SWF CAN'T GET A DATE!

[King Cucaracha 0]

0=========================0

*Moments before the show is about to begin*

 

Principal Jefe enters El Hombre Sin Nombre’s dressing room, it’s dark, making him fumble around for the light switch

 

"You in here kid?" he asks in vain.

 

When he finds the light switch and flicks it, he sees El Hombre sitting on the bench with his head buried in his hands.

 

"The show is about to begin, come on you’ve got a big night ahead of you"

 

At first El Hombre doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, he hardly even breathes.

 

"Something wrong?" El Jefe asks.

 

"I’m in trouble" El Hombre starts out, El Jefe doesn’t say anything he just waits and lets El Hombre speak in his own time. "I mean I’ve only been here a short time and everyone I’ve run into has wanted to beat me up or actually HAVE beat me up"

 

El Hombre jumps to his feet and starts to nervously pace as he mumbles to himself.

 

"I don’t remember winning the Cluster fuck... all four Norsemen want to beat me up... Manson or Michael Alexander, what a choice... and I hear that Va’aiga still wants to kick my ass for what happened at the PPV" he says, rambling on until Principal Jefe steps in front of him to get his attention.

 

"Son don’t you know what you’ve done?"

 

"Yeah I’ve landed in a heap of trouble" El Hombre replies

 

"That’s not what I meant. I meant do you really truly know what you’ve done? On the grand scale of things?"

 

El Hombre doesn’t answer

 

"You’ve done something NO ONE else has ever done kid, you’ve shot straight to the main event, in one night you’ve done something not even Santo, Blue Demon or Mill Mascaras has done, heck kid you’ve outshined Mistico and El Luchador Magnifico’s rookie effort already"

 

"Santo? Magnifico?" El Hombre had not though of that

 

"You’ve done something NONE of them have done. You’ve done something no SWF "Rookie sensation" has ever done, Toxxic didn’t do it, Michael Alexander sure didn’t do it"

 

El Hombre looks shocked, well as shocked as you can in a mask.

 

"You’re not suggesting that I’m better than Toxxic or Alexander?" asks incredulously.

 

"I’m suggesting that your starting point is better than theirs was, they have more experience and seasoning but if you compare your first match to either of theirs… you’re doing pretty damn good kid"

 

"I guess, I still don’t know what to do"

 

"About what?" El Jefe asks.

 

"I have to go out and pick a match, Principal what should I pick? I mean Strap matches and Cages and … *shudders* so much worse has been picked over the years, how can I pick something that’s to my advantage?" El Hombre asks.

 

"Remember that you ARE a rookie but also remember WHAT you are"

 

"A rookie?"

 

"Yes but what else?" Principal Jefe replies

 

"I dunno"

 

"When you do, you’ll know what the stipulation will be."

 

El Hombre sighs, Principal Jefe was no help… or was he?

 

"I almost forgot! I came to tell you the good news" Principal Jefe says remembering why he came looking for El Hombre in the first place.

 

"What good news?"

 

"I’ve talked to the Lucha Libre council and they’ve agreed that since you’ve been so successful they’re waiving the 5 wins rule."

 

"What?"

 

"If you win the world title at From the Fire you will also earn your mask, you’ll be a true Luchador!" El Jefe says with pride, no one else has ever received such a waiver from the Lucha Libre laws.

 

"You’re kidding? If I… then I earn my Mascara?"

 

"Yes" El Jefe says and nods.

 

"El Jefe… I know what to pick, I know what match I want" El Hombre says with budding confidence.

 

"I thought so, you better get ready" El Jefe says before turning to leave.

 

*Fade*

[King Cucaracha 0]

Into the arena we go, down to ringside where The Suicide King and Mak Francis are with us to call the action as always.

 

"Hello everyone and thank you for joining us on DVD, live to tape from Grand Rapids, Michigan. And tonight, the SWF Can't Get A Date!" announces Mak.

 

"Shoot comment."

 

"It's Valentine's Day here in Grand Rapids... as well as the rest of the world... well, certain countries, I can't vouch for all parts of the world. But where it matters, America, it is Valentine's Day. That's my point. However there is a distinct lack of love in the back, no love lost tonight between the SWF superstars on the last stop before From The Fire!"

 

"You know," King starts, "usually I'm a pretty bitter guy."

 

"NO! I won't hear it King!"

 

"No, no, I know it. And I'll be damned if Maddix hasn't been even more insufferable the past couple of days and especially tonight, all loved up on this sickly-sweet commercial holiday. I swear he's said more to me about his 'big dinner date with Megan after the show' than he has the show itself. There's fluffy pink crap all over the back. Balloons shaped like hearts. Cut-out cupids hanging from the ceilings. We have PYSCHOPATHS on our roster. Honest to God pyschopaths! God knows what MANSON and Insane Luchador and the like are thinking walking around in the back."

 

"King, I hate to interrupt, but... it's Commissioner Maddix."

 

King scowls.

 

"The point is, even though it's even more of a chore to be here than usual... I have gotten into the spirit of things." Reaching under the table, King produces a box, wrapped in shiny pink wrapping paper no less. "And Mak, since there's no bitches around... Happy Valentine's Day."

 

Already looking dubious, Mak opens up the present with a weird look at his 'partner' (in commentary only, or at least I thought so)... and rolls his eyes as he tears away the box to reveal TWO FLUFFY PINK WHEELCHAIR WHEEL COVERS!!

 

"You... you really shouldn't have." Mak insists, trying to hold back a smile in spite of himself.

 

"Go ahead, try them on!"

 

"...maybe later. Can we please get to the wrestling now?"

[King Cucaracha 0]

A red light fills the arena and a familiar techno beat plays. The Fabulous Jakey emerges from the curtain, wearing his signature red trenchcoat.

 

"And Jakey set for one-on-one action, with the deck stacked against him," summarizes Mak Francis.

 

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall!" Funyon announces. "Introducing first, from New York City, weighing in at 160 lbs., The Fabulous Jakey!"

 

"I wonder what Jakey's plans are for Valentine's Day," Suicide King laughs.

"I don't think we want to go there," debates Mak. "But if he gets a beating tonight that would certainly put a damper on things."

 

Jakey walks up the steps and motions for referee Nick Soapdish to hold the ropes open for him, then walks to the center of the ring and removes the red trenchcoat. He's wearing matching red boots tonight.

 

"Going Under" by Evanescence begins blaring and Jakey's much larger opponent tears through the curtain.

 

"Making his way to the ring, weighing at 240 pounds, and from DETROIT, MICHIGAN, Orden Noash!"

 

Orden gets a positive reaction as we are in his home state. Jakey backs up considerably as Orden gets in the ring and removes his own trench jacket.

 

"Battle of the trenches," surmises Mak Francis.

 

Nick Soapdish calls for the bell--

 

DING DING DING!

 

and Jakey immediately ducks out of the ring, to the disapproval of the crowd.

 

"Jakey ducking for cover already!" Mak cries.

"It's strategy," defends Suicide King. "You don't want to be in there when Orden is full of adrenaline!"

 

Nick Soapdish yells at Jakey to get in the ring, but the Fabulous One petulantly shakes his head and yells at the crowd. Orden shoves Soapdish out of the way and runs out of the ring to get after his opponent, and the chase is on!

 

"Orden chasing Jakey around the ring!" Mak cries as Orden runs after Jakey. Jakey circles a corner of the ring, then dives under the ropes, and Orden dives after him, only to be set up into Jakey stomping on his back!

 

"Jakey pulls the oldest trick in the book!" Mak cries. "We've seen him do this before!"

"And it always works, doesn't it?" Suicide King asks.

 

Jakey gets a few soccer kicks into the ribs of Orden before the bigger man helps himself up with help from the ropes. Orden turns around and stares down Jakey, who again cowers. With the crowd's approval, Orden grabs Jakey effortlessly and scoops him up, then knocks him to the mat with a hard scoop slam.

 

"This could be academic here," Mak says. "Jakey's giving up almost a hundred pounds! Orden probably benches more than Jakey's weight!"

 

With Jakey grabbing his back in pain, Orden scoops him up again, hoisting Jakey in the air in position for a gorilla press. Standing in the center of the ring, Orden darkly stares out at the crowd, who is anxiously awaiting Jakey's fate.

 

"And what comes up must come ...."

 

SPLAT!

 

"...Down."

 

Orden circles his fallen opponent a few times, then hits a violent KICK to the side, followed by another one.

 

"This guy's just being sadistic here!" Mak cries. "Not going for a pin, just furthering the pain!"

 

Orden picks Jakey up by the head, then throws him into the corner, where Jakey is flung so violently that he whiplashes forward and falls on his stomach. Slowly pacing, Orden walks to Jakey and gets him to his feet, then shoves him into the corner and starts stomping a mudhole in him.

 

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

 

and Nick Soapdish tries to get Orden to stop, but the crowd is cheering the Michigan-style beating. Orden yells at Soapdish, then continues stomping on his opponent. Soapdish tries to intervene and Orden yells at him to shut up, then sits Jakey up atop the top turnbuckle.

 

"And what's Orden gonna do here?" Mak asks.

 

Orden answers by hitting Jakey with a HARD uppercut that knocks him off the top rope, onto the apron and finally the ground below.

 

"And Jakey's right back where he started!" cries Mak. Orden stays in the ring and Nick Soapdish begins a count

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

But this time Jakey gets up, grabs his back, and gives both men in the ring the Italian bird.

 

"Oh, don't tell me we're gonna have a count-out!"

 

THREE

 

FOUR

 

Jakey gets back up on the apron and Orden goes for him, but Jakey buries his head in Orden's stomach a few times to gain leverage, then hits an expert Hangman that sends Orden reeling. Jakey swiftly gets fully in the ring, then neutralizes Orden with a Bulldog that sends him to the mat!

 

"Jakey getting some fire here! Quick cover!"

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

And Orden powers out, sending Jakey to his stomach. Jakey instinctively backs into the turnbuckle, and Orden runs at him with a charge--

 

"Incoming!" cries Mak.

 

--but Jakey dodges it, causing Orden to eat turnbuckle! Jakey quickly rolls up Orden with Soapdish in perfect position--

 

ONE--

 

TWO--

 

--but Orden kicks out again. Still feeling momentum, Jakey runs off of the ropes and attempts a cross-body, but Orden perfectly counters it into a Powerslam!

 

"Oh what impact!" Mak cries. "That could do it!

 

ONE--

 

TWO--"

 

and Jakey kicks out!

 

With a look of skepticism, Orden picks up the limber opponent and violently clubs his back, then does it again; Jakey winces after each blow. Orden throws Jakey off the ropes, then knocks him down with a thunderous clothesline!

 

"And Orden not looking to be in a hurry, doing what he feels he has to do to put this opponent away!"

 

Orden again picks Jakey up by the head and delivers another harsh clothesline, sending Jakey to the mat with a thud!

 

"And Orden continuing to effortlessly pummel The Fabulous Jakey!" Mak summarizes. Without missing a beat, Orden grabs Jakey by the arm and throws him off the ropes, then hits a beautiful sidewalk slam!

 

"Sidewalk slam! What impact!" Mak cries. Orden hooks the leg --

 

"ONE--

 

TWO--

 

--and the resilient Jakey kicks out!

 

"And nothing we haven't seen before, Jakey proving tougher than he looks," Mak says.

"But how much can he take?" Suicide King asks. "Orden is relentless tonight!"

 

Beginning to appear frustrated, Orden again grabs Jakey, then picks him up and scores a backbreaker! Jakey lays motionless on the canvas as Orden gets a dangerous look on his face.

 

"Perhaps Orden is moving in for the kill here," suggests Mak.

 

Orden seizes control of the opponent and sets him up over the head, looking for the Darkness Driver!

 

"This has gotta do it!" Mak cries. "The Darkness Driver!"

 

But Orden takes too long setting up the move, as the nubile Jakey slides down his opponent's body and gets a sunset flip!

 

"What? A sunset flip out of nowhere!

 

ONE--

 

TWO--

 

TH--

 

--and Orden barely kicks out!"

 

"I knew he had it in him!" Suicide King cries.

 

Jakey hooks Orden by the neck and looks to the ropes behind him ...

 

"And will it be? The Jumping Jakey Flash!"

 

Jakey attempts to springboard off of the ropes to procure his finishing move, but Orden is too powerful and counters it by repositioning Jakey on his shoulders, then scores the Darkness Driver!

