SWF FROM THE FIRE 2008!!

[King Cucaracha 0]

The cameraman is seen just roaming around the hallway of the arena looking for a superstar to interview. He’s having no luck; all he sees are maintenance worker, vendors, a tall guy with a bad wig and fake mustache, kids with signs that should not be permitted to be seen on television, females wearing nothing but…well…damn near nothing at all walking hand in hand with their respective lovers, yes, lovers being females. The cameraman is about to give up and go towards the ring when he hears a man screaming obscenities.

 

“Fuck you asshole, yeah, bite me…Nigga, I’m from the Bronx you better fuckin recognize.”

 

There was another voice but it was barely recognizable.

 

“You got an eyeball problem big man? I’ll fix that shit in a heart beat nigga.”

 

The cameraman desperately is running to where all the commotion is at, he makes a right, goes down the hall, makes another right and hits a dead end. He stops running to see if he can hear the argument again.

 

“I don’t give a fuck if he’s from Brooklyn…I don’t give a fuck about any of you two, ya can suck my left nut for all I care. Next time you come to me, come correct, or get checked, straight up.”

 

After hearing the word “Straight up”, the cameraman followed the voice, he goes back and instead of making a right, he makes a left and then a right and that’s when he heard the door slam. He makes another right only to find the man with the bad wig and fake mustache walking in front of him. For some reason he senses that this man has something to do with all the commotion and follows him. The man with the bad wig makes a left and walks down the hall. The cameraman is walking cautiously so he won’t get caught. Once he heard the voice of the man that was screaming he immediately turned on the camera, took a deep breath with his back against the wall, he closed his eyes and said.

 

“Here we go.”

 

The cameraman turna around with the camera focusing on two men, the man with the bad wig of an Afro and the newcomer SIN.

 

“I can’t believe this shit man…this mother fucker was trying to recruit me like I’m a mother fuckin pawn.” SIN was saying in an anger voice to the disguised man.

 

“What happen? What did he say?” Asked the disguised man whose voice sounds familiar.

 

“This mother fucker was saying if you want any chance to becoming a superstar than I should use him as a manager…he had some big nigga there acting like he was going to intimidate me, mother fucker said he’s from Brooklyn like that mean something. That don’t mean shit to me.”

 

“What did you say?” Asked the disguised man.

 

“Chuck, what the fuck you…”

 

“Don’t say my name, shit, you know I’m not allowed in here.” Said the disguised man who the cameraman figured out that the disguised man is Bo.

 

“Shit, my bad…anyways, I told him to suck my left nut and to fuck off.” Answer SIN.

 

With a little chuckle Bo replied. “That’s funny…but maybe, just maybe you shouldn’t have said that. I mean, you don’t know if later on in the future you might need his services, and the way you just behaved do you think he’s going to help you? No!” Bo answered his own question.

 

“Even if I needed help, which I know I’m not, I wont go to him. If anything I’ll be cool with someone who I know will have my back, but this motherfucker right here, he's a fuckin snake, shit, I know he’s spineless, and I swear to god, if that mother fucker tries to get in my way than he’s going to get a Bronx beat down.” SIN explained with anger and animosity.

 

“Be easy…” Bo started to look around and he caught the cameraman filming this. “You, get the fuck out of here.” Bo screamed while pointing at the cameraman.

 

The cameraman did not budge; he wanted to get as much footage he can get. He sees Bo walking towards him with the look for ill intent and yet the cameraman stood his ground.

 

“C’mon man, leave him alone…he’s just doing his job.” SIN said to Bo, but Bo was not listening as he stood 2 feet away from the cameraman.

 

“Do you know who I am?" Bo asked as if not expecting an answer, since it was a rhetorical question, although the cameraman stood his ground and answered anyways.

 

“Yeah, you’re the has-been perfect Bo. Aren’t you banned by the SWF?” The cameraman said while still holding the camera.

 

The last thing the camera caught was a smile from Bo and a right slapped to the camera. The camera dropped to the ground, did not break. The footage that was being caught right now was on ground level and two pair’s of feet. The audio was still on and what you heard was this.

 

“Has been huh?” Bo said right before a slap was heard. The camera caught footage of the cameraman falling to the floor; he began to stand up only to be dropped by a kick to the head. The Audio heard SIN say “Fuck” as another pair of boots was seen stomping a mud hole on the cameraman.

 

“Stop…”

 

Stomp…Stomp…

 

“Please, stop.”

 

“Shut the fuck up and get what’s coming to you. Now bleed bitch bleed…”

 

The cameraman started to bleed from his nose and his mouth, the kicks caused the cameraman’s lips to bust open and potentially broke his nose.

 

“Has been huh?” Bo said as he continues, with the assistance of SIN to beat down the cameraman.

 

“Pick his dumb ass up.” Bo said, giving directives to SIN.

 

A pair of hands is now seen as SIN lifts the cameraman to his feet. The cameraman started sobbing by now as words of “please, please stop.” is heard from his mouth.

 

“What you’re going to do…ban me from the SWF? News flash little nigga, you cant stop me.”

 

Two pairs of feet were standing behind one pair of white Reebok sneakers. All of a sudden the pair of feet that was standing in front of the other two pair was seen lift up in the air and flung forward. There was a big thud heard and the motionless body of the cameraman was seen on the ground bleeding from the nose, mouth and now a cut on his forehead is seen as blood started dripping out of the cut.

 

Bo got to the ground, wig and mustache gone now as he inches close to the cameraman’s face.

 

“Let people know that New York is back, and it cannot be stop. Shit, not even 9/11 can stop New York, no one can stop New York.”

 

Bo stood up…

 

“Get ready for your match, I gotta get out of here before 5-0 comes.” That was the last thing the audio caught. Bo and SIN left the cameraman there, with no one in sight to help, but the cameraman’s eyes open and he’s staring at the camera right now. He knows it’s on as he starts crawling towards the camera, he reaches out, straining, struggling to put strength to his arm as he touches the “off” button.

 

Camera Off.

[King Cucaracha 0]

RZA's White Lightening plays to a minuscule amount of applause from the sold out arena. Not paying much mind to the tiny reaction, Aaron Starr stoically glides through the entrance curtains. He points towards the audience and offers them a solemn nod before beginning his trek towards the ring.

 

As White Lightening gives way to Euphoria, Mak says, “ Aaron Starr has been given an enormous opportunity to shine here at From The Fire, handpicked by Landon Maddix to be the opponent for Landon's special guest, fitness queen, Krista Isadora Duncan.”

 

“You ever use one of her videos before?” King asks.

 

“Lord yes, and my BUTT has never looked better in a bikini!”

 

While King scoots his chair away from his disturbing partner, Starr continues his walk down the entrance ramp. Although a few fans present their hands for high fives, Starr offers them little acknowledgment, instead choosing to do nothing more then adjust his wrist tape.

 

“Krista appearance has brought the SWF the kind of major mainstream publicity Landon was looking for when he signed her to be on our show, but young Starr is going to be looking to play spoiler and at the same get a name for himself here in the SWF."

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon begins, “The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a time limit of twenty minutes! Now making his way to the ring, weighing in at two hundred pounds, from Peoria, Illinois, AAAROOONN STAAAARRRRR!”

