘open season’,” Mak says, recalling the Storm that took place in France, “we all heard Revolution Zero warn Wild & Dangerous that they didn’t want to get involved in a war of attrition, that they’d opened hostilities on a fight they couldn’t win… but I never thought they’d go this far. I never thought Toxxic would bring out the Demonstar Driver, the move made famous - or should I say, infamous - by Nathaniel Kibagami, one of his worst enemies. Especially not,” the Franchise adds, “when Kibagami is currently under contract to the SWF… theoretically, at least.”


“Mak, Toxxic knows damn well where Kibagami is, and he knows that Kibagami is no longer a threat to anyone,” King snorts, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled that move out just as a ‘fuck you’ to Silent. But what I take issue with,” the Gambling Man continues as Sly and Toxxic each climb a turnbuckle to salute the crowd with their newly-won gold, “is your focus on Toxxic. Have you forgotten that it was Austin Sly’s intervention that turned the tables on Wildchild? That Sly busted out a move I don’t think we’ve ever seen him do before? That Sly got the winning pin? You’re looking at half of the team, Mak.”


“Oh, I’m looking at both of them alright,” Mak replies darkly. “King, Revolution Zero may have won tonight, but I don’t think Wild & Dangerous will give up. They’ll want those titles back, and they’ll want to avenge not just this loss, but also the manner of it.”


“Maybe, but-”


“-and now,” Mak continues, cutting the Suicide King off, “it’s getting towards time for our main event ladies and gentlemen, as Alan Clark squares off against ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ Jay Hawke to unify the World and International Championships. It’s all on the line and all to play for, as this video package will show…”


The last shot of live action we see before the screen fades out is of Austin Sly and Toxxic, belts clutched in their hands, walking back up the entrance ramp and slapping hands with the crowd. Tonight, life is good.




Welcome to the Revolution.

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“What a night it has been so far, King, and now it is time for our main event! Unification is the name of the game!” the voice of Mak Francis can be heard over the cheering crowd bunched in around the ring, trying not to disturb the wonder of the world they have been invited to and instead taking their gaze to the giant SmarkTron positioned just beyond the lowly stage setup.


“It’s going to be a technical bore-fest if Jay Hawke has anything to say about it!”


“And I thought you liked Hawke…” retorts Francis as the screen shows how both men got to where they are this evening, both having the commonality of having to defeat Johnny Dangerous en route to Ground Zero. Alan Clark wanted nothing more than to defeat Landon Maddix on that night nearly two months ago – title or no title, but has found his place in the Federation ever since taking the championship into his own grasp at 13th Hour.


For Jay Hawke, however, he found himself having to fight through the Barracuda, a man who believed he had been the victim of a horrible attack courtesy of Landon Maddix and Alan Clark and who wanted this night to be his big return to the spotlight provided by the World Heavyweight Championship.


“You have to know that Johnny Dangerous is watching this backstage, he has got to be kicking himself for not making it to the main event here tonight!”


“Who cares about him, anyway? He can’t seem to do anything without his partner around lately. That’s why he’ll always be remembered as a TEAM champion rather than as a World Champion!”


“He’s held the belt twice, you know…” adds Mak, only to have the Suicide King scoff almost in his face.


“And he held it less time than Alan Clark already has! What are we even having this match for, anyway, are we closing down? Alan Clark shouldn’t be involved in unification matches! We could lose our (bleep)ing jobs!” the censors once again make their presence known as the camera swings to face the ring, a lone spotlight from a make-shift tower catching the gleam in Funyon’s eyes…


“Don’t worry, King, it’ll be okay…” but the voice of the Franchise is almost drowned out, both by the sounds of Funyon and the creepy dronings of Pink Floyd…


“Ladies and Gentlemen…it is now time for our GROUND ZERO MAIN EVENT!! It is scheduled for one fall with no time limit and it is to determine S-W-F’s UNDISPUTED HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WOOOOOORLD…”






The crowd explodes, first in joy and excitement and then in total disgust for the man stepping through the curtain in a wash of purple lights and even purple tights. He gives the crowd nothing but a casual glance before pushing his robe open, revealing the championship that is strapped around his waist.


“Introducing first…he hails from the Hall of Fame city of Cleveland, Ohio and weighs in tonight at a lean, mean two-hundred-seventeen pounds…he is “The Dean of Professional Wrestling” himself and your S-W-F International Champion…JAAAAAY HAAAAAAAWKE!”



Jay smiles, more because of where he has found himself rather than due to the jeers of the Stonehenge crowd. After a relaxing roll of his neck he peels the robe from his body and climbs the stairs to the ring, keeping his championship around his waist as he waits idly by for his opponent…


“And introducing his opponent…”


“Please Stand Clear Of…” the announcement fades, being replaced by the orchestral sounds of “To Die For”, an apt description if there ever was on for the championship Alan Clark wears around his own waist as he steps through the curtain with Walter Reynolds a few short strides behind.