 

"And Orden! Just too strong! The Darkness Driver!

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

THREE!"

 

"Here is your winner, ORDEN NOASH!"

 

"And Orden Noash making very quick work in his home state of Michigan!"

[King Cucaracha 0]

“No way.”

 

“Yes way.”

 

“No. No way.”

 

“Unfortunately, yes way.”

 

Landon Maddix is sitting in his office and looking at a piece of paper. It should perhaps not be surprising that the fairly unimaginative back-and-forth dialogue is taking place between him and his long-time nemesis, sometime tag partner and possible… well, if not friend then they can at least stand to be in the same room together.

 

Sometimes.

 

“I can’t believe this,” Landon groans, “a pectoral muscle tear? Right off the bone?”

 

“Yup,” Toxxic replies with resignation, “bloody painful too, I can tell you.”

 

“This is… unfortunate,” Landon mutters, vivid images of income spiralling downwards filling his head. Toxxic is egotistical, annoying, and the most successful World Champion of all time. Liked or hated, he is a genuine big name and a definite help when it comes to pulling crowds. And now we won’t be wrestling. “So, how long will you be out for?”

 

“I don’t know, I’m not a specialist,” Toxxic snaps, “read the piece of paper!”

 

“I can’t read the handwriting,” Landon admits.

 

“That’s how you know it’s from a real doctor,” Toxxic grins. “No, but seriously, I think I’m meant to be out for about eight months or something.”

 

“Eight months!?”

 

“Or something,” Toxxic nods. “I mean, I’m pretty young, I’m fit, I’ve never had any injuries before so who knows? It’s just a shame it cost me the title.”

 

“…say what?” Landon asks, looking up and away from the piece of paper that is currently the object of his hatred.

 

“The World Title?” Toxxic prompts. “Come on Landon, get with the program.”

 

“Mike, I know what the World Title is,” Landon states, “what I fail to understand is how this injury cost you the match.”

 

“Landon, I’m young, studly and fantastically talented,” Toxxic tells him, “plus I have the best hair in the company. But surely you can’t expect me to beat Michael Alexander when I’ve torn my pectoral muscle off the bone in the middle of the match!”

 

“There’s nothing on here that says you tore that muscle in the match!” Landon protests, slapping the offending document.

 

“Hey, I thought you couldn’t read it!” Toxxic accuses, “how do you know what it says!”

 

“It’s dated Monday and says you tore your muscle ‘in the last few days’,” Landon says, squinting at the doctor’s report. “That COULD be the Clusterfuck, but it could as easily be training afterwards. Sounds like you’re making excuses to me. I mean,” he continues, “I saw you right after that match and you were… well, you were physically fine,” he corrects himself, “I mean, you did tell me to fuck off and die, but-”

 

“Landon. Injury occurred at Clusterfuck. End of story,” Toxxic snaps.

 

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Landon sighs. “OK, so what are we going to do with you?”

 

“Well, I was hoping that we could cut the planned rehab time in half,” Toxxic says seriously, “then bring me back in an extremely fortuitous protected position at the end of a 30-man staggered-entry Battle Royale, get me a World Title shot and then hastily rebook plans, ignoring company tradition in the process to ensure that we get the most financially lucrative match-up possible for our biggest show of the year.”

 

Landon looks at him for a few long seconds.

 

“…or, I’ll just rehab as normal, come back when I’m ready and earn myself a title shot the same as anyone else,” Toxxic suggests, when Landon’s gaze doesn’t falter.

 

“That might be better,” Maddix agrees, “because your suggestion was about two steps up from Hell In A Pokeball.”

 

“You’re telling me that you hated Hell In A Pokeball?” Toxxic asks.

 

“Even I have standards,” Landon replies, shuffling paper to cover over the discarded plans for the ‘ST VALENTINE’S DAY FIVE-MAN FLUFFY HEART CUSHION ON A POLE MATCH’. “Well Mike, I’ll be honest, the company will miss you while you’re gone. Just remember; work hard, train sensibly, say your prayers and eat Frost Brand Vitamins™!”

 

“Fuck you,” Toxxic responds good-naturedly, “I’m going back to Sacremento to watch TV and eat pizza. Ciao!”

 

“Great,” Landon mutters as the Straight-Edge Sensation leaves, “just great...” Landon sighs, while opening up a drawer beside him on his desk, pulling out a mirror. "....best hair in the company my ass."

[King Cucaracha 0]

????HOUSE OF MARVELOUS????

[King Cucaracha 0]

"Welcome back to SWF's 'Can't Get A Date'!" exclaims Mak, "A great show so far, having a chance to get to know El Hombre Sin Nombre before the break, it will certainly be an uphill battle for him to try and shock the world again with his second match."

 

"If you think the Nameless Wonder has a shot against one of the biggest talents I've seen rise up the ranks, you're as crazy as the Maskless Luchadore!" says King, smirking.

 

Mak's face scrunches up in irritation, "There's no 'e' in IL's name, King."

 

"How did you see an 'e' in my speech?" asks King.

 

"Well, simply..."

 

*FFFFFFROOOMMPH*

 

"... Huh?" asks Mak.

 

 

Darkness envelops the arena, save for the occasional flash bulb going off. The SmarkTron sparks to life showing an empty hallway inside the arena. It isn't empty for long as a rushing Hardcore Queen takes the corner and runs, gym bag in one hand and a CD case in the other. The camera follows as she turns down another corner and crashes into Ben Hardy, both people dropping to the floor. Eclectic jumps up, dusting herself off, then helping Hardy up to his feet.

 

"BEN!"

 

"Don't hurt me Allison!" exclaims Hardy, taking a defensive position.

 

"Ben! No no, it's me! Annie! Damn I've been gone too long!"

 

Cheers erupt from the crowd, realizing the OTHER Onita sister has made a shock reappearance.

 

"Annie? Wh... hey, hi! What brings you..."

 

"No time for love Dr. Jones! Here!"

 

Annie picks up the disc she was holding and swiftly throws it at Ben who bobbles it but finally gets control.

 

"Whoever the production assistant is, give him that. It's my new entrance... gotta run! I think I'm late for my match!"

 

Annie picks up her bag mid stride, running down the hallway again. Ben (and the camera) watch as she takes another corner, nearly slipping on the newly waxed floor, and dashes off. Ben looks down at the disc in his hand then looks around, slightly confused.

 

"We have a production assistant here?"

 

 

The screen goes black again, leaving the arena sans light.

 

"I don't like her," says King, "But at least this time she's not in disguise. I hate Midnight Cowboy gimmicks."

 

 

A clean sounding guitar solo plays over the arena, the opening melody for "I'm Alright" by Neil Zaza. Quick running clips of the more famous of Annie's matches play as the Hardcore Queen comes out herself, smiling in her white hoodie and pants and taking in the loud chorus of cheers.

 

 

"Ladies and Gentlemen," begins Funyon, "This next match is scheduled for one fall under standard rules. Entering first... at a weight of one hundred sixty five pounds and hailing from Shinjuku, Japan... she is the HARD! CORE! QUEEN! ... Annnnnnniiiiie Eeeeeecleeeeeectiiiiic!"

 

Annie raises her bokken high above her head and casually walks down to the ring, unzipping her sweatshirt at the ring stairs and hanging it on the ring post. Dropping her warmups, Eclectic walks up the steps in her signature white doublet and steps through the ropes, hopping up to the second turnbuckle and mugging for the crowd she hadn't seen in years.

 

"It's been a while, but I for one am glad to see the Hardcore Queen back in action!" says Mak.

 

"Too bad it's not a different kind of Hardcore action she got into..." says King under his breath.

 

"Funny, didn't think you swung that way."

 

"Hey now..."

 

Now off the ropes, Annie turns to a back corner and backs in, ready to watch her opponent. Once again the SmarkTron comes to life, showing a fuse that is rapidly burning towards its end. "Mission Impossible" begins to play as clips of the Secret Agent Man's best hits begin to play. Decked in high tech shades and stylish black slacks, Johnny Dangerous makes his grand appearance to an equally loud outburst of cheers from the crowd.

 

"And her opponent, from Las Vegas, Nevada and weighing in at two hundred twenty five pounds... tenacious as a barracuda and just as deadly.... Johnny DAAAAAAAAANGEROOOOOUUUS!"

 

"These two haven't fought much, but there is some history," starts Mak, "Wild and Dangerous are one of the better tag teams we've seen come through the SWF, and they fought under the Catch-22 banner early headed by Mr. Beezel..."

 

"Which was yet again Annie under a mask," says King, "At least that Scion gimmick got canned early."

 

Dangerous dashes to the ring, diving through the ropes and popping up to a huge cheer. Eclectic smiles and applaudes in the corner, walking up and offering a hand. The Barracuda looks in her eyes (through his shades of course) and takes the proffered hand. As they shake, the audience applaudes the rare show of sportsmanship.

 

"This isn't going to be a grudge match," says Mak, "But it should be interesting nonetheless. Dangerous is a three time former world champion and while on a downswing of late he's a threat to take anyone down at any time. Eclectic hasn't gotten the World, but she is the most successful woman in SWF's history and you know she's got to be still hungry if she's back."

 

DING DING DING

 

Dangerous and Eclectic lock up in the center of the ring, each trying to maneuver into a better hold. After some struggle Dangerous shoves Eclectic out of the hold and smiles. He mugs for the audience with his arms flexed, getting the more hetero women in the audience excited.

 

"Dangerous showing his strength here, something that will help him greatly throughout the match if he uses it well," notes King.

 

Annie stands with her arms akimbo, making a slightly disgusted face. She waves at Dangerous to come at her and the two lock up again in a collar-elbow tieup. The two struggle until Johnny again shoves the smaller fighter to the mat. Annie kipups to her feet, looking annoyed. She eggs on the Barracuda for another lockup. This time Annie finds a way to place her leg through Johnny's. With a short push, she trips up the Secret Agent who lands on his back, amazingly with his shades still on his face. The Hardcore Queen lifts and arm up and flexes to the tune of laughter from the crowd.

"For better or worse," says Mak, "Annie's ego drives her a lot. From personal experience, she does not deal with bravado well."

 

"She doesn't deal with a lot of things well, like keeping friendships or staying in a single stable," says King.

 

Dangerous climbs to his feet as his opponent makes a run at the ropes. Bouncing off, the Hardcore Queen ducks one clothesline... then another as she rebounds off the ropes. Johnny sets his feet for a third shot only to get hit by a flying forearm off the ropes! Wasting no time she rises to her feet and makes a run for the ropes. Leaping up, Annie lands and catapults off the second rope to a picture perfect Lionsault...

 

BAM!

 

Right on top of Johnny's chest! She scrambles quickly to hook a leg for a cover as the official drops for a count...

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

T... KICKOUT!

 

 

"Dangerous seemed slightly stunned there, but as dumb as Eclectic is I can't imagine she would honestly think a weak shot like that would take anyone down... even you would kick out, Mak!"

 

"Thanks King," says Mak deadpan, "True friend you are."

 

"Whatever Yoda."

 

Annie grumbles at the referee as she gets up, pulling Johnny to his feet with her. Firmly grabbing the back of his head (and getting a warning from Soapdish), Eclectic leaps up and drives her knee straight into the Barracuda's face! ... and another! ... and again as the third knee strike drops the Secret Agent, his shades breaking in half and falling away. A trickle of blood appears at the bridge of his nose, causing the Hardcore Queen to smile as she runs to the ropes, jumps onto the second rope and leaps backwards in a beautiful arc.... only to land on the Barracuda's broken shades as he rolls out of the way!

 

"Oooooohhh, the crowd felt that one as the Hardcore Queen misses a second lionsault!" exclaims Mak.

 

"She didn't miss, that was a beautiul landing onto those shades. She sure taught the sunglasses a thing or two!" says King.

 

Annie rolls through onto her knees, taking a second to remove the plastic shards that cut up her doublet. Ignoring the blood trickling from herself, she slowly walks over to the kneeling Secret Agent. Eclectic takes the back of his head... only to get a fist to the gut for her troubles. A second gutshot doubles over the Hardcore Queen and suddenly Dangerous is feeling his last name. Standing up, Johnny wipes some of the blood away from his face before viciously driving a knee into his opponent's midsection. With Annie doubled over, Johnny takes his cue to lock hands around the woman's waist. With a grunt, he pops his hips and lifts the Hardcore Queen up and drives her backwards to the mat!

