SWF CLASS IS IN SESSION~!

[King Cucaracha 0]

"Lllladies and gentlemen, at this time please welcome, THE COMMISSIONER OF THE SWF... LANDON "LA CUCARACHA!"... MMMMMMMAAAAAAAADDIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXX!!!!"

 

"YYYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

 

The Corvallis crowd rise up and give the Commish a big reception, which of course he milks for all it's worth as he stands in the entrance way, refusing to walk even a step further before the decibel level increases. The sheep that they are, the fans give him what he wants, and he marches on, slapping hands, waving, kissing babies... well, maybe not the last one. If you're bringing your baby to an SWF show, there's serious questions to be raised over your suitability to have said child. Anyway, Landon likes cheers. So he's happy as a pig in shit as he rolls into the ring, taking the microphone as the fans make themselves heard again.

 

"Olá, olá, olá!"

 

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

 

"First of all, thank you." Landon says with genuine gratitude in his voice. "Thank you for coming out tonight, thank you for buying the DVD if you're not actually with us tonight in person, thank you for supporting the SWF... thank you.."

 

"S - W - F!"

"S - W - F!"

"S - W - F!"

"S - W - F!"

 

"Tonight, we've put together one of our most exciting line-ups in some time for you, plenty of fun stuff along the way, all capped off with a match to determine the number one contender for the World Heavyweight Championship and a defence of the World Title itself... tonight, it will be Tom Flesher..."

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

Landon does a double-take, *shocked* that the people would dare boo a man like Tom Flesher. The genuineness sure didn't last.

 

"...taking on Johnny Dangerous..."

 

"YYYYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

"...two men with a score to settle and they will do that tonight. All revolving around Tom Flesher's questionable management style back in his days of Commissionership, something which I've vowed not to repeat. Quite honestly, I'm not going to be exchanging Christmas cards with either of those two guys. I could really care less about either man on a personal level. Tonight, it's about business. One of those two men will earn a World Heavyweight Title shot, to be cashed in on November 28th, at Ashes 2 Ashes 2007, where we will be in Vermillion, South Dakota. Or, as I prefer to call it, "Landon Country". And whoever it is who wins the number one contendership match tonight, they will face whomever the World Champion is, be it Jay Hawke..."

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

"...or, the current champion, Toxxic..."

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

"...in the main-event. There'll be a lot more besides too, including a little 'redemption' match for the losers of our big two encounters tonight. That's for later this month. We've got a lot more on the horizon too, which I'm happy to announce. This year like any other, the SWF will present it's annual holiday season show. And where-as other Commissioners and Presidents and what have you have dedicated themselves to one creed or religion, we believe in equality. We believe in peace. We believe in unity. Which is the theme when we present The SWF's Non-Denominational Holiday Funtime Wrestling Show, Wednesday the 19th of December in Cedar-Rapids, Iowa. And then..."

 

Landon chuckles off mic, already pleased with himself without even saying a word.

 

"...then it's on to the New Year. And you know what New Year means in the SWF. New Year means a lot to La Cucaracha, because New Year in the SWF is Clusterfuck time!"

 

"YYYEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

 

"Yes, that's right, The Clusterfuck lives on and January 23rd, we will be HOME, back in Chi-Town for the eighth annual 'Fuck. As the only two time winner in Clusterfuck history, it's going to be my honour to preside over my first as Commissioner. Somebody will get the chance to etch their name in history, alongside mine, alongside TNT's, alongside Charlie Matthews', alongside Wes Davenport's, alongside Mark Stevens', alongside Pimp Daddy Sarp's, all of whom far too important to be here tonight."

 

Landon shrugs.

 

"Hey, it's the truth. And somebody else could make themselves too important to be here in January, not to mention earning that oh-so coveted shot at the SWF World Heavyweight Championship. Keep your eyes peeled across the website for more information as it happens, SWF.com, but let's cut to the chase right now, let's get to the action, Funyon take it away buddy!"

 

Flipping the microphone over to the resident ring announcer, Landon exits the ring and high-fives his way back up the rampway.

[King Cucaracha 0]

Christian Fury VS. -???-

 

as we starwipe back from the commerical break, P.O.D. hits the speakers and the crowd pops big as Christian Fury appears at the top of the ramp.

 

“introducing first…weighing in at two hundred and thirty-two pounds and hailing from Tacoma, Washington…CHRRRRRRISTIAN FURYYYYY!”

 

“Fury made a valiant effort at All Hallow’s Eve, but came up short in his match against Craig McLennan,” notes Francis as Fury makes his way down to ringside. “ring rust is to be expected, unfortunately, but hopefully Fury is able to put one in the win column tonight against an opponent that has yet to be revealed.”

 

“are you kidding me, Mak? when’s the last time McLennan won a match? ring rust assumes Fury had talent to neglect to begin with. add to that the fact that he’s had no prep time for whatever fossilized never-was returnee Maddix has dredged up for this evening and it doesn’t seem like there’s much point to this match at all. wake me in five minutes when somebody’s knee gives out.”

 

Fury stretches himself out quickly on the ropes and then retreats to his corner to prepare himself mentally in the few brief moments he’s afforded before the sound of the bell.

 

“and now for our first mystery man of the night…”

 

“well, I’m excited,” deadpans the Gambling Man.

 

the lights in the arena cut out, leaving the crowd confused -

 

“I hate this mystery man nonsense. seriously.”

 

- but not for long. the first notes of Nevermore’s “The River Dragon Has Come” ring out over the sound system.

 

 

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

 

 

the familiar burning ankh bursts onto the Smarkstron.

 

 

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

 

 

“King, is this who I think it is?”

 

 

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

 

 

“of course it is, Mak. isn’t it always? like, every six months always?”

 

 

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

 

 

 

 

 

“not this shit again.”

 

 

 

BAM!

 

 

 

a flash of red pyrotechnics hits the stage and Nathaniel Kibagami - Silent - The River Dragon - strides through the curtains at the top of the ramp.

 

 

“and introducing second….weighing in at two hundred and seventy-two pounds -”

 

the crowd is electric.

 

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

 

“hailing from Phoenix, Arizona -”

 

Fury is, well, furious.

 

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

 

“NATHANIELLLLLL KIBAGAAAAAAAAAAAAMI!”

 

 

King is embittered and hateful, but hey, we don’t listen to him.

 

 

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

 

 

“listen to that crowd, King! he‘s been gone for a while, but from the sound of things, the fans haven‘t forgotten about the River Dragon!”

 

“oh, for Christ’s sake. the fans used to cheer for Ash Ketchum. and I recall them being fond of Matt Myers as well. let’s not pretend these people know how to cheer for anything other than slick video packages and pretty lights.”

 

“well, that certainly explains your run of popularity, doesn’t it?”

 

the Suicide King is momentarily silenced as Kibagami rolls under the ropes and into the ring. he climbs atop the second turnbuckle and poses briefly in the familiar crucifix position, setting off a flickering wave of flash photography. “The River Dragon Has Come” begins to fade out and the lights start to come up as Kibagami hops down off the ropes and turns to face Christian Fury - the camera flicks over to Fury’s face; he’s more than a little confused by this turn of events, but he still seems focused and ready for action as he moves to the center of the ring to engage his opponent.

 

“this is a hell of a way to kick off the show! Fury and Kibagami have no small amount of history between them, if you’ll recall -”

 

“I was there for it,” scoffs the Gambling Man, “and it was boring then, too.”

 

- and Fury’s certainly eager to settle their score here tonight!”

 

 

 

 

DING!

 

 

 

the sound of the bell fades away, and Fury hesitates…but only for a moment before lunging forward into a traditional collar and elbow tie-up with the River Dragon. they jockey briefly for position - Fury drops to the mat and heaves, whipping the larger man across the ring with a picturesque arm drag! Kibagami rolls with the throw and lands on one knee, clearly irritated with that exchange; he darts up from the canvas and straight into a second collar and elbow - only to wind up on the receiving end of a second arm drag from Christian Fury!

 

“Fury looks a great deal more comfortable in there than he did at All Hallows Eve, “ notes Francis. “maybe he’s starting to shake off some of that ring rust.”

 

“or maybe he’s ‘wrestling’ a cripple. I imagine it‘s hard to look too bad when you‘re in the ring with somebody that can‘t actually bend his knees.”

 

Kibagami picks himself up off the mat and pauses for a moment, seemingly taking stock of his opponent, and strides forward into the center of the ring again - but instead of the collar and elbow, he laces his hands behind the head and neck of a visibly surprised Christian Fury.

 

“oh, that’s sweet. they’re having a veteran moment.”

 

“actually, King, that’s a Muay Thai clinch - “

 

 

THUD.

 

 

Fury sags forward as the River Dragon drives a knee upwards into his midsection. Fury struggles away from the clinch and takes a step back -

 

CRACK!

 

- only to have a leg kick from the Silent One trip him up and send him down to one knee! Kibagami shifts his weight back and aims another kick at Fury’s head, but the wily vet rolls forward under the kick and up to his feet! he knows to avoid Kibagami’s kicks for as long as he can, so he wastes no time; he grabs hold of the River Dragon and whips him towards the ropes, only to have Kibagami reverse the Irish whip. but instead of sending Fury bounding across the ring, Kibagami grabs hold of the clinch again -

 

 

THUD.

 

 

- and rocks Fury with another knee to the ribs!

 

“I don’t remember Nathan being so dominant from the clinch, King -”

 

Fury sags forward again -

 

“ - but he seems to have learned a couple new tricks - “

 

CRUNCH.

 

“ - that are serving him well - oh, man, that doesn’t look good.”

 

Christian Fury stumbles back, a steady flow of blood beginning to stream down his nose, only to eat a left cross from the River Dragon that sends him stumbling back into the ropes. Kibagami pauses for a moment, measures his opponent, and lets loose a kick -

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

- that absolutely floors the younger man!

 

“Jesus Christ!” exclaims Francis as referee Sexton Hardcastle hurries to check on Christian Fury. “Kibagami’s got lead in that left foot! Fury might be out!”

 

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-LENT…

 

 

 

 

DING DING!

 

 

and Fury is.

 

 

 

“oh, please be kidding,” mutters the Suicide King, but Funyon’s announcement makes it official:

 

“your winner by KNOCKOUT…NATHANNNNNIEL KIBAAAAAAAAAAAGAMI!”

 

 

 

“I don’t believe this. we just opened up the show with a kickboxing match, and a rather shit one at that. no wonder we’re not on basic cable.”

 

“your stylistic complaints aside, King, I’ve never seen a kick like that in the SWF before. it’s quite an impressive return for one of our most respected veterans - and this is only the beginning of the show! stay tuned, ladies and gentlemen!”

 

 

the camera cuts away from Kibagami standing triumphant in the ring to a slow-motion replay of the knockout blow before starwiping out to a Pepsi MAX© commerical - still loyal to the SWF after all these years…

Edited November 17, 2007 by King Cucaracha

[King Cucaracha 0]

"When you didn't arrive til late, I thought you hadn't bothered," says Landon Maddix, as he speaks to a yet unseen person backstage. "You may be late, but here you are, but is this really what I wanted?"

 

"What I mean is… am I getting the you of your departure, the lost and confused soul without direction who no-showed a spot at Genesis and hasn't been heard from since… or am I getting the bastard who put me through hell and nearly put Megan in traction?!" he asks, as the camera pulls out and slowly reveals an all too familiar individual.

 

The returning Manson doesn't speak a word, never so much as looking up or moving an inch, his silence only compounding the situation, as he remains still on a steel chair, strands of hair hanging in front of his eyes. Through his non-reply, especially when he arrived not in cloak and mask, but in standard jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket, it takes Landon slightly off-kilter. The fact is Maddix doesn't know exactly what he's dealing with right now or how the Manson of now will react.

 

"I'm hoping your silence doesn't mean anything… I really do. What I went through with you, when I finally relented, it was a huge weight off my shoulders. At Ground Zero, even. You forced me to muster up what I did, what I hadn't, really, in a long time and before the match, I was wondering if I would even make it through."

 

"However… that's a sore spot, and besides, we're not here to talk about the past. When I called you up and left the messages, you were wondering why, I'm sure. It's about the future, Manson… mine, yours… and the SWF as a whole. The company is in dire need, Manson, it needs someone… I'll come out and say it, the SWF needs people like you to ensure we live to see tomorrow."

 

"Now I don't think I'll ever forgive or forget what you did to Megan and I. I also don't expect you to let bygones be bygones. I'm also wary of your relationship with Flesher since all that could be called a conflict of interest, both business and personal. Though as I said before, there are plenty of people that don't like me, but while those grudges may stand, I'm not going to let them get in the way of taking this company back up. Maybe with our relationship being the way it is, that's the only way this will work anyway."

 

"What the SWF needs is someone who knows how to build interest, competes hard, takes what he wants and gives nothing, who keeps everyone on their toes and gets them shaking in their boots, which benefits them, as well, because it forces them to raise themselves up. What I want is the son of a bitch who put me through hell and gave me some of the best and worst fights I've ever been in… not for me, but for Manson and the SWF."

 

Remaining still for a moment to consider the situation, the Bull stands, coming toe to toe with Maddix. He slowly tilts his head up, as Landon instinctively balls his hands into fists, prepared to fight, until the two eventually come eye to eye. As if searching for his own answers, he looks deep into Landon's core, his very being, and as if saying and seeing everything he needed to, he turns and walks away, apparently reaching an understanding with his nemesis. At first left confused and slightly uneasy, Landon Maddix then lets out a sigh of relief and he also turns around, headed in the opposite direction, as we fade out.

[King Cucaracha 0]

The Gill Coliseum lights up as the SWF continues its Homecoming Tour! The camera cuts down to The Suicide King and “The Franchise” Mak Francis sitting proudly at the announcers’ booth.

 

“We are LIVE all around the world, broadcasting from…umm…Oregon…” mumbles The Suicide King.

 

“What is wrong, King?”

 

“Well…we ARE in Oregon,” the King replies sarcastically.

 

“Don’t insult the place that is the birth place of National Corndog Day!” the paraplegic announcer responds. “The SWF is proud to present ‘Class Is In Session’ from Oregon!”

 

“Jesus, Francis…can you be any more of a kiss ass?”

 

“Before we get into another fight, lets get on with the show.”

 

“I would just tip your wheel chair over…”

 

“You’re an evil…ACK!” shouts Francis as The Suicide King gives him a decent size kick to the side of the wheel chair.

 

“MURDER BALL!”

 

The camera quickly cuts away, in hopes of not scaring away any viewers from the heinous assault on the physically impaired. Funyon stands in the middle of the ring, microphone in hand.

 

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit. First, making his way to the ring…”

 

The guitar synth intro to Hadouken's "Liquid Lives" starts up over the PA system as the lights go down. As the rest of the band kicks in, the lights come up to a set of pyro on the stage. Luke-O makes his way out, to the appreciation of the fans. He poses at the top of the ramp and begins to make his way down the ring.

 

“Weighing in at Two Hundred and Ten Pounds…hailing from London, England…here is LUUUUUUUKEEEE-----OOOOOOHHHHHHHH!!!!”

 

Luke-O climbs up onto the ring apron and leaps over the top rope into the ring. He goes around to each turnbuckle, playing to the crowd and posing in the middle of the ring like the cocky son of a gun he is…or something. The lights come back up as “Liquid Lives” dies down.

 

“And his opponent!” shouts Funyon.

 

A slow, creepy theme music starts up. “The Paladin” Chance Silver walks out to a chorus of boos. His eyes are silver. This is scary, I think.

 

“Weighing in at Two Hundred and Forty Pounds…hailing from The Edge of Reality…he is ‘The Paladin’ CHHHHHANNCEEEEEEE SIILLLLVEEEERRRR!”

 

Chance climbs into the ring, ignoring the jeers from the crowd.

 

“And his opponent!”

 

“HEY EVERYBODY! ITS TOD DEKINDES!”

 

The crowd goes mild as Tod deKindes runs out from backstage down to the ring.

 

“Weighing in at Two Hundred and Forty-five Pounds…hailing from Toronto, Ontario, Canada…he is TODDDDDDD DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKINDEEEESSSS!”

 

Tod slides into the ring and poses for the crowd.

 

“Hey Francis, remember when Tod use to win matches?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Yeah, me either.”

 

“AND HIS OPPONENT!”

 

The lights dim as “Rose of Pain” by X-Japan starts up. “The Man of Fire” Craig McLennan makes his way from the back. He pulls a Zippo lighter out of his pocket as he makes his way down the ramp, pretending to set the crowd on fire.

 

“Craig McLennan is coming off a victory over the returning Christian Fury at All Hallows! Can the youngster make it two in a row?”

 

“Probably not.”

 

McLennan climbs into the ring and poses for the crowd.

 

“Wow, look at the bunch of winners in the ring…”

 

“Well, there is one more person in the match…”

 

“AND THEIR OPPONENTS!”

 

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

 

RAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

 

 

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!

 

 

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. Now sporting short hair and a Five O’clock shadow and wearing an official SWF Spike Jenkins (SWFShopZone.com) black “Heartless” zip-up sweatshirt, Jenkins stomps down the ramp towards the ring.

 

”Making his way to the ring…weighing in at Two Hundred and Five Pounds…hailing from Long Island, New York…he is ‘HOLLYWOOD’ SPIIIIIKE JEEEEENKINNNNSSSSSS!!!!!”

 

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 and up onto the middle rope. Jenkins poses with his arms out, hands flat (much like, you know, that World Champion guy). Leaping over the top rope, Jenkins lands on his feet in the ring.

 

“Five guys in the ring at once, first person to get a pin fall or submission is declared the winner! Anyone of these five superstars can surprise us with a victory here tonight!”

 

“Well, Spike Jenkins is the only credible wrestler in the ring…wait…did I just call Spike Jenkins…credible?”

 

Referee Hardcastle checks with each of the five men and with all of them in agreement, he calls for the bell.

 

*Ding Ding Ding*

 

“And we are underway in our five way match here at Class Is In Session!” cries Francis.

 

As the bell rings, Craig McLennan charges towards Tod deKindes and begins to berate him with lefts and rights. Chance Silver and Luke-O both charge over towards Jenkins, who opens up with right hands to both of them. McLennan grabs deKindes by the wrist and Irish whips him across the ropes. Tod bounces off the ropes and runs straight into a dropkick by the “fiery” youngster.

 

“What is with all the flames on McLennan? Couldn’t find any tights that are more generic than fire? Ha ha,” The Suicide King chuckles.

 

Tod rolls out of the ring and out onto the floor. Inside the ring, Jenkins continues to fight both Chance and Luke-O off, but Craig McLennan comes up from behind Luke-O and hammers him in the back. Pulling Luke-O away, Craig grabs him by the wrist and Irish whips him into the ropes. Luke-O bounces off the ropes and comes flying back towards the awaiting McLennan, who underhooks his opponents arm and flips Luke-O over with a hip toss…

 

 

 

…But Luke-O flips forward and onto his feet! Luke-O switches sides and attempts his own hip toss…but McLennan blocks it! McLennan drops down, pulling Luke-O into a forward roll with a Japanese arm drag! Luke-O pops up to his feet right into the ropes…which the British high flyer grabs onto and slingshots himself over the top rope down onto Tod deKindes on the floor!

 

“Insane dive by the death defying Luke-O!”

 

The crowd begins to cheer for the British wrestler, as he rolls around on the outside of the ring holding his ribs. Inside the ring, a three-way brawl has started between Spike Jenkins, Craig McLennan, and Chance Silver. McLennan and Silver both kick Jenkins in the gut and take control. They grab him by the wrist and Irish whip him into the ropes.

 

“McLennan and The Paladin double teaming Spike Jenkins!”

 

Jenkins bounces off the ropes and flies back towards McLennan and Silver. The two men attempt a double clothesline…but Jenkins rolls forward underneath both men. Jenkins jumps to his feet and rushes into the ropes above the rising Luke-O and Tod deKindes. Grabbing onto the top rope, Spike slingshots himself over the ropes…and onto the apron!

 

“Everyone is flying all around the ring, Francis. I’m so confused!”

 

Chance Silver and Craig McLennan turn their attention towards Spike…and both men charge at him. Spike slingshots himself back over the top rope into a forward roll into the ring…as Chance Silver and Craig McLennan dive through the ropes out onto Luke-O and Tod deKindes on the floor!

 

“Stereo Suicide Dives!” shouts Mak Francis.

 

The four men lay around on the floor, Craig McLennan the only one who is climbing up to his feet. The crowd applauds the ability of the four, while still keeping their eyes on Jenkins inside the ring. Spike jumps up and down, getting the crowd behind him as he waits for the four to get to their feet.

 

“Spike Jenkins preparing for a dive of his own!”

 

The four men slowly get up to their feet and start shoving each other around. Jenkins runs into the ropes and bounces off of them. He charges towards the side of the ring that the four men are on…he dives through the middle and top rope…

 

 

 

 

…AND TOPE CON HILO ONTO ALL FOUR MEN!

 

“Tope Con Hilo!” cries Mak Francis.

 

“Spot fest galore.”

 

Spike rolls off of the four men and climbs up to his feet. The crowd cheers on the New Straight Edge Sensation, but he seems more focused on his opponents. He grabs Tod deKindes by the back of the head and pulls him up to his feet. Dragging him towards the ring, he rolls him underneath the bottom rope and follows right behind him into the ring.

 

“Spike isn’t wasting any time tonight. Instead of playing to the fans like most superstars would do, he is straight back to business.”

 

DeKindes rolls into the center of the ring and climbs up to his knees. Jenkins takes a stance a few feet in front of Tod and winds up…

 

“Look out for your head, Tod!” shouts the Suicide King.

 

Jenkins moves in and snaps off a kick straight into the chest of deKindes! Spike takes a step back and snaps off a second kick right into the chest! Spike takes another step back…and moves in for the kill with a kick straight to the side of Tod deKindes head!

 

“Tod deKindes has just been knocked out cold!”

 

deKindes falls face forward onto the mat after that vicious blow to the head. Jenkins drops down and rolls him over for the cover!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

T---NO! The Paladin dives into the ring on top of Jenkins to break up the pin fall!

 

“Chance Silver coming into the ring and stopping the count from out of nowhere!”

 

“Spike Jenkins may have gotten the victory right there if it wasn’t for The Paladin.”

 

Chance Silver climbs up to his feet and hammers Jenkins in the back as the New Straight Edge Sensation gets to his feet, as well. Chance pushes Spike back into the ropes, grabs him by the wrist and Irish whips him…only for Jenkins to duck underneath the Paladin’s arm and stop dead in his tracks. Spike pushes Chance’s arm away and springs forward, connecting with an open right hand strike to the side of his opponents’ head. The first open palm strike is followed up in quick succession by a left open palm strike to the other side of his opponents’ head! The Hollywood Superstar quickly spins around and connects with a spinning back fist that nearly knocks Chance Silver off his feet!

 

“Chance Silver tried to take advantage when Spike Jenkins wasn’t paying attention and now he is paying for it!”

 

“Spike Jenkins just hit him in the head three times in a row…” begins The Suicide King as both he and Francis watch on.

 

Silver stands in the center of the ring, wobbling back and forth. Spike takes a step back and with lightning fast speed, connects with the side of Chance’s face with a superkick!

 

“Four times in a row…”

 

Silver nearly falls over to his side, but not before Jenkins can shoot up a high right kick straight across the top of Chance’s skull!

 

“Five times in a row…”

 

Chance nearly falls over, but Spike pulls him into a front face lock before he can. Jenkins underhooks an arm and grabs Chance by the tights, lifting him straight up into the air in a suplex position…

 

 

 

…And DRIVES THE PALADIN INTO THE MAT ON TOP OF HIS HEAD WITH A BRAINBUSTER!!

 

“Brainbuster!” cries Francis.