 

“Hope you enjoy this match kid, because it'll be your last!” King scoffs. “Firing your ass is the only way Landon's going to be able save any money after paying for your opponent! Ha! ”

 

Right as Starr enters the ring, his music cuts out, replaced by the sickeningly sweet sounds of Avril Lavigne's Girlfriend. Nearly drowning out the peppy drum beat is the enormous pop of the audience. They rise to their feet and herald Krista's arrival with a steady stream of chants. The OAOAST superstar doesn't disappoint her legion of admirers, emerging in pink bell bottom tights an matching tube top, beneath a whirlwind of pink and blue spotlights. A throng of “photo-journalists” immortalize her image while she strikes several fashion model style poses, washing her in a flashing white glow. Abruptly, she turns tired of their incessant picture snapping and pie faces them away. Ever the arrogant one, Krista allows one photographer to escort her down the ring. She treats her walk down the small entry way as though she were venturing through the Oscar's Red Carpet. Showing off her intricately decorated diamond studded outfit, she flashes a smile worthy of any red carpet gala.

 

“And the opponent!” Funyon starts, somewhat distracted by the unusual sight of a wrestler being trailed by a photographer, “Presented for your viewing pleasure courtesy of your commissioner Landon Maddix, from the city of angels, Los Angeles, California, she is the star of the FIT with KID line of fitness videos, the star of her own reality show, a best selling author, four time OAOAST tag team champion, Miss California, KRISTA ISADORA DUNCAN!

 

Positioning herself at the center of the ring, Krista leans over the the cable and shoots and beams a typical arresting smile into the camera.

 

“Krista Isadora Duncan, aside from her very impressive resume of outside the ring activities has amassed quite the list of accomplishments in the OAOAST, winning a record four tag team titles, and mowing down numerous wrestlers on their roster, including beating Landon Maddix twice.”

 

“If he didn't pay her what she wanted, she would've beat him up again! The wrestling equivalent of bullying someone out their lunch money.”

 

DING DING DING DING

 

Starr instantly pounces upon Krista, and forces her into a lockup. That move doesn't last for more then a few seconds before Starr drops to his knees and attempts to single leg the OAOAST star to the canvas. Krista, however, strongly resists his efforts, trapping him inside a front facelock that borders on a choke. Referee Eddie Long prepares to warn her about her questionable tactics, but never gets the chance to before Starr fireman carries her over. No sooner then a second after she hits the ground, Starr's arms tangle around her thin waist. But, his grip is woefully weak, and Krista effortlessly spins out of it. Realizing that his technical skills are getting him nowhere, Starr rushes to his feet and readies himself to speed to the ropes. Unfortunately he goes no further then a few inches before feeling a firm grip on his black hair. He soon feels a firm pain in his back due to Krista violently slamming him onto the canvas. She then takes off to the ropes, but makes her return with a stunningly graceful cartwheel. The body splash she targets Starr with is anything but graceful, as he rolls out the way. But to the fans' relief, Krista evades minor disaster by landing her feet. Starr however encounters major disaster, as Krista's springs forward and lashes him with a knee lift.

 

“Right now over in the OAOAST land the identity of Krista's child is being revealed, and she's not even there to see it.” Mak comments.

 

“Big deal! I have three illegitimate kids, only two of which I pay child support for. The other one earns his keep by rich people giving him money to let their kids beat him up.”

 

Shielding his sore face with his right arm, Starr works his way to his feet. Miss California's elbow smashes through his defense, though, and leaves him reeling into the ropes. Despite being under a sizable amount of pain, Starr manages to return fire with a lariat. But Krista shoots bellow his fast approaching arm and carries herself to the ropes. There she leaps onto the third cable and springboards back towards her foe, who foolishly turns himself into her enziguri. As his eyes tumble towards the back of his head, Starr tumbles to the mat, and the fans are absolutely ecstatic!

 

“KRISTA! KRISTA! KRISTA!”

 

“Oh, please, stop! No chants, please, that's so embarrassing. Such an unnecessary, lazy, indulgent thing for me to accept. A simple 'oh thank you for deigning us horrid ragged peasants with the immeasurable pleasure of your golden athletic soliloquies and unrivaled beauty and grace even at your unspecified age which is probably twenty five, or twenty six, or twenty eight at the most, certainly not the thirty seven your birth certificate would have us believe!' Will suffice.” Krista corrects them, and then lies on top of her rival for a pin...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

Starr pops out of the pin, drawing boos from the Ohio natives. Less upset then the audience, Krista peels Starr off the canvas, and attempts to throw him into the corner. But he reverses the hold and its Krissy's who's forced to slam back first into the ringposts. Watching her heave for breath and moan in anguish sketches a smile onto Starr's face, and he zeros in on her with a corner yakuza kick! But Krista glides out the way, and the youngster crotches himself atop the ringposts. His raw screams of agony, delight the crowd, who loudly applaud his error. Adding to their pleasure, Krista hooks him into a 3/4th inverted facelock then sits out. Starr is ripped free of the ropes and his neck is violently snapped off her shoulder, giving rise to more painful cries. Those groans are all the motivation Krista needs to attempt a second cover...

 

ONE!

 

“This may be the last of Aaron Starr!” Mak shouts with great excitement.

 

TWO!

 

Starr lifts his shoulder off the canvas, greatly displeasing the capacity crowd. Again, Krista isn't as bothered by the lack of a three count, and casually heads to the corner. Her platform boots carry her to the top rope, and the fans rise to their feet in preparation for a high risk assault.

 

“Friends, as I sit atop this lofty perch, partake with me in a moment of poignant thought. Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' into the future. Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'. Into the future I want to fly like an eagle, to the sea . Fly like an eagle let my spirit carry me. I want to fly like an eagle 'Til I'm free.”

 

“Isn't that a song?” Referee Eddie Long wonders.

 

“You'd think so, but no, I don't believe it is.”

 

Without waiting for further argument Krista sends herself twirling towards Starr with a picturesque moonsault. Problematically, the youngster rolls out the way! But once again Kris' agility saves her from certain doom, as she manages to come down on her bright footwear. The near catastrophic landing isn't lost on Miss California who nervously comments “Jennifer Lopez in heaven was that close!”

 

“Jennifer Lopez isn't dead.” Eddie Long reminds her.

 

“Oh, honey, we have to keep thinking positive!”

 

Crawling to his knees during this short exchange was Starr, eager to set himself on the offensive. His fists slash at her toned stomach, stunning her enough to buy him time to leap to his feet. However, any advantage those punches may have earned him falls by the wayside courtesy of a trio of knife edge chops. Feeling Starr to be sufficiently weakened by the attacks, the blond bombshell shoots him towards the ropes. But his return sees him gain a bit of energy and he surprises Krista with a flying forearm. Both competitors crash into the canvas in an abrupt heap, but Krista is far more annoyed then she is hurt. Starr on the hand is thrilled over actually executing an attack and lets the audience know it, “The autograph signing is after the show, ladies and gents! Check me out!”

 

“Jesus Christ, where's the lever I pull to drop a baby grand on your head?!” Krista laments.