 

"NASTY Belly to back suplex by the Secret Agent!" says King.

 

"Don't forget, I don't care how much rest she's had, Annie has had multiple injuries to her ribs and stomach," notes Mak, "It's a soft spot for the Queen. Johnny has to know this from working with her in the past, will he remember and use the knowledge?"

 

Dangerous pops to his feet, shaking the cobwebs from his head. The Barracuda points his elbow down towards his opponent and drops, landing right in the sternum of Eclectic. He repeats with a second, and a third, before dragging her up by her head. Soapdish warns about any hair pulling shenanigans and Johnny adjusts his grip to her neck as she straightens. Locking on a front facelock, Dangerous grunts and lifts the woman high above his head in a vertical suplex. The Barracuda holds her, keeping her vertical while allowing the blood to rush directly to her skull.

 

"A rare show of strength by the Secret Agent here," says Mak, "He's bleeding pretty good from the cut he got from Annie's knee strikes, he may be looking to end this one a little early."

 

"Either that," says King, "Or he's venting some frustration by being held down in Catch-22"

 

"He wasn't held down!" exclaims Mak.

 

"Then explain to me why he was number three, while she took number one?" asks King, "You can't, because Eclectic is simply a glory hog."

 

"I don't think I've ever seen you defend Dangerous."

 

"Lesser of two evils. Dangerous is a buffoon, but at least he's not a conniving bitch."

 

The crowd starts to gasp as Annie is held up for twenty... no thirty seconds before Dangerous allows her to crash painfully to the mat! He can feel the wind getting knocked out of her and calmly rolls over to hook a leg...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THRE..... KICKOUT!

 

 

"Close call for the Queen," says Mak.

 

 

Checking the ref's count, Dangerous can't help but feel a bit exasperated. Noting the rips on the Queen's torso, Dangerous rolls her over onto her chest. Taking the left ankle, Johnny lifts Eclectic's leg up and wraps it over his back and around his shoulder. The audience splits between cheers and gasps as he drops down to one knee, locking in the excruciating Barracuda Lock!

 

"Barracuda! Barracuda!" screams King, "Heh, not a fan of this doofus but if he takes out Annie Eclectic before she can stink up the federation, I'm all for it!"

 

"Johnny's really coming out in force in this match," says Mak, "He seems even hungrier, and unfortunatly the returning Eclectic looks to be just a bump in the road right now!"

 

Annie's bloodcurdling scream echoes throughout the arena, audible even to those suckers in the nosebleed seats. Dangerous leans forward slightly, exerting even more pain and pressure on Annie's wounded stomach. What was a trickle of blood from her torso begins to grow as the lock begins tearing at the cuts. Pounding the mat, Annie shakes off Soapdish's first request for a submission.

 

"Is that... Johnny is actually stretching Annie's wounds!" exclaims Mak, "This cannot go on for much longer! Even the Hardcore Queen has to recognize when she's been outmaneuvered."

 

"For once I'll agree with you," says King, "He has her right in the middle of the ring, no way can she escape!"

 

Eclectic is screaming through clenched teeth, pounding her fist onto the mat. Soapdish asks for another submission but Annie spits out a denial not suitable for television. She tries to roll towards her side but Johnny matches her movement, pinning her facefirst to the mat. Eclectic tries rolling the other way but again Dangerous matches her movement and keeps the hold locked in.

 

"Just give up Queen," says King, "You were never worth the royal title, even for garbage wrestling!"

 

Placing both her free foot and left hand on the mat, Annie screams as she tries to lift the Secret Agent off her. Johnny rises slightly but keeps the hold on, letting her rise and place more pressure on herself. She almost drops back to the mat... before throwing a wild backfist towards the Barracuda! She misses his face by an inch, causing Johnny to retaliate with a Shotei to the back! Eclectic screams again, throwing another wild backfist but this time grazing him on the nose!

 

"Annie Eclectic may be a lot of things, King," starts Mak, "But one thing has never been a quitter! Look at her fight back!"

 

"If she escapes Mak, it's pure luck," says King, "Nothing but pure luck."

 

Johnny rises with his opponents movement, only to drop all his weight back onto the Queen! Annie can't keep fighting the strain and drops back to the mat, crying with the pain. Dangerous begins to ask for the submission as well, echoing Soapdish's request. Annie's reply is clear if not strained....

 

"GET."

 

Annie's hand goes to the mat...

 

"THE."

 

Her free foot follows suit...

 

"FUCK."

 

Both begin to lift...

 

"OFF OF ME!!!!"

 

As she throws all her strength behind a backfist that finds Johnny's temple! The Barracuda collapses to her side, releasing the hold to a chorus of cheers from the unbelieving crowd!

 

"What tenacity!" screams Mak, "I don't think I've seen anyone fight that hard out of a crab variant!"

 

Her victory doesn't last long as she rolls over into a fetal position, kicking the mat fast and hard to try and dull the pain she still feels on her stomach. The Barracuda recovered much faster, walking over to his opponent and dragging her roughly to her feet. Grabbing her wrist, he sends the Queen hard and fast into the turnbuckles with an Irish Whip. Facing Eclectic, Dangerous then runs full speed and DRIVES a knee into her midsection, doubling her over before she collapses to the mat. With his opponent not quite where he wants her, Dangerous drags the Queen towards the center of the ring by her arm and leg before depositing her four feet from the turnbuckle. Pointing towards the corner another mix of cheers and gasps rise up as Johnny climbs up to the top rope...

 

"What is this fool going for?" asks King, "She obviously out, just pin the bitch and get her out of our misery!"

 

"Fans of the Hardcore Queen must be worried, we may be in for a Death From Above and I can't think of a more devastating move right now to help Johnny win this match!" says Mak.

 

As Johnny straightens up to his full height, he looks out before the crowd. With a smile Johnny poses for the audience as they erupt in cheers... reacting to Eclectic's sloppy kipup to her feet! Annie makes a 'come here' gesture to the unknowing Barracuda as she braces herself. Johnny blindly leaps backwards in his own gorgeous Moonsault... only to get caught by Eclectic! The momentum swings the Barracuda down as Annie almost lets go, her legs unsure if they can hold the weight. Eclectic turns slightly causing Johnny's head to swing past her knees to the side. Following momentum, Annie again almost lets her opponent slip before she can turn and let Johnny rise up... almost becoming parallel with the mat... and driven face first to the mat by a sloppy but possibly effective...

 

"HOLLOWPOINT!!!! HOLLOWPOINT!!!" screams Mak trying to be heard over the crowd's excitement, "Annie just countered the Death From Above to a Hollowpoint Driver from NOWHERE!"

 

"How... How?" asks King, "... Just how??? How did she do that?"

 

"But can she go for a cover? Johnny took an incredible amount out of her in a short time, he may still have life in this match if she can't capitalize!"

 

Annie drags herself sideways and pulls on Johnny's shoulder, just barely rolling him onto his back. Soapdish is watching as she makes a simply cover by draping her arm over her opponent's body.....

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THRE..........EEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

DING DING DING

 

 

"I'm Alright" blasts through the Arena as Annie's hand is raised in a somewhat surprising victory. Holding her midsection, the Hardcore Queen simply rolls out of the ring, her arm trying to hold in the blood still running from the now deep cuts to her midsection. She motions towards the timekeeper, who finds a microphone and helpfully passes it to Eclectic.

 

"You mean we have to hear her talk too?" asks King feeling slightly dejected.

 

The music stops as Annie lifts the mic to her lips

 

"Look," says Annie, gasping for air, "Johnny... you still *huff* look out of it so *puff* I'll be short."

 

Annie winces as she turns towards the ring.

 

"Number three... you're still *huff* a friend but, *huff* if you ever. EVER try and *huff* injure me again like that..."

 

She trails off waiting for more air to get into her lungs.

 

"I WILL ****ING WRECK YOU!"

 

The crowd cheers for the scrappy Japanese woman.

 

"That's not a threat, friend. Nor is it a promise. THAT... is a..."

 

"DECREE!" finishes the audience.

 

"... a Decree from the HARD! CORE!"

 

"QUEEN!!!" says Annie and the crowd in unison. Having finished her impromptu speech, she deftly flings the mic in the ring which bounces off the Barracuda's head with a loud THUMP. "I'm Alright" plays again as she grabs her warmup gear and bokken and heads backstage.

 

"Maybe not how she saw her first match back going, but you can't deny the results," says Mak, "An important win to start off the Hardcore Queen's return, and she's no less violent, that's for sure."

 

"Or bitchy..."

 

"Hush King, we have to head to commercial but stay with us for more SWF ACTION!!!!"

 

 

(fade to black)

[King Cucaracha 0]

Funyon - Ladies and Gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one-fall, and is a no count-out, no disqualifications, falls count anywhere Hardcore Match!

 

 

 

The crowd pops at the announcement.

 

 

 

Funyon - Introducing first, weighing in at one hundred and "none of your damn business" pounds and hailing from Helltown, Haverhill Massachusetts... Taiga Star!!

 

 

 

Be a Man hits, and the crowd cheers. A generic ultraviolet Princess of Hardcore graphic appears on the screen and Taiga Star comes out. She appears to be in a good mood, smiling and slapping hands of the fans. she rolls in under the bottom rope, jumps to her feet, and poses for a moment in the centre of the ring with her hands in the air.

 

 

 

Funyon - Her opponent, weighing in at two hundred and twenty five pounds and hailing from Easton, Pennsylvania... the Insane Luchador!!

 

 

 

Man in the Box begins playing as red and black pyros go off. The crowd cheers loudly as Insane Luchador appears from the lingering smoke. He throws his arms in the air with enthusiasm then sprints down to the ring, also slapping the fan's hands. He slides into the ring.

 

 

 

Referee Eddy Long calls for the bell.

 

 

 

DING!!

 

 

 

Insane Luchador and Taiga Star begin the match by staring each other down. After a few long moments, Taiga smacks Insane Luchador across the face. The Ill One smiles wide.

 

 

 

Suicide King - Taiga doesn't know this, but that's the kind of thing that Insane Luchador likes.

 

 

 

Insane Luchador smacks Taiga across the face in response. Taiga smiles.

 

 

 

Mak Francis - Uh-oh King, it appears that he may have met his match!

 

 

 

They stare each other down some more. Taiga smacks Insane Luchador again, and Insane Luchador smacks her in return. Taiga smacks him back harder. Insane Luchador clocks her in the jaw. Taiga stumbles, just a bit, before rearing back and nailing him in the jaw with a left handed punch. Insane Luchador wobbles, his legs going loose under him, bringing him down to Taiga's level. With one hand behind his head, she pounds his face with forearms, causing him to fall to his knees. Taiga runs, bounces off the ropes, planning to dropkick Insane Luchador...

 

...But The Ill One rolls out of the way and springs to his feet. Taiga bounces off the opposite ropes. Insane Luchador attempts a clothesline and Taiga just runs right under it. Again Taiga bounces off the ropes, gaining momentum. Insane Luchador tries another clothesline, but Taiga ducks under this one too. Taiga against the ropes again, and on the return she spears Insane Luchador full force! They both roll and spring up to their feet and stare each other down some more. The crowd cheers a bit.

 

 

 

Mak Francis - It's hard to tell what's going through the minds of these two competitors here. They both claim to wrestle in the strong style hardcore way.

 

Suicide King - And they're both crazy. Look at them, they're doing that crazy person telekinetic communication.

 

 

 

After staring each other down for an uncomfortable amount of time, they both turn around and get out of the ring; Taiga by rolling out under the bottom rope, Insane Luchador by hopping over the top rope. Insane Luchador lifts the ring apron and begins rummaging under the ring. He throws a few chairs into the ring and drags out a table, which he sets up on the outside.

 

Meanwhile, Taiga is emptying out the contents of her shopping cart; things like mops, mop handles, an industrial sized aluminum cookie sheet, a big box of tacks. The Ill One rolls back into the ring with a chair, at the same time Taiga rolls in with the big cookie sheet.

 

 

 

Suicide King - They seem to have similar ideas here.