 

“Well…Chance Silver is going to have a hard time waking up tomorrow morning…somebody get this man some aspirin!”

 

Jenkins rolls over on top of Chance Silver, hooking the leg for the cover!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

THR—NO! Luke-O jumps into the ring and kicks Spike in the back of the head, breaking up the pin fall!

 

“The British High Flyer breaks up the fall! Once again, Spike Jenkins was mere seconds away from walking out of this the victor!”

 

Luke-O grabs at the back of Jenkins’ head and pulls him up to his feet. Both nearly stumble over Chance Silver, who rolls away out underneath the bottom rope and to the floor. Luke-O fires off three consecutive forearms to the side of The Hollywood Superstar’s head, leaving him standing off balance.

 

“Luke-O is gaining momentum against Jenkins! Can he use his speed to take advantage and possibly the match?”

 

Luke-O turns around and throws himself into the ropes. He bounces off them and flies back towards the awaiting Jenkins. He leaps into the air and turns himself sideways, wrapping his legs around Jenkins in a wheelbarrow position. Pushing himself up with the help of the mat, Luke-O grabs Spike by the wrist and after a quick release of his legs, drops down and throws Jenkins forward with an arm drag!

 

“Luke-O looks to be mounting an offense!”

 

Spike rolls through out of the arm drag and up to his feet. He turns back towards Luke-O, who is already running straight towards him. The high flyer leaps into the air and landing onto Jenkins, who catches him around the legs as the British wrestler looks for a monkey flip…

 

 

 

 

 

…But Jenkins holds onto him! Leaning up against the turnbuckles, Spike simply chucks Luke-O over the top rope!

 

 

 

 

 

…But Luke-O lands on his feet on the apron! Spike throws a right hand, looking to knock the Englishman off the apron, but Luke-O blocks it and connects with a forearm of his own that knocks Jenkins back several feet.

 

“Luke-O has an opening! He looks like he is going for a high risk maneuver!”

 

Luke-O grabs onto the ropes and slingshots himself up from the apron onto the top rope…

 

 

 

 

…Which Spike Jenkins quickly takes advantage of as he shoots forward and pushes Luke-O off the top rope! Luke-O loses his balance and nearly gets caught in the ropes as he falls onto the ring apron and down to the floor!

 

“Oh my gosh!” shouts Mak Francis.

 

“Ha ha!” laughs The Suicide King. “I love when these little rope climbers crash and burn! It’s so much fun to watch!”

 

“Luke-O was looking for a high-risk move and Spike simply shoved him off the top rope down to the floor! The impact against the ring apron was brutal to watch.”

 

Luke-O folds up into the fetal position on the floor, as Jenkins poses for the crowd with one arm in the air. He turns around to watch Craig McLennan climb into the ring.

 

“Spike Jenkins has single handedly disposed of three other men. Now Craig McLennan is going to take his shot. Can the youngster who pulled off a surprise win over Christian Fury, who earlier tonight…was knocked out cold from Nathaniel Kibagami!”

 

McLennan charges at Jenkins and tries to connect with a wild right hand…but Spike ducks underneath. McLennan turns around and is met with a straight right to the jaw! Spike kicks him in the gut and pulls Craig into a standing head scissors!

 

“Spike is signaling for the Endwell!” shouts Mak Francis.

 

“Jeez, he came in here and destroyed everybody!”

 

Spike attempts to double underhook both of Craig’s arms, but the youngster breaks free and pushes himself away from Jenkins. Now up to a full stance, Craig again goes for a wild right, which Spike ducks under again! Grabbing the smaller opponent and locking him in a half nelson, Jenkins grabs him by the tights and lifts him straight up into the air…and drives him down across the knee with a Half Nelson Backbreaker!

 

“The Half Nelson Backbreaker! One of Spike Jenkins’ signature moves!”

 

Spike immediately pulls Craig up to his feet and spins him around. Picking him up across his shoulders and lifting him up into the air for a Death Valley Driver!

 

 

 

…But instead, Jenkins tosses Craig up into the air and as the youngster comes flying back down to the mat, Jenkins drops down and drives both of his knees into his opponents’ gut!

 

“Gut buster! Another one of his trademark maneuvers!”

 

Craig falls onto his knees, holding his stomach in extreme pain. Jenkins climbs up to his feet, lifts Craig up to his and pulls him into another standing head scissors!

 

“Here it comes, King!”

 

“Whoopie-do.”

 

“This isn’t going to…” begins Mak Francis.

 

Spike double underhooks both of Craig’s arms. He leaps into the air, dragging the prone body of Craig McLennan up with him…and driving him face first into the mat with a pedigree!

 

“ENDWELL!”

 

Spike turns Craig over and covers him, hooking the leg for good measure as the referee jumps into place.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

 

*Ding Ding Ding*

 

“Impressive victory by a returning Spike Jenkins!”

 

“I’ll give him that much. He came in and single handedly destroyed four other men.”

 

Jenkins climbs up to his feet and raises his arms in victory. “When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong” starts up again as the crowd cheers on the Hollywood Superstar. Jenkins walks into the corner and climbs up to the middle rope, posing for the crowd.

 

“Spike Jenkins came in and manhandled four other men in his return. Who knows what else is in store for The New Straight Edge Sensation in the new SWF!”

 

“Or if he even lasts…”

Edited November 18, 2007 by Toxxic

[King Cucaracha 0]

Hardcore Rules Match

MANSON VS. Austin Sly

 

 

The house lights drop, and after a brief pause, a low, guttural growl kicks 'Sceintific Remote Viewing' by Cephalic Carnage into gear. As strobes begin to pulse, spotlights roam the arena, while smoke pours out over the stage, and the fans rise to their feet.

 

"Welcome back to Corvallis, Oregon, here at the Gill Coliseum! And I suppose you might want to handle this one, King."

 

"We saw him earlier tonight, now in moments we'll all get to watch the return of the Savage Messiah! Maddix seemed to be taken off-guard and I don't know what to expect, nobody does. We don't know what's going through his head after disappearing and apparent change in demeanor, but it should be fun to see what he does."

 

Scenes of mindless violence and wanton destruction play on the SmarkTron, with Manson in the middle of it all, his eyes glowing red with a maddening fury and lighting crackling around his being. The curtain parts and out comes Manson amidst the chaos, while boos and jeers from the crowd herald his arrival.

 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the following is a hardcore rules match scheduled for one fall! Hailing from Denver, Colorado, and weighing in tonight at two hundred and twenty-nine pounds… MMMAAAAANNNNNSOOOONNNNN!"

 

Manson slides into the ring on his approach, stands and backs into his corner, where he throws his jacket over the post and leans back against the buckles, waiting for the start of the match.

 

"He does look good, King, but you're right, back when he was running around in that cloak and mask like a madman, we somewhat knew what to expect."

 

"Austin Sly can hang with the Raging Bull, we know that much. He should stay on guard, however, not that one shouldn't always be when around him."

 

As Kivell visits with Manson, 'Scientific Remote Viewing' fades, as a hush falls over the crowd.

 

'WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!'

 

*Boom!*

 

A barrage of silver sparks fills the air as The Sly One’s chosen pyros explode from each side of the entrance ramp, receiving a less than positive response from the crowd on hand. The opening chord of The Offspring “Defy You” fill the arena…

 

'You may push me around,

But you can not win.

You may throw me down,

But I'll rise again.'

 

… escorting Austin from behind the curtain and out onto stage. He pauses at the top of the ramp for only a brief second to take a glance through the audience before he heads towards the ring.

 

"And his opponent, hailing from St. Louis, Missouri, and weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds… a member of Revolution Zero, he is one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions… AAAAAUUUUUUSSSSSTIIIIINNNN SSSSLLLLLLLLYYYYYYY!"

 

Austin climbs the ring steps and enters the ring between the second and third ropes before shooting across the ring and ascending the corner turnbuckles. He stretches his arms out into a crucifixion-esque pose, soaking in the loathing of the fans. He cracks a slight smile before jumping down and going into his pre-match stretches, opposite of Manson, who remains still, until...

 

*DING DING!*

 

He rushes across the ring toward Sly, who quickly dances out of the way. Manson quickly catches up, engaging Sly in a collar-elbow, before breaking and landing a right to the jaw. Austin stumbles back, beginning to swing, himself, as he lands a few on Manson. The two continue exchanging punches, until Manson gains the advantage, pinning Austin in the corner. He furthers the assault, continuing to punish Sly until grabbing him by the arm and launching him across the ring with an Irish whip.

 

"Manson is really taking it to Austin early on, but this can't last. He's simply too good to let himself be dominated."

 

"He really is on fire here, and not only spurred by his own return, he perhaps sees that elusive Tag Team Championship around Sly's waist, as well."

 

Austin hits the opposite corner turnbuckle, smacking hard agianst the pads, as Manson heads in. He jumps up, taking the point of his knee to Austin! As Sly's eyes roll back, dazed, he falls to the ground, and Manson lifts him back up, propping him against the bottom rope. He immediately takes off for the adjacent ropes, bouncing off and coming back toward Sly, looking for the Brainwash scrape, but Sly puts a stop to that, as he exits under the bottom rope to the outside. Quickly gathering himself, he walks along the barrier toward the timekeeper's table, grabbing his half of the Tag Team Championship and appearing to retreat, waving off the referee as he walks up the ramp.

 

"The Bull was going for the Brainwash, that running bootscrape of his, but Sly escapes and appears to be leaving!"

 

"I'm really pulling for either, honestly, but Maddix booked an unfair match here, and Austin is right to protest."

 

"…you lost me."

 

"Putting him up against someone with something to prove like Manson in his return when he would obviously be charged up… you know."

 

"Not really, but you would think a rusty Manson would be at a disadvantage, so I don't see how it's unfair."

 

"Alright… I just think Maddix is a cunt, is all."

 

"He's still the one that brought your Messiah back, so make up your mind."

 

"He says he wants Manson in the SWF under his regime, I'm just not buying it. There has to be some underhanded motive to it, since that's the kind of guy he is."

 

"I'll have some of what you're on, because I don't see how it's underhanded when Manson's mortal enemy GAVE him a shot at half of the tag champions."

 

"You're in collusion with Maddix, aren't you?!"

 

Manson rolls out of the ring and gives chase to Sly. However, as he closes in, Austin turns and surprises him with the belt to the face, landing a glancing blow and taking him down. Standing above his opponent, Sly whips Manson with the belt across the back, and looking to retreat as he goes for another shot, the Messiah rolls onto his back, and then to his stomach, as the championship belt slaps the ground. As Manson pushes himself up to his feet, his foe charges once again, but Manson launches a roundhouse kick head high, making contact with Sly and knocking the belt out of his hands. While Sly recovers, Manson grabs the belt and charges Sly, and Austin takes the belt straight on!

 

"Manson absolutely waylaid Austin Sly with the title belt! I guess this is what he gets for trying to get out of dodge so quickly."

 

"I'm not so sure he wasn't trying to bait Manson, but obviously it didn't work," says King, as Manson tosses the belt toward Kivell.

 

Trudging toward the ring steps, Manson pulls off the top section and heads back toward Sly, the heavy steel gripped in his hands. A few feet off Sly's position, he raises the steps over his head, and launches them over his head toward a groggy Sly.

 

"He's got the steps and is looking to put an end to Sly!"

 

However, Sly manages to roll out of the way, as the steps land with a thunderous crash and bounce away from the scene!

 

Sly pulls himself up with the assistance of the barrier, but has nearly no time to stand, as the Bull charges and winds up for a Lariat. However, Austin manages to duck and get a hold of Manson's legs, then dumps him over the barrier onto the concrete floor!

 

"He's sent out into the crowd courtesy of Sly!" shouts Mak. "This could be trouble!"

 

"Yeah, trouble for them… security had better get in between before something bad happens to them."

 

As Manson grimaces, grabbing his lower back, Austin stalks over toward him, reaching over and pulling him up by his hair. However, Manson manages to rake the eyes, forcing Sly away momentarily, as the Messiah climbs back over the barrier. At the moment he makes it back across, though, Sly launches a wild kick…

 

"Superkick! A Superkick by Sly! He caught him by surprise!" shouts Mak, as Manson goes down.

 

"Damnation. How could he have known!"

 

"He does have a one track mind, does Manson. Austin must have known he was coming back over."

 

After Austin regains some of his vision, he crawls toward Manson, going into the cover.

 

"ONE!

 

 

 

TWOOOO!"

 

"KICKOUT! He got Manson good," says Mak, "but it just wasn't enough!"

 

Austin glares at Kivell, but decides to let it be, as he stands and pulls Manson with him toward the ring. Stepping back in while pulling Manson back onto the apron, he reaches over and hooks him around the head, setting up for a suplex. However, Manson manages to block the first attempt, then goes for one of his own, trying to take Sly to the outside. Yet Sly blocks and finally manages to get Manson up, taking him into the ring with the suplex! Austin floats over, going for another cover.

 

"ONE!

 

 

 

TWOOOO!"

 

"KICKOUT! Good suplex by Sly from the outside in, but that's not nearly enough to get it done."

 

Sly brings Manson up and attacks with a right hand, knocking Manson back. Manson comes back with a right of his own, also taking Sly back a step, but Austin then goes for a hard knee to the gut, taking Manson's feet out from under him and sending him down to a knee. But while Austin reaches down to lift Manson up, the Messiah lands a punch to the gut. Sly goes in again, once more catching a right to the stomach. He then comes to a stand, taking Sly up on his shoulders. Yet Sly manages to fight out with elbows, and Manson is forced to relent, releasing Austin. It proves to be a bad choice, as Sly grabs Manson by the head on the way down, planting him into the mat with a DDT!

 

"DDT BY SLY!"

 

"He was going for the double knee gutbuster off the shoulders, but Sly managed to fight out of it, just as Manson seemed to be getting back in control."

 

"ONE!

 

 

 

TWOOOO!

 

 

 

THR-- NOOO!"

 

"And another kickout by Manson, he just refuses to give in!"

 

Pulling a groggy Manson up, Sly angrily takes him by his hair and throws him to the outside, following after. Austin picks Manson up and drives him face first into the edge of the ring, and Manson stumbles away, stars in his eyes, as Sly again heads into pursuit. Latching onto Manson again, Sly drags him toward the barrier, where he again drives him face first into the hard edge. Immediately, Sly pulls him toward the nearby steps, where he tries to do the same again, but Manson blocks! He elbows Sly in the gut and breaks Austin's hold on him, then drives Sly into the steel instead! While Austin stumbles back, Manson heads under the ring, emerging a moment later with something in hand.

 

"Manson just darted under the ring, but what does he…"

 

"Oh… Oh! I know what that is, it's that wicked crooked bat of his that he introduced to so many to when he was here last."

 

"I don't even want to imagine how it got into that shape in the first place, but Sly had best be careful."

 

As Sly turns, Manson charges with the bat in hand, but Austin manages to duck as he attempts a wild swing. The Sly One forces himself ahead, looking to gain distance, but Manson pursues. While Sly nears the adjacent post, Manson takes another run and swings, but Austin ducks and the bat strikes steel! The sting forces Manson to drop the instrument and Sly takes his chance, latching onto Manson and hooking the arms. However, before he can drop down for the double arm DDT, Manson manages to straighten up with Sly all over him, managing to drop him back as Sly releases the hold!

 

"He nearly took Sly's head off a couple times, but couldn't manage it, although he did get out of Sly's attempt at a double arm DDT."

 

"He looked comfortable with his metal bat as ever, maybe another attempt would've gotten it done."

 

Backing up a number of feet, Manson calls for the Iron Cutting Sword, his Lariat, as Sly stands. He runs forward, getting a glint in his eye as he zeroes in on Sly, but Austin ducks! Rising up, he wraps his arm around Manson's chest, coming up behind his neck and hooking his belt. He drops down, looking for the Flatliner, but Manson reaches out and grabs hold of the barrier edge, blocking the attempt as Sly falls to the ground once more!

 

"And Sly NEARLY manages the Sold Out, his reverse STO, but Manson fights out of that one!"

 

While Sly comes up to his feet, his head pounding from the hard landings previous, Manson reaches out into the crowd and swipes a cup of alcohol out of someone's hand. Austin finally stands, but the sudden sensation of a cold beer disorients him some, and he begins stumbling about, attempting to wipe his eyes clear with his shirt.

 

"He just threw a cup of beer back in Austin's face!"

 

As Sly stumbles about, while clearing his eyes, Manson grabs him around the neck from behind, and clinching his waistband, lifts him up off the ground.

 

"No!"

 

"YES! YES!!"

 

And plants him into the solid ground with an inverted brainbuster!

 

"He just drove Sly headfirst into the ground with the Instant Hell Murder!" shouts Mak, as Manson falls into a cover.

 

"ONE!

 

 

TWO!!!

 

 

 

THREEE!!!!!"

 

*DING DING!*

 

"It's over, Mak! It's over!" King screams, while Cephalic Carnage begins and Kivell raises Manson's hand.

 

"Sly is OUT! He just took the Instant Hell Murder on the floor outside the ring!"

 

"Listen, I like Sly! I do! But Manson couldn't be denied! And what a way to finish!"

 

"It was certainly a physical match, but how cheap does one really have to be."

 

"Hey, Austin Sly would've done the same thing, I assure you," says King, as Manson rounds the corner, catching the discarded SWF Tag Team Championship in the corner of his eye, as he starts up the ramp and we fade out.

Edited November 17, 2007 by King Cucaracha

[King Cucaracha 0]

Ced Ordonez VS. -???-

 

 

Night of Fire!

 

The lights go out as the high-energy Eurobeat theme begins throbbing, sending an unconscious thrill through the audience.

 

“Well, here we go,” says Mak Francis.

 

“The following contest,” booms Funyon, “is scheduled for ONE FALL!”

 

Near the entrance, a group of shadowy figures slowly appear from underneath the raised stage with via a built-in elevator. These figures are remain motionless in various poses until...

 

FIRE!

 

A female voice yells as fireballs shoot upward in front of the stage and the figures are revealed to be Ced Ordonez and four female dancers. They immediately start a heavily choreographed dance routine as the stage is illuminated in an elaborate light show. After a minute or two of pumping up the crowd, Ced breaks away from the group and makes his way to the ring.

 

“Introducing first… from Sacramento, California, weighing two-hundred-nine pounds… “The Bemani Cross Wizard” CED ORDOOOOOOONEZ!”

 

He slides in and makes his way to the one of the far turnbuckle sets, posing for the crowd as cameras flash. He then looks back to the entrance way and directs the crowd's attention to his dance troupe before they head to the back. He poses one more time for his photo-op and begins his pre-match stretch.

 

“Ced Ordonez has been in a bit of a rut lately,” says Mak, “but tonight may well be the night that he turns it around. Although I guess that really depends on who his opponent is. Toxxic certainly seemed impressed.”

 

“He also thinks dudes are sexy. As much as I respect him, I wouldn’t put too much stock in his judgment.”

 

“So, who do you think it is?”

 

“Beats the hell out of me. Could be John Quincy Adams for all I know.”

 

As Ced stretches in the ring, the lights go out. The crowd’s energy starts to build, then quiets as it seems nothing is going to happen.

 

Suddenly, the Smarktron lights up.

 

 

 

 

-------------------------------

 

A medical clinic, late at night. There are no patients to be seen. A receptionist sits at her desk reading a magazine, the cup of coffee in front of her doing woefully little to keep her conscious. She perks up as a dark-haired doctor appears from around a corner at the end of the hall and walks in her direction. He smiles, stops, and leans against the counter.

 

“Not much action today, Jennifer.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Clarence.”

“Yeah, well the SWF has a show tomorrow. You know how those guys are—they rack up injuries like a three-titted hooker picks up tips.”

 

The receptionist glances down awkwardly at the off-color joke. Clarence reaches out and gently lifts her chin with his right index finger until their eyes meet. She struggles to smile.

 

“Clarence, I think I’m falling asleep…”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Really…”

 

She pushes his hand away and makes an exaggerated motion of rubbing her eye. He is noticeably flustered.

 

“Look, there aren’t a lot of guys like me. I’m serious. I could have any girl I wanted, but I don’t. All I’m asking for is—“

 

“Clarence. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

He sighs, bites his lip. Suddenly he reaches into his pocket with his left and brings it up empty.

 

“Shit. I left my damn wallet in the room.” He turns and heads back down the hallway, then winks back at her. “We’ll do lunch,” he quips.

 

Two left turns and up a flight of stairs and Clarence reaches his office on the second floor. Room 212. He tries unlocking the door only to find that it’s already open. Puzzled by this, he enters the room. The door slams shut without warning.

 

“Who’s there!?” In the dark, Clarence instinctively gropes for the cabinet where he keeps his gun, but a hard kick to the ankle puts him on his knees. He turns around and is met with a knee to the face. Hot blood fills his mouth. The lights come on, illuminating a figure in a dark sweater, black leather gloves, and a ski mask.

 

“Who the fuck… how did you…” The broken outer window answers his second question, but his assailant cuts him off before he sputter any more.

 

“You know. You know exactly who I am and why I’m here.” His voice is low and hoarse, menacing.

 

Clarence gasps and spits up blood.

 

“It wasn’t me… the other surgeons… Wilson, he’s the one who botched the incision…”

 

“I’ve dealt with them,” the figure snaps. “But you knew that as well. Four surgeons maimed and crippled, suffering the same injuries they’d once treated in what seemed a series of bizarre accidents. What did they have in common? All of them had once worked at this clinic. All of them had been under your command.”

 

He starts to pace. Clarence considers reaching for the gun, but one look at the frosty eyes beneath the mask forestalls any hope.

 

“Two to six months. Do you remember when you said that? Being a man of discipline and superb conditioning, I figured I’d be back in six weeks. By all means, I should have been. But something went wrong. Do you remember when you said those words to me? I do. Two years, one month, and twenty-five days ago.”

 

He starts to advance on the doctor, his hold on his own temper beginning to slacken.

 

“We paid you full compensation for what happened! You could have sued us for even more! You know how they handle malpractice suits in this state…”

 

“You think I want money?” He removes one of his leather gloves and backhands the surgeon, sending ropes of blood into an arc across the wall.

 

“Please…”

 

The intruder picks up a metal stool and brings it down with full force on the leg of Dr, Clarence Boddicker.

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! My leg! You… you broke my leg! Oh… God…”

 

The figure pulls open a cabinet drawer and wedges Boddicker’s ankles inside it so his knees are pointing toward the ceiling. Then he climbs onto the table across from it.

 

“No I didn’t.”

 

He leaps from the table, executing a perfect double-stomp onto Clarence’s kneecaps. The doctor’s legs splinter like toothpicks with a horrific *crack!*

 

”EEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!”

 

A persistent banging can be heard outside the room, along with a woman’s anguished cries.

 

“Clarence! My God! What happened? Can you hear me?”

 

The attacker unlocks the door and opens it swiftly, sending the receptionist sprawling on her back.

 

She screams.

 

“Shut up.”

 

She does.

 

Scott Pretzler pulls off his mask and stares down at her with no discernible expression. Then he turns and walks away.

 

-------------------------------

 

 

 

 

“Was that…?”

 

The video fades. The audience, shocked into silenc, now begins to buzz. It builds to a near-roar when the choral opening to “Force Ten” by Rush soars over the speaker system. A red light flashes in the entryway, growing in frequency, until the guitar kicks in and Pretzler emerges onto the stage. He is wearing a black robe with red trim, his trademark “tildebang” insignia emblazoned in crimson over his heart.

 

Tough times demand tough talk

demand tough hearts demand tough songs

demand…

 

His arms are at his sides as he surveys the audience. Neither cheering nor booing, the crowd vibrates with excitement and anticipation.

 

“And his opponent… from Toronto, Ontario, weighing two hundred thirty-four pounds… SCOTT PRRRRRRRREEEEETZLERRRRR!”