 

While waiting for a piano to fall from the heavens, Krista rolls back towards her feet. Starr seizes her inside a front facelock, and with a hand full of her bell bottoms foists her into the sky for a vertical suplex. But the Hollywood starlet easily glides her body through his clutches, and lands behind him. Her arms snake around his scrawny waist, leading her to charge him towards the ropes. Her intention is to peel him down with a roll up, but Starr frustrates Miss California by latching his arms around the rope. Thrown off balance by the counter, Krista is sent rolling backwards. But she regains her bearings quickly enough to lash at her foe with a spinning wheel kick. The strike lands with deadly precession, and Starr is launched over the ropes. The blood thirsty crowd prays for a catastrophic landing on the ring mats, but are disappointed to see Starr awkwardly come down on the apron.

 

“Starr has rarely ever had a strength advantage against anyone in the SWF, but here against this special guest superstar he certainly does. The problem is, he's not even using it!” King complains.

 

Though the jarring attack has left his vision blurred, Starr still slowly pulls himself upright. But his obscured sight proves costly, as he fails to notice Krista charging off the ropes. By the time he's aware of his approach, her body is sagging towards the mat, and her arms are screaming towards his stomach. Within moments he's ripped from his feet by her spear and torpedoed into the canvas. The fans give heartily applause Krista's show of dominance, and she repays their kindness by bowing as though she were receiving a standing ovation for Giselle.

 

“KRISTA! KRISTA! KIRSTA!”

 

Mak comments, “Landon has to be overjoyed with the reaction the SWF audience is giving his special guest tonight!”

 

“That joy might be tempered by the amount of money he has to shell out to his special guest.”

 

Moaning in misery and clutching his battered midsection, Starr rolls into the ring. Quick to try and put himself on the attack, he lifts his aching bones off the canvas. But the moment he rises he's caught within an inverted facelock. Krista hasn't a chance to execute her intended inverted DDT, though, as her adversary powers his way out of the hold by rifling knees into her face. Putting his new freedom to good use, Starr grabs onto her wrist and throws her to the cable. Once Miss California makes her return, his boot plants itself into her midsection. The affects of the attack are crippling, doubling Krista over and leaving her paralyzed. The youthful grappler takes quick advantage of her weakened state by trapping her arm between his. He then throws himself backwards, cruelly snapping her limb with a single arm DDT!

 

As Starr takes a moment to tend to his still sore stomach, King remarks, “This match has gone pretty terribly for Starr, and if he has any hope of turning it around, and I don't think he does, he's got to start targeting a single body part.”

 

Ignoring this wise advice, Starr positions himself on the top rope with a single leap. There he plays to a less then receptive audience, inviting them celebrate his “greatness” with a round of “LET'S GO STARR” chants. As no one obliges his request, a dejected Starr attempts to gain some fanfare with a beautiful frog splash! Unfortunately, midway through his descent, his eyes spot the troubling sight of his foe sliding out of the way! Unfortunately, he can do nothing more then brace himself for impact. And what impact he leaves, his splattered two hundred pounds shaking the ring to its very core! As the fans fill the arena with cheers over his mishap, Starr screams out in a mixture of anguish and frustration.

 

“KRISTA! KRISTA! KRISTA!”

 

“I hate to say I told you so.” King begins.

 

“No, you don't, you love to say I told you so!”

 

“Yeah, you're right, I do like to say I told you so. And I like saying it even better after someone gets seriously injured.”

 

Amazingly, Starr finds the strength to work to his feet. Its not a position he seems capable of holding for very long; his weary bones seek to topple him over. But, the sudden tug of Krista's hands coming together beneath his chin, holds him upright. The fans rise to their feet and let loose with monstrous cheers, well aware that they're seeing the early stages of Krista's finishes. Starr is equally knowledgeable of the deadly hold, and attempts to worm his free of her clutches. His efforts yield only failure, though, as Krista sits out and drives the back of his head into the canvas with a reverse x-factor!

 

“YEAAAAA!”

 

Smiling broadly, Krista reaches forward and hooks Starr's leg.

 

CROWD

ONE!

 

CROWD

TWO!

 

CROWD

THREE!!

 

"Girlfriend" joins the roar of the now standing audience in celebrating her easy victory. Equally jubilant is the winner herself, though that may just be because someone tossed her a bottle of Coors.

 

“YOUR WINNNER, KRISTA ISADORA DUNCAN!” Funyon proclaims, struggling to be heard over the noise of the audience.

 

"Landon Maddix getting his wish tonight! A smashing performance by Krista Isadora Duncan, and a great reception from the fans."

[King Cucaracha 0]

“Welcome back to ‘From the Fire’, if you’re just tuning in right now…” Mak wanted to complete his sentence before he got rudely interrupted by King.

 

“Then you’re stupid.” King said, finishing Mak’s sentence in the kingly way.

 

Mak glares at King; evidently King feels the tension and turns to Mak. “What?” King asks.

 

“That wasn’t what I wanted to say.”

 

“I just wanted to help you.” Pretending to be hurt by Mak’s remark King as he replies.

 

“I appreciate it, but I really don’t need your help.”

 

“Yes you do, I push you around from here to there, everywhere; the fact of the matter is that I help you out.”

 

“I got my hands.” In a frustrated tone respond Mak.

 

King gives a slight smirk that Mak catches but just not in time to cut King’s statement.

“Yes, I know…very strong ones; in actuality one arm is stronger than the other one. Why is that?”

 

Mak exhales, shows disgust and rebut by stating. “Can we just go back to the show? I mean, just the show, please? Can we do that?”

 

King throws his hands up in a defense mode. Once again acting hurt by Mak’s reaction he initiates to reminisce about the last show they had together, on Valentine’s Day by stating. “After all the love and thought I put into that gift I gave you and this is how you treat me? This is the love and dedication I get from my co-host, my partner, a person that I can actually sit here and call…”King stops for a moment, put his hands down and places his head on top of his hands, he slowly looks up into the camera, knowing that this is his time to show an actor’s emotion as a tear, one tear rolls down his right cheek, without looking at Mak he finishes up his sentence and says…”my friend.”

 

There was a moment of silence for about 5 seconds as Mak and King gazes at each other when the lights go out.

 

“Oh thank god.” Quote the franchise.

 

After a few seconds a fuse like pyro starts to burn at the base of the entrance ramp, the pyro runs up the entrance ramp then explodes into a deep red pyro, suddenly Adema's “Immortal” starts to play. The lights turn back on…

 

“Why are you still staring at me?” Mak said, obviously feeling uncomfortable of the situation as the camera shows King staring at Mak with his left hand under his chin.

 

“Although I have a job to do, I rather look at you than look at this guy and his obvious entrance that he stole from someone else. I know I’ve seen it before, it was a long time ago…around 8 years ago when people was going through that Y2K scare. I just don’t remember who did it.” In an obvious disapproval tone states the Suicide King.

 

When the camera focuses back on the entrance, Jonathan has already begun walking down the ramp, slapping hands with eager fans trying to touch someone famous. Jonathan slides in the ring, he rushes towards the corner and jumps on top of the second turnbuckle, enjoying the pop he’s getting from the crowd he stays there for a few good seconds before jumping down and awaiting for his opponent.

 

“That’s…just…….*makes a puking sound* nauseating.” The camera quickly changes focus and puts the attention back to the announce table. The people at home watching this don’t know how he’s doing this, but King is actually turning pale.