 

 

 

They swing at each other with their respective objects, both ducking out of the way and missing simultaneously. They do this a few times until the time Taiga ducks and rolls out under Insane Luchador's legs. She springs up and swings the cookie sheet at his hand! He let go with that hand, shaking it out, and Taiga bangs his other hand! Insane Luchador drops the chair, rubbing the feeling back into his hands. Taiga takes a huge swing and bends the cookie sheet over Insane Luchador's head. And again. And again! A trickle of blood runs down Insane Luchador's forehead.

 

 

 

Mak Francis - That's not what a cookie sheet should be shaped like.

 

Suicide King - Well, they're not made for beating people up with.

 

 

 

Insane Luchador is down to his knees. Taiga again runs off the ropes for a drop kick, and lands it this time, right in the side of the face, knocking him to the mat! Taiga hooks the legs for a pin.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

 

Insane Luchador kicks out. Taiga gets up and stomps Insane Luchador in the head a few times. She grabs a mop handle and hits him in the back with it a few times. Then she goes for a knee, cracking the mop handle over the joint, causing Insane Luchador to clutch it in pain. Taiga grabs that leg and starts working on it; she picks him up by the ankle and rams his knee into the mat, she stomps the knee a few times, she pulls the leg and snaps it with a knee-d-t.

 

She ties up the legs for a surfboard stretch, but before she has a chance to really wrench it in, Insane Luchador manages to get his hands on a mop and awkwardly swings it behind him, not as much hitting Taiga on the head with it as much as getting the smelly, damp, noodle-like strands of cotton in her face.

 

Taiga lets go so she can wipe her face, which she does on Referee Eddy Long's shirt. Eddy swats her away, then smells his shirt and makes a disgusted face. Taiga tells the ref that there wasn't anywhere else to wipe her face.

 

While Taiga and the ref are 'arguing', Insane Luchador manages to stand up, highly favoring the leg. Taiga turns around and Insane Luchador is standing there with a mop handle in his hands. He swings and lands a shot perfectly in the center of her head. Taiga wobbles on her legs. Insane Luchador swings again, hitting her on the forehead. Taiga falls to the mat. He goes to work on her back, hitting her with the handle over and over again. When he has enough, he goes for the pin.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

 

Taiga kicks out. The Ill One grabs a chair and unfolds it. Then he goes back to where Taiga is rolling about, and picks her up by the hair. He goes to whip her off the ropes to attempt to drop toe hold her onto the chair... but Taiga instead kicks him in the knee again. He falls to the mat, grabbing his knee and crying out.

 

Taiga moves the chair to the other side of the ring. The she goes to pick up... the box of tacks! The crowd pops as she opens the box and lets a silver waterfall of tacks spill to the mat. Insane Luchador is still clutching his knee. She walks up to him and tries to kick him in the head, but he ducks and grabs her leg, tripping her down to the mat. Both wrestlers make it to their knees. Insane Luchador with a stiff headbutt! Taiga returns the favor. Back and forth they go with the headbutts, as the crowd cheers them on!

 

 

 

Mak francis - They're going to knock each other unconscious!

 

Suicide King - It's not like they're going to give each other brain damage.

 

 

 

They both get to their feet as they are headbutting each other. Taiga struggles to suplex Insane Luchador into the tacks. The move gets reversed several times before Insane Luchador, with a front Russian leg sweep, sends Taiga face first into the tacks (even though this also sends The Ill One into some)!!!

 

Taiga rolls over and there are several tacks stuck in her head, blood pouring out. Insane Luchador also has a few tacks stuck in him, he doesn't seem to notice them. He pulls Taiga standing and attempts to throw Taiga into the chair. They fight back and forth, blocking suplexes and reversing several times. Taiga eventually manages to get The Ill One up, then she drops him knee first onto the seat of the chair, causing more damage to the knee. She uses the opportunity to lock on a Texas cloverleaf... but Insane Luchador is close enough to wiggle over to the bottom rope. Knowing that there are no rope breaks in a hardcore match, he uses the rope to wiggle himself further out of Taiga's grasp... if Taiga only would let go. They both fall out of the ring and hit the floor. Taiga walks off, looking frustrated.

 

 

 

Mak francis - There goes Taiga up the ramp.

 

Suicide King - Isn't it convenient that Insane Luchador landed next to that shopping cart that Taiga bought into the ring?

 

Mak Francis - I hope that he isn't thinking about using that on her!

 

Suicide King - I hope he is.

 

 

 

Taiga is still walking up the ramp. Insane Luchador uses the cart to stand himself up. Then he aims it and runs it full force up the ramp, limping some, where Taiga doesn't see it until the last second!! She doubles over and falls head-first into the cart, her legs kicking in the air. Insane Luchador pushes the cart further up the ramp with Taiga inside. With a full head of steam, he pushes the cart, slamming it on one of the support beams for the Smarktron!!

 

BOOM!!!

 

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

 

The Smarktron shakes a bit. The front end of the cart is bent from where it met the pole. Taiga falls out of the cart, not moving. Insane Luchador smiles widely, raising his hands in the air and taking in the atmosphere. He gets some cheers and some boos.

 

 

 

Mak francis - Taiga Star is not moving! I think The Ill One may have seriously injured her here. Look at him up there, smiling proudly!

 

Suicide King - He needs to stop playing to the crowd and pin her already!

 

 

 

Casually Insane Luchador makes his way over to Taiga's lifeless corpse. He lays over her in a lazy cover.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

THR.... NO!! Taiga kicks out!

 

 

 

Suicide King - How did she do that?

 

Mak Francis - She's a tough lady, King, and i'm sure Insane Luchador is putting that to the test now.

 

 

 

Insane Luchador kicks Taiga in the back, effectively rolling her back over to the ramp. Taiga is gasping for air, groaning and clutching her head in pain. Insane Luchador continues to shove her to the ramp, then backs off a little. Taiga struggles to make it to her knees. The Ill One helps her along a bit by pulling her up by her hair. Once standing, he pulls her down the ramp a few paces. Taiga screams at him, attempting to kick and punch at him... but he was holding her at arm's length and Taiga couldn't reach him.

 

 

 

Mak Francis - Again, Taiga's height comes into play.

 

Suicide King - You mean lack of height? Taiga Star is a midget! Look at her swinging away at him!

 

 

 

Insane Luchador tucks Taiga's head under his arm and nails her with a DDT! Taiga lands on the top of her head, legs going straight up in the air. After she immediately curls up in the fetal position, barely having the energy to scream.

 

 

 

Mak Francis - That move can break a neck!

 

 

 

Insane Luchador rolls around on the ramp a bit as well, grabbing at his knee and groaning. He stands up and looks like he's about to pin her, but instead he picks Taiga up by the hair again, sets her up, and nails her into the ramp with another DDT!! Taiga lays out prone and lifeless on the ramp, The Ill One is rolling around and clutching his knee again. After a few long moments, he covers Taiga.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

 

Suicide King - She's not gonna be able to kick ou...

 

 

THR...NO!! Taiga kicks out!!!

 

 

 

Mak Francis - Taiga Star still has some life left in her!

 

Suicide King - It was only because Insane Luchador didn't hook the leg.

 

 

 

Both wrestlers lay on the ramp, rolling around a little, both trying to get back up. Insane Luchador is first to his feet, albeit he's a bit wobbly. Taiga struggles to her hands and knees. Insane Luchador with a stiff forearm to the back, knocking her down again. She struggles up and The Ill One stomps her in the back. He stands up over her, smacks her in the back of the head, and applies a rear naked choke!

 

 

 

Mak Francis - That's a smart move, wearing her down like that.

 

Suicide King - It's a hardcore match, he needs to be hitting her foreign objects, not locking on submission holds!

 

 

 

Referee Eddy Long asks Taiga if she wants to give up, and she replies by cussing at him. She screams out, a strangled sound escaping her throat. Insane Luchador cranks it in harder. The ref asks her if she wants to give up. "No!" she squeaks out.

 

The Ill One lets her go. Taiga grabs her throat and coughs, kicking her legs. She curls up into a little ball, and Insane Luchador kicks her in the head. Insane Luchador grabs her by the arm and pulls her up to standing. He walks her to the ring (dragging her practically). He sets up to whip Taiga into the apron, but she reverses, sending him into the side of the ring, the middle of his back connecting with the hard steel edge!!!

 

Both Taiga and Insane Luchador lay on the floor, catching their winds. Several long moments pass. The crowd claps rhythmically, encouraging the opponents on. Neither person moves.

 

 

 

Mak Francis - With this being a hardcore rules match, there is no countout.

 

Suicide King - Thank you Einstein.

 

 

 

Eventually the competitors begin to stir and show signs of life. Insane Luchador uses the ring for support to get to his feet, as Taiga uses the barricade to assist her. With both Insane Luchador and Taiga standing, they face each other in yet another staredown. Insane Luchador rears back and clocks Taiga in the jaw! She wobbles but remains upright. Taiga returns the favor, nailing him with a right hand. They trade blows (not like that, pervs!) like this, each hit louder than the last. Finally, they both rear back and punch each other at the same time, sending each other backwards with the force; Insane Luchador into the barricade this time, Taiga into the side of the ring.

 

Taiga climbs in under the bottom rope and gets to her knees. She looks up and sees a woman standing at the entrance. Annie Eclectic, though Taiga does not know who she is at this time. She doesn't know how long the woman was standing there for. Annie isn't making a move to indicate her interfering in the match, she's just standing there, watching. This confuses Taiga for a moment, at least, until she sees The Ill One climbing in the ring from the floor.

 

Taiga stomps furiously at him, not giving him a chance to get up. She pulls him by his legs and drags him through the pile of tacks on the mat. Then she goes for a fistdrop, but Insane Luchador rolls out of the way, and all Taiga gets is a fistful of tacks! Taiga screams out, quickly pulling the tacks out of her fist, then Insane Luchador kicks her in the head. Taiga seems to shake it off easily and she scrambles out of the way.

 

Getting to her feet, Taiga shoves The Ill One hard into the ropes. Taiga runs toward him and leaps, landing a cross body against him, pushing him into the ropes. Insane Luchador, frustrated, climbs between the ropes onto the apron. Taiga takes the opportunity to pull his head backwards over the top rope, bending his spine at an unnatural angle. She lets go and his head snaps forward.

 

Stepping through the ropes, Taiga joins Insane Luchador on the apron. Taiga and the Ill One fight it out, struggling to get the upper hand. Insane Luchador goes fro a DDT, but Taiga hooks a leg around the ropes, blocking it. She grabs two handfuls of hair and headbutts him, once, twice, three times in a row. They both wince from the impacts, Taiga almost losing her footing, Insane Luchador grabbing hold of Taiga for support. Then, with a great shriek, she hooks his arms and drives him off the apron onto the floor head first with a piledriver!!

 

 

 

Mak Francis - He landed on the top of his head right on the bare concrete!

 

 

 

Insane Luchador lays there dead on the floor, his eyes glazed over and staring into some nonexistent point on the ceiling. Taiga struggles to her feet, clutching her behind where she landed on her ass. She stumbles around a bit before eying the table set up near the apron.

 

 

 

Suicide King - She's got that scary look again, Mak.

 

 

 

Taiga leans over, pulls Insane Luchador up, and throws him over her shoulders in a fireman's carry. She goes over to the table... and lays him gently on top. She motions to the top turnbuckle and the crowd cheers. She rolls into the ring and ascends up the corner. She measures out the angle carefully in her head. Then she leaps off the top with a DOUBLE STOMP on Insane Luchadore, landing on his chest and sending him through the table!!!

 

 

 

Mak Francis - That's it! Nobody gets up from that Double Stomp!

 

Suicide King - It's a devastating move, considering the amount of weight she has to work with.

 

Mak Francis - King!

 

 

 

Taiga scrambles quickly for the cover on the lifeless Insane Luchador.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

...THREE!!!

 

 

The ref calls for the bell.

 

 

DING DING DING!!

 

 

 

Funyon - Ladies and Gentlemen, the winner of the match, Taiga Star!!

 

 

 

The referee raises Taiga's hand. She smiles wide, her teeth looking very white in contrast with her bloody face. Insane Luchador is barely moving in the rubble of the table.

 

 

 

Mak Francis - An impressive win here by Taiga Star. She's really moving up the card, and if she can continue to score wins over competitors like The Ill One, her career here in the SWF will be a good one.

 

Suicide King - Unfortunately.