 

We can rise and fall like empires

Flow in and out like the tide

Be vain and smart, humble and dumb

We can hit and miss like pride… just like pride.

 

“No wonder Toxxic was surprised,” says Mak. “This is… I can’t believe it. It’s been over two years since we’ve seen him in an SWF ring!”

 

“I’ll tell you one thing, Mak,” says King. “Business is about to pick up.”

 

Look in

To the eye of the storm

Look out

For the force without form

Look around

At the sight and the sound

Look in look out look around…

 

Pretzler stands at the foot of the ramp and removes his robe. His trunks are now black with his logo and initials in jagged red. His wrist bands, boots, and knee pads are black as well, the boots with red laces. Across his right shoulder, where there was once smooth skin, runs a deep scar. Ignoring the steps, he darts forward and leaps onto the ring apron, then vaults athletically over the top rope. He jogs toward the middle of the ring and pauses, hands on his hips. As he nods slowly at the audience, it looks like he might be smiling. Just a little.

 

Ced has been watching him the entire time. They are now face-to-face, and Pretzler is the first to offer his hand. Ced accepts it.

 

The bell rings.

 

Ced circles Pretzler nervously, the latter making no move.

 

“If you ask me,” says King, “Ced is scared. Pretzler’s hasn’t been able to wrestle for years. No one knows where he’s been, what tricks he’s picked up.

 

“Maybe. From the footage we just saw, he’s obviously a very different man.”

 

“Huh? He always did stuff like that. It’s what made him so awesome.”

 

Ced runs off the ropes and turns an aerial cartwheel, then poses. Pretzler still doesn’t respond.

 

“I think they’re both nervous,” says Mak. “No amount of training can prepare a person for actual competition in an SWF ring. He’s gotta be rusty.”

 

Finally daring to make contact, the Bemani Cross Wizard walks up to Pretzler and slaps him in the face. Before the Canadian can respond, Ced leaps out of reach, springs off the ropes on the other side of the ring, and slides between Pretzler’s legs. He slides all the way onto the apron and stands up, then somersaults over the top rope, rolls to his feet, and turns a capoeira-style spin in the air!

 

OOOOOOOOH!

 

“Folks you’re looking at two of the finest cruiserweights this industry has to offer,” Mak says.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?,” snaps King. “Pretzler’s a heavyweight now and Ced hasn’t won a match since the Harding administration.”

 

Ced lands in a kneeling position after the spin. He tries turning this into a Total Elimination-style leg sweep to catch Pretzler unawares—

 

—but the returning star jumps over his legs and boots him in the face!

 

*WHACK!*

 

YEEEEEEAAAAHHHHH!

 

Ced is knocked flat on his back. The audience members, in spite of themselves, cannot contain their excitement.

 

“That’s the first move Pretzler’s made since two thousand five!” shouts King. “And he certainly made a statement!”

 

Before Ced can recover or escape to safety, Pretzler grabs hold of his mask and yanks him up to his feet. Placing him in a front facelock, the Ontario native drives a hard knee into his face, then yanks him into a snap suplex—

 

*WHAM!*

 

—and still holding on, rolls over and whips off another—

 

*WHAM!*

 

—then pulls him to his feet once more and lifts him into a full vertical suplex. He holds the move for several seconds, Ordonez teetering perilously on the edge of balance….

 

“Tiiiiimbeeeeeeeeeeer!”

 

 

…before dropping almost head-first in a devastating brainbuster!

 

 

 

*CRRRRRRUNCCCCCCHHHH!*

 

 

 

“That’s it! He’s finished!” King is ecstatic. “Did that even last a minute?”

 

But he’s not finished yet. Calmly, Pretzler stands and grabs Ced by the wrists. Crossing them over the man’s chest, he rolls him onto his stomach, and straddles his back. He leans backward, putting excruciating pressure on the Californian’s midsection. The hold is in place.

 

“The Snowflake Clutch!” King hollers. “I never thought I’d see it again! This is the greatest moment of your life or mine, Mak Francis!”

 

 

 

The referee leans over.

 

 

 

“Do you give—“

 

 

 

“YEEEESSSSS!”

 

 

 

*DING DING DING!*

 

 

“Here is your winner… SCOTT PRRREEETTTZZZLEEEERRR!”

 

Pretzler stands and allows the referee to raise his arm in victory. Ced rolls over, pain contorting his body into a fetal curl. Careful not to inflict further injury, Pretzler reaches down and shakes his hand once more.

 

“Well, that didn’t last very long,” Mak notes.

 

“Astute observation, Captain Obvious.”

 

“It’s safe to say, King, that Pretzler hasn’t lost a step. If anything, he’s gained a few.”

 

“I just… God damn! Is this really happening, Mak?”

 

“I believe it is, King. And I believe this federation is about to go on red alert… if they know what’s best for them.”

[King Cucaracha 0]

Hardcore Rules Match

Arch Griffon VS. Christian Blackwell

 

 

“The following contest,” bellows Funyon as he always does, grabbing the audience’s attention after a short lull in the show, “is a HARDCORE match!”

 

The fans, of course, love this news, and a rousing cheer is heard around the Gill Coliseum! “Well,” Mak begins, grinning at the crowd’s reaction, “this is our second hardcore match up of the evening, but everyone is still pumped!”

 

“Of course they are, they’re boisterous and bloodthirsty, the best fans in the world by far,” King replies, swallowing hard. “As hard as that is for me to admit. Cretins don’t understand me or my unbelievable greatness…”

 

As King trails off, muttering to himself, Funyon continues again. “This match is scheduled for one fall, and there will be no disqualifications! Introducing first…”

 

The crowd goes absolutely, positively mild as Unearth’s “Bloodlust of the Human Condition” begins to play, and the lights slowly begin to dim as the intro begins. Just when the entire arena is almost bathed in complete blackiness, a massive explosion of pyro shoots out from the entranceway! The brilliant white fireworks are blinding, and they do just that to the crowd who momentarily rub their eyes, opening them again to catch a glimpse of Arch Griffin as he strides out from the back and the lights return to their normal state.

 

“From Des Moines Iowa, standing six foot four inches tall and weighing in at an even two hundred and ninety pounds…he is a former International Champion.. He is ARCH GRIFFIN!”

 

“Listen to that reaction Mak; I can barely hear a thing! I should probably take my fingers out of my ears… hey, that’s better. Wait, I still can’t hear anything!”

 

“Hilarious as usual,” Mak responds with a long sigh. “Yeah, the crowd may not respond well to these two this evening, but that’s a given. Neither has been seen around the SWF for quite a long time. This is their chance to put themselves at the forefront of everyone’s mind and start again, fresh, like the whole federation has. I have no doubt that these two will put on a terrific contest to earn the crowd’s approval again!”

 

Looking around with a raised eyebrow, King replies, “DID YOU SAY SOMETHING MAK?”

 

“Come on, take your fingers out!”

 

“That’s what she said,” replies King with a grin.

 

…

 

“…This is ridiculous. When did the SWF lose its way?”

 

Despite his long absence from the ring, some fans give their support, cheering and clapping for Griffin as he makes his way down the ramp, giving away nothing, and wearing only a determined expression and a hunger in his eyes. Sliding underneath the ropes, Griffin climbs to his feet and begins his pre-match ritual of stretching; something we should all do but never seem to, which can be detrimental.

 

“That was a rather random aside,” comments King.

 

“Never mind that King, let’s focus on this contest at hand, which promises to be a bloody and brutal affair. Both of these men are big and powerful and can take a tremendous battering, Blackwell especially. Neither is going to give an inch, and no quarter will be given! Unless it’s a bag full of quarters, in which case it will be used to great effect on someone’s skull.”

 

“I prefer a sack of quarters, myself,” King chimes in just as the lights dim once again. A quiet murmur is heard through the crowd as the darkness lingers, until the sound of eight keyboard strikes is heard in time with bright white strobe lights, followed by the strains of a guitar chord and the beat of a drum that prompt a brilliant display of pyrotechnics! As the crowd grumbles, rubbing their eyes once again, the song kicks into gear, and vision of Christian Blackwell slamming some hapless opponents appears on the SmarkTron in time with the loud drum and guitar beats of the song as the man himself appears at the top of the ramp. He stops only momentarily to drink in the atmosphere before he’s off down the ramp, looking straight at the ring and Arch Griffin.

 

“… And… his opponent! From Rosslare, Ireland, he stands six foot five and weighs two hundred and seventy two pounds… he is a former European Champion… please welcome, CHRISTIAN BLACKWELL!”

 

“He may have been out of the game for a long time,” Mak begins saying, analyzing Christian closely, “and he may be covered in ring rust, but there’s no doubting that Christian comes from good stock.”

 

“Ah, that’s right; didn’t the other Blackwell nearly put you in a wheelchair before Jenkins did?”

 

“Yes. Yes he did…” Mak stops himself from going on a rant and grits his teeth. “I won’t let that affect my duties tonight though. From what I’ve heard, Christian is the more sensible and honorable brother, although he looks fired up tonight…”

 

Indeed, Christian is fired up as he slowly paces back and forth in the ring, adjusting his wrist tape and loosening his neck as he moves it in a circular motion. Funyon quickly exits the ring, leaving the two big men alone with the referee, who does his easiest job for the night…

 

“DING!

 

DING!

 

DING!”

 

… Calling for the bell, and leaving the ring to let the two men have at it! The crowd begins to pick up their enthusiasm as the two wrestlers circle one another, looking for the right spot to attack. Finally, they decide to grapple, both men getting a tight grip of the others shoulders and pushing back and forth. Though smaller, Griffin manages to power the Australian back into the turnbuckles! This surprises Blackwell who tries his best to push back and gain some room, but Griffin cramps him for space, grinding his back against the pads, before letting fly with a right hand! “There won’t be any posturing here tonight, just quick and dirty action!” Mak yells as Archie fires off a flurry of right hands that rock the Aussie.

 

Griffin begins to find his old form as he grabs Christian by the wrist and shoots him into the opposite corner. Blackwell hits with a thud as he lies against the turnbuckles, unable to avoid a thunderous clothesline from Griffin!

 

“Arch may almost be the strongest man in the SWF today,” Mak says, admiring Griffin’s abilities as he winds up and delivers another set of right hands. “Coupled with his no nonsense attitude, he will prove to be a handful for anyone!”

 

“As long as he doesn’t get World of Warcraft urges mid-match he should be fine, the freakin’ geek.”

 

“Why don’t you go in there now and call him that?” Mak says with a grin as Griffin lowers his head and lifts Blackwell up from under the arm, taking a step back before throwing him against the turnbuckles as hard as he can!

 

“Ok, I’ll admit, he’s the hardest Computer Science graduate I’ve even seen,” King replies, admitting nothing honestly. The crowd is split down the middle as they either show their support, or jeer the Des Moines native as he takes Blackwell and shoots him across the ring. Blackwell hits the strands and returns, ducking underneath a clothesline attempt from Griffin! Arch, surprised, turns back around, only to eat a running forearm strike to the jaw! Blackwell, predominately a crowd favorite through his career, still has his fans as they cheer for the first signs of life from the Aussie. Not resting on his laurels, Blackwell waits for Arch to get back up before battering him with numerous European Uppercuts that knock Griffin back into the corner. His jaw still hurting from Griffin’s onslaught, Christian responds by taking Griffin’s arm and wrapping it around the top rope, pushing all his weight forward to bend it against itself. The referee just sits back and watches, nothing he can do as Blackwell lifts Arch’s arm into the air and throws it down on the top rope at lighting quick speed.

 

Griffin quickly retreats, clutching arm, but Blackwell is close behind as he takes the same arm and Irish whips Griffin into the ropes. Before Arch arrives Blackwell lowers his head, ready for a back body drop, but Griffin scouts it and kicks the Australian in the head, knocking him bolt upright! Griffin doubles Christian over again against his will with a sharp kick to the stomach, before grabbing him and throwing him over with a snap Suplex!

 

“Blackwell showed his first signs of life,” begins Mak, “but Griffin just seems so focused, and his power unmatched!”

 

“Never count your chickens when it comes to these Blackwell’s Mak, they’re crafty as hell and will always find a way to equalize.”

 

For his own sake, Christian hopes he can find that equalizer as he climbs to his feet, only to be met with a stinging right hand from Griffin who is never more than two feet away. Griffin quickly tries for a second Suplex, but this time it’s blocked, and before he knows it, he’s been lifted up into the air by Christian with a Suplex of his own! Luckily, he manages to slip from the Aussie’s grasp and land behind his foe, slamming his forearm into Christian’s back. With the Australian incapacitated, Griffin reaches underneath his leg and arm, lifts him up… and over with a Back Drop Suplex!

 

The crowd finds another gear as Arch does, a few more cheers heard here and there, along with a few more boos. These don’t phase Griffin in the slightest as he quickly spins around and grabs Blackwell by the legs, standing above the Aussie in a commanding position. Christian can do nothing as Griffin pulls back and using great leverage sends Blackwell catapulting into the turnbuckles! The sound of head on post is heard as Blackwell’s forehead smacks into the steel and whips his head back violently, causing him to stumble backward in a daze… right into Griffin’s waiting arms, who quickly wraps both arms around Christian’s waist, clasping his hands together and deftly lifting Blackwell off of his feet…

 

… And slamming him on the back of his head with a German Suplex! “What a series of moves!” cries Mak, impressed with Griffin’s showing already. “And a perfectly executed bridge too!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TW- but Blackwell rolls his shoulders off the mat and crawls out to the ropes as Arch almost gets a two count. “Blackwell just can’t respond to this power,” King notes. “I mean, just remember, he was down in the Junior League, with the amateurs! He would have rarely encountered this sort of pounding and this sort of pressure.”

 

The Australian, showing the stubborn resolve his family is known for, struggles to his feet as Griffin strides across the ring, shaking his arm as it feels slightly numb. This doesn’t stop him grabbing Blackwell by the left wrist and try and pull him into a short arm clothesline! But the Australian digs in and will not be budged! Griffin tries again, but he’s cut off by a boot connecting with his gut. Blackwell uses this opportunity to link his arm underneath Archie’s and lifts him up, flipping him onto his back with a Hip Toss. Arch tries to escape immediately, but Blackwell keeps hold of the arm, jarring it against his own body with an armbar. Griffin struggles and fights, throwing wild elbows, and finally connecting with one that forces the Australian to relinquish his hold.

 

Christian climbs to his feet, wiping his bloody lip against his wrist as Griffin runs towards him, but Blackwell deftly steps aside and plants a hand into Griffin’s back, pushing him into the ropes stomach first! Griffin hits the cables and is propelled back against his will, into the waiting arms of Christian Blackwell, who thumps Griffin in the back with a stiff forearm. Blackwell quickly applies a hammerlock before reaching underneath Archie’s leg with his free arm and throwing him over his head with a Back Drop Suplex! The Australian holds onto Arch’s arm until the very last second before he hits the mat, only adding to the pain Griffin’s feels as he rolls away in pain, feeling it shoot up his arm. Blackwell, on all fours, reaches over and pulls Archie in, grinding his forearm into his face as he pins his shoulders to the mat…

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

… But the former International Champion kicks out with authority, still a lot of fight left in him. “It’s clear Griffin has the least amount of rust between the two, but his simple Power style might run into a few problems against a man like Blackwell, who… *ahem* knows how to attack a body part like nobody else, except his darling brother.”

 

“These Blackwell’s are definitely unconventional, and it upsets their opponents groove,” King adds in a rare moment of insight. “Or in your case, your lady friend, as you screamed in Andrew’s hold right in front of her!”

 

“Thanks for that tidbit…” grumbles Mak with disdain, remembering the heartache of Genesis IV as in the ring, Blackwell lifts Griffin to his feet and whips him into furthest corner. Blackwell, starting to gain some confidence and shake out the cobwebs, decides to charge in after the Des Moines native, but meets on his size fourteen boot! Wanting to keep his roll going Blackwell tries again, but this time Griffin fends him off with another boot aimed at his jaw. Blackwell stumbles back in a daze, leaving himself open as Archie grabs him by the wrist and pull him back in close…

 

*WHAM!*

 

… Delivering a devastating short arm clothesline! The crowd cringes as Blackwell hits the mat, but is then in awe as Griffin pulls him right back to feet without breaking a sweat, delivering yet ANOTHER clothesline!

 

“Griffin’s Grasp is impossible to shake!” yells Mak as Blackwell hits the canvas, not quite sure where he is. “He’s really giving Blackwell a harsh dose of wrestling reality here, dominating with some powerful moves and strikes.”

 

“…But there’s nothing like a good old foreign object to even the score, yet both men almost seem oblivious to the fact this is a hardcore match. Use a chair, you pansies!”

 

Blackwell hopes for a brief respite as he rolls underneath the ropes and staggers on the floor below, but Griffin follows close behind, leaving no daylight between the two. The fans all rise to their feet as the referee stands in the ring, everything these two do out of his hands. Griffin has cruel intentions in mind as he lifts Blackwell to his feet and whips him back first into the crowd barrier! The fans nearby cheer and pat Christian on the back, trying to wake up the sleepy Australian…

 

… and it seems to work, as when Griffin charges towards the Aussie, Blackwell lowers his head and heaves Griffin over his head and into the crowd! “Oh my god!” exclaims Francis as there is a lot of commotion in the first rows, with people sent scrambling left and right. “We’re in dangerous territory now, anything goes!”

 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Blackwell holds the back of his head as he turns around, looking to fish his opponent out from the crowd…

 

*WHACK!*

 

… But cops the full force of an open hand slap from Griffin! The Australian reels as Griffin climbs to his feet, thanking the poor fan whom he crushed and broke his fall as he gets on with the job. Blackwell, his honor challenged, charges towards Griffin and leaps at him with no intent other than to climb on top of him and pound him! However, Griffin manages to catch the Aussie in mid-air in a tremendous feat of strength! Wrapping his arms around the Aussie, Griffin charges forth…

 

*THUMP!*

 

… And rams the Blackwell Brother straight into the ring post! The steel has no give at all as Blackwell shows a rare bit of emotion, crying out and holding his… entire spine, which got the full brunt of the steel. “Look at Griffin, just look at him!” Mat shouts, rudely pointing. “Look how nonchalant he is, how focused he is!”

 

“It’s just a job for him Mak,” replies King, impressed. “He just goes out and does what he has to do, and in this case, it’s destroying Christian Blackwell. I’m sure he’ll buy him a beer or two, if he eventually recovers of course.”

 

His back in agony, Blackwell crawls towards the announce position and clings onto the desk in a valiant attempt to drag himself to his feet, of course he only succeeds in pulling the top off the table and falling back down again. Even Griffin has to chuckle at that as he picks the sullied Australian off the floor and nails him with right hands, battering him against the desk. Griffin looks at Christian, and then the desk, and then back at Christian, formulating a cunning plan…

 

The former pulls a monitor out from the table much to King’s displeasure and protest. “Hey, I was watching that, meathead!” Griffin eyeballs the World Champion turned commentator, who continues with, “Never mind, carry on,” drawing a sly grin from Francis as King tells him, “Don’t you say anything.”

 

Griffin clutches the heavy monitor in hand, rearing back with it, aiming it straight for Christian’s head as he follows through! The crafty Australian manages to move his head out of the way just at the last moment, and Griffin hits nothing but tabletop! The vibration from the impact causes Archie to drop the monitor and grab his injured wrist, allowing Blackwell to grab him by the same wrist, and whip him into the ring apron stomach first! “OOOH!” cry the crowd as Griffin tries to lessen the impact with his hands, but only succeeds him injuring his arm further. As he turns around, Christian thwacks him with a couple of European uppercuts for good measure, still feeling the pain down his back and taking his anger out on Griffin.

 

His arm wrecked with pain, Griffin slides back into the ring, hoping to get some feeling back in it as he shakes it furiously. Blackwell is about to follow him to keep up the assault, but he looks over his shoulder as the chair Funyon is sitting on. He pauses, before shooing the announcer away and snapping the chair up for himself!

 

“Christian doesn’t normally use weapons, and I’m sure he would prefer not to,” says Francis, watching the Australian slide back into the ring with chair in hand, “but he’s obviously more focused on winning than ever before.”

 

“And too old to care,” King adds.

 

Just as the Aussie tries to get to his feet, a foot comes down on top of the steel chair! The weapon dislodges from Blackwell’s hand as Griffin throws a right hand towards his head! Backing Blackwell into a corner, Griffin lets fly with a…

 

“WHOOO!”

 

… Knife-edge chop!

 

“WHOOO!”

 

“WHOOO!”

 

“WHOOO!”

 

The crowd really becomes involved as Griffin tenderizes Blackwell’s chest, turning it beet red with stinging chops! Griffin looks back at the chair lying on the canvas and takes it with an outstretched arm, thinking this is just the tool for the job, but as he turns back around to meet Blackwell, the Aussie catches him with a boot the stomach! The chair drops to the mat as Christian, a fire in his eyes, grabs Griffin and throws him against the turnbuckle, connecting with countless, perfectly executed European Uppercuts! This isn’t enough for the Australian who does something unorthodox, climbing onto the second rope and beginning to pound on Archie with a closed fist!

 

“Blackwell is really feeling the moment,” King notes as Blackwell hits Griffin again and again. “He’s relishing in this competition, and has finally decided to pull out all the stops to win.”

 

… But just as King finishes that last word, Griffin suddenly takes hold of Blackwell! The Australian is suddenly in mid-air, Griffin’s arms holding him by the waist as he falls forward…

 

*CRRRRAAACCCKKKK!*

 

… Slamming him down with a POWERBOMB on the steel chair!

 

“INCREDIBLE!” shouts Francis as the crowd cheers for the destruction in the ring. “With his arm in the condition that it is, Griffin may not have been able to pull that move off in normal circumstances, but just as Blackwell does something completely against his nature, he gives his opponent the opening he was looking for.”

 

“That’ll learn me,” King answers with a grumble as Griffin falls on Christian back first, lifting his far leg with his good arm…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRRRRR-NO! Blackwell somehow rolls a shoulder off the mat before the three! Griffin looks at the referee and asks for the three, but the ref just shakes his head and holds up two fingers. Not to be deterred. Griffin climbs to his feet, stilling feeling a sting in his arm, but he also has his feeling back. Blackwell tries to crawl away, almost collapsing as pain shoots up his spine and a cut forms on the back of his head after catching it on the edge of the chair. Griffin cares little for his opponents predicament, putting the boots to Blackwell’s back as he tries to climb to his feet in the corner. Griffin takes hold of Blackwell and moves him to the centre of the ropes, where he shoots the Australian into the opposite strands. As he returns, Griffin turns his body to the side, lifting Blackwell up for a side slam with his good arm, but instead of dropping him to the mat…

 

 

*CRACK!*

 

 

… He drops him across his knee! “That’s just a tremendous display of power from Arch!” shouts Francis, thoroughly impressed. “He was able to lift a man almost as heavy as and certainly taller than he is with one arm, and with ease! That shows smarts, and shows someone who’s on his game.” Griffin falls on his opponent once again, giving him a forearm to the face for good measure before he covers him…

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHRRRRRRRRNEIN! Hopeful cheers are heard from Blackwell’s fans, which have grown in number since the beginning of the match as he kicks out! Arch carries on with his job, the crowd not fazing him in the slightest as he climbs to his feet, noticing Blackwell is laying prone, face first on the mat as he holds his back in agony. Griffin decides to crush his opponent once and for all, literally, as he bounces off the ropes behind him, picks up speed and leaps high into the air, diving down on Blackwell with a Senton!

 

 

… “OOOOHHHHH!”