 

“This match is schedule for one fall.” Funyon starts off. Introducing first, weighing in at 256 pounds…from Newcastle, England.” Funyon stops, lowers the mike, catches his breath, puts the mike back to his mouth, and… “jjjJJJJJJOOOOOOOONNNNNNAAAAATTTTTHHHHHAAAAANNNNN cccCCCLLLAAARRRRKKKKEEEE!!!!!!”

 

The lights goes dim, it’s silent for a few seconds when through the loud speaker you hear “I’m SO HOOOOOOOOOOOOD” by DJ Khaled.

 

“I heard good things about this rookie.” Stated Mak.

 

“This guy was trained by one bad mother fuc------“

 

“Shut your mouth.” Mak’s interrupted just in time.

 

“I was only talking about Bo. For the people that don’t know Bo, he was an old school wrestler that had a great career, but injuries and a bunch of bad luck forced Bo to early retirement.” King said, actually showing his approval for a former warrior, a fallen soldier.

 

The music changes to “Come home with me.” By Cam’ron, SIN comes out for the first time in the SWF. He power walks down the ramp, not much of a reaction by the crowd. There are some boos here and there, not because of SIN, but because he’s going against Johnathan Clarke. SIN slides into the ring, gets up and walks towards Clarke. They’re nose to nose, SIN talking and Clarke listening. SIN takes a few steps back and waits for Eddy Long, the referee for this match to ring the bell.

 

Ding, Ding, Ding.

 

“SIN just walked in there with a no nonsense attitude, he doesn’t care about anything or anyone, and that’s what I like about him.” There’s a glow in King’s eyes as he speaks about SIN.

 

Clarke looks for a tie up as they circle around the ring, they move towards each other. The tie up that Clarke was looking for goes out the window as he gets connected with a right hand. Another right hand causes Clarke to take a few steps back towards the ropes, SIN grabs Clarke by his wrist whips him towards the opposite ropes, rebounds, SIN goes for a clothesline but it’s ducked, Clarke put’s on the breaks, turns around before SIN does and gives him a right forearm shot to the jaw. Clarke, with his left hand, grabs SIN by the back of his head and continues to deliver more right forearm shot to the jaw as they simultaneously walk back towards the ropes, SIN back, Clarke forward. Clarke grabs his arm and whips him towards the rings, SIN rebounds and gets lifted up in the air, flipping forward with a back body drop, Clarke gets pumped up while SIN grabs his lower back.

 

“Not a good start for SIN…Clarke is just too experienced.” MAK said, with a little satisfaction in making King look bad.

 

“It’s not over, I’ve seen this kid train with Bo and all he needs is one opening and he’ll attack like a pit-bull.” Counter King.

 

Clarke goes for a quick cover.

 

One…

 

T…

 

No, kick out.

 

“Looks like Clarke want to win this quick.”

 

“That’s as stupid as the man that doesn’t have any name in Spanish think he might win the title against the Evil Genius later tonight.”

 

“You really don’t like Clarke do you? What has he done to you?” Ask MAK, and awaits a respond that never came.

 

Clarke grabs SIN by the head and applies a side headlock, he wrenches on it for a few seconds before getting hit in the ribs with a couple of forearm shots by SIN. Clarke gets backed up to the ropes, SIN puts his hand on Clarke’s upper back and pushes Clarke off from the headlock he was applying. Right when Clarke let the headlock go and was about to get whipped towards the ropes, SIN quickly grabs a handful of Clarke’s long hair and slams him down. Clarke quickly grabs the back of his head in pain as the referee warns SIN about grabbing the hair but gets shrugged off at the process.

 

“That’s the opening I was talking about, now watch SIN, who was trained by Bo, dispose of this worthless, smiling, always happy, glass always half full, TURN THE OTHER CHEEK, NO CURSING, BEND OVER STICK IT TO ME WITHOUT VASELINE SON OF A BITCH!” King said while breathing hard, his face turn red as MAK just stares at him.

 

“O-K!”

 

SIN starts kicking Clarke on top of his head, giving him a royal stomping before dropping a leg right across the neck. SIN helps Clarke up by pulling on his hair, puts Clarke in a front face lock, picks him up and takes him over with a beautifully done vertical Suplex. SIN floats over to cover him hooking the far leg.

 

One…

 

Two…

 

No, kick out by Clarke.

 

King smiles and said “It’s only a matter of time.”

 

MAK looks at king, he opens his mouth to say something, changes his mind, open it again but just decided to stay quiet.

 

SIN picks Clarke up and whips him towards the corner; SIN walks to the other corner and charges towards Clarke. He sees SIN coming but did not have time to react as SIN delivers a massive clothesline to the chest/neck area; SIN backs up again and delivers another, and another. On the fifth try, Clarke is dazed already and is about to crumble to the mat when he had just enough energy to move out of the way causing SIN to crash chest first to the turnbuckle. Clarke quickly regain some more energy and is about to ram his shoulder to SIN’s back, he notice SIN turning around and charges, SIN sees this and quickly drops a toe hold, causing Clarke’s head to hit the bottom turnbuckle; SIN quickly gets up and kicks Clarke in the back of the head while Clarke’s head was still leaning on the bottom turnbuckle.

 

MAK face quenches as if it brought more pain to him than to Clarke and says “Now that was an impressive counter, it hurt me just looking at it.” Clarke faces King who just sits there, looking, eyes glued to the ring, finally he speaks and says “I know what he calls that…he calls that ‘The Devil’s calling’. Bo faxed me his resume’ I was impressed with his skills.”

 

Clarke’s head just lies on the bottom turnbuckle, not showing much movement after SIN’s counter. SIN grabs Clarke by his ankles and drags him towards the middle of the ring. SIN lies on top of him and grabs his far leg for the cover…

 

ONE…

 

TWO…

 

TH…

 

NO…kick out by Clarke.

 

SIN glances as referee long with a look of disapproval while pulling on Clarke’s hair and pulling him to his feet. SIN scoops Clarke up and slams him down with a body slam, SIN backs himself up towards the ropes, bounces off of them and goes for a fist drop only to connect with nothing but the mat as Clarke’s moves out of the way. SIN shows his pain as he gets up shaking his right hand, at the same time; Clarke is up to his feet, SIN sees him and charges him only to get taken down with an arm drag. SIN quickly gets up as well as Clarke; SIN once again charges Clarke and gets taken down by another arm drag. SIN gets up quickly again and charges Clarke only to get kicked in the stomach, get placed in a front face lock and dropped with a snapped even flow DDT. Clarke goes for the cover as the crowd cheers for Clarke.

 

ONE….

 

TWO….

 

THR….

 

No…SIN kicks out at the last second.

 

“Clarke had him there, he almost got the victory with a DDT…he has all the momentum.” MAK states the obvious.

 

King does not flinch, doesn’t even want to say a word, but finally he says… “That doesn’t even deserve a remark, clearly you’re going for the weaker wrestler, and you’re like the rest of these fans, oblivious to the truth of true talent, a true talent which is SIN.”

 

“I see who you’re pulling for.”