 

 

 

Taiga sees Insane Luchador showing signs of life. She goes over to him, possibly to attack him? No, she's helping him up out of the splinters of wood! She struggles to get him to his feet, and when she finally does... she shakes his hand! Insane Luchador appears surprised by this, and even more so when Taiga raises his arm in a show of good sportsmanship. She is seen mouthing the words "Good Match" to him before she leaves to go backstage. Eddy Long helps Insane Luchador to the back, The Ill One's knee is still a bit tender. And Annie Eclectic is nowhere to be seen.

[King Cucaracha 0]

Back in his office, Landon kicks back having gotten back from his watch position out in the arena.

 

"Wow, a woman beating a man... not once, but twice. Who'd have thought it?"

 

"Women athletes are as close to their male counterparts as they've ever been." Megan Skye points out as she walks in. "It was only a matter of time before some of them surpassed the men, especially those who are ignorant to change."

 

"Uh, yeah, I'll take a decaf latté to go please."

 

Megan does a double-take.

 

"You know what Landon, maybe it's time to pull the trigger. Not that it'd make life any easier around here, but she'd certainly shake things up that's for sure. The budget can just about cover it... plus she's guaranteed publicity... hmm, something to think about."

 

Landon smiles to himself, getting a sudden jolt as Megan steps in front of the desk with arms folded.

 

"Oh hi, when did you get here Megs?"

 

"I'm sorry?"

 

"Nevermind. Listen, I've been thinking and I've come up with an idea. Sit down and I'll talk you through it in a minute."

 

Doing just that, Megan waits patiently as Landon sits back and doesn't utter a word, literally twiddling his thumbs.

 

"Uh, Landon? Problem?"

 

"No no, it's just I sent some chick to get me a latté about 20 seconds ago and I don't want her to walk in on anything confidential." Landon explains, confirming that he is at this moment oblivious to the entire world around him. "You just can't get the staff around here nowadays."

 

"No..." agrees Megan. "No, you can't..."

[King Cucaracha 0]

As 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.

 

"Tough times demand tough talk

demand tough hearts demand tough songs

demand..."

 

He stops and places his hands on his hips as he stares down smugly at the audience, their boos like music to his ears.

 

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Making his way to the ring... from Toronto, Ontario, weighing two hundred thirty-two pounds... "THE CRITIC"... SCOTT... PPRRRRRREEEEEETTZZZZLLLLEEEEEEEERRRRRRR!!!!"

 

"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."

 

Taking his time, Pretzler strolls down the ramp, his welcome back pops and cheers from a couple of months ago having peetered out now and the majority booing him like old times.

 

"I have to wonder what The Critic will make of the Dance Dance Dragon, King."

 

"Two words; It Stinks!"

 

Pretzler climbs the steps and enters the ring with a flourish. The audience continues to boo as he paces around the ring, going through some technical based warm-ups which are lost on most of the supposedly 'smart' crowd.

 

"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..."

 

"Well Pretzler to take on Dance Dance Dragon, two men who came up just short of their goals at Clusterfuck. Pretzler failed to win the 'Fuck itself and Dragon was unable to win the Cruiserweight Title from Wildchild. So points to be proven and spots up the card, or down as the case may be, to be moved."

 

"Pretzler's glad to be back, I spoke to him in the week." says King. "But as much as he's glad to just be able to lace his boots again, he didn't return just to say he did. He returned for glory. For the World Title. A win tonight and it'll be a step in the right direction."

 

 

A DDR stage hollogram shines down in front of the entrance way and for a while, all is quiet inside the arena. The intro to "Hung Up" by Madonna plays, with the crowd gradually beginning to clap along as they wait patiently for the next match.

 

"Boy, this is a really long intro, huh?" yawns King.

 

Eventually, The Dance Dance Dragon calmly walks out. And stops, waiting until the song picks up pace, multi-coloured strobes go freakoutapalooza through the rest of the arena and 'Triple D' starts to bust a freakin' move, people! A couple of scantily clad dancers run out behind the masked man and dance to the sides of him, applauding DDD's 'l33t' DDR skills as he 'pwns' the holographic dancepad underneath his feet.

 

"And the opponent. Hailing from Heaven's Dancefloor... he weighs in tonight at two hundred and nineteen pounds! This is THE DANCE... DANCE... DDRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR - AAAAAAAAGGOOOOOOOOOOONN!!!"

 

"YYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

 

Dragon and his Dance Dance Dragonettes (still a work in progress) continue to dance their way to the ring, to the delight of the fans and the bemusement of Mr. Pretzler.

 

"The phrase 'two contrasting styles', rarely as appro-po as it will be in this one." predicts Mak.

 

Looking on unimpressed, Pretzler watches Dragon somersault into the ring and break into an array of his flashiest dance moves and wonders if all his years of rehab were worth it. The fans seem to be enjoying it though and Dragon nails the splits to show his appreciation for their appreciation. Off comes the jacket as the ladies are sadly done for the night.

 

"Okay, now that that's out of the way..."

 

 

*DINGDINGDING!*

 

Dragon immediately starts to lead the crowd in some clapping, to Pretzler's disgust.

 

"Yeah, this is the kinda crap we've had to put up with without you Scott." scowls King. "Welcome back, buddy."

 

Dancing along to the sound of his own creation, Triple D jigs out of the corner. Pretzler shakes his head sadly as he locks up, coming out seconds later with the arm wrung and the wrist locked. Sweeping the legs, Pretzler applies a top wristlock against the mat on Dragon, forcing both the shoulder down...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Bridge! A quick kick at the leg breaks it though...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Another bridge! Pretzler kicks away the base again...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

Dragon kicks out and quickly rolls backwards, coming up to his feet with the pressure reversed and a chance to wring out Pretzler's arm! Looking understandably surprised, down to a knee goes Pretzler as Dragon bars up the arm.

 

"Pretzler finding out firsthand that Dance Dance Dragon is about more than just the dancing and the mask and all that comes with it. He can go in that ring too." points out Mak.

 

Having gotten over the surprise at being out-wrestled, even for just a second, Pretzler gets back to business and looks for an escape route. Sliding his leg in behind Dragon's he pushes forward, tripping up the masked man and causing him to lose control of the arm. Pretzler quickly pins down a leg, twisting the foot up on the other and putting pressure on the toes and ankle. With a growl in pain Dragon tries to free his other foot... and does, prompting Pretzler to change his grip and look to turn into a half crab. Wanting no part of that, DDD shuffles back and grabs the ropes to force a break. Unimpressed, The Critic waits until four to let Dragon go and even then it's with a petulant shove away of the leg.

 

"Do you get the feeling Pretzler isn't too happy to be here, King?"

 

"Well aside from the obvious answer of 'we're in Grand Rapids so yes', of course he's not. He's out here trying to wrestle, something which he hasn't been able to do for the past two years. And he's having to do it against some wackjob in a mask, 'the little guy that could go in that ring', who's taking cheap ropebreaks."

 

Dragon gets his bearings back, or more accurately his groove back before feeling his way into a knucklelock with Pretzler. He barely gets the fingers laced before a boot slams into his midsection however!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

Throwing the hands down, Pretzler quickly grabs a front headlock and sinks to a knee to apply pressure. Dragon squirms from side to side which forces Pretzler to keep re-adjusting though, unable to get Dragon where he actually wants him.

 

"Pretzler seems to be complaining that he can't get the hold on properly because of the mask." Mak interprets.

 

"Which is unfair if you ask me."

 

"If it's accurate, maybe."

 

Dragon eventually pushes up to his feet and has Pretzler further struggling. Reaching in low, Dragon lifts Pretzler up off his feet, trying to carry him over to the corner but forced to drop him short. Pretzler keeps a hold on the head and sets Dragon up for a suplex. He gets him up okay, but loses his grip in mid-move, allowing Dragon to float over the back and land safely on his feet. With a quick shove in the back to make space Dragon runs the ropes, Pretzler turning around and throwing a frustrated looking clothesline which the Japanese cruiserweight ducks under. Hitting the far ropes, Dragon then catches Pretzler turning and clotheslining again, leading with his feet with a Front Dropkick! Pretzler gets caught in the chest and lurches to the canvas, Dragon on top for the cover...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

No!

 

"Pretzler's frustrated here and I can't blame him!" complains King. "How can you allow ring attire that prevents wrestlers from... well, from wrestling? They don't let you grease your legs in UFC for that very reason."

 

"Yeah but nobody cares about UFC."

 

Leading Pretzler up by the arm, Dragon connects with an elbow strike. And a second.

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

Followed up by a knifedge to the chest. With Pretzler stinging from those shots Dragon then loads Pretzler up, sending him off the ropes. An early duck of the head proves costly for Dragon however. Pretzler puts on the brakes, jamming the point of his elbow into the back of the neck! As Dragon recoils from that, Pretzler then hooks up the arms in a double underhook and with a pop of the hips he executes a Butterfly Suplex.

 

"That's more like it." smiles King. "Now you watch, next show Dragon'll be out here with giant shoulder pads so people can't suplex him like that anymore."

 

"That'd actually be pretty smart."

 

"You're not supposed to encourage cheating, idiot! That's my job!"

 

The pace has slowed to Pretzler's ideal speed; methodical. After a few seconds to collect himself, Pretzler rolls over and re-applies the double underhook on the now seated Dragon. Forcibly pulling Dragon to his feet, Pretzler sets and hits a second Butterfly Suplex. This time though he hangs on, manoeuvering DDD into a seated position again and clamping up on a seated butterfly lock!

 

"And now Pretzler begins to sow the seeds for the Snowflake Clutch."

 

Shaking his head in refusal to give up just yet, Dragon struggles to get out from the seated position. Wrenching up on the arms, the head is also forced forward by Pretzler leaving Dragon's airway restricted. Dragon realises he's in trouble and makes another effort, this time getting his feet underneath him and climbing upright. Pretzler hangs onto the double underhook still. And even when Dragon reaches his feet, he can't do much but drive forward. Putting a stop to that, Pretzler cracks DDD in the side of the head with a knee! And a second! Pretzler then relinquishes the arms, hitting a quick back suplex and covering...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

No!

 

Stalking over Dragon, Pretzler paintbrushes the front of the mask with his boot daring him to get up.

 

"Blatant disrespect right there." Mak sighs.

 

"What else does someone who brings crap like Dance Dance Revolution into this great sport expect? Hell, Dragon should have asked his buddy Ced what'd happen, stepping in there with Scott."

 

"At least he shook Ced's hand."

 

With Dragon not responding Pretzler takes matters into his own hands and drags him up by the mask. Holding the tassels, he cracks Dragon with a European uppercut!

 

"Ooh, right to the chest."

 

"Yeah, because that ridiculous mask protects his jaw too!" King now realises.

 

Away into the ropes reels Dragon, hung over the middle. Following him in Pretzler presses a knee into the chest, pulling up on the ropes as he forces forward into the sternum with the patella. Referee Sexton Hardcastle forces a break on 4, Pretzler only too happy to oblige now he's done his damage. Pretzler now peels Dragon off the ropes and whips him across the ring, catching him on the rebound with a beautiful standing dropkick worthy of the ~! on his tights. After a moment to soak in the afterglow, Pretzler then looks for the pin...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kickout!

 

"Come on referee, up that workrate!" King snaps.

 

Pretzler drags Dragon up, again by the mask. Hardcastle gets on his case but Pretzler curtly reminds him that this isn't lucha-libre so there's nothing he can about it. A snapmare takes Dragon over, setting him for a hard knee driven into the spine. Dragon rolls away before Scott can contemplate the Snowflake Clutch though.

 

"DRA - GON!"

"DRA - GON!"

"DRA - GON!"

"DRA - GON!"

 

Brushing off the chants, Pretzler follows Dragon into a corner. A boot is waiting for him, closely followed by an elbow strike. But Pretzler cuts off the comeback cold with a knee to the breadbasket. Pretzler then pulls Dragon out of the corner, hooking him up for a Brainbu... NO, Dragon goes deadweight and refuses to go up!

 

"It takes two to tango and Dance Dance Dragon isn't in the mood for dancing!"

 

Pretzler tries again, deep hook of the bodysuit... but still no joy.

 

"You're horrible sometimes Mak, you know that?"

 

Giving up on the 'Buster, Pretzler lets DDD go and clubs him in the back of the neck. Two, three times he lands. Pretzler grabs the arm and tries for an irish whip... but Dragon twists and comes out in front... catching an attempted boot and sending The Critic sprawling with a Dragon Screw!