“…being accompanied to the ring by Walter Reynolds...representing Epcot’s United Kingdom Pavilion and weighing in at two-hundred-twenty-five pounds…he is the SWF Heavyweight Champion of the Woooooorld… ALAAAAAAAN CLAAAAARK!”



“There isn’t going to be much cheering going on in this match tonight, King. I thought Tom Flesher was all about giving the fans what they wanted?”


“This is about good business! They destroy each other, and then Toxxic can come in and pick at the scraps!” this brings a smile to the face of the Gambling Man, the mention of the Revolution Zero leader always cheering him up – the Sensation no doubt watching along with everyone else that can get their eyes on a television monitor.


“Alan Clark is taking his time getting in the ring. Look at his eyes, he’s running them up and down Jay Hawke who is doing nothing but returning the stare right back!” Mak calls as Alan takes his time moving around the ring, circling the entire thing before Reynolds feels he can take his own place. Satisfied, Alan climbs the steps and hops over the top rope and into the ring, his trademark smirk plastered across his face as he moves in and gets nose-to-nose with Hawke. Not a single word is exchanged as Funyon clears the area and is replaced by referee Mathew Kivell, who tries his best to get between the two men and ask them to remove their belts. “Neither of them even want to move at this point.”


“I told you, bore-fest!”


“This isn’t boring, King, this is what kind of intensity the fans like to see here in the SWF!” the Franchise does his best to spin the moment around as Clark and Hawke step away from each other but keep their eyes locked. As if almost in silent agreement, each man slowly undoes their own championship and slowly raises it high in the air, the slight height advantage for the World champion putting the true prize of the night that much higher over the belt in his opponents hands – a belt Alan Clark was forced to give up when he finally reached the apex of the company two months prior. “A scene that reminds us of just two short weeks ago after Alan’s first big defense against Spike Jenkins, these two men are out to prove something here tonight and we are about to get it on!”


Kivell quickly takes the championships from each man and holds them up himself before depositing them with a ringside attendant and calling for the bell…




“Bell’s gone, and it’s ti—“




“What a slap to Alan Clark’s face right there!” Francis exclaims as his train of thought was interrupted by the sound of Jay Hawke’s right hand careening off of Alan Clark’s left cheek.


“And only Clark would smile like that in return!” the ringside steady-cam zooms in on the face of Clark, the red streak from Hawke’s palm barely noticeable thanks to the wide grin next to it. “A slap in the face doesn’t mean a thing to him!” and sure enough, just as the Suicide King calls it, Alan takes a step back and then immediately pivots back around, snapping his right foot into Jay’s thigh!


“It meant enough for him to retaliate!” cries Mak as Hawke staggers slightly and Clark moves in and locks into a collar-and-elbow tie-up, the World champ using what slight strength advantage he might have to push Jay back into the corner. Hawke fights, trying to keep his feet planted, only to soon find himself tripping backwards and collapsing into the corner, his right arm catching the top rope and keeping him upright and just barely. “And after that show of disrespect to start the match, Jay Hawke finds himself in a bad way!” but Alan does not keep on the assault as he usually would, but instead gets his face right down into Hawke’s and gives him a big grin…




…and pats him on the cheek twice.


“That’s the same thing he did to Spike Jen—“




“European Uppercut!” the shot sends Alan flying backwards and tumbling over himself in the middle of the ring, coming to a stop on his knees with a fuming Hawke coming straight for him…




“What a vicious shot there! Alan Clark tried to duck out of the way and Hawke adjusted to catch him square in the jaw!”


“He’s going to have to be a little quicker than that if he hopes to not end this night the same way he ended his SJL career!” adds the King as Alan does indeed quickly try to stand back up, only to find a bare knee being pressed between his shoulders and his arms being pulled straight back! “And here he goes, Jay has that right knee pad pulled down to add a little bit extra as he begins to zero in on the shoulders and arms of Alan Clark…” but Clark, with a grimace slowly replacing the smirk he was sporting a few moments ago, simply throws his legs backwards, kicking Jay’s left leg out from under him! Both men crash to the canvas with most of the International Champ’s weight falling squarely onto Alan, who lets out a loud groan from beneath the humanity above him.


“Clark escaped the hold, but at the cost of that knee being driven with force right between his shoulderblades! Look at Hawke now!” Jay stands, rubbing at his right knee slightly from the bone-on-bone contact of knee and spine, but with Clark doing little except crawling for freedom, he appears to still have the upper hand. After taking a second to re-adjust the kneepad, Hawke drops back down to the canvas, throwing his weight on top of Alan’s lower back and immediately trying to hammerlock the left arm, twisting it back and pulling it up as he bends Alan against nature’s intentions.


“I want to say that Hawke might just have Alan trapped here, but he is just too close to the ropes –and he’s got them!” Kivell yells for a break as Alan’s right hand clasps around the bottom rope, leaving Jay to do little but break the hold and push Clark’s head forward, slamming it into the mat before taking an even louder warning from the referee.

“JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” the crowd beckons as the Dean tries to put distance between himself and Kivell. He takes a quick walk in a short circle and straight back to Alan, who has found himself on his right side trying to work the kinks out of his left arm, leaving it vulnerable for attack. The attack comes as Hawke sends his right foot into Alan’s arm, causing him to roll onto his stomach for protection, but Jay simply takes to the air, getting some leverage from the ropes nearby to keep his left knee on target to bury into the world champ’s back!


“You see that, his right knee has got to be hurting so he used the left for that knee drop! It’s things like that right there that cost Spike Jenkins his chance to be in this match tonight and Jay Hawke isn’t going to let that stop him!”


“We both know Alan isn’t unstoppable, but when you put him in the ring with a true mat technician he does seem to flounder and Clark isn’t exactly a slouch on the canvas.”


“He more resembles a couch on the canvas right now!” harps the King as Clark once again finds Jay seated on his back, wrenching the left arm back and up at a nasty angle. A few fans in the background seem to be in as much pain as Alan is just watching the hold being applied, but once again Alan is just too close to the ropes and is able to quickly wrap his hand around them.


“Break it! Come on! One! Two! Three! Four! Fi..” Hawke gives Kivell the break just before the chance at disqualification, smiling as he does so in a bit of defiance of the referee’s orders before doing a quick three-sixty spin and clutching at Alan’s legs, pulling them up and back to drag Clark away from the ropes and into the middle of the ring!


“It is very early in this contest but Alan has only been able to really find escape through luck and positioning, he might not have either of those right—“




“—Mercy! Did you hear that?”


“I did, and don’t call me Mercy!” the joke from the Suicide King falls flat, as does Jay Hawke as Alan spins himself around mid-drag, pulling his legs in and takes a swing at the Dean, catching him right between the eyes with a closed fist as he falls forward from the shift in momentum! “I don’t know if that is luck or what, but it definitely isn’t something Disney would approve of!”


“You might be right, and it isn’t much of something Mathew Kivell approves of, as he is reading Alan the riot act after that bare knuckle slug he fired off!”




The once booing crowd now turns oddly to cheers for the World Heavyweight champion as he stands up, shaking the pain from his fist and giving his knuckles a quick kiss in thanks. He takes a quick glance toward the curtain due to the sounds of the crowd, but after seeing no one coming out for revenge, nor a giant inflatable moose, spider, or otherwise, he turns to the crowd and cocks his head in just as much surprise as the commentators ringside.


“It seems Alan’s show of bravado might have won over this crowd. I guess in this kind of popularity contest the Happiest Guy On Earth might have the slight edge.”


“That’s doubtful, they were probably just glad to see both guys beating the tar out of each other!”


“You might be right, King!” adds the Franchise as Hawke shakes away the blur in his vision from the hard right hand and immediately notices Clark moving toward him, his eyes focused on his right leg. “And now Clark is going back to the right knee! It worked against Spike Jenkins and it just might work against Jay Hawke here tonight…”


“Just because something works for Spike…” but the Suicide King trails off before he can finish the obvious quote, as Jay takes a swipe of his own at Clark as the world champ buries his foot into the side of Hawke’s right knee, then immediately drops his own knee into Jay’s chest!


“One-two punch…or well, kick…knee…you get the idea! Anyway, what’s he doing now!?” Francis calls as Hawke tries to regain some wind into his lungs and Alan does his best to pin the Dean down and get hold of his right leg, all the while trying to get hold of the knee pad! “He’s trying to rip off his pad!”


“Well, you get rid of that little bit of padding and any attack you put on it will hurt just that much more!” and just as Hawke is able to squeeze himself out from underneath Clark, the world champ is able to pull the pad down and off Jay’s foot! Both men get back to their feet, and Alan makes a point to toss the pad into the crowd…




“Alright, so they enjoy souvenirs. That’ll be on EBay by tomorrow, I’m sure.”


“I once saw the bread used to knock out Cutthroat on there, so anything is possible, King!” The Franchise chimes into the discussion but is quickly taken back to the action in the ring as once again the two men lock up, with Jay noticeably keeping his right leg to the rear as he pushes to try and gain an advantage. Alan swings with his own feet, trying to knock the Dean off balance, but the kicks do little except get himself tripped up! Clark falls back-first to the mat, dragging Hawke down with him! Jay lands on his knees, and after letting out a harsh groan he balances himself on his left knee and begins firing away with forearms shots, keeping Alan’s knees pushed into his chest.


“The legs have some of the strongest muscles in the body, Jay Hawke needs to be careful of both his own and the two underneath him!” and even with all the weight Jay can push down with Alan is able to push his knees up, lifting Hawke off the ground as he continues to fire off forearm strikes. “And Hawke just isn’t quitting! He’s not even touching the ground!” A few in the crowd can be heard gasping through the night air as Hawke precariously balances parallel to the mat, not taking his eyes off those of Alan Clark.