 

Clarke pulls SIN up and takes him right down with a headlock takedown and keeps it on, Clarke wrenches the head and side of the neck a little before SIN starts to power his way up. SIN slowly powers his way up from one knee to two feet, he hits Clarke with an elbow in the midsection, and another one loosens the grip of the headlock. SIN is released and stood up straight; he goes for a right hand that was ducked by Clarke. Clarke puts his head under the arm of SIN while SIN has his back on Clarke, lifts him up, high up, and then drops him on the mat with a high angle back body drop. SIN quickly grabs the back of his head while Clarke foes for another pin.

 

ONE…

 

TWO…

 

TH…

 

No, another kick by SIN and Clarke looks at the ref in disbelief.

 

“Oh so close…” Mak said.

 

“But yet he’s as far as the mind set of the orphan that doesn’t have his birth certificate and his foster parents just left him with no name, think he has any chance of winning the championship tonight against the Anderson…” King said displaying of who he thinks is going to win tonight in the main event. “I’m just saying.” King said after he caught Mak eyeing him with a baffled look.

 

Clarke doesn’t waste any time, he quickly grabs both legs of SIN while he’s facing up and he starts to turn him around. SIN knows what Clarke is going for and begins to fight him off, but the strength of Clarke over powers the attempt to stop this move. Clarke forces SIN to lie on his stomach while Clarke has a hold on SIN’s leg and is sitting on top of SIN’s back…Clarke has just applied the Boston Crab in the middle of the ring.

 

“I’m not concerned; SIN will somehow get out of this.” King stated, showing confidence on someone that he barely knows.

 

“You’re really certain about him aren’t you? Do you know something that I don’t know, that you don’t want anybody to know?” Mak said, trying to get information out of King.

 

King just stares ahead with a little smirk on the corner of his right lip.

 

The front row begins to stand up as this could be the potential ending for this match, SIN screams I agony, sweat dripping from his cheeks as he tries to look for an escape that cannot be found. Clarke wrenches back causing SIN to grab his head as he tries with all his might fight out of pain. He struggles to lift himself up and move 3 inches forward, closing in towards the ropes. Clarke starts to look back to see how close he is to the ropes, noticing that he’s still not close to it he continues to pull back. The torture that SIN is receiving propels him to lift his body weight using his arms and dives forward, a significant 2 feet from the original spot cause Clarke to really pull back. SIN is just inches away from the ropes; he can touch it with his fingers. The ref continues to ask SIN if he wants to quit, but SIN doesn’t say a word, he’s focus on getting to those ropes. The crowd is getting a little louder now.

 

“He’s almost there…he’s going to get it.” King said with a little excitement in his voice.

 

“I’m not sure…Clarke is really cranking on his back, he might tap out right before reaching the ropes.” Mak countered.

 

“You haven’t learned by all the times you’ve been in the ring have you? The potential of someone like SIN you could not defeat. I could, but you, you’re worthless.”

 

“This is coming from a man who gave me a Valentine’s Day gift last show.”

 

“I told you there were no bitches around…” With a disgust look on his face King explained the present from the last show.

 

With just a little more of a push SIN will grasp the bottom rope; Clarke is trying to avoid the break up and continues to pull back the legs causing more pain to the lower back of SIN. But just a little, just a little more of SIN pulling caused him to put his hand high and clamped down on the bottom rope. Referee Long calls for Clarke to release the hold which he does with no complaint. Clarke slowly but surely raises SIN up and whips him towards the ropes, but it was counter and Clarke is the one that goes towards the ropes, he bounces back and ducks a clothesline from SIN, quickly turns around, kicks SIN in the gut, grabs SIN’s head in a ¾ facelock and drops to his knees causing SIN’s chin to hit Clarke’s shoulder.

 

“The Daizie Cutter! Clarke just hit it, this could be over.” Mak screamed with excitement.

 

Clarke doesn’t go for the pin; instead he goes to the nearest turnbuckle and starts to climb to the top rope. He looks down and sees SIN lying flat facing up, with the flashing of their cameras, the crowd goes wild as Clarke jumps off the turnbuckle to start the beginning part of what he calls “The Air Extreme”. Reaching to his destination, Clarke realized that SIN was no longer at the target as he rolled out of the way, the hard crash to the mat from Clarke is the first indication of SIN trying to make a comeback.

 

They’re both lying on the mat, hurt, very little motion as the referee begins to do the mandatory ten count.

 

One…

 

Two…

 

Three…

 

Four…

 

SIN right now is to one knee as Clarke is getting assistance from the ropes.

 

“This is the beginning of the end” Mak said, hoping King will agree with him.

 

“I agree with you.”

 

Five….

 

Six…

 

SIN is back up and he’s about to attack Clarke when a chorus of boos is heard all over the arena. SIN looks up the entrance ramp and sees Mr. Bruner walking down toward the ring, alongside with him is Sir Marvelous. SIN looks perplexed, more annoyed though as he grabs the top rope, pulls it down and begins pointing at Mr. Bruner and Sir Marvelous.

 

“What are these two doing here? What do they have against SIN?” Mak said, sounding concerned and confuse at the same time. He waits for some answer, at least a respond from King but he gets nothing from him. King just sits there, eyes filled with twinkles with more of a smile than before.

 

Clarke sees this and wants to take advantage of the situation, he goes behind and grabs SIN by the waist, trying to pull him up and slam him over for a German, but SIN has a hold of the top rope, another jerk by Clarke doesn’t do anything as SIN connects his face with a back elbow. Clarke stumbles back holding his nose, checking to see if his nose is broken. Again Sir Marvelous grabs SIN’s attention; he’s not doing anything but just his presence is enough to distract SIN. Clarke, getting a bit perturbed, decided to attack SIN from behind. SIN noticed Sir Marvelous eyes shift from him to Clarke and that made Clarke turn around just in time to hook Clarke’s right arm with his right arm, SIN goes behind Clarke, applies a full nelson, he lifts Clarke up, turns him around so that’s Clarke is facing the mat, SIN grabs his head in a front face lock and drives him down to the mat with a DDT.

 

Mak is in lost for words, King looks at him and without giving out any more explanation he calmly said “That’s what he calls ‘Lust’.”

 

SIN goes for the pin.

 

ONE…

 

TWO…

 

THRE…NOOOOO

 

The crowd goes wild to see that Clarke kicked out at the last possible second. SIN quickly grabs Clarke, applies a ¾ facelock on him and is about to deliver a move, but before he could do anything, a stiff forearm to SIN’s back was connected by Clarke. The facelock was released; Clarke immediately applies an inverted facelock, grabs the tights of SIN and lifts SIN up in the air.

 

“It looks like Clarke is going to go for his Extreme Nightmare.” Mak stated in obvious exhilarating tone.

 

“No shit.”

 

“If Clarke hits this than applies it this could be the end of SIN for this match.”

 

“NO SHIT!” King said in an angered voice.

 

While in the air, SIN shifts his weight back…Clarke could not control it as SIN feet touched the mat, now SIN has Clarke in the inverted facelock, spinning the opponent while holding to the lock twisting Clarke and dropping him into a Cutter!

 

King burst out of his seat and screamed “7 DEADLY SINS! 7 DEADLY SINS!”

 

Mak shocked looks at the animated King and asked. “What?”