 

"YYYEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

 

Pretzler rolls right through with the momentum and to his feet. One a little more steady than the other, but he charges all the same. Dragon sees him coming just in time to sidestep however, guiding Pretzler past him...

 

 

 

*CLUNK!*

 

"OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

...AND SHOULDER FIRST INTO THE RINGPOST!!

 

"Oh no!"

 

"That's the injured shoulder!" shouts out Mak. "A terrible break for Pretzler... hopefully not literally."

 

"A terrible break? That was deliberate Mak, Dragon meant that, I can assure you!"

 

Shouting out in agony Pretzler sits holding his shoulder as referee Hardcastle move Dragon back. The masked man certainly seems apologetic from what we can see of him, backing away as Hardcastle checks if Pretzler can continue. He seems to be okay to do so, slowly uses the ropes to help himself back to his feet.

 

"Pretzler of course tore that rotator cuff over two years ago and has only recently returned to action in the past couple of months, after complications with his surgery and rehabilitation. The first time that arm has been really tested since then and hopefully that's nothing serious."

 

Dragon moves in once Pretzler has made it clear he's okay to carry on and he walks into a boot from The Critic. He throws a punch with the right arm and immediately regrets it. That allows Dragon to attack the legs with a couple of kicks. To the left side and the right he goes, weakening Pretzler's base before a front dropkick sends Pretzler sprawling out through the ropes and to the floor, landing on his feet but not getting much reprieve from that. Stepping through the ropes himself, Dragon kicks back at Pretzler. And with Pretzler hurt, up goes Dragon, springing back off the middle rope with an ASAI MOONSAULT!!!!

 

"YYYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

"The Dragon takes flight!"

 

"And right down on Pretzler's shoulder again. You know what, maybe we shouldn't judge the book by the cover on this guy. All the fun and dancing, it's a cover for him being a downright cheat."

 

Back inside Pretzler is thrown, still noticeably nursing his arm as Dragon follows in after him.

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

A chop by Dragon.

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

And a second. With Pretzler hurting, Dragon then scoops and slams his opponent right in the centre of the ring. Off the ropes comes The Masked Dance Assassin, slowing down on his return and dusting off the shoulders... before driving his arm down across Pretzler's chest, 'Lariating' him against the canvas!

 

"What in all hell was that?"

 

"A little Strong Style Shuffle action, King!"

 

Leg hooked by Dragon...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO!

 

Dragon holds his head, shocked that wasn't it.

 

"This is an important match for Dragon. He needs big wins to have any hope of getting back in the Cruiserweight Title hunt, after that loss to Wildchild at the Clusterfuck!"

 

"This'd be a big win, no doubt about that."

 

Dragon brings Pretzler back up and signals that it's over, as he positions him up onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry. The Canadian proves tough to muscle around though. And he cuts at Dragon's neck with elbows, trying to avoid whatever Triple D has in mind. At the fifth elbow Dragon is forced to drop his man. And Pretzler takes immediate advantage, hooking him up with a quick BRAINBUSTER to drive Dragon into the canvas!!

 

"OOOOOOHHHHHHHHH!"

 

However, Pretzler is unable to capitalise with a cover, having used the sore right arm to execute the move and suffering for it.

 

"You can't underestimate what this means to Pretzler either though." King points out.

 

Able to block out the pain for long enough, over rolls Pretzler to cover...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KICKOUT!!

 

The Critic is forced to block out the pain again as he sets Dragon up again, looking to finish him off with perhaps another Brainbuster. Wise to that is Dragon, fighting his way out of the weak facelock and turning back to belly with Pretzler. Reaching back, he hooks Pretzler's head and leaps off the mat, looking to float over the back with the Dance Dance DDT...

 

 

 

 

...making it over the top, but without the DDT as Pretzler helps him over with a push in the rear. Saving himself from landing face-first, Dragon goes for a full nelson. Pretzler escapes that comfortably though and goes behind for the Crossface Chickenwing!

 

"Going for the submission... but how long can the shoulder hold out on Pretzler?"

 

Not too long it would seem as Dragon is able to avoid being clamped fully into the hold, hitting the mat and bringing Pretzler over with a shoulder-wrenching armdrag! Slow to his feet, Pretzler then eats PALM~! from the charging Dragon!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO!

 

Not crying over spilt milk, Dragon brings Pretzler right back up and shoves him into a corner, leading in after him with a right hand.

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

...chop. And a right hand.

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

...chop. Right hand.

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

Chop, Right hand.

 

"The Violence Party has come to Grand Rapids!"

 

With Pretzler seeing stars, Dragon snapmares him out of the corner...

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

...and imprints into the kidneys with a Dragon kick! The Masked Dance Assassin then grabs onto the top rope and waits on Pretzler to get back up. Pulling himself up, The Critic looks pissed at being kicked in the back, as you would, ready to dish out a receipt. Before he can do so though, Dragon has vaulted up to the top rope and soars back with a Moonsault Press...

 

 

 

...NARROWLY avoided by Pretzler!

 

"Good quick thinking by Pretzler, Dragon has finished people off with that one." notes Mak.

 

Dragon manages to cushion his landing somewhat, but not enough to prevent being caught by a knee to the face by Pretzler on his way back up. Rolling Triple D through to his feet, Pretzler slaps at his shoulder to try and get some feeling back into it, before he hooks up Dragon for The Tildebang...

 

 

 

 

...NO! Pretzler gets Dragon halfway up and no more! As he lets Dragon go, Pretzler gets caught with a boot, thrown upwards from his back by DDD. Dragon then rolls backwards, coming to his feet right in front of Pretzler and quickly hooking the head, keeping the backward momentum going with the DANCE DANCE DDT!!!

 

"The shoulder gave out and the bottom just dropped out on Pretzler for good measure!"

 

"All because of that DELIBERATE posting!" King howls.

 

Not done just yet, Dragon drags Pretzler around into position by the turnbuckles before heading up top. Little signs are life are shown by the Canadian as Dragon scales the ropes, reaching the top floor and pointing down at the facedown Critic...

 

 

 

 

 

...BEFORE LEAPING DOWN RIGHT ONTO HIS HEAD!!!!

 

"OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

 

"DOUBLE STOMP TO THE BACK OF THE HEAD!!"

 

Pretzler is limp as he's flipped over and cradled up...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!!!

 

*DINGDINGDING!*

 

"And The Critic has been silenced!"

 

It's dancing time again as "Hung Up" hits, Dragon feeling the beat while Pretzler is just feeling beaten. Referee Hardcastle checks on the Canadian's condition as Dragon pulls himself up and finds enough energy in his locker to treat the Grand Rapids fans to some patented dance moves.

 

"Here is your winner... THE DANCE! DANCE! DDRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAGGOOOOOOOOOONN!!!"

 

"YYYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

 

Dragon leaves the fans wanting more like any good entertainer, leaving a very relieved man/beast/thing, with an important victory under his belt.

 

"You have to call that a bit of an upset in my book. Infact, 2008 is already becoming the Year Of The Upset by the looks of it. Dance Dance Dragon picking up a big win that'll do his hopes of another round with the Wildchild a power of good. Dare I say it, a mean-streak, a killer instinct shown by The Dance Dance Dragon!"

 

"A sadistic, uncondoneable streak!" scowls King. "He took advantage of that serious shoulder injury and could have put Scott Pretzler back on the shelf. And then he dances. Ugh!"

 

"Well, Dragon comes away with the win whatever your thoughts. A big confidence booster tonight and we hope nothing serious has come of that collision with the post from Scott."

 

"We do. I bet Dragon doesn't."

 

"Save it King."

[King Cucaracha 0]

????EL NOMBRE IN ACTION????

[King Cucaracha 0]

The lights go out, and the following echoes from the loudspeakers...

 

"Please Stand Clear of the...." the voice fades, and red, white, and gold spotlights flicker and flash around the arena slowly as "To Die For" thumps to life. The SmarkTron flashes shots of Alan Clark's steady career climb - flashing all of his various championship wins before finally showing a live shot of the stage as a spotlight hits the ramp to show Alan Clark emerging from the darkness with Walter Reynolds in tow.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “the following contest is scheduled for one fall. Coming to the ring at this time...representing Walt Disney World and being accompanied by Walter Reynolds... ALAAAAAAAAN CLAAAAAAAARK!!”

 

“Get out the popcorn,” says the Suicide King, as Alan slowly walks to ring. “This match is going to be a hell of a fight, because there are going to be consequences no matter what. On the one hand, you've got Tom Flesher, who's been in a slump ever since leaving the commissioner's office and coming back to the ring. Sure, he beat Johnny Dangerous, but who hasn't? He didn't even show up against Kibagami, and he still can't beat Toxxic. On the other, you have Alan Clark, a former World Champion himself, who's been off for quite some time. Both of these guys need a win to stay where they are, and the right performance tonight is sure to catapult one guy up to the top and send the other one packing.”

 

Clark stops and looks out at the crowd before climbing the steps and stepping through the ropes. With the music at full bore, Alan jumps up in a corner and poses, looking down on the crowd.

 

After a moment, his music fades, and the lights go down.

 

“And his opponent....”

 

Percussive drums begin to rock the arena, and after a moment, a wailing harmonica heralds the entrance of the Superior One. Led Zeppelin's “When the Levee Breaks” rings out as Flesher bounces up and down, shakes out his arms, and then begins his stroll to the ring.

 

“Accompanied by Allison Onita, hailing from Buffalo, New York, and weighing in tonight at 231 pounds... THE SUPERIOR ONE, TOM FLESHER!!!!!”

 

Flesher sheds his warmup suit and slides into the ring. There, he submits to the usual cursory examination for foreign objects, trash-talking Clark all the while. Finally, when the official is done, both men meet in the center of the ring.

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

Flesher and Clark circle around in the center of the ring, each man knowing the other can end the match with a single blow. Clark stays on the defensive for the moment, trying to avoid Flesher's notorious early-match pounding and make it to a point where he can take advantage of the Superior One's inferior conditioning and ring rust. Tom lowers his level, reaches out and taps Clark's knee. When Alan sprawls back, overcompensating to avoid the takedown, Flesher withdraws, and Clark manages to grab his head. He pulls Tom into a front facelock, and Tom immediately reacts by pulling backwards. As he does, Clark shoves him backwards into the corner, then quickly backs away when the referee orders him to break.

 

“There you see the Disney-sponsored Alan Clark,” says Suicide King, “following all of the referee's instructions immediately. You have to admire that kind of foolishness.”

 

Flesher charges out of the corner, trying to take control of the match pace. Unfortunately, Plan A doesn't quite work, as he charges right into an arm drag, and finds himself on his back on the mat. Clark's contingent applauds as Flesher rolls through, then runs at Clark again, only to be taken to the mat with another arm drag! Flustered, Flesher tries to roll out of the ring, but Clark keeps his hold on the arm and pulls him back to the center of the ring. He pivots, twisting Flesher's arm in its socket, and then breaks the hold to throw a kick to the breadbasket! Flesher, aware, catches Clark's leg and smirks... only to be driven into the corner by an enzuigiri! Flesher hits chest first and staggers backward. He spins around, disoriented. He takes one step...

 

and then another...

 

and then flops flat on his face.

 

Inexplicably, the crowd goes wild.

 

“I'll never quite understand that,” murmurs Francis, as Flesher uses the ropes to pull himself back to his feet. Clark charges at him, trying to capitalize on his disoriented state, but Flesher ducks down and avoids the clothesline. Alan Clark bounces off the ropes and rebounds, only to have Flesher drop down and shoot a lightning-fast single leg takedown! Clark spills to the mat as Flesher rolls across his shoulders, still holding on to Clark's ankle, and then comes back to his feet. With a speed that can only be attributed to a veteran's awareness and a practiced touch, Flesher stands up straight and threads Clark's leg behind his neck, contorting him with Johnny Dangerous's over-the-shoulder half crab! Clark's face shows an expression of shock, but only for a split second before it turns into a mask of pain!

 

“BARRACUDA!” bellows King. “Flesher has Clark in the Barracuda, just like he used it to beat out Johnny Dangerous last month! Out of nowhere! Single leg takedown, roll through, BARRACUDA! INCREDIBLE!”

 

Clark looks around. He can't reach the ropes with his left arm, nor with his right. Sensing that his return might be short-lived...