 

… But Blackwell manages to roll out of harms way! Cheers ring out as Archie sits up, grabbing his elbow which hit the canvas hard. Blackwell breathes a sigh of relief, but his opponent won’t let him rest for one second as he whirls to his feet, trying to regain the ascendancy with a Lariat! Blackwell manages to duck this however as he falls to the mat and in one foul swoop, grabs Griffin from behind and pulls him down to the mat with a schoolboy pin! “He could have it here; Arch was taken completely by surprise!” Francis shouts as the referee slides over and counts…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHH-KICKOUT! Archie powers out, but hurts himself in the process as he clutches at his arm. “That was a really smart move from Blackwell,” King states, “putting all his weight down on Griffin’s shoulder, almost coming away with the surprise win.”

 

“He’s desperate though, King. Griffin is just dominating him, and something extraordinary has to happen for him to pull out the victory.”

 

Both men crawl away, battered and bruised, but only one has access to a steel chair, and it’s Arch Griffin! As the two men each get to a vertical base, Griffin swings the chair through the air, aiming it directly for Blackwell’s head! The Australian manages to duck underneath and arch misses completely! Griffin does a three sixty spin, such was the force he put behind the shot, but as he turns to meet Blackwell again…

 

 

 

*WHACK!!*

 

 

 

… He kicks the chair back into his face with a Standing Side Kick! Arch loses the chair as his nose begins to bleed, but it will take more than that to knock him down as he shakes it off. Blackwell tries to put him on his back with a Lariat, but Arch ducks and grabs Blackwell’s arm on the way through, suddenly lifting him into the air with a Full Nelson! “GRIDLOCK!” cries Mak as Griffin tries for his finisher, but Blackwell escapes from his grasp, grabbing his injured arm as he falls back to his feet, facing Arch.

 

Before Griffin can answer, Blackwell knees him in the gut and jumps directly upward, pulling Griffin down by the arm…

 

 

 

 

 

 

*CCCRRRRAAAACCCCCKKKK!!!*

 

 

 

 

 

… Planting him face first on the steel chair below with a Leaping Arm Breaker! “THAT’S what I want to see from him!” King shouts, throwing his arms into the air after the tremendous impact.

 

Griffin, his blood smearing against the chair as it buckets from his nose, is almost helpless as Blackwell finds himself in a familiar position as he keeps hold of Griffin’s injured arm and grabs the other one, holding him in a Chickenwing position from behind. The crowd rise to their collective feet as Blackwell takes a deep breath before flipping over Griffin…

 

 

“CATTLE MUTILATION!” Mak cries as Blackwell locks in the hold, holding himself up in a bridged position as he pulls back on Griffin’s arms! “Shades of Blackwell’s match against Omega Storm way back when, and it didn’t take too long for Omega to tap then!”

 

“I seem to remember his brother putting this same move on a chair against a certain someone-“

 

“Don’t know who you’re talking about. Shutup.”

 

The crowd cheers and cheers as Blackwell wrenches on Griffin’s arms, as Arch tries valiantly to hold on and somehow fight his way out, but his arm just won’t allow it. Christian grits his teeth, dearly hoping this is enough, because his back is about to collapse under the pressure…

 

… But just when it seems he he’ll have to let go, the referee suddenly gets to his feet pointing to ringside!

 

 

 

 

 

 

“TAP! TAP! TAP!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“THAT’S IT! It’s all over!”

 

 

 

"DING! DING! DING!"

 

 

 

Not even a second after the bell is heard Blackwell lets go of Griffin and cries out in agony, his eyes showing utter agony as he cringes and groans. Griffin is the same, but feeling even worse for tapping out in the middle of the ring.

 

“The winner of this match by submission… CHRISTIAN BLACKWEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLL!”

 

Those words from Funyon are music to Blackwell’s ears as the referee lifts his arm into the air, but even that hurts as Blackwell pulls his arm back and looks angrily at the ref. “Great contest between these two,” Mak begins by saying as Christian carefully leaves the ring, holding his lower back. “Both put it all on the line, and it wasn’t pretty at times, but they both showed they’re back, and they’re ready to take the SWF by storm!”

 

“Dam right it wasn’t pretty,” King replies, “but even I’ll concede they put on quite a show, and they’ll only get better in the future.”

 

The last shot before we fade out is of Blackwell hobbling up the ramp, his body wrecked with pain, his breathing labored...

 

 

 

 

… But he smiles nonetheless.

 

 

 

 

…fade out…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[King Cucaracha 0]

Non Title Match

Wildchild VS. Dance Dance Dragon

 

 

FADE IN

 

“Our next match features the singles debut of the Dance Dance Dragon, who made his SWF debut teaming up with Chris Raynor at All Hallows a few weeks ago,” says Mak Francis. “And King, what better opponent for the Dragon to get his feet wet against than the Wildchild?”

 

“This match has the potential to be spectacularly bad,” say the Suicide King. “Between the Dragon’s alleged ‘strong style’ and his flamboyant personality, as well as Wildchild’s proclivity for going to the top rope and performing crazy high-risk moves, this could be a train wreck of monumental proportions!”

 

“Way to put the product over, King,” Mak says snidely. “Wildchild is going to have his hands full tonight with the Dragon, but I’m sure that he’ll acquit himself well. Let’s not forget, King, that Wildchild is basically the only true high-flier in the Cruiserweight division; many of the other cruiserweight wrestlers in the SWF work a somewhat strong style-based form of wrestling, so Wildchild plenty of experience against opponents who work like that. Nonetheless, the Dragon should be a great matchup for him; he’s made a name for himself in promotions all around the world!”

 

“As what, comic relief?” asks an incredulous King. “This guy is a joke, I don’t care how talented he is! At least Wildchild, as big a waste of a wrestler as he is, tends to concentrate on actually putting his opponent away once the bell rings; if you told this fruitcake that they were going to have a dance-off instead of a match, he’d probably prefer it! And anyway, since when did we start looking to other promotions to sign talent?”

 

“Since we lost our TV deal and need help drawing fans…”

 

“Oh.”

 

 

After several seconds of awkward silence, Mak snaps out of it. “Uh, so anyway, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got a great match coming up, so let’s send it up to Funyon in the ring!”

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

Mak and King glare at each other, as if each is blaming the other for committing the on-air faux pas, as Funyon begins his introductions: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following is a non-title match, with a fifteen-minute time limit!” With that, the lights dim, and the entranceway is illuminated by a rotating Dance Dance Revolution hologram. Suddenly, Madonna’s “Hung Up” begins playing as the Dragon makes his way out from behind the curtain!

 

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall!” continues Funyon. “Introducing first, from Heaven’s Dancefloor, and weighing two hundred eleven pounds… He is the Strong Style Party Animal: Dance Dance DRAAAAAGON!” Dragon boogies his way down the aisle, slapping hands idly with the fans surrounding the barricade.

 

“I tell you what, King,” says Mak, as Dragon slides underneath the bottom rope to enter the ring, “I know you were having fun cracking wise at the Dragon’s mannerisms earlier on, but it’d be a mistake to take this young man lightly; as I said before, he’s a very accomplished competitor inside that squared circle, and his most dangerous move, the Newbie Killer, is actually a variation of the Wild Ride!”

 

“Well, that puts a little different perspective on the match,” remarks King, as the lights come back on in the arena. “And the Dragon actually has a strength advantage over Wildchild, so his version may actually be a little more impactful… We’ve already seen the Dragon use that Newbie Killer to knock out the Fabulous Jakey, an opponent that Wildchild has had difficulty with in the past… It’ll be interesting to see whether Wildchild has what it takes to beat an opponent that may be singularly qualified to neutralize his best move!” Dragon continues to dance about the ring as his music fades out, and the arena once again darkens:

 

 

ATTENTION!

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

 

ALL YOU NIGGAZ!

 

ALL YOU BITCHES!

 

TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE…

 

 

TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKAAAAA…

 

 

The crowd becomes frantic as Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play; a single spotlight pulses at the entranceway as Wildchild steps out from behind the curtain!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“His opponent,” booms Funyon, “hails from the Bahamas, and weighs two hundred fourteen pounds! He is the SWF World Cruiserweight Champion: the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild slaps hands with the fans at ringside as he makes his way down the aisle as well.

 

“Wildchild is coming off a loss at All Hallows,” explains Mak, as WC somersaults between the ropes to enter the ring, “as he and Johnny Dangerous failed to become six-time Tag Team Champions, but the Dragon is actually coming off a win, teaming up with Chris Raynor to upset Jakey and the Hall of Famer Tom Flesher! This’ll be a great chance to see what he’s capable of doing on his own!”

 

“Let’s not get it twisted,” replies King, as the lights come back on, “the Dragon didn’t really get the ‘win,’ as such: Raynor did, and only after illegal assistance from the outside by the Dragon… the referee shouldn’t even have counted that pin!” WC hands the Cruiserweight Championship belt to referee Ronald “Red” Herrington, who delivers it to a departing Funyon, as Wildchild’s music fades out. Herrington then motions for the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match:

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

“Bell’s gone,” shouts Mak, “and we’re underway!” Dragon prances around the ring; it is unclear whether he means to challenge Wildchild to a dance-off, or is just dancing for its own sake. WC stares back at him from the relative safety of his assigned corner with an eyebrow raised, as if to say “O RLY?” Finally, Wildchild and Dragon meet in the center of the ring in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, which Dragon quickly takes control of, shifting into a side-headlock; WC leads Dragon back towards the edge of the ring and then uses the ropes to launch his opponent across the ring, but the Bemani Bruiser knocks him down with a running shoulderblock as he bounces off the ropes!

 

“A little show of power by the Dragon,” notes Mak. Wildchild bellies out as Dragon runs to the ropes again, quickly getting to his feet to leapfrog Triple D as he rebounds, and immediately leaping back off the canvas, flipping backwards and planting both feet into Dragon’s chest as he bounces off the ropes a second time with a backflip kick! WC beats Dragon to his feet and hooks his arm underneath his opponent’s, taking DDD over with a hiptoss; Triple D stands up, and into another hiptoss, and then an armdrag! Wildchild sprawls out to distribute his body weight, as he shifts casually into an armbar; Dragon kicks his body over towards the edge of the ring to get his foot underneath the bottom rope, forcing Herrington to order a break.

 

“Nice quick sequence of wrestling holds by the Wildchild,” says Mak, as both men get back to their feet. WC stomps on the canvas several times to get the crowd going into a stomp of their own, before circling the ring; they move in towards each other, and this time, WC gets the advantage with the side-headlock, and quickly follows by taking Dragon over with a side-headlock takeover. DDD rolls onto his knees and negotiates his way back to his feet; he tries to push Wildchild across the ring, but the Caribbean Cruiser tightens his grip around Dragon’s head and drops to a knee, bringing his forward progress to a screeching halt, and bringing the Strong Style Party Animal skidding to his knees beside him.

 

“Wildchild maintains control with that side-headlock, and the Dragon can’t shake him off,” reports Mak, as DDD lifts Wildchild into the air for a belly-to-back suplex. “And he STILL can’t shake him off! Wildchild with a beautiful counter to the belly-to-back suplex, shifting his weight over into another side-headlock takeover! King, the Dragon appears to have been taken completely off his game so far tonight!”

 

“Well, who can blame him?” replies King, as Triple D negotiates his way back to his feet. “I mean, if you read the scouting report on Wildchild, you won’t see the word ‘wrestling’ mentioned too many times! This is a guy whose track record has shown that he doesn’t like to get on the mat, unless he knows that his opponent isn’t expecting it.” Dragon forces Wildchild back into a neutral corner, forcing Herrington to separate the two of them…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… And then the Bemani Bruiser lunges over the top of the referee, sucker-punching WC in the mouth! Herrington quickly moves out of the way as Dragon busts WC in the mouth with a forearm smash, and then quickly follows up with a stiff palm strike to the chest! He then grabs Wildchild by the wrist and whips him across the ring into the opposite corner; WC slams back-first into the turnbuckles, but sidesteps the Strong Style Party Animal as he charges into the corner, and hooks him under the arm as he staggers out of the corner to take him over with an armdrag takeover! Wildchild beats Dragon to his feet and grabs him from behind in a waistlock before pushing him towards the edge of the ring; Dragon grabs onto the top rope to block WC’s attempt to pull him back into a rolling cradle, but the Bahama Bomber rolls back to his feet and quickly leaps off the canvas as Dragon turns around…

 

 

CRACK!

 

… Knocking Dance Dance Dragon through the ropes with a leg lariat! Wildchild runs towards the nearby corner and leaps up onto the top turnbuckle, waiting just a heartbeat for Dragon to get back to his feet before leaping to the outside, landing in a seated position on Dragon’s shoulders and locking his ankles behind DDD’s head as he arches backwards, ripping Dragon off the apron with a breathtaking satellite rana!

 

 

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

 

 

 

“Here we go!” exclaims Mak, as both men get to their feet in front of the announce table. “The tempo’s starting to pick up now; Wildchild’s got that fast pace going!”

 

“Oh well,” King mutters resignedly. “So much for any hopes of seeing an actual wrestling match!” WC grabs Dragon by the back of the head and slams him face-first into the announce table; he then grabs Dragon by the wrist and whips him across the arena floor, but Dragon reverses, sending Wildchild crashing into the barricade so fiercely that he tumbles over the barricade, and into the crowd!

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

“That was a potentially match-changing mistake by Wildchild!” says Mak. Dragon heads towards the barricade and reaches over to grab Wildchild by the hair and pull him up…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… But the Tropical Tumbler surprises him by quickly getting his leg up with a shin guard-enhanced axe kick that smashes into Dragon’s face! As Dragon grabs the side of his head in pain, WC takes advantage of his compromised state to reach back over the barricade and grab DDD, lifting him up into a scoop slam and dumping him out into the crowd!

 

 

THIRTEEN!

 

 

FOURTEEN!

 

 

Rather than an immediate followup to his attack, Wildchild hops back over the barricade, before somersaulting back into the ring. As Herrington continues his count, WC strides across the ring and leaps gracefully up onto the top turnbuckle.

 

 

SEVENTEEN!

 

 

EIGHTEEN!

 

 

As soon as he can see the “whites” in Dragon’s “eyes,” WC takes off like a shot across the top rope, leaping out of the ring as he approaches the opposite corner and somersaulting out into the crowd, crashing into Dragon with a flying somersault senton! Wildchild hammers Dragon with hard right hands as the fans chant their approval:

 

 

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

DUB-CEE!

 

 

“Andros Dive!” shrieks Mak, as Herrington is forced to restart his count. “Welcome to the SWF, Dance Dance Dragon!” WC pulls Dragon to his feet and hooks him in a front-waistlock before lifting him up overhead and dumping him onto the unforgiving concrete floor!

 

“Ouch!” groans Mak, as Wildchild climbs back over the barricade. “He’s going to be feeling that in the morning!”

 

“If he wanted a softer landing,” quips King, “he should have joined the SWF before we cut floor pads out of the budget!”

 

Mak turns to glare at King as if to say, “I can’t believe you just said that,” as WC rolls Dragon back into the ring.

 

“Five minutes have gone by,” says Funyon. “There are ten minutes remaining in the match… TEN minutes!”

 

Wildchild hops onto the apron and grabs onto the top rope to slingshot into the ring to crash into Dragon’s chest with a slingshot corkscrew splash! WC applies a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Dragon kicks out at two. Wildchild pulls Dragon back to his feet, and scoops him up off the canvas before planting him back down with a scoop slam! He immediately leaps off the canvas and extends his right leg to crash down into Dragon with a legdrop, and the rolls away from Dragon and onto his stomach, fluidly getting back to his feet as he hops back off the canvas, this time stretching out his left leg to hit a second straight legdrop! This time, Wildchild rolls atop Dragon and applies a lateral press, as Herrington dives into position to count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Dragon again kicks out at two. WC pulls Dragon to his feet and traps him in a front-facelock, before lifting him overhead; the Bahama Bomber rotates on his heel before falling backwards, driving DDD into the canvas with a corkscrew suplex! WC then heads over to the corner and climbs up to the top turnbuckle; he dives down into the ring to spear Dragon’s sternum with a suicide headbutt! WC applies a half-hearted lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

NO! DRAGON GETS HIS FOOT ON THE ROPES!

 

 

 

 

“That was a near-miss by Wildchild!” gasps Mak. “I thought he had him!”

 

“That’s not a near-miss, you idiot!” snaps King. “It’s a near-hit… a PINFALL would be a near-miss!”

 

“Be that as it may,” says Mak dismissively, “you’ve got to admit that Wildchild has all working tonight; he’s pretty much dominated this match!”

 

“Well, I should hope so,” quips King. “It’d be a pretty big embarrassment if he loses to this Oat Toast reject… But, I’ll admit, he has shown me a little something tonight!” WC pulls Dragon to his feet, but the Bemani Bruiser stuns him with an eye rake; Dragon grabs Wildchild by the wrist and whips him hard into the corner. He rushes in to follow up with a clothesline, but the Tropical Tumbler gets his foot up to blast Dragon in the mouth! WC climbs up to the top turnbuckle as Dragon stumbles away from the corner and leaps fearlessly into the ring, snaring the Bemani Bruiser by the head as he flies by…

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And smashing him face-first into the canvas with a flying bulldog! The fans cheer excitedly as WC pulls himself to his feet and they cheer him even more loudly as he raises his hands to his mouth:

 

 

WC: CAW-CAW!

Crowd: CAW-CAW!

 

 

… And gives them a birdcall! The fans come to their feet as Wildchild steps out onto the apron and prepares to climb to the top turnbuckle!

 

“Wildchild’s going up for the Bird Dropping!” shouts Mak, as WC settles himself on the top turnbuckle.

 

“Well, if he hits it, it’ll be tough luck for the Dragon,” adds King. Suddenly, Dragon surges to his feet and lunges towards the corner to knock Wildchild off his perch, but the Tropical Tumbler lands safely on his feet in the ring; Dragon charges out of the corner with a running palm strike, which WC easily ducks…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… But the Bemani Bruiser then immediately follows up with a superkick that sends Wildchild crashing back into the corner! The energy it takes to deliver the superkick seems to take everything that Dragon has left, and he is slow to move, despite the fact that Wildchild is slumped over lifelessly in the corner; Herrington begins his count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

“Tremendous counter by the Dragon,” says Mak. “He appeared to have that Bird Dropping well scouted, and even when Wildchild managed to avoid the crotch job, the Dragon was able to turn the tables!”

 

“But does he have anything left in the tank to go for the cover?” wonders King.

 

 

SIX!

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

EIGHT!

 

 

At the count of eight, Dragon rolls onto his knees and crawls towards the corner; he grabs WC by the ankle and drags him out of the corner, before applying a lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

TH— NO!

 

 

 

 

“Tough break for the Dragon,” says Mak. “If he could have reacted a little quicker after that superkick, he probably would have got the pin!” Dragon pushes Wildchild into a sitting position and applies a reverse chinlock; Dragon moves WC around so that he’s facing the center of the ring, and Herrington moves into position to check the Cruiserweight Champion’s face.

 

“This may be just the move that Dragon needs to take control of this match,” says King. “But you know what I would do?”

 

“Everybody knows what you would do, King,” replies Mak, as Dragon surreptitiously positions his feet on the second rope to add pressure to the chinlock, “and I think that Dragon has been reading your playbook! Look up, ref!”

 

Wildchild flails his arms and legs about desperately, causing Herrington to look up, but not before Dragon has a chance to get his feet off the ropes. The beleaguered official does notice the wavering motion of the ropes, however, and asks the Bemani Bruiser point-blank if he had anything to do with it, but Dragon simply glares back from behind his mask; he then repositions himself behind WC to lock in the Dragon Sleeper!

 

“That’s where it’s at right there,” praises King, as Dragon slips his feet back onto the second rope. “Give credit to Dragon for surviving that offense by the Wildchild, and coming back to take control of this match!”

 

“He deserves all the credit in the world,” replies Mak. “He took one hell of a beating… and now he’s softening Wildchild up, perhaps to deliver some of those high impact moves that he’s known for?”

 

“I’d say that’s a smart idea, wouldn’t you?” asks King. “Wildchild has proven himself historically to be vulnerable to a slower pace, and a reverse chinlock is just the sort of thing that’s ideal to slow him down!”

 

Herrington finally catches Dragon in the act of cheating, and orders him to break the hold, which he does oh-so reluctantly. Wishing to press his advantage, Dragon rolls WC on his belly and stands over him; the Bemani Bruiser grapevines his opponent’s legs and then reaches down to grab his arms before falling back in a surfboard!

 

“Surfboard!” echoes King. “We could see a submission right here!”

 

“Highly unlikely!” replies Mak. “I don’t think there’s any way Wildchild gives up here tonight!” Herrington asks WC if he wants to submit, but the Bahama Bomber screams his negative reply; instead, he amazingly manages to wriggle his way out of Dragon’s relatively loose grip and spins around in midair, crashing into Dragon with a short splash! He can’t even hold him down for a one-count, though, as the Bemani Bruiser kicks out immediately; he beats WC to his feet and stuns him with a kick to the midsection before trapping him in a standing headscissors…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And driving him down to the canvas with a pulling piledriver!

 

 

“Piledriver!” shouts King. “That’ll do it!” Dragon applies a lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

NO! FOOT ON THE ROPE!

 

 

“Ten minutes have gone by,” says Funyon. “There are FIVE minutes remaining in the match… FIVE minutes!”

 

Dragon’s pulls Wildchild away from the ropes and applies another lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Wildchild kicks out at two! Dragon tries again; this time, he reaches over to hook the leg as he tries for the pin again:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Wildchild kicks out at two! Dragon pulls WC up to his feet and scoop him up for a slam, but the Caribbean Cruiser hooks Dragon’s legs as he comes down, and pulls the Bemani Bruiser into an inside cradle!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Dragon kicks out at two! He beats Wildchild to his feet and blasts him in the chest with a series of kicks that knocks WC to the canvas! Dragon then applies another cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Wildchild kicks out at two! Dragon argues with the referee about the count; there’s no real way to tell whether Dragon is starting to lose his composure but, if you trust body language, he’s not far off.

 

“Wildchild is showing tremendous heart!” proclaims Mak. “And I think that he just might be starting to get to the Dragon; I mean, he has hit a couple of moves where I’m sure he felt like he should have had the win!” Dragon pulls Wildchild back to his feet and whips him hard into the corner; he charges in after him and leaps into the air to blast WC with a running palm strike, and then follows it up in the corner with a ferocious Chop/Elbow combo in the corner

 

“There’s a Violence Party going on in the corner!” says Mak. “The Dragon is really hitting his stride!” Triple D whips WC across the ring again…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… And gets knocked flat on his ass as Wildchild surges explosively out of the corner and blasts him in the mouth with a flying back elbow!

 

“Tremendous determination by the Wildchild!” praises Mak. “He’s taken some heavy blows from the Dragon, and look at him fire back!” Breathing heavily, Wildchild scrambles to his feet and runs to the ropes, but Dragon knocks him out of the air with a standing dropkick! Dragon then goes through a very brief dance step to demonstrate what he’s about to do next; he runs towards the edge of the ring and breaks into a DDR sequence as he bounces off the ropes, before leaping into the air…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And driving the DDR Elbow down into Wildchild’s chest! Dragon holds his shoulders down for a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR—NO! Wildchild kicks out! If one could see the face behind the mask, one could see what can only be described as disbelief!

 

“Dragon appears shocked,” says King, “and so am I! Wildchild is reaching back and finding something that I honestly didn’t think he had any more!”

 

“The Dragon’s going to have to go for it here, I think,” says Mak. “This looks like time for a big move!” Dragon pulls Wildchild to his feet and traps him in an inverted front-facelock; the Bemani Bruiser pops his hips as he lifts WC into the air, falling to his posterior as WC comes down to deliver the Osaka Street Cutter! He then rolls out to the apron and climbs up to the top turnbuckle!

 

“Osaka Street Cutter!” calls Mak. “And there’s no telling what Dragon could be going for here!” Dragon leaps off the top turnbuckle, hiking his knees up to his chest as he prepares to impale Wildchild with a double stomp!