 

“That’s what he calls his move, he inherited from Bo and made it his own…and variation of the Perfect Pain he calls it the 7 Deadly Sins. This is over.” King said.

 

SIN goes for the pin.

 

ONE…

 

TWO…

 

THREE…

 

SIN gets up and looks out of the ring but there was no one there…Mr. Bruner and Sir Marvelous has left the ring.

 

“THE WINNER OF THE MATCH, S.I.N.” Funyon screamed over the mic.

 

“That was an impressive showing on his debut match for SIN, but what’s this deal between him and Marvelous?” Mak asks.

 

“Great showing and we shall see more…I can’t wait for the main event as we’ll watch the evil genius dismantle the orphan with amnesia.” King said with a smirk on his face.

 

End

 

[King Cucaracha 0]

~Fade in from commercial~

 

 

 

Funyon - Ladies and Gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one-fall! It is a Triple Threat Match! The rules are as follows: One fall to a finish. If either The Fabulous Jakey or Taiga Star win it, they will receive a shot at the Cruiserweight title! If MANSON wins, he and Michael Alexander receive a Tag Team title shot! The referee for this contest is Anthony Michael Hall.

 

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 as a sparkly Princess of hardcore graphic displays on the screen. Her entrance has progressed to where she gets purple-y ultraviolet lights in the arena now! Taiga Star makes her way down the aisle, slapping the hands of the fans that offer them. The crowd's cheering is louder than it has been in previous weeks. Taiga rolls in the ring under the bottom rope, the she springs to her feet and poses for a moment in the centre of the ring, with her hands thrust overhead. Her music dies down and she makes her way to a corner.

 

 

 

Funyon - And her opponent, weighing in at one hundred and sixty pounds, originally from Minneapolis, Minnesota but now residing in New York City... The Fabulous Jakey!

 

Like a Boy hits, and the crowd gives a mixed reaction. After a few long moments, Jakey appears. He casually strolls to the ring, sneering at the fans that boo him, his red trench coat flaring behind him. He smoothly ascends the ring steps. Jakey demands that the referee open the ropes for him, and Referee Hall obliges. He slips into the ring and stands in the middle, soaking in the fan's reactions. As his music fades out, he takes off the trench coat and drapes it over a corner turnbuckle.

 

 

 

Funyon - And their opponent, weighing in at two hundred and twenty-nine pounds and hailing from Denver, Colorado... the Savage Messiah, MANSON!!

 

The house lights dim and after a few moments the sounds of Scientific Remote Viewing growl and grind through the arena. Smoke pours out, strobe lights flash, and spotlights shine about randomly. From the entrance emerges MANSON, much to the crowd's boos and taunts. He makes his way to the ring, ignoring the fans. He slides in and pops to his feet, then immediately brushes off his hood and removes his metal mask. The crowd boos more. MANSON takes off his robe and drapes everything over a corner.

 

 

Referee Hall calls for the bell.

 

 

DING!!!

 

 

 

MANSON and Taiga go to lock up while Jakey seems to be just hanging out in the corner, letting the other two wrestlers fight it out. MANSON and Taiga with a collar and elbow tieup. MANSON, being much taller than her, pushes her down to her knees. Taiga takes the opportunity to roll through MANSON's legs, but first she grabs his hands, pulling them back through his legs and effectively making him flip over, Still with the hold of his hands, Taiga pulls them around his neck so he is choking himself.

 

Referee Anthony Michael Hall asks MANSON if he wants to give up. But before he has a chance to say anything, Jakey comes out of the corner behind Taiga and slaps a head scissors around her neck! This makes Taiga lock on her hold tighter; not only is MANSON choked more, but he is bent backward over Taiga's knees. The ref asks Taiga if she wants to give up. She says no. The ref asks MANSON if he wants to give up. He says no. Taiga releases the hold on MANSON, then she easily wiggles her way out of Jakey's head scissors. All three competitors get to their feet and stare each other down in the middle of the ring. The crowd claps.

 

 

 

Mak Francis - And it looks like we have a three way staredown!

 

 

 

MANSON shoves Taiga in the chest, sending her stumbling backwards. Taiga, appalled at the nerve of him, shoves him back. Taiga and MANSON get in each other's faces (though MANSON has to look way down and Taiga has to look way up). MANSON lays a stiff chop on Taiga's chest, making her wince. Taiga returns the favour, landing one square in the middle of his chest.

 

Jakey looks on with an amused look on his face, encouraging the other two to fight. MANSON and Taiga turn to him and they both shove Jakey, sending him flying across the ring where he bounces off the ropes!

 

Taiga and MANSON continue to stare at each other. This time Taiga goes for a move first, a forearm across the face. MANSON fires back with one of his own. Back and forth they go with the forearms, as Jakey scatters back up to his feet. He walks up to MANSON and Taiga again, making himself look to be this big tough guy, flexing his muscles and strutting haughtily. Taiga and MANSON slowly stop smacking the crap out of one another to turn and look at Jakey, who feels very on-the-spot at the moment. Jakey gives a shaky grin and offers up a double test of strength.

 

 

 

Mak Francis - It seems as if MANSON and Taiga aren't taking The Fabulous One seriously in this match.

 

Suicide King - I don't know how anyone can take Jakey seriously!

 

 

 

MANSON and Taiga look at each other, silently saying what's with this guy? They both shrug and take one of Jakey's hands, Taiga and MANSON lock hands, and they have a three way test of strength! MANSON and Taiga manage to push the much lighter Jakey down, forcing him to bridge back to the mat. Jakey attempts to roll out of it but MANSON and Taiga hoist him in the air and manage to slam him down into the mat! Jakey lands spread-eagle on the mat hard, knocking the wind out of him. Taiga goes for the pin!

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

 

MANSON pulls Taiga off Jakey, and goes to pin him himself.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

 

Taiga pulls MANSON off the cover.

 

 

 

 

Mak Francis - It's every person for themselves here, with one fall to a finish.

 

Suicide King - Thank you for pointing that out. I had forgotten in the five minutes it's been since Funyon announced that!

 

 

 

Jakey rolls out of the ring to recover on the floor. MANSON and Taiga look at each other before going for another collar and elbow tieup. MANSON turns it into a headlock. Taiga pushes him off into the ropes, where he bounces off and, with a shoulder tackle, sends her to the mat. MANSON bounces off the opposite ropes and runs over Taiga. She gets to her feet before the rebound. MANSON attempts another shoulder tackle, but Taiga moves aside slightly and trips him! MANSON lands face first on the mat. Taiga takes advantage of the situation to lock in a half crab. MANSON flails his arms about, attempting to get to the ropes. Reaching behind her, she grabs one of MANSON's arms and pulls it, somewhat bending MANSON in half backwards. He wiggles more, eventually making it to the ropes. Referee Hall gives the five count.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

Taiga releases the hold and pulls MANSON back to the centre of the ring by his leg, where she attempts to lock in another knee submission... until MANSON turns over, and with a foot to her ass, shoves her off him. He gets back up. Taiga turns around right into MANSON kicking her in the gut. MANSON picks Taiga up for a sitout spinebuster... but she starts punching him in the head. He stumbles backward, all the way into the ropes. There Taiga bends over the top rope, then grabs his feet and locks him in a tarantula! The crowd cheers. Referee Hall starts the five count...