“Alan’s shoulders are on the mat!”










“GRAAAAAH!” Jay Hawke lets out a loud groan as Alan pushes his own shoulders off the canvas and splits his legs, sending Jay falling knees-first to the mat!


“That’s one way to stop a pinfall, I guess…” mutters the Suicide King as Alan locks his legs around Jay’s waist and rolls himself to his left, the motion putting both men sideways before Alan wraps his right arm around the neck of the Dean and wrenches backwards, trapping him in the center of the ring!


“He might not have been targeting the neck in this match so far, but now that he’s got Hawke in that modified Wet Cement—“


“Alan Clark will do anything he can to get an advantage. So will Jay Hawke, so will I, so will…well, you won’t, but that’s why I’m the King and you are Wheels from the BK Kids Club…” the remarks draws the Franchise’s ire and the Gambling Man can be heard almost inaudibly apologizing under his breath as Jay fights to break the hold with Alan doing his best to keep the technician grounded.


“He might be trying to end the match here, because this isn’t exactly the easiest situation to get out of, and we have no time limit in this match! There must be a winner and he could keep this hold on all night long if he—Wait! Jay’s fighting up to his knees! Unbelievable!” Alan wrenches back even harder on the neck, sending Jay’s right leg out almost out of reflex from the pain before the International Champ gets his feet planted and throws his body up into the air and upside down! “The facelock is hooked on tight, but now that bodyscissors has got Alan trapped to the mat!”




But Alan quickly releases his legs, causing Hawke to lose his balance and fall back to the canvas, doing his best to land on only his padded knee as Alan is able to get his shoulders up and away from the mat.


“How embarrassing would that have been, getting pinned like that!” the Suicide King can be heard laughing slightly as the replay shows Jay’s body precariously upside down with Alan trying to keep the facelock applied. “That could be the cover of the next SWF Magazine!”


“If I hadn’t seen it right here right now and had the replay to prove it I would have doubted it’s existence! Look at the way he’s hanging, his left leg bending to try and balance himself like that. Say what you want about his mat prowess, but that takes some real athletic ability to pull off!”


“And Clark had about four hundred pounds resting on his G(bleep)mn neck, too! That’s not exactly the most comfortable position to be in.”


“You ain’t kidding” adds the Franchise, the comment drawing a slight smirk from his broadcast partner as the two champions in the ring get back to their feet and look to seemingly be back to square one, but each man seems to be nursing at least one body part as they circle around each other.


“JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” the crowd pipes up again during the lull, which is short-lived as Jay’s momentary shift of focus to the loud ringside fans gives Alan time to strike, the world champion diving toward the right leg and looking for a dropkick!


“Low dropkick! No! Hawke barely got out of the way!” Jay turns back to Clark, who has rolled to his stomach after the whiff and looks to be getting back up to his feet, the Dean shaking his head before firing the toe of his boot straight between Alan’s eyes!


“And that’s how you make up for that closed fist from before!’ Alan holds his face in agony and once again rolls to his stomach to protect it, only for Hawke to slide on top and pull the arms back and around… “Wing Span! He’s trying to lock it in!”


“Alan’s too close to the ropes! He got them!” Alan is barely able to get his right foot draped over the top rope before the chickenwing can be applied, with Jay breaking the hold and giving Alan a harsh forearm to the back of the head for good measure.


“He had his chance to lock it in and he went for it, can’t fault him there!”


“No, I won’t fault him, but he had to know Alan was too close to the ropes!”


“Jay Hawke put the fear into Alan Clark, Alan is going to know what that hold feels like, just like Landon Maddix did a few months ago! That’s a psychological advantage!” points out the Suicide King as Hawke drags Alan into the middle of the ring…


…and immediately goes for the hold one more time!


“If anyone knows about psychological advantages and mind games it is Alan Clark, but this could be it if he gets that hold on! Like I said, no time limit here tonight and he can keep that thing on forever if he wants!” but just as Jay stretches the right arm back Alan is able to get to his knees and push up and over, throwing the Dean to his back and even with his arm still bending backwards he bridges himself and keeps all his weight on Hawke’s upper body… “Reversal! Shoulders down!”










“NO!! Hawke was able to use his arms and upper body strength to knock the legs out from under Alan and get away from that pinning predicament!”


“He almost lost to his own submission hold and he is not happy!”


“It’s not like Alan tried to put the Wing Span on him, and even if he did, you would think Jay would have done the same thing Alan just did! Every successful submission wrestler knows how to escape their own holds!”


“Really? How does one escape the Bittersweet, then, smart guy?”


“Like I’d tell you!” responds the Franchise as Alan is the first up to his feet, his body more quickly adjusting to the pain in his arms and shoulders than Hawke with his right leg bent slightly to keep the weight away from it. “I don’t know how much Jay’s knee is hurting right now, but I do know he is playing smart by keeping it protected. Alan is just going to have to watch how he attacks from here on out, because one bad lift or one mis-timed strike could really jeopardize his chances of being Undisputed champion!”