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

… But he crashes awkwardly to the canvas as his opponent rolls out of the way! Wildchild pulls Dragon to his feet and knocks him back to the corner with a series of forearms; he grabs Dragon by the wrist and whips him across the ring. He races into the corner after him, leaping off the canvas and twisting around in midair to execute his patented Blue Crush splash!

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

… But Dragon dives out of the way, causing Wildchild to slam face-first into the top turnbuckle! As Wildchild staggers backwards, Dragon grabs him by the back of the head and traps him in a full Nelson before falling back into a Dragon Suplex!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

NO! In his weakened state, Dragon loses control of the full Nelson as he falls backwards, and Wildchild is just able to get the shoulder up! Triple D gets back to his feet and follows it up by running towards the edge of the ring, leaping onto the second rope, and flipping backwards to crash into WC with a springboard moonsault!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR— KICKOUT!

 

 

“Two minutes remain in the match,” booms Funyon. “TWO MINUTES!”

 

Dragon pulls WC to his feet and whips him across the ring; the Bemani Bruiser lowers his head to deliver a back-body drop…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But Wildchild leaps into the air and comes down across the back of Dragon’s neck, driving him into the canvas face-first with the Caribbean Cutter!

 

 

“Cutter!” shouts Mak, as Wildchild rolls over onto his knees. “And now you’ve got to wonder how much Wildchild has left?” WC crawls feebly over towards Dragon and applies a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

KICKOUT!

 

Both Dragon and Wildchild manage to roll onto their knees as Red Herrington reaches his nine-count, and begin to exchange punches as they fight their way back to their feet:

 

 

BAP!

 

BAM!

 

BAP!

 

BAM!

 

BAP!

 

BAM!

 

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

 

Wildchild gets the better of the exchange and grabs Dragon by the wrist, whipping him towards the corner…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But the newcomer spins around to reverse the whip attempt and kicks him in the midsection; Dragon quickly turns around and then reaches back to grab WC in a three-quarter headlock, before leaping up off the canvas and flipping over WC’s head…

 

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But the Bahama Bomber reverses, changing Dragon’s angle and bringing him down hard into a belly-to-back suplex! WC maintains a bridge as Herrington drops down to count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Dragon kicks out at two!

 

 

 

 

“That was tremendous!” shouts Mak. “We just saw a counter to the counter to the counter… and Wildchild nearly came away victorious after that suplex!”

 

“One minute remaining in the match,” bellows Funyon. “ONE MINUTE!”

 

Wildchild beats Dragon to his feet and rushes towards the ropes, knocking him down with a running elbow smash, and applies a lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Dragon kicks out at two. WC pulls Dragon to his feet, only to roll him into an inside cradle:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

KICKOUT!

 

 

 

 

Wildchild again quickly pulls Dragon to his feet and hooks him into a backslide, spinning around and falling forward for the pinfall:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

“Thirty seconds remaining,” booms Funyon. “THIRTY SECONDS!”

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Dragon kicks out at two! WC pulls Dragon to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring; he lowers his head to deliver a back-body drop, but the Bemani Bruiser catches him as he comes off the ropes, and counters into a swinging neckbreaker! Dragon applies a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Wildchild kicks out at two! Dragon pulls WC to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him into a neutral corner; WC slams into the turnbuckles, but dives safely out of the corner as Dragon comes barreling in! WC scrambles to his feet and runs towards the edge of the ring as Dragon staggers out of the corner, and leaps onto the top turnbuckle, curling into a ball as he springs back into the ring…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And knocks Dragon down with a Pinball attack! WC scurries over and applies a lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Dragon kicks out at two! WC pops to his feet and quickly signals for the Wild Ride! He pulls Dragon to his feet and doubles him over, and then reaches back and locks his arms with those of the newcomer…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… When suddenly, the Bemani Bruiser lifts WC overhead and falls backwards into his own version of the Wild Ride, the Newbie Killer!

 

“Newbie Killer!” shrieks Mak. “What an unbelievable counter!” Dragon rolls onto his belly and crawls atop the motionless Wildchild to apply a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREEEEE—

 

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

 

 

“Wow!” exclaims Mak. “It looks like we’ve got a major upset here tonight, as Dance Dance Dragon appears to have just beaten the World Cruiserweight Champion with a version of his own finishing hold! Let’s go to Funyon for the official word!”

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “before the referee counted three, the time limit had expired…”

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“What?” exclaims an exasperated King.

 

 

The crowd becomes incensed as the announcer continues, “There was no pin… I repeat, No Pin! The referee has officially ruled this contest… a DRAW!”

 

 

“Well, how about that?” asks Mak. “I thought for sure that Dragon had that match; but it appears that Wildchild has just narrowly avoided a potentially embarrassing upset loss!”

 

“Yeah, but you’ve got to figure that, even with a draw, a strong showing like this, it’s got to earn him some consideration for a future title shot!” says King.

 

“What a great match!” says Mak. “And we’ve still got more exciting action to go; stay with us, ladies and gentlemen!”

 

Wildchild rolls out of the ring and accepts his World Cruiserweight Championship; he looks into the ring at the Dragon with a newfound respect…

 

 

As we:

FADE OUT

[King Cucaracha 0]

Va'aiga and Dace Night VS. The Andersens

 

 

As the arena falls briefly silent, the opening of “Pursuit of Vikings” by Amon Amarth plays and Funyon in his best announcing voice addresses the arena. “The following match is scheduled for ONE fall,” Starts the always well dressed ring announcer, “And is a tag team contest. Introducing first at a combined weight of 490lbs, from Stockholm in Sweden... representing the Four Norsemen, The Stockholm Stretching Crew... ARNE AND OLAF AAAAAAAAAAANDERSON!”

 

The Andersens walk confidently down to ring side, Arne steadfastly ignoring the fans, Olaf taking time out to jaw with them. Olaf vaults the ring ropes and begins to warm up in the ring while Arne cracks his neck a couple of times to loosen it up. “These men,” comments The Suicide King, “Have what it takes to pull off a big shock tonight.”

 

“What makes you so sure,” replies play by play man Mak Francis.

 

“There is NO way Va'aiga and Dace Night can stay on the same page. These guys are brothers, Francis, they've teamed their whole lives.”

 

“But they've never won Tag gold, and that's something that Va'aiga has done many times in many different federations and Dace has managed WITH the Maori Badass”

 

“And their opponents, first from Birmingham, England,” calls out Funyon, “He weighs in at 260lbs... DAAAAAAACE F'N NIIIIIIGHT!”

 

The red and white flashing lights mark time to “Winds of Creation” by Decapitated and Dace Night steps out of the smoke in the entrance area to calls of “DACE FUCKIN' NIGHT! DACE FUCKIN' NIGHT!” from the crowd. Dace strides down to the ring and steps through the ropes, staring a hole through his opponents with a fixed glare. “You have to respect Dace Night,” adds Mak over his entrance, “He's one of the toughest S.O.Bs in the SWF's history.” Suicide King replies quickly, “I don't have to respect anyone. I'm The Suicide King, Francis.”

 

As Dace's music dies down, the entrance area fills again with smoke and with the defiant shouts of Savage ringing throughout the arena, Va'aiga steps through the mists and shows himself to the crowd. Funyon's distinctive tones ring out again, “And his tag team partner from Rotorua, New Zealand... weighing in tonight at 348lbs... “THE MAORI BADASS VAAAAAAAAAA'AAAAAAAAAIIIIINNNNNNNNGAAAAAAAAA!”

 

“Here comes trouble,” comments Suicide King with an off camera smirk. “Trouble for the Swedes?” questions Francis. “Trouble for anyone stepping in his path,” replies Kng, underlining Va'aiga and Dace's checkered history. On his walk down to the ring Va'aiga takes time to shout into the entrance ramp camera, “PACIFIKA IN THE HOUSE! REPRESENT!” Meanwhile the crowd amuses itself with a now dueling “DACE FUCKIN' NIGHT!... VAH-ING-UH!” chant. With the four combatants in the ring referee Nick Soapdish calls for the bell and the start of the match.

 

“Here we go with some classic SWF Tag Team action,” calls Mak as with a minor disagreement Va'aiga finally steps out of the ring leaving Dace alone with Olaf. Olaf immediately starts jawing with Dace but the stoic Brummie responds with a calm silence. Olaf throws a pair of kinfe edge chops to try to soften Dace up and back up a half step to look to launch a bigger move but as he fires off a standing dropkick Dace merely leans backwards and flips the Swedish crusierweight over with a sharp push to the underside of his extended legs causing Olaf to crash to the mat. Olaf kips up and mouths an obscenity in Swedish before rushing backwards towards the ropes, bouncing off to set up a running attack. The Swede goes low with a dropkick but Dace jumps, causing the Swede to slide underneath him. Olaf uses the momentum to regain his standing position and bounce off the ropes on the other side but foolishly chooses to shape for a shoulder block, Dace sets himself and the cocky Olaf bounces off him. Olaf retreats quickly to his corner and tags in Arne, and as Dace creates some space by moving near his own corner Va'aiga reaches in and blind tags himself into the match. Dace flashes a look at his Maori tag partner and steps out of the ring. “Trouble in the former champs' corner already,” comments King, barely disguising his delight.

 

“If the former Tag Champions cannot stay on the same page they might be in trouble,” Mak adds, agreeing with King though with markedly less enthusiasm. Meanwhile back in the ring Arne and Va'aiga square off. Arne fires off an Elbow Smash to the face of Va'aiga but the Maori holds his fists up in a boxing guard to block the blow. “Since Danny Williams broke Va'aiga's nose with an elbow smash, the Maori has learned to protect himself from that move,” commentates Mak. Trying hard to bust through the Maori's guard, Olaf fires in another pair of elbow strikes but Va'aiga stands firm and the second Olaf rears back a little too far Va'aiga launches a forearm across the Swede's face. Arne staggers a little but regains his composure quickly.

 

Searching for a top wristlock, Arne grabs the wrist of Va'aiga and twists but the Maori's strength allows him to quickly reverse the pressure and control of the hold. Arne re-counters by grabbing a side headlock and shooting Va'aiga off into the ropes but anticipating a shoulder block, Arne's set stance offers no defence as Va'aiga goes low and wraps him up with The Rugby Tackle! Va'aiga wails away on the now grounded Swede until Nick Soapdish orders him off and top stop using the closed fist. Va'aiga steps away and throws the Shaka sign to the crowd promting a massive “BOO-YAH!” shout but also allowing Dace Night to reach out and blind tag himself in. Already in position referee Soapdish orders Va'aiga back to his corner. “Still that cold feeling between the former tag champs,” remarks Francis. “If you'd been dropped on your head by someone, you're not going to fully trust them,” replies King.

 

The crowd's duelling chants are getting stronger, changing from “DACE F'N NIGHT! TAG THE MAORI! To VA-ING-UH! WE WANT DACE!” depending on who is in the ring. Mak comments on this “It seems the loyalties of the crowd are split.” “I'm more interested,” replies King, “On where the loyalties of the wrestlers lie.” Meanwhile in the ring Dace and Arne exchange back waistlocks, both looking for German Suplexes. Arne pushes Dace off and elbows him firmly in the small of his back, briefly staggering the Brummie. Arne snaps up a flailing arm and drags Dace back into his knee, then quickly follows up with a side slam. Arne hooks a leg and Soapdish drops to count...

 

ONE!

 

And Va'aiga rushes into the ring and breaks it up before giving Dace a chance to break up the pin himself. Dace looks up at the Maori who GRINS! Dace raises his eyebrows and returns to his feet, feigning that he's off guard and as Arne tries a cheap shot Dace wheels round and smashes him across the face with a forearm. Arne staggers back to his corner. Olaf tags in as Dace walks back to his own corner and offers Va'aiga a tag in, which the Maori takes. “Well there appears to be some understanding forming in the Va'aiga/Dace corner,” suggests Mak. “Yeah but it's not exactly cordial is it Mak?” replies King. “It's certainly strained,” admits Mak.

 

Circling each other in the ring Olaf and Va'aiga both seek a quick opening. “Olaf doesn't have a chance striking against the Maori, he has to use his speed,” remarks Mak. “Well DUH!” is King's sarcastic reply. Va'aiga fires off a loose forearm shot and Olaf uses the opportunity to slide through the legs of his massive Maori opponent. Va'aiga turns round only to be met with a lightning fast springboard dropkick from his Swedish opponent. The Maori staggers and Olaf adds a second dropkick to his knee to take Va'agia down to one knee. Olaf takes a run up and flies at the Maori, grabbing one of his massive arms and pretzelling the Maori's body round into a pinning predicament.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

And Dace Night rushes the ring and quickly breaks the pin cover. Va'aiga looks up and Dace holds a finger aloft and mouths “One each!” Va'aiga grins again and gets back to a vertical base. Olaf sizes up Va'aiga for another quick attack as Dace is ordered from the ring. In contravention of Mak's advice Olaf fires a stinging chop into Va'aiga's chest and a shout of “How you like that?”... and the Maori responds by sending him to the mat with a MASSIVE headbutt! “How does Va'aiga like that? Not very much!” jokes Mak. Va'aiga drags Olaf to his feet, almost literally by the scruff of his neck, and softens him up with a rapid pair of forearms to the smaller man's head. Sliding round the back of his opponent Va'aiga grabs a back waistlock and launches the Swedish cruiserweight with a MASSIVE German Suplex send the smaller man flying across the ring. Va'aiga thinks about a cover but seeing Dace's hand outstretched in his own corner opts to tag in his English partner. “Va'aiga and Dace seem to be on the same page again!” calls Mak, to which King adds “Well maybe in the same book at least.”

 

With the crowd chants returning to a more simple “VA-ING-UH! DACE FUCKIN' NIGHT!” pattern Dace walks over to the fallen Olaf. Almost smiling to himself, Dace hauls Olaf off the mat and fires in a couple of forearms of his own to the unfortunate Scandinavian. Dace takes a back waistlock of his own and DROPS OLAF ON HIS HEAD WITH THE DANGEROUS GERMAN SUPLEX! Dace stands up and nods, a smirk crossing his face as Olaf rolls to his own corner allowing Arne to tag in. Before even allowing the larger of the Andersen's time to collect his thoughts Dace rushes in with a running Knee Lift, wraps an arm quickly around the now bent double Swede, snaps off a rapid DDT, bounces off the ring ropes and drops a knee across the back of his fallen victim. Dace covers, Soapdish counts...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

TH... and Arne kicks out. Va'aiga makes the “So very close” sign across the ring before holding out his arm for a tag. Dace walks over and calmly tags the Maori back in and he stares across the ring at Arne and beckons the Swede up. “Things appear to have taken a turn for the worse for the Norsemen,” remarks Francis. King stays silent rather than respond. In the ring Va'aiga hauls Arne up to his feet and softens him up with another massive headbutt. With his opponent groggy Va'aiga takes the chance to fire himself off the ropes, building momentum for a huge Yakuza Kick, dropping Arne to the mat like a stone. Bouncing again off the ropes on the adjacent side Va'aiga leaps into the air and drops onto Arne's chest head first, casuing Arne to writhe in pain. Va'aiga hooks a leg and again there comes the count

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

TH... and Arne kicks out again. Dace allows a smile to cross his face again as Va'aiga looks towards him. “The former champs appear to be... enjoying themselves?” asks Mak, questioning himself. “They're sociopaths, Mak, sociopaths I tell you,” replies King incredulously!

 

Staking his opponent like the human predator he is, Va'aiga waits on Arne getting up again. With his target firmly in his sights, Va'aiga launches an enormous right hand to Arne's jaw. Referee Soapdish remonstrates breifly with the Maori, but as Arne attempt to use the distraction to charge shoulder first into the Maori, Va'aiga steps to a side, pushing the Swede firmly into the ring post of his own corner. Grabbing his opponent from behind, Va'aiga looks for a back suplex on the large Swede and Dace reaches forward and sets the move off with an elbow smash from over the ring ropes! The Maori stands up again and tags Dace back in. “That was a blatant double team! Va'aiga and Dace Night are cheating!” shouts King. “Va'aiga and Dace Night are co-operating, King.” responds Mak.

 

The paragon of violence that is Dace Night rushes across the ring, catching Olaf off guard with a forearm. As his partner falls off the ring apron, Arne stands again and walks over to Dace, grabbing him in a waistlock. Using what little stamina he has left Arne military presses Dace up above his head drop steps forwards and drops the Brummie flat on the canvas. Arne turns round just in time to see DACE NIGHT STAND STRAIGHT BACK UP AGAIN AND FROWN AT HIM! Dace grabs Arne and whips him forcefully back into the Va'aiga/Dace corner. Dace strides into the corner and fires off a few lethal looking roundhouse kicks into Arne's chest, before tagging in Va'aiga again.

 

“This match is turning decisively in the way of Va'aiga and Dace Night,” comments Mak, “Maybe one of the most dangerous teams in SWF history is on it's way back?”

 

“They're not THE most dangerous team in SWF history. That's The Suicide King and... anyone else really,” responds King.

 

Walking into the center of the ring, Va'aiga swings a loose right hook towards Arne. Taking the small opportunity he has, Arne rolls Va'aiga around and picks the Maori up, straining under the effort, and drops the Maori across his knee with a nasty looking pendulum backbreaker. Arne turns and poses for the crowd but THIS TIME VA'AIGA STANDS BACK UP, SHAKES HIS HEAD AND SCREAMS OUT TO THE CROWD! Arne turns back round to be met with a vicious flurry of punches from the Maori... Left! Right! Left! Right! Forearm! Forearm! Forearm! Arne ends up slumped in his own corner and Olaf tags himself back in. “It's up to the cruiserweight now,” Mak suggests. “I have faith Mak,” replies King.

 

The crowd now screaming for their favourite face in the match, the volume in the arena at a massive high, Va'aiga and Olaf Andersen square off again in the ring. Olaf foolishly tries to soften the Maori up with punches, but the Maori shakes off the attacks on his head and whips the Swede into the far ropes. Olaf rebounds and as Va'aiga extends that killer forearm, the Swede leapfrogs over his massive opponent and bounces again off the far ropes. Olaf runs back at the Maori and leaps for his broad shoulders. Positioning himself Olaf leans back a little trying to lever the Maori over with a huracanrana... and gets PLANTED down onto the mat with a Powerbomb for his troubles. Another quick tag sees Dace re-enter the ring and he quickly approaches Olaf, grabbing him and hoisting him up to his feet. Dace takes a front facelock and drapes Olaf's loose arm over his own shoulders. Lifting Olaf up in a vertical suplex Dace steadies himself and hold the Swede, letting the blood rush to his head. “This isn't good. Not good at all,” comments King as Dace holds the cruiserweight Andersen up for what seems an age before sitting out and dropping Olaf on his head with a BRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAINBUUUUUUUSTAAAAH! Mak adds a simple word to the scene. “Ouch!”

 

The tough Arne steps into the ring to try to aid his brother, and Dace who was thinking about covering turns his attention to the bigger man. Arne rushes Dace but is stopped in his tracks with a vicious roundhouse kick. Dace grabs the Swede and quickly Atomic Drops him. Arne stands still, stunned by the move and gets his face PASTED with a leaping roundhouse kick. Dace turns back to Olaf who is slowly regaining both stance and grip on reality, Takes a few steps of run up and YAKUZA KICKS HIM IN THE FACE!! Va'aiga steps into the carnage and GERMAN SUPLEXES OLAF INTO THE TURNBUCKLES!!! Nick Soapdish tries to restore order and as Dace rushes over to pin Arne, the ref orders Va'aiga back to his corner and informs Dace that Olaf was the legal man. “Chaos is breaking loose!” screams King.

 

Tagging in Va'aiga legally now, Dace lifts the groggy Olaf to his feet. Va'aiga steps into the ring and as Olaf turns to face the Maori he gets met with a HUGE left jab! Olaf staggers towards Dace and gets clocked with an elbow smash! Back towards Va'aiga earns him another jab! Another stagger towards Dace, another elbow! Turning to the Maori again gets a third left jab and as Dace preps another elbow Va'aiga kisses his right fist... Dace smashes Olaf back towards his tag partner... BIG RIGHT HOOK AND A SCREAM OF “BOO-YAH!” Va'aiga throws the Shaka sign to the crowd as Dace turns around to see Arne attempt a charge! All four men are in the ring as Arne runs right into a shoulder block from Dace. Dace points to Va'aiga and the pair charge at the ring ropes on opposite sides. Suicide King gets time to comment “I wouldn't want to be where Arne Andersen is standing,” as VA'AIGA AND DACE HIT THE SANDWICH RUGBY TACKLE ON ARNE!!! Turning back to Olaf, Va'aiga and Dace lift him up by a leg each, flip him over and DROP HIM ON HIS NECK AND SHOULDERS WITH A DOUBLE SPEAR TACKLE!!!!

 

“The Maori Badass and Dace F'n Night are rolling now, King,” remarks Mak as the ref orders Dace Night back to his own corner. “This puts the whole SWF Tag scene on notice.” Va'aiga turns to Olaf, looks him straight in the eye with a stare that could wither plants, lifts him up by an arm, turns that arm across his throat, applies the half nelson with his own free arm, trapping Olaf's and SPEARS HIM INTO THE MAT WITH THE SWISS SUPLEX! Not even thinking about a cover Va'aiga turns to where Arne is laying and starts adjusting his forearm tape. “I think Va'aiga is thinking about the kill shot here,” Mak points out. “DUCK! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DUCK!” shouts King... but Arne is too discombobulated to heed King's advice and as Va'aiga charges the Swede gets hit with the EVIL VICIOUS NASTY OPPONENT FAZING FACE ERASING LIFE INSURANCE CATEGORY RAISING LAAAAAAAAAAAARIIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

 

“THE LARIAT! THE LARIAT! THE LARIAT!” calls Mak Francis. Va'aiga meanwhile takes a short amount of time to look at the state of Olaf, turns to his corner, draws a finger across his throat and calls out to Dace, “You know what to do, brah!” Va'aigs strides to his corner, tags Dace in, grabs Olaf by the waist and lifts him up into an Inverted Powerbomb position, PLANTING OLAF DOWN TO THE MAT AS DACE NIGHT AXE KICKS THE BACK OF HIS NECK!!!!! “THE DECAPITATOR!” screams Mak at the top of his lungs! Dace Night drops to cover and the count is academic...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!!

 

“That's it,” calls Mak, “Va'aiga and Dace Night reached into their old playbook and put away the Andersens with The Decapitator!”

 

“I'm disgusted” replies King.

 

“Any reason?”

 

“No I'm just generally disgusted.”

 

Meanwhile in the ring Va'aiga outstretches a cleched fist towards Dace and the Brummie walks over and offers a sign of respect by touching fists. Va'aiga nods and signals over to Funyon to throw him up a mic.

 

“You know something? Me and this man here, we've been up and down the road a few times. We've tagged. We've fought. We've spilled blood together, we've spilled buckets of each other's blood. But Dace, if you're cool... maybe it's time we called ourselves TWO TIME Tag Team Champions!”

 

The crowd launch into a massive “DACE FUCKIN' NIGHT” chant which Va'aiga encourages. The Maori hands his partner the mic.

 

Dace takes a little time to consider his response which comes in his confident tone."Well, it's better the devil you know and to have someone watch your back. Yeah, we spilled each other's blood, but we had times, damn good times. We kicked arse and we rocked. So.. considering who's heads we get to bust to take those belts, dude we're on!"

 

Va'aiga grabs back the mic and “So if you're down with Dace Fuckin' Night and the Maori Badass, throw them Shaka signs up high and shout....”

 

And the crowd join in for one massive “BOO-YAH!”

[King Cucaracha 0]

Submissions Match

New Blood Championship

Michael Alexander © VS. The Fabulous Jakey

 

The cameras pan back to the ring, where Mak Francis and the Suicide King remain in their appointed places. “Well, King, we’ve had a great show so far here at the Gill Coliseum here in Corvallis, Oregon, and the remaining matches are looking to be even better,” Mak Francis shills shamelessly.