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!!

 

FIV....

 

 

... Jakey comes out of nowhere and drop kicks MANSON in his exposed chest! Taiga loses the hold and falls to the floor. Jakey goes for the pin, but before the ref can even count, MANSON entangles himself in the bottom rope. Jakey attempts to pull him away from the ropes but MANSON holds on tight. Taiga climbs onto the apron and using the top rope for leverage, she kicks MANSON off the bottom rope and into the ring, where Jakey goes for the pin.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

Taiga breaks up the pin with an elbow drop. Taiga charges after Jakey and he runs away frightened, bolting out of the ring over the top rope. Taiga turns around right into a headlock from MANSON. Taiga elbows him in the chest a few times and manages to shove him into the corner. Referee Hall starts the count.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

Taiga gives the clean break, which MANSON thanks by poking her in the eye.

 

 

 

Mak Francis - That wasn't very nice!

 

Suicide King - But it sure is effective. By blinding an opponent, you have a significant advantage.

 

 

 

Taiga sticks her hand in front of her, groping in her blindness, punching the air in front of her. From behind, MANSON spins Taiga around and dishes out several forearms to her face! Taiga reaches out blindly in front of her and manages to grab two handfuls of his hair and starts to headbutt him repeatedly! MANSON shakes it off quickly and pulls Taiga to whip her into the ropes. Halfway there Taiga reverses. MANSON avoids the ropes by sliding under them and out of the ring. Taiga gets up a head of steam and slides out of the ring the same way, nailing MANSON hard with a baseball slide!

 

Once they both stand up from the impact, they begin to strike each other again. Back and forth they go, not noticing that Jakey has climbed up to the top turnbuckle. Jakey with a flying cross body onto MANSON and Taiga!!! The crowd starts an SWF chant! Jakey springs to his feet and bows to the crowd, then rolls back into the ring to wait for whoever gets to him first.

 

 

 

Mak Francis - A spectacular move there, from the Fabulous Jakey!

 

Suicide King - It was only a cross body. I think you just like saying the word 'fabulous'.

 

Mak Francis - King, what are you suggesting!

 

Suicide King replies with just a floppy-wristed gesture.

 

 

 

The crowd gets to clapping and it gets MANSON and Taiga stirring. Taiga gets up first. She sees that MANSON is about to get to his knees, and she kicks him in the head multiple times, sending him back down to the floor. Using him as a stepping stool, Taiga rolls in the ring into a waiting Jakey. He drops some elbows on her and goes for a quick pin.

 

 

ONE!

 

TW...

 

 

Taiga kicks out easily. She gets to her hands and knees. Jakey stomps her hand! Taiga winces obviously. Jakey notices this and he goes to stomp her other hand, but she manages to get out of the way. Jakey grabs her wrist and pulls her up with a wristlock, wrenching it in a few times. He slams her hand over his shoulder a few times and Taiga cries out. Jakey pulls her arm down and uses his foot to push her shoulder into the mat. Jakey stomps on the arm once, then lands a legdrop on the arm! Jakey grabs both Taiga's wrists and pins her down to the mat.

 

 

ONE!

 

No no no, she gets the shoulder up... and Jakey pushes it back down.

 

ONE!

 

TW...

 

No no, her other shoulder is up. In a flash of frustration, Jakey kneels on her chest, pinning her with his embarrassing one hundred and sixty pounds!

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

Taiga not only kicks out, she shoves Jakey and he goes flying! Taiga shakes her arm, trying to work it out. Jakey runs over and kicks her in the arm again. He grabs the arm and pulls her up, using the wristlock again. Taiga winces, pauses, then starts running circles around Jakey. He gets confused as she uses her good arm to twist his arm into a rear hammerlock, then the other arm into a wristlock, then she pulls the other arm around his head and spins him around and then manages to get him in a headlock! Even though she has it in tight, one can plainly see her highly favouring the left arm.

 

 

 

Mak Francis - Jakey is a smart wrestler, making up for his lack of size with sound wrestling techniques. He's really worked over the arm and hand of Taiga Star here.

 

 

 

Jakey pushes her off into the ropes, where she bounces off and they meet in the middle of the ring with a shoulder tackle. Neither wrestler goes down. They go for the ropes again, bouncing off and crashing into each other with another shoulder block, with the same results. Jakey runs off the ropes and back and Taiga goes over with a leapfrog and on the return pass Jakey leapfrogs over her and on the third pass, Jakey leaps up and attempts a hurricarana, but Taiga holds his legs tight to her shoulders and he doesn't get the flip. Jakey sits up and begins to punch Taiga in the head, but the blows barely affect her. She hoists him high by his pants and slams him down to the mat with a hard powerslam!! Taiga with a jackknife pin.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

THR...

 

 

MANSON breaks up the pin! MANSON grabs Taiga by the hair and tosses her aside so that he can go to work on Jakey, kicking him several times. He picks Jakey up and drops him with a German suplex. Jakey rolls backwards and manages to get to his feet, albeit he's extremely wobbly. MANSON picks him up and delivers a side suplex. Again, Jakey manages to roll up, and he is dead on his feet. MANSON hits him with a belly to back suplex, and upon the landing, bridges into a pin.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

THR...

 

 

NO! Taiga stomps on MANSON's upturned stomach, breaking up the pin. Jakey rolls to the apron. Taiga stomps MANSON repeatedly, focusing on the head. MANSON rolls to the corner, and Taiga actually allows him to pull himself up. Upon standing, Taiga kicks him in the chest hard, then chokes him out with her boot to his neck! The referee counts.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

Taiga releases him, but then goes right back to choking him with her boot!

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!!

 

Taiga releases it again, and MANSON slides down to a seated position in the corner. Taiga runs across the ring, then charges at him with a facewash! The crowd cheers, and Taiga plays to them.

 

 

 

Suicide King - She just about kicked his face off!

 

Mak Francis - She needs to stop stalling though and get the pin. You never know when Jakey will get up, and you have to keep an eye on that third man.

 

Suicide King - That's if Jakey gets up.

 

 

 

Once again, Taiga runs from the corner to boot scrape MANSON's face... But she took too long, and MANSON moves out of the way. He trips her, and she lands face-first into the bottom turnbuckle! MANSON pulls her up by her hair, standing her up in the corner. He chops her hard in the chest WOOOOOOO! And another WOOOOOO! And another WOOOOOOO! He pulls her out of the corner and whips her across the ring to the opposite corner. There he runs at her with a brutal yakuza kick!!

 

 

 

Mak Francis - Talk about getting one's face kicked off!

 

 

 

Taiga crumples and MANSON drags her into the middle of the ring, where he goes for the cover.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

 

Taiga kicks out. MANSON, frustrated, pulls Taiga up and hits a hangman's neckbreaker. Again he goes for a pin.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

 

Taiga kicks out. MANSON, still frustrated, mounts her and delivers a series of blatant punches to the face. Referee Hall tries to make him stop, but MANSON threatens him.

 

 

 

Suicide King - Now technically, there are no disqualifications in a triple threat match, which MANSON is obviously taking advantage of here.

 

Mak Francis - But still, King, blatant disregard for the rules is looked down upon by the office.