“I heard if Jay Hawke wins we are going to have to start calling him Superintendent, is that right?”


“I sure hope not, King…and there goes Alan Clark!” Alan suddenly takes off like a blur around Hawke, using his two good legs to his advantage to bounce from one set of ropes to the next, moving from side to side and keeping out of Hawke’s way as the Dean tries to keep up, throwing his arms out in futile attempts to put a stop to the bounding world champion, who suddenly hits the ropes and the brakes, stopping himself just as Hawke bites the bullet and lunges toward him.




“I’d probably call that a superkick if it hadn’t connected with his shin…”


“Sweet Shin Music?” asks King, causing Francis to grumble as Hawke’s hands reflexively go to his knee and his body collapses toward the corner, leaving Clark standing and looking as fresh as he can possibly look after the grueling punishment he has taken so far.


“Alllllllllll-an…Alllllllll-an…Alllllllll-an” the crowd begins to chant, much to the chagrin of the World Champion, who simply shrugs and, after giving Walter Reynolds a quick glance, pulls the rubberband from the back of his hair and throws it toward the crowd.




“Bid’ness, as Pete might say, is about to pick up here! And this crowd wants it!”


“Damn crazy Brits! I thought this was supposed to be the Sensation Nation!!?!!” laments the Suicide King as Alan gives Jay a swift kick to push him into the corner…


“I think the fans realized that on this night and in this match, Alan Clark just might be the lesser of two evils! But you are right, King, I am sure Toxxic is not happy one bit…” The Franchise adds as Hawke sits up in the corner, only to find himself being pulled straight back out again by his right leg, his arms shooting out to try and pry Clark’s hands from around it. Alan stops and releases the leg, only to quickly drop his own knee into Hawke’s! “And now we are going to start to see what kind of damage Alan can really do when he is in control…”


“Fight for the ropes, Jay!” calls the Gambling Man, but it is on no use with the world champion pushing all of his weight down onto the right knee of the Dean, both of his own legs pinning the right leg down and his hands twisting at the ankle like some sort of sadistic game, as each time Hawke tries to kick at his attacker’s back, Alan simply wrenches even harder on the ankle against the knee, leveraging it grotesquely against nature. With his mouth hanging open and a low moan escaping, Hawke does the only thing he can think of and swings his left leg out and up, bringing it down right across the back of Alan’s neck and finally knocking him forward and throwing the weight off his leg long enough for him to wrap it around and away from Clark, but Alan simply turns and stands to his feet, his right hand holding the back of his neck before his boot comes down squarely into Hawke’s windpipe, catching the International Champ off guard as he tries to keep his leg protected and forgets about every other place on his body Alan can strike.


“Alan Clark has pinned Jay Hawke’s neck to the mat with his boot! I don’t think Jay can breathe like that!”


“Choke! CHOKE!” King once again starts to scream as Hawke flails, but Alan does little more than smile even with Kivell screaming right into his face.


“…three…four…fi…” Kivell stops as Alan finally moves his foot, his face returning back to his sadistic smirk as Hawke’s hands move to this throat.


“What was that about?”


“I don’t know, King, but this isn’t the Alan Clark we’ve seen as of late. He looks like he really wants to hurt Jay Hawke now!”


“Alllllllllll-an…Allllllll-an…” the crowd pipes up once more, but abruptly stops when Clark raises his hand, shushing the audience before he pushes past Kivell and lifts Jay right back up to his feet…





…and gives him a slap of his own!!


“Is that what this was? Payback for the start of the match?!”


“Like I said, King, your guess is as good as mine, but that right there had to hurt – if not physically then mentally. Look at the look on Jay’s face!” Jay, not exactly smiling as Clark was, does his best to balance on one leg before rearing back and sending a fist into Alan’s face!



…and Alan returns the favor!



“And the fists are flying! Kivell needs to break this up!” the two men rock each other with haymakers as Mathew tries to split them apart, only to suddenly duck along with Jay Hawke as Alan tries to fire off a lariat!




“Galatea Special!”


“And the ref didn’t see a thing!” The whiffed clothesline sent Kivell ducking and spinning out of the line of fire, leaving Hawke on one knee as Clark spun out of control and into perfect position for every man in the audience’s least favorite maneuver! Kivell turns back around just in time to see Jay leap off his one good foot and complete a low velocity somersault, clutching at Clark’s neck on the way down and driving him into the canvas with a neckbreaker! “What a Blockbuster! I didn’t think he’d even be able to get any momentum behind that!


“See! Even on one leg Jay Hawke still could fly high enough to hit that! There’s a cover! COVER!”














The crowd pops once again as Alan’s shoulder fires off the mat, leaving Jay to slam his hand into the canvas with a slight bit of frustration.