 

“You make it sound like we’re actually in some major venue, Francis,” King laughs derisively. “But you’re right, the next few matches are putting the icing on this cake. And the next match is the perfect beginning to the perfect end of this show. I’m amazed that we’re wasting this show on Corvallis, Oregon. Where the hell is this place anyway?”

 

“King, we have a sold-out arena here. And we have Michael Alexander and the Fabulous Jakey going at it in a Submission Match for the New Blood Championship. And if Jakey pulls it out here, Revolution-0 becomes a triple crown stable.”

 

“Not that it would be a bad thing, but going over Alexander is a tall order, Francis,” King replies. “Jakey’s a tougher customer than he has any right to be, though…this is going to be a great match.”

 

“I have to agree with you there, King. This can’t help but be a great match.”

 

Funyon clambers into the ring, along with Sexton Hardcastle, the referee. The big announcer raises his microphone. “Ladies and Gentleman…the following match is a Submission Match for the SWF New Blood Championship! First, the challenger…from Minneapolis, Minnesota…weighing in at 160 pounds…The FAAAAAAAAAAABULOUS JAAAAAAAAAAAAAKEY!”

 

Fast techno-themed music plays, with red and pink lights decorating the arena. Jakey steps out onto the ramp, garnering a large number of jeers, but also no small number of female calls of approval. The Fabulous One swaggers to the ring wearing a red trenchcoat over his outfit, dispensing some choice remarks to the catcalling men and some select smiles at the smitten ladies. Jakey walks up the steps and enters the ring through the ropes, then stands in the center and undoes his trenchcoat, then removes it with arms spread out; this elicits a loud flair of female applause. Jakey then flings the coat over his shoulder before parking it in the corner, then stands in the center of the ring and raises both arms, garnering more jeers and a few cheers.

 

“Dread Rock” by Paul Oakenfold begins to play, 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 lights in the arena flicker in time with the Smarktron.

 

“And the champion,” Funyon drawls. “From Greenville, South Carolina…he weighs in at 221 pounds…the Mad Scientist of the Mat…MMMMMMICHAEL AAAAAAAAAAAAALEXAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDER!”

 

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 his opponent or the crowd, while smirking to himself. Funyon rolls out of the ring as the Referee calls for the bell!

 

DING! DING!

 

Jakey and Michael circle each other for a moment before colliding in a collar-and-elbow. Jakey clamps on a side headlock to gain control, smiling to the ladies at ringside. His expression shifts to annoyance when Alexander grabs his wrist and quickly twists the Fabulous One’s arm into a hammerlock. Jakey’s dismay grows as the Mad Scientist steps around Jakey’s right leg, and trips the former Minnesotan forward over his hip, using the hammerlock to force the Fabulous One into the trip. Jakey drops to the mat face down, and Alexander floats over to clamp on a front facelock, which he happily wrenches as Referee Hardcastle tries to check for a possible choke. Hardcastle admonishes him, but discovers no choke and allows the hold to continue. The female fans shriek their disapproval, while the men in attendance voice unequivocal pleasure at Jakey’s suffering.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

"Jakey is playing right into Alexander's hands here," Mak warns.

 

"Alexander is a master, no doubt about it, Francis," King says didactically. "But don't count Jakey out either. He's shown time and again that he has a damn fine ground game."

 

As if in answer to the King's comments, Jakey forces his way up to his knees. He grabs one of Alexander’s wrists and returns the earlier favor by breaking the Evil Genius’s grip just enough to allow him to roll clockwise, pull Alexander’s arm over and back, clamping on a hammerlock of his own! Alexander drops to the mat in surprise, and of course from losing one of his supports. Jakey quickly springs up and drops a knee onto the arm as it’s twisted, causing the Mad Scientist to growl in pain. This time it’s the women’s turn to applaud as the young fashion plate is in control; the men of course want to see the pretty boy humbled.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

"Jakey with a smart reversal," Mak observes, adding as an aside, "It seems that the ladies in attendance have chosen their favorite."

 

"Who cares what they think? All that matters is what happens in the ring," King points out. "Besides, Jakey's never at a loss for female fans."

 

Using no small amount of raw muscle and sheer will, Alexander pushes himself back up to his knees to prevent Jakey from dropping another knee. Jakey shrugs to the crowd and wrenches on the hammerlock instead. He also takes the opportunity to slap the Mad Scientist across the back of the head and laughs.

 

"Michael Alexander is getting a taste of his own medicine, King," Mak chirrups happily. "Jakey showing a little attitude of his own with that disrespectful slap to the Mad Scientist."

 

"Attitude is good to have when you've got the upper hand, Francis," King nods. "However, Jakey may not want to antagonize a guy like Alexander; anger seems to just increase his focus that much more."

 

A snarl of fury erupts from Alexander, and he shoots up before Jakey can react, reversing the hammerlock. The Fabulous One yelps in shock, even more so as Alexander drops to one knee behind him, placing his shoulder underneath Jakey’s pinioned arm, while reaching up with his free hand to slip on a reverse half-chancery. Then, the Mad Scientist uses the reverse chancery to forcibly drag Jakey over into an inverted fireman’s carry, placing the fulcrum of Jakey’s mass on the Fabulous One’s pinioned arm, and flipping the Minnesotan down face first to the mat, eliciting a snarl of pain and a grunt of shock.

 

"I don't even know what to call that!" Mak yelps. "Michael Alexander with...an...uh...hammerlock combined with an inverted fireman's carry?"

 

"They don't call him the Mad Scientist of the Mat for nothing, Francis," King laughs. "Like I said, Jakey's got to watch himself. He's damn good...you don't become a two-time champion in the SWF without being good, but he's never dealt with Alexander before. There's no position in that ring that this guy can't turn to his advantage."

 

Jakey takes the opportunity provided by the loosening of Alexander’s grip on him (necessitated by the fireman's carry) to scramble away and into a corner, his face a mixture of surprise and pained fury. Alexander does not pursue him, but rises to his feet, a smirk of satisfaction on his face. Once again, the women are stricken, while their male counterparts are more than happy with the result.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

"Both these guys should be able to at least show some mutual respect after that excellent technical exchange," Mak bemoans. "But I don't think either man has any respect for any one, let alone their current opponent."

 

The Evil Genius beckons Jakey to return to the fray, and the Fabulous One is more than happy to do so, as his ire is now more than a little peeked. The two grapplers once more lock up in a classic collar-and-elbow. This time, however, Jakey takes control with a not-so-classic knee to the gut. As Alexander doubles over, the young fashion plate snapmares him down to the mat. Jakey keeps a hold on the Mad Scientist’s head and follows the takedown with a vicious flipping neck snap! Michael holds his neck in pain and tries to roll towards the ropes as the Fabulous One rolls back up to his feet, posing for the ladies; the men aren’t thrilled.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

"A knee to the gut puts an end to that excellent catch-style contest we had going," Mak sighs.

 

"And Jakey follows that up with a neck snap! Looks like Jakey might be softening him up for a little Wet Cement later," King claps.

 

Michael Alexander makes his way back up to his knees, still rubbing his neck. Jakey grins and measures his downed opponent, charging in to deliver a vicious soccer kick to Alexander’s head. The Evil Genius crumbles to the mat, looking either stunned or unconscious. Jakey gives himself a round of applause which is echoed by the wistful ladies in the audience; the men are not so impressed.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Mak grimaces. "Ouch...that boot to the head will soften something up."

 

"Smart move by Jakey," King acclaims. "Alexander's strong suit is strategy, and it's tough to outthink your opponent with your brains scrambled by a near-concussion."

 

The Fabulous One decides to take advantage of the situation, pinioning Alexander’s right leg with his left leg, reaching forward to pull the Mad Scientist’s head back in a chinlock, cinching in a brutal STF! The pain of the hold brings Alexander’s eyes back into focus in short order. He tries for a moment to claw at Jakey’s grip on the chinlock, but he can’t get any leverage. Fighting through the pain, Alexander shifts his focus to crawl toward the nearby ropes. Jakey leans onto Alexander, forcing his opponent to carry his weight as well. The crowd, at this point, can’t help but get involved, on both sides. The girls calling for Alexander’s submission, the men urging him to, well, not.

 

“TAP! TAP! TAP!”

 

“NOT! NOT! NOT!”

 

"Alexander's in serious trouble here!" Mak yells. "Jakey's got that STF locked on, and he's spread his own weight across Michael's back, forcing him to carry Jakey's weight as well as his own if he wants to get to the ropes."

 

King shakes his head sadly. "Michael's definitely in a lot of trouble, Francis. Jakey's one of the few guys who still applies the STF right. He's putting pressure on Alexander's back and legs, but ESPECIALLY the neck. Even if Alexander gets out of this hold, Jakey's has softened him up even more for another submission later. Bad news for Michael, unfortunately."

 

Alexander stretches himself out, pulling both himself and Jakey toward the ropes. Jakey tries to wrench his opponent back and away from the ropes, but the weight and strength differential allows Alexander to make a lunge to grab the bottom rope. Referee Hardcastle tells Jakey to break it, but the Fabulous snarls at him and continues to wrench away at the hold. Hardcastle begins the count.

 

One!

 

Two!

 

Three!

 

Four!

 

Jakey brakes the hold just before the disqualifying count, slapping Alexander’s head for good measure. Hardcastle admonishes the Fabulous One, pushing him away from the Evil Genius.

 

"Oh, come on," Make complains. "The damage was done! Why couldn't Jakey break the hold?"

 

King snorts derisively. "Francis, he has until the count of five. It makes no sense to let your opponent out of a hold until you absolutely have to. The whole purpose of this match is to hurt the other guy enough for him to give up, not to give him an extra breather. As much as I like Alexander, Jakey is really coming into his own in this match."

 

Alexander pushes himself back up to his knees during his moment of respite, leaning on the ropes. Jakey steps around the lecturing referee to plant a stomping kick into the Mad Scientist’s midsection. He then lifts Alexander up, and whips him back down to the mat with a snap suplex! Jakey gets back to his feet with a kip-up. He gives a flourish to the ladies in attendance.

 

“Jakey continues to take it to Alexander,” Mak says. “That was a nice snap suplex, but he should really stay on Alexander instead of playing to the crowd.”

 

“Michael has yet to recover from that nasty kick to the head,” King adds sadly. “And if Jakey wants to show off a bit, what’s the harm? He’s got Alexander off his game, and it seems to be working for him. This is the perfect time for Jakey to show everyone that he’s got the goods.”

 

Alexander rolls over, making his way back to his knees. Jakey showboats a little, tapping his foot on the mat, teasing the audience. He goes for another sharp kick to Alexander’s midsection...but the Evil Genius springs up sharply, catching Jakey’s foot. Grinning wickedly, Alexander twists Jakey’s ankle violently, forcing Jakey off his feet with a Mandara Twist! The gentlemen in attendance approve, the ladies…not so much.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Jakey’s showboating allowed Alexander to get his wits about him again,” Mak shakes his head. “And now Jakey’s off his game.”

 

“That was classic Alexander…he goes right back to taking out the leg,” King chirps happily.

 

Alexander gets back up to his feet just as Jakey does, both men a little worse for wear. Jakey hops a little, his ankle still tender from the Mandara Twist. Alexander seems to be nursing a somewhat tender back from the suplex. The two men circle each other for a moment, perhaps now a little more respectful of each other’s abilities. Alexander feigns another collar-and-elbow, but at the last instant, he drops and shoots in for a single leg takedown, dropping Jakey onto his back. The Mad Scientist stands back while keeping a grip on Jakey’s right leg, stepping over the Fabulous One’s leg with his own, dropping down to pinion Jakey’s leg between his own in a modified leg breaker. Alexander doesn’t stop there, but holds onto Jakey’s ankle, wrenching it at a painful angle.

 

“Again, classic Michael Alexander,” King points out. “He took the pin out from under Jakey, and now he’s put Jakey on the business end of another experiment!”

 

“This is where Alexander is at his best,” Mak agrees. “Jakey’s blood is in the water, and Michael’s circling for the kill.”

 

Jakey growls in pain, but manages to focus enough to grab Alexander’s head and fire a sharp knee into the side of the Evil Genius’ head with his free leg. Alexander is stunned enough to allow the Fabulous One to scramble free.

 

“Jakey escapes with a little creative legwork,” King laughs.

 

“An unorthodox but very effective counter to that legbreaker of Alexander’s,” Mak agrees. “But has the damage already been done?”

 

Jakey gets to the ropes and hauls himself back to his feet, using the ropes for support. Alexander gets back to his feet and charges at Jakey, who kicks the Mad Scientist in the gut, stopping him in his tracks. Using the ropes, Jakey leans back to go for a roundhouse kick…which Alexander ducks, which puts him a perfect position to cinch in a full nelson, and snap Jakey over in a release dragon suplex! The Mad Scientist returns to his feet as Jakey rolls on the mat holding his head.

 

“Jakey looked like he was making a bit of a comeback, but Alexander asserts his authority once again with a dragon suplex!” Mak yells.

 

“Jakey folded up like an accordion!” King snorts. “Looks like Alexander’s trying to return the favor of Jakey’s kick to the head earlier.”

 

With a sadistic grin, Michael Alexander grabs Jakey’s right leg again, pulling the Minnesotan to the ropes. The Evil Genius places Jakey’s leg across the bottom rope, stepping through the ropes and standing on Jakey’s leg on the outside. Alexander smiles broadly as he springs over the top rope to execute a brutal double stomp onto the Fabulous One’s leg. Jakey howls in pain and the ladies in the audience echo his pain with their own horror. The men seem to have another opinion.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

Mak grimaces. “Alexander his with his patented tope legbreaker. It’s not looking too good for Jakey now, King.”

 

“That could be the bell tolling for Jakey right now,” King agrees. “At the very least, Jakey is going to be hobbled for the rest of this match, and in the ring with Alexander, that’s like dipping a rare steak into a shark tank.”

 

Jakey rolls away, nursing his right leg. Alexander laughs as he pursues Jakey, who has managed to pull himself up to his feet, although he is favoring his right leg. As the Mad Scientist approaches, the Fabulous One fires off a kick with his right leg, which Alexander catches easily.

 

“Jakey’s offense is becoming completely ineffectual,” Mak says. “He’s hurt so bad he can’t even get in a good kick without getting caught.”

 

“It does look pretty bad,” King nods. “But Jakey has come through worse situations…”

 

It looks as if the Evil Genius is about to close for a T-Bone Suplex attempt…but with a surprising burst of speed, Jakey leaps at Alexander, clamping on a front facelock and scissoring his legs around Alexander’s midsection, miring the Mad Scientist in Jakey’s version of Wet Cement! The women howl their approval, while the men groan in dismay.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“That’s amazing!” Mak gasps. “Jakey caught Alexander in the Wet Cement! And they’re right in the middle of the ring!”

 

“I told you that Jakey can’t be counted out until he’s out! He got that hold out of nowhere! Michael’s got to get out of this quick, or he’s going to have to tap…there’s no real easy way out of that hold.” King leans forward in anticipation.

 

Michael Alexander stumbles in shock, allowing Jakey the time to really cinch the hold on. The Mad Scientist tries to break the body scissors first, hoping to open the grapple up to a counter. However, even with a weakened right leg, the Fabulous One doggedly clings to Alexander with the body scissors. With a snarl, Jakey wrenches away on the hold, bring Alexander down to one knee. The ladies uncharacteristically offer Michael Alexander some encouragement…although not the sort he’s inclined to take. The men voice their general opinion of Jakey.

 

“TAP! TAP! TAP!”

 

“JAKEY SUCKS! JAKEY SUCKS! JAKEY SUCKS!”

 

“Alexander is going down!” Mak cries. “If he is forced down any further, it’s over!”

 

“Michael’s got to do something quick,” King gasps hoarsely.

 

The Evil Genius has been caught, and he knows it. The submission specialist, the master wrestler, is losing this submission match. He feels himself fading. He’s near the middle of the ring; the easy way out is not available. The image of him losing the New Blood Title…HIS TITLE…in a match that is his specialty flashes through his mind’s eye. And he stands again, his legs unsteady. Jakey wrenches the hold again, and Alexander’s legs nearly buckle, but he holds himself up, and he employs a surge of angry adrenaline to barrel into the turnbuckle, sandwiching Jakey in the corner. Jakey releases the hold at the same time the air is crushed from his lungs. Alexander staggers out of the corner, taking deep breaths.

 

“Alexander just smashed his way out of the Wet Cement by main force,” Mak says in surprise. “That’s not something you usually see.”

 

“The key to victory is attacking from a direction your opponent isn’t looking,” King remarks. “And Jakey obviously wasn’t expecting that! And it worked. Can’t argue with results.”

 

Jakey steps up to the second turnbuckle, and he leaps off for a double axehandle! Michael Alexander is ready for him, and steps forward to catch Jakey across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. The Mad Scientist turns it into an airplane spin, twirling Jakey around twice before dropping him into a jarring flapjack in the middle of the ring!

 

“Alexander caught Jakey in the Crucible!” Mak cries.

 

“Jakey just got pancaked!” King laughs. “Another great counter by Alexander!”

 

The Evil Genius doesn’t stop there, however. Rolling back to his feet, Alexander moves like a man possessed, folding the Fabulous One’s legs into an inverted lotus around his own leg. Placing Jakey’s foot behind his calf, Alexander drops backwards, tying the Gordian Knot! Jakey snarls in pain, trying to pull himself toward the ropes. Alexander bridges his body, making it more difficult for Jakey to maneuver his weight.

 

“The Gordian Knot!” Mak yells. “Jakey’s in it now!”

 

“After that earlier legwork by Alexander, I don’t know how long Jakey can last in this. He’s tougher than he looks, but this is too much. He’s got to get out of this,” King says.

 

The men, for the first time tonight, offer encouragement to Jakey; the ladies, as they often do, decide to be contrary.

 

“TAP! TAP! TAP!”

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

Alexander wrenches the Knot; Jakey stretches to his limit…it’s not far enough.

 

“TAP! TAP! TAP!”

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

Alexander bridges his body, putting more force into the Knot; Jakey tries to force his way closer to the ropes…it’s not far enough.

 

“TAP! TAP! TAP!”

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

Alexander twists the Knot tighter by rolling his body away from the ropes; Jakey flails to the right and left to try and make some headway…it’s not far enough.

 

“TAP! TAP! TAP!”

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

But there is one escape that is not so far at all…and Jakey takes it.

 

TAP! TAP! TAP!

 

Alexander surprisingly releases the hold promptly. Jakey hobbles to his corner.

 

“Jakey tapped, King!”

 

“It was only a matter of time, Francis. Jakey’s no slouch, but unless you can get to the ropes, there’s really no way out of that hold but to tap.”

 

Referee Sexton Hardcastle raises Alexander’s hand and hands him the belt as Funyon blares into the microphone. “Here is your winner…and STILL SWF New Blood Champion…MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAEL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALEXAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDER!” The men in the audience rejoice in Jakey’s defeat; the women are disgusted.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Yet another successful defense by Alexander! And a victory over a two-time cruiserweight champion no less. You know what this means, King.”

 

“One more win and Alexander gets to pick his shot at any other title in the SWF, Francis. Things could be getting very, very interesting…”

 

Alexander raises the belt over his head in one hand, holding it aloft to the crowd and Jakey alike. The Mad Scientist rolls out of the ring and walks up the ramp, still holding the belt over his head as he ascends the stage, turning to once again remind the people in attendance, and the boys in the back, who is the SWF New Blood Champion as we…

 

FADE OUT.

 

[King Cucaracha 0]

#1 Contendership Match

Tom Flesher VS. Johnny Dangerous

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and the winner will be the NUMBER-ONE CONTENDER to the SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!”

 

“Here we go,” says the Suicide King, clearly at his peak for the evening. “We're going to see one of the SWF's top athletes in the ring tonight, and we're going to get to see him rip some schmuck limb from limb for our entertainment!”

 

“I wouldn't call him 'some schmuck,'” objects Mak Francis. “Johnny Dangerous has won more World Championships than Tom Flesher, and he's beaten Tom far more often than Tom's beaten him. This match is going to be tighter than you realize, and the smart money's on the Barracuda tonight.”

 

Suddenly, the lights go dim. A stick of dynamite appears on the SmarkTron, and the fuse begins slowly burning away, until....

 

 

KABOOM!

 

 

The “Mission Impossible” theme blares over the speakers, and Johnny Dangerous steps out through the curtain to a shower of cheers. As he plays to the crowd, Funyon makes his announcement.

 

“Making his way to the ring, weighing in at 225 pounds, and hailing from Las Vegas, Nevada... he is one half of Wild and Dangerous, and one of the most decorated wrestlers in the history of the SWF.... he is THE BARRACUDA, JOHNNY DAAAAAAAAAAAANGEROUS!”

 

Dangerous sprints to the ring, high-fiving the Oregon fans as he makes a lap around the ring before rolling onto the canvas. He mounts each corner, saluting the crowd before stepping back down to the mat and relaxing in a neutral corner.

 

“And his opponent...”

 

“HIS OPPONENT,” shouts the shrill voice of Allison Onita, “is 231 pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal. He's the master of the Burning Hammer, the Man of 1,001 Holds, and he'll break your neck just to hear the bones snap! He's a cruiserweight in the ring, a superheavyweight in the bedroom, and the NEXT SWF World Heavyweight Champion! Ladies and gentlemen, TOM FLESHER!”

 

Instead of the familiar opening chorus of “Kashmir,” the fans are treated to a few seconds of silence before...

 

BOOM!

 

The ominous drumming, the brooding guitar and the wailing harmonica of Led Zeppelin's “When The Levee Breaks” booming over the speakers! Flesher steps through the curtain and, without so much as a nod to the crowd, walks to the ring. Already stripped down to his singlet, Flesher rolls through the ropes and trains his gaze on the opponent across the ring. Flesher and Dangerous step to the center, where Ced Ordonez offers them their instructions for the evening.

 

“You have to know these two have been waiting for this,” says Francis. “The tension here is so thick you could cut it with a knife, and both of these guys know they're being held back by the other. They know they have to get past the other to get back to the SWF World Championship!”

 

“So come on, start the damn show!” says King.

 

Almost on cue, Ordonez calls for the bell.

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

Flesher and Dangerous circle around each other in the center of the ring. The scene is familiar. These two athletes have met before, and they've been on top of the SWF in some way or another almost since its inception. Also familiar is Flesher's opening attack- he lunges at Dangerous' left ankle, snagging it with a low single-leg snatch. Dangerous' response, too, is expected.

 

He falls to the mat, unable to defend Flesher's solid fundamentals.

 

“Dangerous is just unable to defend Flesher's solid fundamentals,” King says.

 

“Well, that was simplistic,” says Mak. “Sure, Flesher hit a single-leg, but King, they're not wrestling for points tonight and Tom Flesher's not going to get a technical fall for taking Johnny Dangerous down and scoring a bunch of near-falls. Johnny's beaten him in the past, and Tom needs to focus on getting the win when he can instead of making it look good.”

 

It does look good, though. It always does when you have a premiere technician in the ring against one of the top martial artists in the business today. Even as he falls to the mat and rolls to his stomach to avoid an early cover, Dangerous looks graceful. The dichotomy between artist and scientist becomes more evident as Johnny tries to escape Flesher's hold on his ankle through a deft roll, whereas Flesher avoids it by grinding down on the ankle with his elbow to keep Dangerous in place. He hammers the elbow down on the ankle as Johnny scrambles for the ropes. Dangerous reaches out and grabs the bottom strand, so Flesher lets him escape and backs up into the center of the ring.

 

“And Dangerous foils that attempt to control the match early by getting to the ropes,” Francis says.