 

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAP!!!!!!

 

 

DING DING!!!!

 

 

Immediately, the referee grabs Flesher and peels his hand off Clark's ankle. He pushes Flesher back, forcing him to release the hold before he can do any lasting damage, and Alan Clark rolls out of the ring, shaking out his limbs to make sure he's still properly aligned.

 

“The winner of the match,” says Funyon, “by submission... TOM FLESHER!”

 

“Alan Clark does the smart thing tonight,” says Mak Francis. “This is his first match back after a long layoff, and he got caught in a move that Tom Flesher's obviously been fine-tuning over the past several weeks. Instead of trying to fight his way out of it, Alan Clark survives to fight another day, one loss smarter and with his whole body working properly.”

 

Flesher continues celebrating in the ring as Allison Onita joins him. Meanwhile, Walter Reynolds attends to Alan, trying to help him collect himself outside the ring.

 

“Tom Flesher nets a surprise victory,” says the Suicide King. “You can't take anything away from Alan Clark, but tonight, Tom Flesher was just a little bit better, just a little bit more prepared, and a lot better off at the end of the day. Tom gets the check in the win column tonight, and Alan Clark comes out having learned one more lesson... former world champion or not, on any given night you can still end up the loser.”

[King Cucaracha 0]

The cameras pan back to the ring as the announcers begin to talk up the main event of the evening. Around the ring area, signs proclaim that “Toxxic was robbed!” and “El Hombre = next champion!” One lonely prophet’s scrawled posterboard begs “SAVE_US, MANSON!” while another aspiring Igor’s sign sports the rushed etching “THEY CALLED ME MAD!”

 

“Well, folks, the time has come for our main event of the evening,” Mak Francis says. “King, you’ve got to be torn about this.”

 

“Torn?! As if the ocean is kind of wet, or the desert chafes a bit!” The Suicide King huffs in dismay. “This is unheard of! Michael Alexander is right about this being some sort of conspiracy!”

 

“Does that mean you’re on Alexander’s side for this one?”

 

“What? No, Francis, as much as I enjoy Michael’s ring work and attitude, you can’t expect me to ignore our savior for such mundane reasons. MANSON’s will be done…”

 

“Oh, not this again,” moans Mak, rubbing his head.

 

Referee Matthew Kivell is in the ring, checking the ropes and turnbuckles as Funyon ambles into the ring for his last round of introductions for the evening. The big man bawls, “Ladies and Gentlemen, the following match is our MAIN EVENT OF THE EVENING…! It is one fall for the SWF World…Heavyweight…Championship…!”

 

Funyon turns to face the ramp as he draws in a deep breath. “First, the challenger…from Denver, Colorado…weighing in at 229 pounds…the Savage Messiah…MAAAAAAAAAAAAAANSON!”

 

The house lights drop and after a brief pause, a low, guttural growl kicks 'Scientific Remote Viewing' by Cephalic Carnage into gear. The crowd rises to their feet, strobes pulse and spotlights roam the arena, while smoke pours out over the stage. A moment later the shrouded Manson walks out amidst the chaos, jeers and taunts from the stands heralding his arrival, as he makes his way down the ramp.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

He approaches the ring, sliding inside and popping up onto his feet. He brushes off his hood and removes his metal mask almost immediately, then disrobes and drapes everything out over the post. Turning back toward the ring, he leans against the turnbuckle, waiting for the start of the match.

 

“It appears that Manson is ready to go tonight, King. This is his first world title match in quite a while and he looks like he’s ready to make the most of it.”

 

“MANSON always makes the most of everything, Francis. I truly hate this for Michael Alexander, though. Who would ever want their first title defense to be against Him?” King motions reverently to the brooding figure in the ring.

 

“Well, Alexander has good reason to be worried,” Mak agrees. “MANSON has been on a singles roll since coming back following the…er…change of command.”

 

“Since the hostile takeover, you mean,” King growls.

 

“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.

 

Funyon announces, “And the SWF World Heavyweight Champion…hailing from Greenville, South Carolina…weighing in at 221 pounds…the Mad Scientist of the Mat…MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAEL AAAAAAAAAAAALEXAAAAAAAAANDER!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

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. The SWF World Title belt is strapped around his waist. He rolls into the ring, taking up a position in his corner. He glares over at Manson, nodding gravely. As the Steel God returns the glare, Alexander pats his championship belt before removing it and handing it to the referee.

 

“Alexander seems to be concerned, but certainly not intimidated,” Mak notes.

 

“Francis, the initial awe of Manson’s presence just hasn’t sunk in yet. Just wait for it.” King seems to be basking, if a seated man can be said to bask.

 

“Whatever, King,” Mak demurs. “These last time these two were in the ring was as tag partners…how is that relationship going to play out here I wonder? Alexander seemed to show respect for Manson, which is something he doesn’t generally do for anyone. And Manson seems a bit more reserved as well.”

 

“Mutual respect is all. And maybe some awe and reverence. This will be a learning experience for Alexander; I’m sure that MANSON will be merciful in His wrath.”

 

Manson and Alexander eye each other warily as Matthew Kivell calls for the bell…

 

DING! DING!

 

Michael Alexander and Manson close and lock up in a collar-and-elbow. Not one to waste time in asserting himself, Manson bulls Alexander into a corner with naked force. Referee Kivell tries to force a break, but the Savage Messiah just reaches over Kivell to crack Alexander squarely in the jaw with a sucker punch. He follows that up with a knee to the midsection that folds the Mad Scientist up like an overextended accordion.

 

“Manson’s starting out as we might expect,” Mak laments.

 

“Please, Francis, you know that He is not constrained by your simple morality,” King admonishes.

 

Manson then snapmares his stunned opponent down into a seated position and delivers a cowboy kick directly to the base of Alexander’s spine! The fans, not sure whether to cheer for the injury of Alexander or to boo the successful offense of Manson. Manson being…well, MANSON, the crowd’s reaction shouldn’t be all that surprising…

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“That was a vicious cowboy kick,” Mak observes. “Michael Alexander can’t let Manson stay on this kind of roll.”

 

“As good as Michael is, he’s not in a position to ‘let’ MANSON do anything, Francis.”

 

Michael rolls away, his back arching in pain. The God Machine hoists Alexander back to his feet roughly, and whips the Evil Genius into the ropes. Manson charges at the rebounding Alexander, whipping a boot up for a Yakuza kick, but Alexander does a quick duck-and-roll and bounces off the opposite ropes to leap at Manson, connecting with a flying forearm right in the mush! The audience, now having committed themselves, dutifully respond.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Seems like Michael Alexander put himself in a position to let Manson collide with his forearm there, King.”

 

“A bump in the road, nothing more, Francis. One good shot doesn’t win a war.”

 

“That depends on who the shot hits, King.”

 

The Evil Genius rolls back up to his feet; Manson is a little slower and has only gotten up to one knee when Alexander cracks him in the face with a lightning-quick knee lift. The Steel God collapses back down to the mat and Alexander grabs Manson’s right leg and twists it over his own leg in a stepover toehold position, then drops down to drive his knee into the side of Manson’s, forcing a very painful and unnatural position on the leg of the God Machine. Manson snarls in pain as Alexander twists the pinioned leg into a more acute (or obtuse, depending on your relative position) angle. However, a quick rake of the eyes by the Savage Messiah breaks the hold, earning a completely ignored rebuke from Kivell.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Alexander was going into classic form, there. And MANSON, in classic form as well, went to the eyes to break things up,” Mak shakes his head.

 

“Mere mortal eyes are not meant to behold His presence, Francis.”

 

“Ugh,” Mak groans.

 

Michael Alexander rolls away, rubbing his eyes for a moment. Manson gets to his feet and heads after his opponent. Alexander’s eyes clear just in time to see his predicament as he is hoisted up and planted firmly by Manson’s sitout spinebuster!

 

“Manson just hit with the Rocky Mountain High!” Mak yelps.

 

“MANSON’s will be done,” King pronounces solemnly.

 

The Steel God holds the Mad Scientist down for the pin. Kivell springs down for the count…

 

ONE…!

 

NO!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Alexander’s out in one! What do you have to say to that, King?”

 

“You can’t teach a good lesson quickly, Francis. And MANSON is always teaching us all.”

 

Alexander rolls out of Manson’s grip, trying to scramble to his feet while refilling his lungs after the impact. Manson growls at Kivell and goes after his prey once more. This time Alexander is ready for him, though, and clips the Savage Messiah with a drop toe hold. Manson falls to the mat, and Alexander immediately floats over into a side headlock. With a snarl, Manson forces his way back to his feet, with Alexander clinging to the side headlock. The God Machine then flings Alexander off and into the ropes, leaping up to catch Alexander with a high knee to the face! The Evil Genius hits the mat hard and Manson leaps onto him, raining down punches on Alexander. This time it’s the Evil Genius’ turn to go the eyes, and the God Machine is temporarily blinded, giving Alexander chance to scramble away once more.

 

“Sacrilege!” King squeals. “How dare he copy the gesture of MANSON?!”

 

“Well, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, eh, King?”

 

King grumbles under his breath.

 

The Mad Scientist makes his way to the corner, pulling himself up while trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head and the ringing out of his ears. Manson, meanwhile, has recovered and barrels into the corner, unloading a series of knife-edge chops to the chest of Alexander. The Evil Genius manages to break things up with a quick knee to the gut, and he follows that with a spinning back elbow to the jaw, sending the Steel God staggering away from the corner.

 

“Manson came roaring in and unloaded with those chops, but Alexander managed to stem the tide once again, this time without going to the eyes, thankfully,” Mak adds wryly.

 

“Good to hear that you understand the sacrilege inherent in such a thing, Francis.”

 

Trying to stay on the attack, Alexander charges at Manson, only to be caught by the veteran in an modified Greco-roman upper body clutch and tossed over in a Gargoyle suplex! The rookie crashes to the mat and Manson rises once more to continue his onslaught.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Manson with a Gargoyle Suplex! It’s back-and-forth in this match, King!”

 

“Michael,” King pleads sanctimoniously. “You’ve got to realize you’re only prolonging the inevitable…”

 

Manson reaches down to haul his opponent back up for more punishment. To his surprise, Alexander snaps up to grab him and pull him down into a small package! Matthew Kivell gives the count!

 

“YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

ONE…!

 

TWO…!

 

NO!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“A two count! He nearly caught Manson like he did Toxxic, King!”

 

“Oh, please, Francis. MANSON can’t be held down with so base a move.”

 

The Savage Messiah kicks out with a snarl. Alexander tries to get to his feet, but Manson is on him, pummeling him with rights and lefts. The Mad Scientist staggers back into the corner, with Manson not letting up. The Steel God finally connects with a stiff European uppercut which causes Alexander to collapse to a seated position. Manson then rebounds off the opposite ropes and charges back at his seated opponent, smashing his boot across Alexander’s face in a brutal facewash!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Brainwash by Manson…he’s staying focused on Alexander now. Michael had better break this momentum,” Mak warns.

 

“Francis, Francis, you might as well ask Michael to stop an avalanche. He’s an incredible wrestler, but it’s simply a matter of scale.”

 

Michael Alexander slumps the rest of the way down to the mat as Manson pulls back to survey his handiwork. The God Machine drags Alexander up and pulls his head back, then drives him back down to the mat with a brutal backhand chop! Manson then hits the ropes again, coming back to drop a flashing elbow…but Alexander rolls out of the way!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Maybe you can’t stop an avalanche, King,” Mak replies, “but you can get out of the way.”

 

“Prolonging the inevitable, Francis. That’s all.”

 

Michael rolls back to the ropes and uses them to pull himself upright. Manson charges again, and this time Alexander takes him down with a dropkick to his right knee! The God Machine drops with a groan, and Alexander goes onto the attack, even though he seems to be still reeling a bit from the pounding he’s taken. In classic form, Michael begins stomping his way up Manson’s weakened leg, from ankle to hip.

 

“Now Michael Alexander is getting back into his game,” Mak observes. “Manson can’t afford to let Alexander set him up for that submission of his.”

 

“Submission is something that MANSON receives, Francis, not something that He gives.”