“I don’t know if that look on his face is from the pain or from his own disgust at not getting the victory there! “


“…probably a little of both…” adds the King as Hawke stays on his knees and crawls atop Clark, the world champ trying in vain to get himself to the ropes, looking once more like he is trying to finish off the match by yanking Alan’s right arm back and working through he pain to get his own legs in position. “And right now he might be seeing dollar signs pass in front of his eyes! If all else fails he has to go for that Wing Span! Alan is in perfect position!”


“But Clark’s left arm isn’t exactly cooperating with Hawke! It’s fighting for the ropes!” Hawke does his best to try and keep his weight all on Alan’s lower back, “If Alan can just get his right leg out he might just be close enough to get underneath the bottom rope!” Almost as the Franchise calls it out, Alan’s leg shoots to the right, only to just fall short of the bottom rope! “No! He’s not close enough!”


“Hold that leg back, Hawke!” but Jay is already trying to keep the legs pinned down, only for the weight shift needed to stall the legs gives Alan the opportunity to push up with his free arm and throw himself toward the ropes, his fingers barely wrapping themselves around the bottom rope like a climber clinging to a cliffside for life! “NO!!”


Hawke notices the rope break and throws all of his weight back down onto Clark’s shoulders, but it is too late as Kivell also saw Alan’s hand and immediately calls for there to be a break between the two.


“Alan Clark might have just gotten the luckiest break so far in this match right there. Jay Hawke was trying to pin his limbs down like it was whack-a-mole and that just isn’t going to work when you are that close to the ropes.


“He just never should have let Clark get that close after kicking out earlier! He’s better than that and you know it!”


“And he’s got to prove it here tonight! Alan Clark had to beat two men to get to the World Heavyweight Championship and Jay Hawke has beaten one…he’s a three count or a slap of the mat away, just the same as Clark is!”


“But who has the advantage?”


“Jay Hawke does, I’ll give you that.” A thank you comes from the Suicide King as Jay hobbles back up to his feet and drags Alan up along with him and then immediately spins him around, facing his chest to the sky and hooking on an inverted facelock before dropping down ever so slightly to allow his left knee to come up and strike Alan right between the shoulderblades…



…and again!




…and a third!



“He doesn’t want to put any pressure on that right leg, and he’s trying to keep it’s job down to only supporting his weight for very brief moments. The lasting effects of those hard knees to the back might wear on Alan more than Jay trying to balance himself for such a small amount of time.”


“I know he’s in pain, but he is just so close to victory here tonight!!” as the Suicide King cheers on, Alan is dropped mercilessly to the mat and Hawke follows suit, joining the world champ by rolling him onto his stomach and throwing his legs across his back. A split second later and Alan’s mouth shoots open, a silent scream if there ever was one as Alan’s free left arm begins to flail against the pain of the armbar Hawke has applied to his now-trapped right!


“Fujiwara! Alan is in the center of the ring now! He can’t get to the ropes! He is trapped!” Kivell gets down to his knees and moves to Alan’s face, asking for a submission as the crowd explodes…



“NO!!” Alan can be heard screaming from the ringside camera, and even Walter moves in closer to the apron, though far enough away from the action in the ring to not draw any flak from the referee. “BACK OFF!” Alan yells again, and Kivell does back away, quickly glancing toward Reynolds – who nonchalantly backs away without incident – and can only begin to pace as Alan continues to fight against the hold, doing whatever he can to try and get himself closer to the ropes or to somehow escape.


“Jay Hawke has got to feeling that this is the closest he has come tonight to defeating Alan Clark!! Look, you can see him smiling!”


“And it’s a perfect one! Perfect for all those endorsements he’ll be getting after he wins!”


“How can you attack Landon Maddix’s Pepsi and Alan Clark’s Disney endorsements yet fully support the notion that all he wants when he wins the title is money? It’s supposed to be about competition!”


“And he is leading the competition in the ring right now!” but Alan Clark appears to have other ideas, as he is able to get his knees tucked into his body and with his arm searing with pain he throws all of his weight up and over, pulling his arm free and rolling Hawke into a pinning predicament!




“Modified Schoolboy out of nowhere!!”







“NO!! Hawke escapes, and he is not pleased!” calls the Franchise as Hawke rolls to his stomach and up to his knees as Clark too stands, holding his right arm at his side but with little else emotion on his face other than a creepy stare toward Jay.


“And Alan Clark is a POD PEOPLE!” yells King as Alan stomps toward Hawke and begins firing off a barrage of south-paw shots, the open palms of Alan Clark connecting as Hawke tries to cover himself up. “Pardon my grammatical error, but he’s flipped his lid!”


“Just now?” questions Mak, but lets it slide as Alan drags Hawke to his feet and whips him toward the ropes, only for Hawke to simply stumble and fall chest-first down and into them, his body draping over the apron as he fights to get the cobwebs shaken loose. “Alan isn’t about to stop now!”


“Get out of the ring, Hawke!” and whether or not the Dean actually hears the Suicide King’s cry, Jay tries to pull his body down to the floor, only to be caught by the right ankle and have it lifted and slammed back down into the canvas!