 

Johnny gets to his feet and moves back in toward Flesher, who executes a quick duck-under, then comes back to his feet with his arms locked around Johnny's head and under his right shoulder. Dangerous tries to pull away, but before he can escape, Flesher arches his back and dumps him onto the crown of his head with a head-and-arm capture suplex! Johnny, stunned, sprawls out on the mat, but once again instinctively bellies down to avoid being covered.

 

“Flesher takes control!” beams King. “Just like that, he hits a capture suplex, and Johnny's not about to get up from that.”

 

Suicide King's proclamation may be too ambitious, however, since Flesher doesn't bother going for the cover immediately. Instead, he reaches down and grabs Johnny by the waist, lifting him up in a gutwrench. He flips Johnny upside down into a Canadian backbreaker, then quickly drops to his knees! “Derailleur!” calls Francis, as Flesher lets Dangerous slide forward onto the mat. Johnny hits the mat hard and flips onto his stomach, at which point Flesher greedily snaps up his ankle and stands up with it, locking on a half crab.

 

“Here's where the difference between Flesher and Dangerous comes into play,” King says. “On the one hand, you have a martial artist who wants to win a match and look good doing it, and on the other, you have a guy whose biggest concern is ripping something out of its socket, just as long as it'll win him the match. Who's more resilient, the guy flipping and flopping, or the guy who's going to tear the other guy up?”

 

As Flesher starts to sit back with the half crab, Johnny scoots toward the ropes. Flesher follows him several steps, he tries to drag Dangerous back to the center of the ring. Still, Johnny is able to lunge a few more feet, reaching out for the bottom cable. Flesher pulls him back another step, but in order to do so he has to ease back on the pressure of the half crab, and when he does, Johnny seizes the opportunity to reach out just once more and latch onto the bottom rope with both hands. Ced Ordonez steps in, admonishing Flesher to release the hold. When Tom refuses, Ced begins counting.

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

Finally, just before being disqualified, Flesher releases the half crab and steps back to the center. Johnny rolls over and gets back to his feet, then circles toward the center. He thrusts an arm out, trying to take control with a quick shotei, but Flesher adeptly avoids the strike and grabs Johnny's arm before he can withdraw it.

 

“Come on,” King jeers. “Johnny Dangerous has seen Flesher enough, they've wrestled enough, that he should know better than to try to outstrike him with those shoteis. Sure, Johnny might be experienced using them, but what greater insult is there than to try to hit Tom Flesher with the move he made famous?”

 

“Johnny's an accomplished striker,” Francis shoots back. “He's perfectly capable of holding his own, with a chop or a palm strike or anything else he wants.”

 

Flesher cranks down on the arm, trying to milk every ounce of potential out of the wear-down hold. He wrings the arm, then snaps it back and uses it to whip Dangerous to the ropes. Johnny rebounds, and as Flesher ducks down for a backdrop, he leapfrogs over the Superior One and lands on his feet behind him. Flesher, not sure what happened, spins around, only to be met by a uraken that sends him reeling backwards!

 

“Spinning back fist from Johnny Dangerous catches Flesher by surprise,” says Mak Francis. “Tom's not quite sure what to do from there, but Johnny seems to have a pretty good idea.”

 

Johnny pivots on one foot, nailing Flesher with a spinning heel kick that keeps him quiet for another few moments. With that, he whips Tom into the corner, then follows him in. As Flesher crashes into the turnbuckles, Johnny rolls forward and hammers him with a koppo kick! Tom slumps down in the corner, unable to fight back from his stunned position. He starts to stand up, trying to shake off the cobwebs. As he staggers forward, Johnny grabs him by the left wrist. He jumps up, gripping the wrist and rolling forward into a jujigatame! Flesher panics, trying to evade the deadly submission.

 

“CRUCIFIX ARMBAR!” shouts Mak Francis. “This match has taken a turn for the worse, and now Tom Flesher's caught and doesn't know what to do from here!”

 

Flesher scrambles to the sideline, still in a panic. He grabs the bottom rope, holding on with everything he has in him, as Johnny Dangerous tries to keep the jujigatame on. Flesher holds on, still trying to wriggle free, and once again Ced Ordonez needs to step in.

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

Dangerous releases the hold and rolls backwards, coming back to his feet in the center of the ring. Flesher warily follows him, not quite sure where to go. He lunges forward, trying to grab Dangerous by the ankle. Johnny steps back, snagging Flesher by the wrist and rolling forward again to lock on another jujigatame! The crowd bursts into cheers as Dangerous takes control again, locking Flesher up in the cross armbreaker!

 

“Not again!” shouts King. “I can't believe that loser's managed to hook Flesher back into a jujigatame! What a lucky bastard!”

 

“Lucky?” scoffs Francis. “You can call a multiple-time World Champion lucky if you want to, but he's beaten Tom Flesher more than once in the past, and he's never 'just gotten lucky' to do it. He's a masterful technician, whether you want to respect that or not.”

 

Masterful technician or not, Dangerous doesn't have anywhere to go when Flesher once again slides to the sidelines and grabs the ropes. This time, Johnny tries to break quickly to roll back to the center, knowing he's going to be in control of the situation regardless of what Flesher does.

 

 

Flesher, of course, has other ideas.

 

 

“Tom Flesher gets the rope break,” Suicide King says, “but before Johnny can get away, Flesher snags his ankle and hooks him back up! It looks like Johnny Dangerous got a little cocky there, wouldn't you say?”

 

Without waiting for Francis' response, Flesher holds the ankle and once again lifts it into a broad back arch with Johnny on his face. He pulls the super-spy into another half-Boston crab, this time lifting the ankle higher into the air and pushing more of Dangerous' weight onto his head and neck. This time, Flesher plants one shoe firmly on the back of Johnny's neck. He cranks the half crab higher into the air as Johnny tries to wriggle free, his face a mask of pain.

 

“I'll tell you, Mak, that half crab is a dangerous hold,” King beams as Flesher continues cranking one of his trademark submission holds. “Between Flesher's bad back and your, shall we say, neck problems, you two are probably the best informed about what sort of pain and agony a back-wrenching hold like that can inflict.”

 

“It's a dangerous one, alright,” Mak agrees grudgingly. “Tough to break, too, which is why Johnny has perfected a version of it and uses it to put away some of his opponents. That Barracuda over-the-shoulder half crab is one of the most potent submissions in the SWF, and you have to know that Johnny knows every trick about escaping a variant of it.”

 

“Pfft,” King scoffs. “How many times do you see someone break out of it, and how many times do you see them crawling to the ropes and admitting they can't?”

 

“Just like Flesher did twice with that jujigatame?”

 

Johnny, in fact, is aware that Flesher just broke the jujigatame twice by going to the ropes. As such, he reaches out and grabs the bottom rope once again.

 

“Smart wrestling, no matter what you say, King,” Mak says. “These two wrestlers have been playing the edge a lot tonight, but when you have two World Championship caliber wrestlers in the ring, the small differences make big results, and these two are wrestling smart. They know that they can't play around, and that they have to work the edge if they're going to take the risks they have to in order to win the match.”

 

Ced Ordonez steps in, ready to break the hold if necessary. Before he can start his count, however, Flesher releases the half crab. Rather than letting Johnny loose, however, he drops down and slams a knee into the small of the Barracuda's back! Johnny writhes in pain, but Flesher merely crouches down and grabs him around the waist. Even as he tries to stay on the mat, Flesher effortlessly deadlifts Johnny into the air, then arches his back and releases him as he completes a German suplex! The fans pop in spite of themselves, and Johnny crashes to the mat on his back and shoulders before rolling to his stomach.

 

“Released German suplex by Tom Flesher,” says the Suicide King, “and the tide has turned!”

 

“That German was filthy,” Mak says, snickering to himself. “Solid move, but it won't put Johnny Dangerous down.”

 

Even Tom Flesher knows that a single German won't win him the match, and so he grabs Johnny by the waist again. This time he gutwrenches the Barracuda through the air and drops to one knee, slamming him across the other with a simple but effective backbreaker! Johnny falls to the mat and tries to roll away, but before he can escape Flesher snags him once again. Too stunned to counter the hold, Johnny is easy pickings for Flesher to lift him into the air, drape him across one shoulder, and dash forward a few steps. With his momentum built, he dives forward, driving Johnny to the mat with a running powerslam! Flesher smirks at Ordonez as he makes the cover.

 

“This could be it,” says King.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!!!

 

 

 

 

 

THR- NO! Johnny kicks out!

 

“It could have been it,” says Francis, “against anyone else, but Johnny Dangerous isn't the sort of guy you're going to put away that easily.”

 

Relentlessly, Flesher keeps the pressure on Johnny Dangerous, hooking him around the waist and crouching down for another German suplex. He lifts Johnny off the mat, only to have the Barracuda plant his feet and execute a perfect standing switch! Shocked that Johnny escaped, Flesher isn't sure what to do, but Johnny happily guides him to the next spot by dropkicking him in the lower back! The crowd bursts into cheers as Flesher rails into the corner, and as he rebounds, Johnny pulls him back with a schoolboy rollup! Ordonez counts

 

 

ONE!!!

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!

 

 

 

 

THR- NO!!!!!

 

 

“Tom Flesher kicks out of the schoolboy rollup,” Mak Francis says, “but it was just a heartbeat away! Flesher's got to be more on the ball if he's going to take out Johnny Dangerous tonight.”

 

Flesher pops back up off the mat, still a little disoriented from the dropkick and rollup. Dangerous rolls away, his eyes locked on the Superior One. As he focuses, Flesher staggers and turns around...

 

 

... RIGHT INTO A JOHNNY KICK!

 

 

 

THWACK!!!!

 

 

“GOOD GOD!” shouts Mak. “He nearly took Flesher's head off!”

 

Flesher collapses to the mat in a heap. He doesn't even appear to be breathing as Johnny Dangerous hungrily dives onto him.

 

“Dangerous goes for another cover,” says Mak, “keeping the pressure on as Tom Flesher's conditioning starts to fail him!”

 

 

Ordonez counts

 

 

 

ONE!!!!

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

THREENOOOOOOOO!

 

 

Once again, Tom Flesher barely manages to get his shoulder off the mat in time to avoid being pinned! He sits up, not even sure what he's doing, but rolls toward the ropes to try to pull himself to his feet. Johnny Dangerous, sensing an opportunity, shoots at him and pulls him into a standing fireman's carry. Then, he sprints forward a few steps and somersaults, slamming Flesher's sore back into the mat!

 

“SPINAL EXPLOSION~!” shouts Francis. “This has to be it! This has to be!”

 

The impact drives Flesher and Dangerous almost entirely across the ring! Flesher nearly finds himself outside of the ring, but Johnny catches him before he can roll limply out. When he finally regains his senses, Johnny slowly crawls over, and as the fans are on their feet, he makes the cover!

 

 

ONE!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

“We have a new Number-One Contender!” Francis screams.

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

NO!

 

 

 

As the fans groan in disappointment, Ordonez points to Flesher's foot, draped over the bottom rope!

 

“What a brilliant move!” says Suicide King. “Tom Flesher is in total control of this match, and you have to admit it!”

 

Flesher, meanwhile, groans audibly.

 

“He's constantly aware of his surroundings!”

 

Flesher's eyes roll back into his head, and he mutters something about wishing he'd worn a cup. Even so, he's able to find enough of his senses to roll to the outside. He slumps down on the thin padding over the concrete, but Johnny Dangerous keeps his eyes on his opposition. Flesher shakes off the haze surrounding him, but as he does, the Barracuda sprints across the ring. He rebounds, and as Flesher stands up, Dangerous launches himself at the Superior One!

 

 

Johnny Dangerous clearly has not been watching his film.

 

 

“FLESHER MOVED! FLESHER MOVED!” hollers Francis, as the fans burst into a cheer of “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” “Johnny Dangerous went for a plancha, but Tom Flesher stepped out of the way at the last second, and Johnny...”

 

“... went splat,” smirks King.

 

Flesher, his chest heaving, grabs Dangerous by the wrist. He whips his opponent toward the steel ringpost and charges after him. As Dangerous slams into the cornerpost, Flesher pops his boot up and slams it into Johnny's head, sandwiching it between the sole of his foot and the steel! Johnny collapses, and Flesher looks down at him, satisfied.

 

Almost.

 

“Tom Flesher turns the tide with a well-placed Yakuza kick up against the ringpost,” King says. “I think Johnny Dangerous is going to need to have his nose put back together by a competent plastic surgeon next week.”

 

Sure enough, Dangerous's nose is bleeding profusely as Flesher grabs his head and rolls him back into the ring. Johnny is barely moving, but Flesher still follows him in and grabs him by the head once again. He throws Johnny to the ropes and ducks down. Still stunned, Johnny misses his chance to leapfrog this time, and Flesher lifts him into the air with a gorilla press. After holding him there for a moment, Flesher releases him and drops to the mat, dumping Johnny across his bent knee with a flying gutbuster! The crowd winces visibly, while Johnny doesn't appear to be aware of much at all.

 

“Tom Flesher is trying to make it stick this time,” says Mak Francis, “but after all that these two have gone through tonight, how can you expect them to keep going?”

 

Flesher, once more, grabs Johnny's left ankle. He lifts it off the mat and twists Johnny onto his head and neck once more with an elevated half crab. This time, though, instead of stopping there, Flesher grimaces and pulls the ankle further into the air...

 

 

and across his shoulder.

 

 

“THE BARRACUDA!” shouts King. “TOM FLESHER HAS JOHNNY DANGEROUS LOCKED INTO HIS OWN SUBMISSION HOLD! THAT OVER-THE-SHOULDER HALF CRAB IS DEADLY! IT'S LETHAL! THERE'S NO WAY HE'S GETTING OUT OF IT!”

 

Dangerous is obviously in pain as Flesher crouches down, nearly bending him into a complete circle. He reaches out for the ropes, only to find that Flesher executed his gorilla press gutbuster cleanly in the center of the ring. Flesher crouches lower and lower, straining the international man of mystery further and further by the second.

 

“How much torture can you expect a man to withstand?” asks Mak, probably rhetorically.

 

Flesher looks on, almost seeming to get stronger by the minute.

 

 

Finally...

 

 

 

TAP

 

TAP

 

TAP

 

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

“Mercifully, this one is over,” says Mak Francis, as the bell sounds. Tom Flesher, knowing he's accomplished what he set out to, releases Johnny after just a few more seconds. He stands up, throwing his arms into the air, as Ced Ordonez raises his arm.

 

“The winner of this match....”

 

 

Funyon is once again cut off by Allison Onita, who grabs the microphone and shouts, “The winner of the match, and the NEXT SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION, is TOM FLESHER!”

 

The fans rain boos on Flesher, who merely leans against the turnbuckles as Johnny Dangerous rolls out of the ring in obvious pain.

 

“Tom Flesher wins a hard-fought match,” says the Suicide King. “This was a tight one, to be sure, but as always, Tom Flesher managed to eke out the victory, and tonight he did it by embarrassing his opponent. He used Johnny Dangerous's own Barracuda submission against him to get the win!”

 

“You can't take anything away from Johnny Dangerous tonight, though,” Mak Francis interjects. “The match was tighter than anyone expected, myself included, and Tom Flesher surprised a lot of people by taking the win here. He's rusty, and he wasn't at his best tonight, not by a long shot.”

 

“Why do you have to take the victory away from Flesher?” King gripes. “Is it because he can still walk around, and screw, and do all the things you can't? He won that match fair and square, and if Johnny can't walk straight for a few nights, well, that's his fault.”

 

In the center of the ring, Tom Flesher once more holds his arms in the air, before moving them back down to his waist. He motions at his belt line, glaring at the camera.

 

Whoever the World Champion is at the end of the night, he's in for the fight of his life.

[King Cucaracha 0]

SWF World Championship

Toxxic © VS. Jay Hawke

 

 

“Fans, we’ve had a blast of an evening so far,” Mak Francis says, “but we’ve still got the biggest match of the night yet to come! ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ Jay Hawke steps up for a shot at the World Title, but only time will tell whether it’ll be third time lucky for one of the SWF’s most experienced competitors!”

 

“Mak, I’m feeling Jay Hawke’s chances tonight,” the Suicide King says, “sure, he got taken out by Va’aiga last show… but Hawke had no idea Va’aiga was coming back, he had no time to prepare, and he lost quick to a virtually knock-out shot. Toxxic went through a gruelling Tag Title defence against Wild & Dangerous. If Hawke got his head back together after the morale knock of his loss, and I believe there are few better at the psychological game than Jay Hawke, he could step up and take that belt tonight.”

 

It’s at this point that the synth-heavy opening of ‘Learning To Fly’ by Pink Floyd starts to ring out around the Gill Coliseum, leading to a predictable response from the assembled fans.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The lights dim down and a spotlight shines down on the entranceway. For a few long moments nothing happens, but then a robed figure makes his way out, face composed, gaze steady, head back and concentrating on the ring.

 

“The Dean looks in good shape and ready to go,” The Franchise comments as Hawke starts to make his way towards the squared circle, apparently oblivious to or at least ignoring the jeers of the nearby fans. “We need to bear in mind that Jay Hawke has been in this business for over ten years since he debuted in the High Octane Wrestling Federation in 1996; that’s an edge of experience that has served him well in the past.”

 

“Toxxic’s been wrestling half that time,” King agrees, “but although he has the youth advantage the beauty of Jay Hawke’s style is that it isn’t one that focuses on his own quickness. He can take down and ground the fastest cruiserweight, and he’ll still be able to do that when he’s forty.”

 

“Which isn’t to say that Hawke is slow,” Mak points out as the Dean starts to mount the steps towards the ring, “he can still go aerial if he needs to, and I’ve got to say that if any opponent is going to require someone to bring out every trick they have, it’s likely to be Toxxic.”

 

Hawke removes his robe, folds it and then hands it to the timekeeper before stepping in through the ropes and climbing to the second buckle where he raises both arms in the air to the general disapproval of the crowd. One fan in the front row holds up a ‘HAWKE FEARS THE LARIAT!’ sign, which gets a glower from the Dean… and then every light in the arena hits full.

 

The Smarktron whites out.

 

“COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!”

“COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!”

 

The raucous, rolling chant is immediately followed by the oozing baseline of ‘The Gush’ by Raging Speedhorn that sleazes its way out of the PA speakers as the Smarktron starts to fade down towards black. As it does so jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan, one word at a time:

 

‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’

 

Three chords ring out; the Smarktron shows Toxxic being knocked off the top buckle to the floor with a springboard enzuigiri by Nathaniel Kibagami; Toxxic being taken off the top buckle with a super Mark Of The Beast by Gabriel Drake; Toxxic being chokeslammed out of the Clusterfuck by Janus. Then a shot of Toxxic taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, starting to strobe and intercut with an image of the Englishman’s lopsidedly-grinning face, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the moment the song kicks into full gear and the-

 

*BOOOM!*

 

-explosion of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger! And through the flame and smoke…

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

…red-and-black trenchcoat flapping around him and a Revolution Zero T-shirt on…

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

…Tag Title in his right hand, Stables Title in his left and World Title wrapped around his waist…

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

…comes the only five-time World Champion in SWF history.

 

“You might not like him, but you do have to respect him,” Mak Francis says as Toxxic, in complete contrast to Jay Hawke, meanders down the entrance way taking time to interact with the fans. Most of them flip him off, but this just seems to amuse the World Champion. “he and Revolution Zero have the federation in something of a death grip right now and Toxxic’s still on his winning roll. He found a way past Tracey Bruner prior to Genesis, he beat Johnny Dangerous at Genesis and then he and Austin Sly were able to defeat Wild & Dangerous at All Hallows to retain their Tag Titles. However, you’ve got to think that just like this time last year, sooner or later the strain of all those responsibilities will catch up with him. Although,” The Franchise adds, “it’s hardly like the Stables Titles count for anything.”

 

“Revolution Zero defeated the Midnight Carnival for those belts,” King insists, “it’s not Toxxic’s fault if you can’t handle that.”

 

“Since when did a Carnival consist of one person?” Mak protests, “Raynor isn’t that entertaining!”

 

“Word to that.”

 

Toxxic rolls in under the bottom rope and then hands his assorted titles over to Matthew Kivell before stripping his trenchcoat off and dumping it over the ropes, then removing his T-shirt and hurling it into the crowd where two girls in heavy eyeliner fight for it surreptitiously.

 

“That’s going on Ebay,” King comments.

 

Funyon steps forward as Toxxic gives a cheeky wave to Jay Hawke, who just regards the straight-edger intently. The tuxedo’d ring announcer raises his mic and begins to declaim:

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation is proud to present our MAIN EVENT of the evening…”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a thirty minute time limit, and is for the SWF World Heavyweight Title,” Funyon booms, “introducing first, in the corner to my right, the challenger; he hails from the Hall Of Fame city of Cleveland, Ohio and weighed in tonight at 215lbs, this is ‘The Dean Of Professional Wrestling’ JAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYY… HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Hawke raises one arm in defiance of the boos, not taking his eyes from the World Champion. For his part Toxxic cups one black-nailed hand to his ear, grinning at Hawke as the jeers rain down.

 

“And his opponent, standing in the corner to my left,” Funyon continues, “from Nottingham, England, he weighed in tonight at 218lbs; he is the leader of SWF Stable Champions Revolution Zero, he is one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions and he is the REIGNING AND DEFENDING , FIVE-TIME SWF HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORRRRLLLLLLLLD… this is ‘The Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

Hawke raises an eyebrow at his opponent; Toxxic just shrugs and turns around to conduct the crowd, actually waving his arms to incite them to make more noise.

 

“I’m not sure if Toxxic is having fun, taking the piss, or just so egotistical he’s obsessed with having people chant his name, whatever the context,” Francis comments.

 

Funyon ducks out of the ring and Matthew Kivell checks that both men are ready; Hawke signals with a curt nod, while Toxxic stops clowning around and grins at Kivell to show that he’s ready to rock. The SWF’s senior official waves a hand in the direction of the timekeeper…

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“…and we’re underway!” Mak Francis shouts as the bell goes, “it’s Jay Hawke’s third crack at winning the big one in the SWF, it’s Toxxic’s first defence of his record-breaking fifth reign, and it’s taking place right here in the Gill Coliseum!”

 

Both men advance towards each other cautiously. Hawke raises his hands in preparation of a lock-up; Toxxic follows suit…

 

…and gets completely taken out as Hawke launches a right leg roundhouse that pastes the World Champion in the temple and sends him sprawling!

 

“Toxxic’s down! Toxxic’s down!” King shouts as Hawke dives on top of his opponent and starts raining down mounted punches despite Kivell’s warnings about the repeated use of the closed fist. Toxxic tries to cover up and Hawke keeps going leaving Kivell with no option:

 

‘ONE!’

 

‘TWO!’

 

‘THREE!’

 

‘FOUR!’

 

‘FI-’

 

Hawke pulls back just before the disqualification mark, but as soon as Kivell breaks that count the Dean dives down to apply a double-handed choke!

 

‘ONE!’

 

‘TWO!’

 

‘THREE!’

 

‘FOUR!’

 

‘FI-’

 

Toxxic’s heels are drumming a staccato rhythm on the canvas as the World Champion tries desperately to breathe; Hawke breaks his hold at the last moment, then rolls off his prone opponent and grabs the Englishman to bring him up towards his feet.

 

“Hawke’s gone in early here with all guns blazing,” Mak calls, “that one roundhouse came totally out of left field and caught the World Champion napping, and now Hawke wants to make sure Toxxic never gets back into his game!”

 

Toxxic is upright, but wheezing and light-headed; Hawke doesn’t intend to let him get his breath back, slipping easily behind the straight-edger and grabbing him around his waist before launching him backwards overhead with a German suplex!