 

Alexander grabs Manson’s ankle, trying for another leg lock, but Manson uses his other leg to kick the Mad Scientist off him, sending Alexander staggering away, just far enough to let Manson growl his way back up. The Evil Genius comes right back at him, though, and Manson uses raw strength to shove him away as he tries to go for a takedown. Changing tactics, Alexander whips a sharp kick into the side of Manson’s right knee. Predictably, it buckles, causing the Savage Messiah to drop to one knee…which Alexander uses as a stepping stone to deliver his shining heel-kick enzuigiri! Manson collapses to the mat with a grunt and the crowd pops!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Manson managed a brief resurgence there, but Alexander just shut it down with that Shining Wheel Kick Enzuigiri!”

 

“The calm before the storm, Francis, the eye of the hurricane…just wait.” King growls petulantly.

 

Getting back to his feet, Michael Alexander leaps up and drops a crushing knee drop onto the back of Manson’s neck. He rolls the God Machine over and goes for another pin, hooking the leg! Kivell drops for the count!

 

ONE…!

 

NO!

 

This time Manson kicks out with authority, tossing his rookie opponent off like an errant pillow.

 

“WOW! Manson just tossed Alexander like a rag doll! Michael looks a little shocked.”

 

“Well, he should be awed by MANSON’s power and glory. Remember, Francis, this is a question of scale…avalanche…wrestler.” King makes semi-helpful motions with his hands, as if talking to a child. Mak Francis responds predictably. “OW!” King yelps.

 

Shaking off his shock, Alexander stalks up behind the rising Messiah, threading his arms underneath Manson’s, clasping in the full nelson, and before Manson can shrug him off, bridging backwards to haul the God Machine into a dragon suplex! Manson crashes to the mat with a surprised grunt.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

However, before Alexander can capitalize further, Manson rolls under the bottom rope and outside the ring. Leaning on the guardrail, the Steel God tries to regain his composure. His breathing seems exaggerated, as though he’s trying to hyperventilate, to slow himself down. Matthew Kivell starts to count:

 

One…

Two…

Three…

 

“Well, apparently Michael hasn’t grasped your scale idea, King, but Manson seems to have decided to give him some time to think about it as he’s bailed out.”

 

“Look, Francis, when you’re omniscient like MANSON, sometimes you have to take a moment to focus. There’s a lot going on in the world that MANSON has to deal with. Michael Alexander is lucky He hasn’t focused His attention fully yet. But that will change, I’m sure.”

 

Michael Alexander glares at Manson for a moment, then bounces off the opposite ropes and charges toward Manson’s location, springing over the tope rope in a suicide plancha! Unfortunately for the Evil Genius, Manson braces himself against the guardrail and catches Alexander, holding him in a lateral press position. Manson then snarls furiously as he hurtles his sometime partner headfirst into the nearby ringpost!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Like I was saying, Francis, it was all a matter of focus. A fly can sting an elephant all day long, until the elephant notices it. Then…SWAT!”

 

“Whatever, King. Michael hit that post headfirst…that’s not good.”

 

Four…

Five…

Six…

 

The Mad Scientist slumps to the ground, slipping down the post. As he rolls away it becomes evident that the impact has busted him open; blood leaks lazily from a cut on his forehead. Manson stares at his fallen opponent, and his eyes visibly dilate. A maniacal glee rushes across his features for a moment, then is pushed aside. He stomps over to Alexander and lifts him back up, shoving him back into the ring.

 

“Michael is bleeding now. I hate it for him, but there’s only so much sacrilege MANSON was going to take,” King pronounces sadly.

 

“King, did you see that look on Manson’s face? It looked like we were about to see some of the old Manson come out…a little scary.”

 

“What do you mean, Francis? There is only one MANSON, and He is…”

 

“Oh, shut up, King.”

 

Seven…

Eight…

 

Manson climbs back into the ring and immediately covers Alexander where he lies. Kivell drops for the count…

 

ONE…!

 

 

TWO…!

 

NO!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“I can’t believe it! Alexander managed to kick out at two!” Mak says hoarsely. “After seeing that impact with the post, I was sure he was out on his feet.”

 

“Michael’s just subjecting himself to more punishment; he needs to just accept the outcome.”

 

Michael kicks out at two, and Manson growls at Kivell, the look on his face causing the referee to shrink back. The Steel God gets back to his feet and drives a vicious kick into the ribs of his opponent as he struggles up to his knees. Alexander curls around the kick, trying to absorb the force and roll away. Manson is having none of it, though. He grabs Alexander by the hair, hauling him back to his feet and pulling him into a fireman’s carry. With a wordless snarl, Manson hoists his opponent up and drops him across his knees in brutal double-knee gutbuster. The air audibly exits Michael Alexander’s lungs and he flops to the mat. Seeing another chance for the win, Manson hooks Alexander’s leg and goes for the pin. Matthew Kivell is in position…

 

ONE…!

 

TWO…!

 

THREE…

 

Manson looks up to see what is holding up the final slap of the mat, and see Kivell looking at Michael Alexander’s other foot draped over the bottom rope.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“I thought it was over after that gutbuster, but Alexander still managed to, perhaps on sheer instinct, get that foot onto the rope to break the count.” Mak says.

 

“Well, Michael has the instincts of a great wrestler, there’s no doubt about it. But you don’t wrestle MANSON, Francis, you SURVIVE him.”

 

“That may be where we are, King,” Mak replies sadly.

 

Slapping the mat in frustration, Manson hauls his opponent back up and tosses him into the corner, peppering him with kesagiri chops. As Kivell yells at him to get out of the corner, Manson glares the referee out of his way as he drags the Mad Scientist out in a headlock, then begins raking the area of the cut with his other hand. Alexander howls in pain and Manson finally drags him over to the ropes, dragging the bleeding head of his opponent across the steel cable. Kivell gives him a five count to break it, which Manson finally does at four.

 

“Manson’s just trying to inflict pain now; there’s no point to this. You waste time like this with Michael Alexander at your peril.” Mak furrows his brow in consternation.

 

“Part of teaching your worshippers is using pain. MANSON is simply fulfilling His Divine Purpose.”

 

Michael Alexander pulls away trying to protect his bleeding forehead with his hands and to wipe the now freely-flowing blood from his eyes. The Savage Messiah stalks over to snatch his opponent into front facelock position, throwing Alexander’s other arm over his shoulder and hooking Alexander’s leg. Manson then hoists Alexander up into a fisherman’s suplex position before spinning him around and dropping him onto his head and neck in a fisherman’s buster! Manson rolls over onto Alexander and goes for the pin again, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

 

“The Rocky Mountain Hydro Grind! He has passed His Judgment on Michael Alexander!” King booms reverently.

 

ONE…!

 

 

TWO…!

 

 

THREE…

 

 

NO!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Wha?” King grunts in disbelief.

 

“Looks like Alexander is tougher than anyone gave him credit for, King. I wouldn’t have thought he would be able to kick out of that.”

 

Alexander wrenches a shoulder up just in time. Manson looks disbelieving, then furious as Matthew Kivell holds up two fingers! That wild look that was earlier suppressed returns and takes deep root in the face of the God Machine. Manson turns back to Michael Alexander and savagely bites his bleeding forehead! Alexander howls in pain and Kivell counts up to four before Manson breaks away from his opponent’s bloody wound. Kivell starts to admonish Manson, then backs away quickly from the mad look in the Coloradan’s eyes.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Good Lord! He’s BITING him!” Mak barks in disgust.

 

“This was coming, Francis. There’s only so much defiance a Diving Being like MANSON will stand before he begins to dispense punishment.”

 

“He’s BITING him, King! That’s not divine, you weirdo, it’s just savage and sick!”

 

Manson chases the referee across the ring before turning back to Alexander. The Evil Genius has managed to claw his way up to his feet, using the ropes for support. As Manson stalks over, Alexander springs back to desperate life, firing off a series of forearms into Manson’s head. The Steel God drives a sharp knee into Alexander’s gut to stem the tide of forearm shots. He then whips Alexander bodily over the top rope. The Evil Genius holds on the rope, however, and snaps another forearm shot into Manson’s face as he turns around. Manson staggers away from the ropes, surprised more than stunned by the shot, and Alexander leaps up onto the top rope and hurtles himself at Manson, connecting with a springboard calf kick that sends the Savage Messiah to the mat!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Alexander comes back with a springboard calf kick! I never thought I’d see that! Michael Alexander is surprising everyone tonight, including Manson!” Mak shouts.

 

“He’s only making this harder on himself, Francis.”

 

Alexander staggers back up, still obviously wobbly, and heads for Manson, who is getting back to his feet. The Mad Scientist fires off a series of rights, trying to do some damage, but Manson puts the breaks to this with a spinning back fist that staggers Alexander, sending him stumbling away. The Steel God then grabs Alexander by the hair, dragging him into an inverted face lock. A look of mad glee on his face, Manson lifts his opponent into position for the inverted brainbuster that has brought the Savage Messiah so many victories…but Alexander is not going gentle into that good night, as he kicks his legs desperately, managing to tip the scales just enough to slip out of the danger zone and drop behind the surprised God Machine.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Manson went for Instant Hell Murder, but Alexander squirmed out of it!” Mak yells. “And now it looks like Alexander’s in position to go for the Event Horizon!”

 

“Yea, though I walk through the Shadow of Death…” King prays desperately.

 

The Evil Genius then grabs his opponent and lifts him into position for a spinning Blue Thunder bomb…but Manson takes a quick and dirty way out, raking the injured forehead of Alexander, allowing him to drop back down to his feet. He fires a sharp elbow into the side of Alexander’s head for good measure, then snakes his arms around Michael’s near shoulder and arm, hoisting the Mad Scientist up and planting him soundly with an Uranage suplex!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Manson again was able to capitalize on Alexander’s injury to escape, and he just flattened Michael with that Uranage!” Mak shades his face from the glare of the lights for a moment as he stares at the ring. “What’s he doing now?”

 

“He’s ascending,” King whispers in awe.

 

The look of wild fury on his face again, Manson rises and stomps over to the nearest corner. He climbs the ropes to the top turnbuckle and slides his elbow pad down to expose the point of his elbow. The Steel God glares out at the howling fans for a moment…a moment too long, as Michael Alexander desperately meets him in the corner, driving a forearm shot into the side of Manson’s right leg! The leg doesn’t buckle, but it does slide precipitously off the top rope, causing Manson to be crotched violently on the top turnbuckle!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Manson took too long; he let himself get distracted, and Michael Alexander was able to surprise him again, King!” Mak, by instinct, winces.

 

King winces as well. “That,” King grimaces, “is not going to be good for Michael Alexander when MANSON pronounces His Final Judgment.”

 

Manson’s mouth gapes open in gasping agony. Michael Alexander ascends the ropes himself, underhooking both of Manson’s arms and pulling the Savage Messiah up from his painful perch.

 

“No…he’s not going to…” Mak trails off.

 

“Not going to what? Oh…Oh, no!” King’s voice pitches high.

 

With a madly frantic surge of strength, Michael Alexander hauls Manson into a super tiger driver! Both men crash to mat, and as they lie there, the Evil Genius manages to drape one of his arms across Manson’s chest!

 

“The DELENDA EST!” Mak gasps. “I’d heard about him using that once before, but…”

 

“M-M-MANSON?” King whines.

 

ONE…!

 

 

TWO…!

 

 

THREE…!

 

Matthew Kivell holds up three fingers and calls for the bell!

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Michael Alexander manages to sit up just enough to have his arm raised by Matthew Kivell as Funyon bawls out, “Here is your winner…and STILL SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION…MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAEL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALEXAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDER!”

 

“My God, he won it! Michael Alexander managed to take out MANSON! I was surprised by his victory at Clusterfuck, but MANSON was on a roll…” Mak trails off.

 

“MANSON must have some higher purpose,” King pipes up frantically. “Yes, that’s it. This is all part of His Plan. I have faith, O MANSON!”

 

“Well, folks,” Mak adds, “that’s our main event from Grand Rapids! An amazing ending to an amazing night! And I can assure you, based on the looks we’re seeing between these two, this issue is not settled by a long shot…Good night, fans, and we’ll see you all again at From the Fire!”

 

Manson raises his head slowly after the announcement. He and Alexander stare into each other’s eyes. Michael’s face covered in his blood, the same blood that has soaked into the tape on Manson’s hands and can be seen speckling his face where he had earlier bitten into Alexander’s forehead. The cameras focus on their stares as we…

 

FADE OUT.