“He’s in the ropes, Clark! Back off!” but Alan does not relent, deciding to give the International Champ’s knee one more hard slam before stepping away, leaving Kivell to slip in between and check on Hawke, who himself finally has the free moment to roll his body out of the ring and sit on the floor.


“Jay Hawke just had his world turned upside down, and Alan Clark looks to be in a totally different place than he was just a few seconds ago.” And sure enough, as the ringside camera looks past Kivell hanging through the ropes, Alan has taken a kneeling position in the ring, keeping his eyes on the referee but doing little else while his hair falls over his face. “That is not the kind of look you want to see on the face of a man like Alan Clark!”


“You ain’t kidding! But Jay Hawke is getting back up to his feet now and seems to be okay! That’s great!”


“I don’t think so, King!” exclaims the Franchise as the camera zooms back in time to see a smirk form across Alan’s lips as the world champion stands, bounces off the ropes on the far side of the ring and rushes back, diving over the top of Kivell and crashing down atop Jay Hawke! “What a dive! Kivell looks like he’s seen a ghost!”




“We saw that same thing at 13th Hour!! Both men are down now!”


“But we saw it from Landon Maddix, and he walked out of the pay-per-view a LOSER! It’s a sign, Mak! It’s a sign!” but all the apocalyptic ramblings of the Suicide King can not change the fact that even with Kivell beginning his count from in the ring, Alan Clark is the first one standing back to his feet on the outside.


“Tell that to Alan Clark, he’s in complete control now!” and indeed, Mathew has to do little counting as Clark drags Hawke back up and tosses him into the ring. After a quick shake of his right arm and a definite wince to go with it, Alan places his right arm back against his body and climbs up onto the apron. With Hawke down in the ring, Clark places both hands on the top rope and pushes off, leaping up and over and driving his left elbow down square into Jay Hawke’s heart!


“Well, if you can’t out-wrestle someone, just fall on them a lot! What a strategy!”


“It’s working, isn’t it?” Mak deadpans along with the sarcasm of the Gambling Man, who can be heard grumbling just as Alan throws his body over top of Jay’s, hooking his left leg with his left arm and pinning his shoulders to the canvas…
















“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” the crowd responds in kind for the International champion as his hand barely makes it to the bottom rope before the three count, the replay showing Kivell’s hand mere millimeters off the ground before the hand crossed the plane and saved him.


“Jay Hawke knew where he was in the ring and it saved him from defeat, but now Alan looks to not give him a second chance at it!” Hawke lets out a squeal of pain as Clark grabs his right leg and pulls him with authority away from the ropes, dragging him to the center of the ring before leaving him alone and moving himself toward the corner…



After a brief look back over his shoulder Alan slides through the ropes to the apron and then begins to climb until he finds himself perched on the top rope and looking out toward Jay’s downed body.


“This could be a huge leap of faith here! Jay Hawke is not out cold!” but even with the words of warning Alan leaps off the top and through the air, keeping his right arm pinned to his body but completing the traditional in-and-out motions with his left arm and legs before landing……







…on nothing but canvas!!



“PARKHOPPER MISSED COMPLETELY!! WOOO!” cries out the Suicide King as Alan rolls and writhes in pain across the mat as Jay himself rolls to the safety of the ropes, using them as a makeshift ladder to get back to his feet. “That could be the turn in the tide we need!”


“We? What’s this we stuff?”


“Semantics!” screams the King as Jay limps over to the downed Clark and pulls him up to his knees, only to immediately cinch in a dragon sleeper!! “Come on! Get your knee buried into his back!”


“He’s trying, King, but he can’t seem to suppress the pain long enough in that right leg to either push it into the back or keep his balance enough to use the left! And Alan is squirming to get free!” Alan tries, his arms flailing until his left arm finally manages to make contact with the back of Jay’s neck. The International Champion tries to pull it away with his own free hand, only for Alan’s neck to slip free as he falls to the canvas…






“CUTTING IN LINE! Alan escaped from Jay Hawke’s own little Land of Nod that we know for sure Alan has felt more than once before – and then took him straight down into the mat with that neckbreaker!! It might not have had the force it usually has behind it, but it’ll still scrambled your brain cells!”


“This is insane! GET UP! GET UP!” but with Kivell standing over them, both men seem to be at almost the same level of fatigue, with Alan rolling toward one set of ropes as Hawke does toward another, the two men less than twelve feet apart as they both try to climb their way back up to their feet before the other.




“It’s a race to a vertical base!” rhymes the Franchise, causing another audible groan from his partner as Kivell’s standing count goes higher…




“I can’t believe you just said that…” he mutters as both Clark and Hawke reach the second ropes and claw for the top…




“They are almost up…THERE WE GO!”


“And there goes Alan!” adds the Suicide King as Clark rushes toward Hawke, who instinctively ducks back down at the last possible second…


“BAAAAAAAAAAA---NO!! Alan caught himself on the apron! Slugfest!” the two men begin firing off stiff punches, only for Clark to block and pull Jay’s head down and into a facelock! “SUPLEX ATTEMPT! MY GOD!”