 

*BANG!*

 

Hawke rolls up to his feet, then leaps straight up into the air and comes down with a standing legdrop across Toxxic’s throat before applying a cover and hooking the leg…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Toxxic kicks out! The Dean snorts and brings the Englishman up by his hair (much to Kivell’s displeasure, not that Hawke cares about that), then trips Toxxic so he ends up with his throat and chest draped across the second ring rope. Hawke then climbs up so that both feet are placed between his opponent’s shoulder blades and hauls up on the top rope, choking Toxxic again!

 

‘ONE!’

 

‘TWO!’

 

‘THREE!’

 

‘FOUR!’

 

‘FI-’

 

Jay hops lightly off as Kivell approaches the five-count, then kicks Toxxic in the ribs as the Englishman wheezes and tries to catch his breath. Matthew Kivell tries to get in the Dean’s face but Hawke simply turns his back on him and steps out to the apron as Toxxic rolls away across the ring.

 

“King, have you ever seen Toxxic in this much trouble this early?” Mak asks.

 

“No,” the Gambling Man replies honestly, “Hawke clearly had a gameplan; Toxxic would have been expecting him to go for a mat game, but we saw in their last meeting that Toxxic was able to more-or-less hold his own there. Hawke elected to go for a knock-down brawl, and it caught Toxxic off-guard.”

 

“Well, there’s been a small amount of brawling,” Francis grunts, “and a hell of a lot of cheating.”

 

“I prefer to think of it as being innovative with the rules,” King states airily.

 

Toxxic is now starting to get back to his feet in the ring, holding his head and clearly not very well oxygenated; Hawke is on the apron watching him, and as the World Champion starts to turn in a groggy circle the Dean of Professional Wrestling leaps up…

 

…vaults off the top rope…

 

…and nails his opponent with a springboard lariat!

 

*WHACK!*

 

“No cheating there, just inch-perfect high-flying impact!” Mak shouts as Hawke connects, then pops back up to his feet. The Dean spreads his arms wide, and to everyone’s surprise a small chant starts up:

 

“LET’S GO JAY HAWKE!”

 

“LET’S GO JAY HAWKE!”

 

“An ass-kicking always gets some fans,” King comments as Hawke drops to make a cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Toxxic kicks out again. Jay Hawke presses his advantage and brings the World Champion up, then takes the Englishman crashing back down to the mat with a swinging neckbreaker before turning Toxxic over onto his front and pulling him up into a Camel Clutch. The Dean hooks Toxxic’s arms over his legs and pulls back on the hold, determined to weaken his opponent’s neck even if he can’t get the submission.

 

“Hawke’s got Toxxic grounded and under control,” King says, “and if he’s got any sense he’ll keep him there.”

 

Jay Hawke does seem to be intent on keeping the World Champion under control, but Toxxic is showing no signs of giving up in the immediate future as the Englishman grits his teeth and guts it out. Hawke seems reluctant to damage his own momentum given how well he’s been doing so far, so he releases his hold to grab the back of Toxxic’s head, then ram the World Champion’s face into the mat as he stands up and abandons the hold.

 

*BANG!*

 

Matthew Kivell isn’t too pleased due to the whole hair-grabbing issue; Hawke ignores him and starts to pull his groggy opponent back to his feet, then Irish whips him into the ropes. Toxxic rebounds but Hawke doesn’t give the straight-edger any chance to recover, instead snatching him off the mat before twirling him through the air and slamming him down across one knee with a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker!

 

“Toxxic really needs to get back into this match fast,” Mak comments, “or he could be looking at the wrong end of a whitewashing here.”

 

Hawke stands back up and appeals to the crowd with a rather arrogant pose; support seems rather split:

 

“LET’S GO JAY HAWKE!”

 

“JAY HAWKE SUCKS!”

 

“LET’S GO JAY HAWKE!”

 

“JAY HAWKE SUCKS!”

 

Hawke listens to the warring chants, then turns back to his prone opponent. Big mistake.

 

*whump-CRACK!*

 

He never should have looked away.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Kip-up enzuigiri!” King shouts as Toxxic explodes up off the canvas and lays the challenger out with his devastating surprise move, “that one never gets old!”

 

Quite a few fans have started cheering for the Straight-Edge Sensation now, the kip-up enzuigiri usually garnering a crowd pop in its own right anyway. However, Toxxic isn’t in all that good a condition following Hawke’s early offensive flurry and he isn’t able to follow up on his momentum-changing move that quickly, instead taking a few seconds to catch his breath and hold his neck which doesn’t seem to be agreeing with him.

 

“It’s one of the reasons Toxxic is where he is today,” Mak Francis says, “the ability to turn a match on its head in a split second.”

 

The Straight-Edge Sensation doesn’t want to lose this advantage and grabs hold of Jay Hawke as The Dean starts to push himself back up towards his feet, then Irish whips his opponent towards the turnbuckles. Hawke manages to reverse the momentum however and sends Toxxic in instead, but the Englishman manages to vault to the top rope, then come flying back to take Hawke down with the Role Reversal!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Toxxic doesn’t try another kip-up, wisely just rolling up to his feet instead; Hawke also starts to rise, wanting to regain some momentum, but he turns around into a

 

RIGHT!

 

 

LEFT!

 

 

RIGHT!

 

 

LEFT!

 

 

Toxxic steps backwards, flips a black-nailed v-sign at the Dean…

 

 

DISCUS CLOTHESLINE!

 

 

“Damn, he nailed it!” Francis shouts in shock as for once the combination finishes the way Toxxic intends it.

 

“LET’S GO TOX-XIC!”

 

“LET’S GO TOX-XIC!”

 

A couple of high-impact, high-flying moves and a hard-hitting combination has swung a few more people around onto the side of the defending champion (or at least, against the obnoxious Jay Hawke), so the arena has started to buzz a little as Toxxic pulls Hawke up and then delivers a European uppercut that staggers the Dean backwards! The World Champion seems encouraged by this development and winds up for another, but Hawke catches him off-guard by diving down and securing a single-leg takedown that dumps Toxxic to the mat, then transitioning to trap the straight-edger’s right arm with a short-arm scissors!

 

“And now Hawke goes to the mat game,” Francis notes, “Toxxic finally got up to speed and was starting to turn things around, so the challenger has reverted to what he knows best - but not before he did some damage!”

 

However, Jay Hawke isn’t going to have it all his own way. The Dean of Professional Wrestling has got the hold locked on but Toxxic isn’t giving up, and in fact the World Champion is already looking for a way to escape. He starts to roll his weight towards Hawke, hoping to be able to get up and get his feet under him; it takes him a couple of tries but he finally succeeds, then braces his legs and starts trying to lift Hawke bodily up off the mat with his own arm!

 

“I don’t think Jay Hawke had this in mind!” King calls as Hawke’s expression changes to one of alarm as he’s raised up…

 

…and slammed down!

 

*BANG!*

 

“Improvised… well, one-arm powerbomb I guess,” Mak says as Hawke releases his grip involuntarily while Toxxic shakes his arm out and grimaces in pain. However he’s galvanised back into action as Hawke starts to get up; Toxxic has no wish to allow this, and he lands a basement dropkick into the side of the Dean’s head to send him back down to the canvas. With Hawke prone Toxxic gets back up to his feet and quickly backflips, coming down in a standing moonsault that leads to a cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Hawke kicks out just after two. Toxxic wastes no time in bringing his opponent up and wrapping both arms around Hawke’s body before the Dean can get his wind back, then hoisting and dropping him down to the canvas with the Sambo Slam.

 

*WHAM!*

 

Hawke hits hard but Toxxic rises back to his feet, then points to a set of turnbuckles. There’s a small pop from the crowd as the Straight-Edge Sensation jogs over, then vaults up to the top in one fluid motion before instantly jumping back and off to come down with a fistdrop dead centre on Hawke’s head!

 

“I think Toxxic chose the wrong arm there,” Mak comments clinically as the Englishman rolls away holding the limb that Hawke had trapped in the Short Arm Scissors. However, Toxxic has more than one arm and so when he goes back to the turnbuckles to repeat the move he chooses his left fist this time, leading to the same amount of pain for Jay Hawke but considerably less for him. He gets back to his feet again and raises his left fist in the air…

 

‘One more?’

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Toxxic heads back to the turnbuckles, leaps to the top once more and comes off to deliver a third inch-perfect fistdrop to Jay Hawke’s head, then as the Dean rolls over onto his front Toxxic laces his own leg around Hawke’s and bridges backwards to grab an inverted rear chinlock, then rolls over onto his front!

 

“Inverted Sickle Hold from Toxxic,” King notes as Hawke flails at the air, “haven’t seen him break this one out in a little while.”

 

Matthew Kivell bends down to see if Jay Hawke wants to give it up, but the Dean of Professional Wrestling is determined that his title challenge won’t end here and he holds on. Toxxic tries to bend Hawke back even further but the hold is not the most stable of positions and when Hawke starts to make a concerted effort he’s gradually… able… to tip… Toxxic… sideways…

 

…and both men land on the mat; Hawke slightly harder, granted, but Toxxic’s hold disappears as they hit. Toxxic is still able to stay on top though, not giving Hawke any time to recover as he gets up and pulls the Dean up off the mat with him, then Irish whips the challenger into the ropes. Hawke rebounds and Toxxic steps to one side and brings one arm up to snare him for a half-nelson facebuster, but Hawke spins around his startled opponent and ends up behind Toxxic with one arm starting to lock upwards into a single chickenwing…

 

“Wing Span!” Mak shouts.

 

…but Toxxic drops and rolls before Hawke can lock the deadly submission hold in, snaring his opponent’s legs as he does so and bringing Jay over with a drop toehold, then transitioning into a leglace as he looks for a back mount.

 

“Regal Stretch!” King shouts in his turn as Toxxic looks to cinch in his favoured STF variation. Jay Hawke has this scouted however and fires two back elbows into Toxxic’s face in quick succession; the Englishman abandons his attempt at securing another submission hold and rolls away, allowing Hawke time to collect himself and get back to his feet while the crowd applauds them both in a semi-enthusiastic manner. Toxxic gets back up as well, but the Dean of Professional Wrestling is actually quicker off the mark and runs to take him down with a leg lariat!

 

“LET’S GO JAY HAWKE!”

 

Hawke looks to capitalise and pounces upon his down opponent to grab a front facelock before Toxxic can recover, then starts to slowly drag the Englishman up towards a vertical base. Toxxic tries to fight out of it but Hawke is clamping down hard and the straight-edger is unable to escape before Hawke falls backwards and spikes his head into the mat with a DDT.

 

*BANG!*

 

Hawke rolls Toxxic onto his back and makes a cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Toxxic kicks out again! Hawke looks disappointed, and demonstrates his disappointment by wrapping both hands around Toxxic’s windpipe and starting to choke him again!

 

‘ONE!’

 

‘TWO!’

 

‘THREE!’

 

‘FOUR!’

 

‘FI-’

 

Hawke breaks away at the last moment before disqualification, then takes a second to argue with Matthew Kivell before grabbing Toxxic’s arm and rolling the wheezing Englishman over onto his front to apply a Fujiwara armbar! Toxxic gasps in pain and starts scrabbling across the mat towards the ropes; Hawke tries to hold him back but the World Champion is determined and manages to scramble his way to the bottom rope where he clings as if his life depends upon it. Jay Hawke reluctantly releases the hold and the fact that he doesn’t cling onto it for the maximum time possible seems to throw Toxxic; the Englishman starts to pull himself up without considering his opponent’s devious nature, allowing Hawke to spin him around and take hold of his right arm before falling backwards with a single-arm DDT!

 

“Jay Hawke has definitely targeted that right arm of Toxxic’s now,” Mak comments.

 

“It’ll not only cut down on Toxxic’s offensive capabilities but set him up for the Wing Span,” King shrugs, “works for me.”

 

Jay Hawke has rolled Toxxic over and once more applied the Fujiwara armbar, perhaps looking for a submission directly from the hold rather than as a set up to anything else. However Toxxic has no desire to be caught in it and before Hawke can get it properly locked in he starts scrambling for the ropes again. Hawke isn’t a big enough competitor to halt the Straight-Edge Sensation through body mass alone and Toxxic manages to get to the bottom ropes after a couple more agonising seconds. This time Hawke isn’t so keen to release his hold…

 

‘ONE!’

 

‘TWO!’

 

‘THREE!’

 

‘FOUR!’

 

‘FI-’

 

…but Kivell eventually ‘persuades’ him. Toxxic starts pulling himself up on the ropes, using his left arm, but Hawke heads straight back to the offensive - however, this time as Jay tries to grab Toxxic’s arm for another single-arm DDT Toxxic dives and rolls, throwing his left arm up between Hawke’s legs and bringing the challenger over into a schoolboy pin!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Hawke kicks out! Both men roll up to their feet, but this time Toxxic is the first to react as he buries his foot into Hawke’s gut. The Dean doubles over and Toxxic grabs a front facelock with his left arm, then delivers the facebuster/DDT combo known as the Sobering Thought!

 

*CRUNCH-BANG!*

 

Toxxic rolls Hawke over onto his back and makes the cover, but he his hook of the Dean’s leg with his right arm is weak…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…and Hawke kicks out!

 

“It looks like Toxxic’s basically wrestling with one arm right now,” Mak notes as the Straight-Edge Sensation sits up holding his right arm, “against Jay Hawke he’d normally be looking for moves where he can lift his opponent and that’ll now be limited, but don’t rule out the role of a fully-functioning arm when it comes to balancing for high-risk moves either!”

 

Toxxic starts to get back up to his feet, but any plans he may have had to follow up on his momentum-change appear to be curtailed as Jay Hawke is starting to rise as well!

 

“The Dean of Professional Wrestling is tough,” Suicide King points out, “and he wants that title. It’ll take more than that to keep him down.”

 

*SMACK!*

 

“Wow King, it’s like he can understand every word you say to him,” Mak Francis deadpans as Toxxic pastes Jay Hawke in the jaw with a Stephenskick to send Hawke collapsing backwards to the mat. With his opponent down again Toxxic seems to think that it’s time to take things up a notch so he heads to the turnbuckles once more, stepping through the ropes this time and starting to climb from the outside. He gets to the top within a couple of seconds, takes a moment to set himself and then somersaults off forwards to land one leg across Hawke’s throat with the Hangover!

 

*BANG!*

 

Toxxic applies the cover again, this time making sure he’s positioned where he can use his left arm to hook Hawke’s leg…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but Hawke kicks out! Toxxic looks annoyed at Matthew Kivell’s count but doesn’t question the cockney referee too hard, instead grabbing Jay Hawke and starting to bring him up towards a vertical base. This is harder with only one working arm, but Toxxic takes a second as Hawke staggers upright to mime cracking open a can and taking a swig before grabbing a front facelock and reaching through to hook his opponent’s left leg from the inside…

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Caffeine Bomb!” Mak shouts.

 

…but Toxxic’s right arm is too painful for him to get the lift, and the attempt quickly fizzles out! The straight-edger backs off holding the offending limb but Hawke has taken the opportunity to recover a bit and advances forwards to fire a kick to the gut, then gutwrench Toxxic up before dropping down to spike his shoulder onto one knee!

 

“Shoulderbreaker from Hawke, and… well, ‘a shark smelling blood’ is kind of a cliché, but I’d say it applies at this juncture,” the Gambling Man observes as Toxxic cries out in pain.

 

“Pick a body part and work on it,” Mak nods, “it’s not the most advanced gameplan in the world, but it’s been effective so many times for so many people over the years, it’s easy to see why it’s still adhered to.”

 

Jay Hawke gets back up from delivering the shoulderbreaker but doesn’t give his opponent any time to recuperate, instead stamping down hard on Toxxic’s upper arm. Kivell gives him a warning but Hawke doesn’t acknowledge the official, instead turning and heading for the turnbuckles. This time it’s Jay Hawke’s turn to step through the ropes and climb towards the top buckle, but instead of a flashy legdrop he elects to come off with a good old-fashioned diving headbutt that targets his opponent’s shoulder…

 

*BANG!*

 

…but unfortunately misses completely as Toxxic rolls away! The Dean starts to struggle up to his feet holding his head but Toxxic is ahead of him, the battered straight-edger holding his injured arm close and waiting for Hawke to get upright… then darting in and taking Hawke up into a Fireman’s carry before reaching up to try and hook the head and leg…

 

“Mk II! He’s going for the Caffeine Bomb Mk II!” Mak shouts, effortlessly pronouncing Roman numerals as Toxxic struggles to get his opponent properly set…

 

…but his weak right arm can’t trap Hawke’s head well enough, and the Dean of Professional Wrestling throws his weight around to slide his head down Toxxic’s back and slip out of the grapple, countering into a sunset flip on his way down and pulling Toxxic over into a pin!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

“THAT WAS THREE!”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“THAT WAS THREE!”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“Hawke almost got him there!” Mak shouts as the crowd comes alive, suddenly realising that yes, they’re watching a World Title match and the title nearly changed hands, “I think it was the surprise as much as anything else, but Toxxic almost got pinned!”

 

“You’ve gotta respect Jay Hawke for pulling that counter out!” the Suicide King exclaims, “that was quick thinking under pressure!”

 

Hawke has no intention of being caught in such a position again; he starts firing kicks into Toxxic’s arm, actually getting back to his feet and pursuing the straight-edger around the ring to lay the blows in. Toxxic does his best to protect his limb, but he can do nothing when Hawke lunges to close the distance and start to apply the chickenwing that’s the first stage of the Wing Span…

 

…nothing except reach up with his left arm and grab a ¾ facelock before running for the turnbuckles with Jay in tow! However Hawke counters the Sunny In England by pushing Toxxic firmly in the back and sending him into the turnbuckles chest-first with an impact that blasts the air from his lungs! The Englishman staggers back and Hawke latches both arms around his opponent’s waist in preparation for a German suplex…

 

…but Toxxic has no intention of being caught with more than one of those in a match and jerks his head backwards, cracking it into Hawke’s face with an inverted headbutt! Hawke’s grip loosens and he staggers backwards, allowing Toxxic to turn, grab Jay’s head with his left hand and then sitout into an unorthodox jawbreaker that nonetheless sees Hawke collapse backwards clutching his face!

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“LET’S GO JAY HAWKE!”

 

Toxxic shakes his head to clear it, but he presses his attack as Hawke starts to scramble up, woozy but knowing better than to lie down on the mat when the high-flying Toxxic is about. The World Champion looks to send Hawke back to the mat as he latches both arms around his opponent’s chest in preparation for another Sambo Slam, but Hawke fires an elbow down into Toxxic’s right arm and causes the straight-edger to wheel away in pain, then grabs his opponent from behind and secures a standing Dragon Sleeper!

 

“LET’S GO JAY HAWKE!”

 

“LET’S GO JAY HAWKE!”

 

“Hawke’s got Toxxic locked up in that hold, and if he can just keep it applied we could see a new World Champion tonight!” Mak Francis shouts. Toxxic has other ideas however, and he brings his knee back, up and over to drive it directly into the startled Jay Hawke’s face. Hawke’s grip loosens and Toxxic turns over to place himself into a front facelock before simply powering forward, driving the dazed challenger back into the turnbuckles!

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“LET’S GO JAY HAWKE!”

 

“All those blows to the head are really taking their toll now on Hawke,” the Gambling Man notes, “I think he’s halfway to dream street Mak!”

 

“You could be right,” The Franchise agrees, “Toxxic’s got his opponent dizzy, can he finish him off before Jay applies something lethal to that right arm?”

 

Toxxic certainly hopes so; he steps out to the ring apron with Jay slumped in the corner, then starts to climb the turnbuckles until he’s behind and above the Dean of Professional Wrestling. Toxxic then secures a (left-armed) reverse headlock and pushes himself out of the corner, taking Hawke around and down with the tornado inverted DDT known as the Final Shine!

 

*BANG!*

 

“He’s got him!” King shouts as Toxxic makes the cover, “this is it!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

“THAT WAS THREE!”

 

“LET’S GO JAY HAWKE!”

 

“THAT WAS THREE!”

 

“LET’S GO JAY HAWKE!”

 

“Close but no cigar!” Mak calls in defiance of the World Champion’s straight-edge tendencies, “Toxxic thought the same as you King, but Matthew Kivell says no!”

 

“And he got it right, this once!” King replies, “Hawke kicked, it’s true!”

 

Toxxic grimaces in a combination of pain and exhaustion as he focuses on Matthew Kivell’s two fingers being held up before him, then rolls his eyes and starts to pull Jay Hawke back upright again. The Dean is dizzy and uncooperative, surely having only kicked out on instinct, and it takes Toxxic several seconds to coax him upright; once he’s done that he draws an extravagant (and left-armed) thumb across his throat to signal the end, then takes hold of Jay Hawke’s head in a ¾ facelock and sets off for the corner again…

 

…but Hawke manages to twist in a chickenwing on Toxxic’s right arm and the pain halts the champion in his tracks! Hawke reaches around and grabs a crossface…

 

…but before the Wing Span can be locked in Toxxic simply stamps hard on Jay Hawke’s foot! Hawke cries out in pain and his grip loosens, allowing Toxxic to break free; the Straight-Edge Sensation turns and charges his opponent, hoping to put him away, but Hawke recovers in time to bend his knees and take Toxxic up onto his shoulders, then shuffle him around into an Argentine Backbreaker Rack…

 

“BURNING HAMMER!” Mak Francis shouts, not without some trepidation as he spies the set-up for the move that confined him to a wheelchair. Hawke takes a deep breath, takes a firm hold on Toxxic’s head and-

 

*WHAM!*

 

-staggers sideways as a knee slams into the side of his skull. Hawke tries to set himself again, takes a deep-

 

*WHAM!*

 

-he staggers again, tries to set himse-

 

*WHAM!*

 

The third knee slams home and Hawke’s grip relaxes, allowing Toxxic to slip off his opponent’s shoulders and touch down on his feet behind the challenger; Hawke turns around dizzily…

 

…and Toxxic takes him up into a Fireman’s carry.

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

Trying to win a match on one arm is hard.

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

Trying to win a match on a brain that’s been scrambled is harder.

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

Jay Hawke doesn’t try to fight his way out of the Caffeine Bomb Mk II because by this time, he’s just wondering where the floor’s gone.

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

It’s coming up to meet him.

 

*BANG!!*

 

“CAFFEINE BOMB!” Mak roars as Toxxic swings the Dean off his shoulders and drives him down headfirst into the mat, “that’ll do it!”

 

Toxxic certainly hopes so. He hooks Hawke’s leg with his left arm and leans into the cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner,” Funyon booms as a mixture of cheers and boos ring around the arena and ‘The Gush’ fires up over the PA system, “and STILL~ SWF World Heavyweight Champion… the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’, TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!”

 

“Toxxic came through!” Mak Francis yells, “he’s successfully defended his title against Jay Hawke!”

 

“It wasn’t easy, but he’s managed it sure enough!” Suicide King puts in, “on another night we could have been looking at Jay Hawke’s first World Title win, Francis.”

 

“We certainly could have been,” The Franchise confirms, “Hawke had a gameplan that he was nearly able to follow through, but Toxxic’s experience at this level told in the end.”

 

Toxxic receives his title belts back from Matthew Kivell, but has to carry them all with his left hand due to his right arm not being good for much. The Straight-Edge Sensation rolls out of the ring and starts to head up the ramp, while Jay Hawke slowly starts to sit up in the middle of the ring.

 

“Folks, thank you for joining us for SWF Class Is In Session,” Mak Francis says, “it’s been a pleasure to have you with us-”

 

“Mak, the DVD won’t be out for a week at least, the only people watching right now are these suckers in the arena.”

 

“-and we hope you can join us for our next event, Ashes 2 Ashes from the Dakota Dome in Vermillion, South Dakota!” The Franchise finishes. “Join us on Sunday 1st December and until then, thanks for watching!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

 

©2007 British Mafia Productions for the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation

‘Raising Workrate By Typing Faster’