“NOOOOO!” but as Clark tries to lift Jay Hawke up for the eight foot fall to the outside, the Dean wraps his right leg into the ropes to keep him grounded as his fists find Alan’s midsection, breaking the hold long enough for Hawke to lock in a facelock of his own! “YES!!!”


“And now Jay Hawke is going to---he’s got him up! He’s got him up!” but the leg strength needed to hold the two-hundred-twenty-five pound world champion in the air is a bit too much for the right knee of Jay Hawke to handle, causing it to buckle and send both men crashing down into the mat! “His knee gave out! Clark landed on his chest! There’s the count!”




“NO! It can’t end this way!”
















Alan Clark rolls off of Jay Hawke and holds his right hand high in the air, only to look over his shoulder and see the left foot of Hawke draped over the bottom rope and Kivell holding up two fingers in his face.


“This crowd really does not want Jay Hawke to walk out of here with that championship and they are letting him and Alan Clark know it right now!” the Franchise calls as the crowd continues their jeers, only for Alan to momentarily silence them as he pulls Jay Hawke back up and drags him by his knees into the middle of the ring. Hawke struggles to fight the hold as Alan gets into position and turns his back to his opponent, looking ready to finish him off once and for all!


“Oh no, not this!”


“It’s Touchstone Lightning, King! The same thing you were cheering for two weeks ago is coming back to strike again!”


“But it’s not supposed to strike twice! I said so!” and sure enough before Alan can get the left leg into position it snakes free and connects into Clark’s lower back, propelling him forward and into the ropes as Hawke slides himself into position to catch him on the rebound…


…but Alan hits the brakes…







“What a vicious roundhouse! That’s the kind of kick that dented in Landon’s face a few months ago and while there isn’t exactly a turnbuckle behind Jay’s head to compress the skull it has to hurt just as much after the grueling last twenty minutes!” calls out the Franchise as the lights seem to darken in Jay Hawke’s eyes, his body collapsing to the mat face-first.


With the crowd watching on and every camera zooming in towards the ring, Alan rolls Jay to his back and gives the crowd a hearty salute before clutching the International Champion’s legs and wrapping them around his own before quickly rolling onto his back and putting Jay Hawke face-down in the center of the ring.


“I think Jay Hawke might be out cold! He isn’t even moving!”





“I was wrong…” Mak adds as Jay’s face points up toward the cameras and his eyes open wide, a long and deep groan exiting his body as his right arm begins to fight toward the ropes. “He was trying to block out the pain – meditation, prayer, something, anything – he snapped back into reality to feel his knee being straightened and bent back against itself. That is no way to be!”


“You ain’t (bleep)ing kidding, Mak! COME ON! DON’T TAP! DON’T TAP!!” But all the screaming from the announce table can do nothing as the time in Jay Hawke’s universe seems to be passing slower and slower by the moment as the pain shoots from the tendons around his kneecap all the way to the deepest depths of his brain.


He wants to not quit.


He wants to survive.


He wants victory.


He wants fame and fortune.


He wants everyone to know that he is the greatest champion in SWF history.







You can’t always get what you want.


“Ladies and Gentlemen…here is your winner by submission…the S-W-F’s UNDISPUTED HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WOOOOOOOOORLD… ALAAAAAAN CLAAAARK!”





“This crowd annoys the (bleep) out of me…as does Alan (bleep)ing Clark.”


“And just when you were starting to warm up to him, too….shame, really. But Alan Clark has done it!” adds the Franchise as “To Die For” explodes over the ringside PA system. Alan rolls to the outside and is greeted by three very special friends - Walter Reynolds, the SWF World Heavyweight Championship and now the SWF International Champion. The belt he never really lost in the first place has come back home. Kivell is quick to slide out of the ring and raise the champion’s hand in victory before returning back to the ring to check out Jay Hawke, the Dean still laying in the center of the ring cradling his right leg as Alan makes his way around toward the announce table.


“I need a mic, give me a microphone!” calls Clark, and an attendant hands one over to him.


“He’s going to speak now, oh no!” the Suicide King puts his head into his hands as “To Die For” fades down a few notches so that Clark, both belts now strapped around his waist, can be heard.


“Finally I’ve reached the true top of the mountain!”




“SHUT UP! I don’t need you people cheering for me! Where were you when I beat Akira and Mike Cross? Where were you when I beat Johnny Dangerous? Where you when I beat Landon Maddix!!!?? Where were you all when I beat Spike Jenkins?! You all let me know a long, long time ago that you didn’t need Alan Clark…and right now, I don’t need YOU! I’m the Undisputed Heavyweight Champion OF THE WORLD!! There’s nothing left for me to prove! NOTHING! NOTHING AT…”



“What was tha….” Alan turns to face back toward the stage, only to see the SmarkTron lit up with one simple word shining in the English moonlight.










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