 

Suicide King - Though it shouldn't be looked down on. It's an effective strategy.

 

 

 

MANSON, with his hands around Taiga's neck, picks her up and nails a European uppercut. Taiga's head rattles on her shoulders, and the only thing keeping her standing is MANSON's hands on her neck. Again he nails her with an uppercut. He picks Taiga up by the throat, and goes for a chokeslam... But Jakey, coming from nowhere, shoulder tackles the back of MANSON's knees, forcing him down and dropping Taiga. She lands awkwardly and rolls to the apron.

 

MANSON gets up and looks at Jakey with an evil stare. Jakey appears to be frightened, for a moment, but then runs at MANSON with a clothesline. MANSON doesn't move. Again Jakey attempts the clothesline, this time building up more momentum first, but MANSON doesn't budge. For a third time Jakey does a clothesline, and this time instead of not moving, MANSON grabs Jakey's arm and swings him around, sending him into the corner. MANSON charges at him and Jakey rolls out of the way. MANSON lands in the corner and when he turns around Jakey is right there. Jakey with a monkey flip, sending MANSON flying! Jakey jumps up and waits for MANSON to stand. Then he hits him with a swinging neckbreaker! Jakey with the pin.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

 

MANSON kicks out. MANSON and Jakey exchange forearms, until Jakey knees MANSON in the stomach, then he runs across the ring, springs off the ropes, and attempts a flying forarm... but MANSON catches him and throws him with a side suplex. MANSON with the cover.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

 

Jakey kicks out. MANSON pulls him up and just about knocks his head off with a short arm lariat. MANSON with another cover.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

 

Jakey kicks out. MANSON pulls him up and slingshots him into the corner. MANSON follows him in with a clothesline, but Jakey uses the top rope to spring over MANSON. MANSON turns around right into a hurricarana! Jakey with the pin.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

 

MANSON kicks out. Jakey locks MANSON into an STF! MANSON struggles, flailing his arms about. Jakey cranks back on his neck harder, causing MANSON to cry out. MANSON eventually gets tired and reaches behind him and manages to poke Jakey in the eyes, making him release the hold.

 

 

 

Mak Francis - There MANSON goes again with the eye pokes!

 

Suicide King - He's a smart wrestler.

 

Mak Francis - He's despicable!

 

 

 

MANSON picks Jakey up for an exploder suplex! But before he gets to cover Jakey, Taiga comes up behind MANSON and delivers an exploder suplex of her own! As she stands to soak in a bit of the crowd's cheering, Jakey comes up behind her and delivers a t-bone suplex! MANSON gets to his feet, grabs Jakey, and slams him with a half and half suplex! Taiga gets up, and slams MANSON with a belly to back suplex! Jakey gets up and hits Taiga with a jumping DDT!! MANSON gets up and picks Jakey up for a fireman's carry double knee gutbuster!!! All three competitors lay in the ring!!! The crowd goes wild!!!

 

 

 

Mak Francis - What an exciting exchange of moves here by all three wrestlers! You can tell that these three want to win this contest. It will just be a matter of who can get the other two down first, to get that elusive pinfall.

 

Suicide King - Fighting spirit, courage, heart... blah blah blah. I want to see MANSON maim one of his opponents.

 

 

 

All three still lay in the ring, as the crowd starts rhythmically clapping, getting behind all three wrestlers. Taiga stirrs first, getting to her knees and gripping the back of her neck. Jakey is the next one up, rolling around clutching his head. Taiga and Jakey both get to their feet and stare at each other, then they both look at MANSON, who is still laid out. Wordlessly they communicate, and with a nod, they both put the boots to MANSON.

 

 

 

Suicide king - Now that's not right, a two on one beatdown!

 

Mak Francis - It's a smart idea, trying to keep the God Machine down.

 

 

 

Jakey and Taiga both grab an arm of MANSON's and yank him off the mat to standing. Taiga kicks MANSON in the back of the head. Jakey kicks him in his face. Then Taiga kicks him in the face and Jakey kicks him in the back of his head. Then they both kick at him at the same time, making a MANSON head sandwich with their feet!

 

Taiga pulls MANSON to her and delivers a front leg sweep, sending MANSON to the mat face first! After she moves, Jakey locks on a Fujiwa armbar. While he is cranking away and punishing MANSON's shoulder, Taiga runs off the opposite ropes and nails a dropkick to MANSON's head! Jakey releases the hold and he runs off the ropes to dropkick MANSON's head as well! Then Taiga picks MANSON up and tosses him with a belly to belly suplex! On the rebound, as MANSON is out of his feet, Jakey nails him with a reverse DDT!!

 

 

 

Mak Francis - I'm impressed with the way the Fabulous One and Ms Taiga Star are working together to soften up MANSON here.

 

Suicide King - It's because both of them know that MANSON would kill them if he got them one-on-one.

 

Mak Francis - Both Jakey and Taiga have proven to be formidable opponents, despite Jakey's lack of size and Taiga's lack of height.

 

Suicide King - It's still dirty cheating, if you ask me.

 

Mak Francis - Well, I didn't ask you, did I?

 

 

 

Taiga hoists MANSON off the mat into a fireman's carry, and walking over to the ropes, deposits him onto the floor, where he lands head-first! The crowd winces and MANSON appears to be knocked out!!!

 

 

 

Mak Francis - I think we have a situation here.

 

 

 

Taiga turns around right into a stunner from Jakey!! Jakey with the cover!

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

 

Taiga kicks out. Taiga to her feet and Jakey with a roundhouse kick! Taiga staggers but is still on her feet. Jakey goes for another kick, and Taiga staggers again but still does not fall. Jakey, figuring third time's a charm, kicks her again... but Taiga grabs his leg mid-air and takes him down with a leg whip! There she pulls the legs into a Texas cloverleaf, but Jakey is too wiggly and squirmy and she doesn't lock it in before Jakey gets her into an Oklahoma roll.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

 

Taiga manages to reverse the roll with a small package.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

 

Jakey reverses into a schoolboy.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

 

Taiga kicks out. Both wrestlers get to their feet. Jakey slaps Taiga broadside in the face, which Taiga smiles at and returns with one of her own. Jakey and Taiga exchange slaps. Jakey grabs a handful of Taiga's hair and uses it to back her into the corner. There he lands a series of alternating chest chops and forearms. Jakey pulls her out of the corner. Taiga reverses and instead of whipping him across the ring, she stops him with a stiff short arm clothesline, which turns Jakey inside out!

 

MANSON is still out on the floor. Some trainers and officials come out from the back to check on him, as he is barely moving. They check his eyes and tell him not to move, but MANSON weakly attempts to push them away, not being very effective at it.

 

Taiga sets up Jakey for a piledriver, and when she picks him up, he punches her in the head and swings around into a sneaky pin.

 

 

ONE!

 

TW...

 

 

Taiga uses the momentum to reverse the pin.

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR...

 

 

Jakey kicks out!! Again Taiga picks him up for a piledriver. She tucks his head, picks him up... and he blocks by wrapping his leg around one of hers. Taiga pounds his back in frustration, then tries again. Jakey struggles once again to reverse into a rollup or a hurricarana... but Taiga fumbles him around and nails the piledriver (a little sideways though)!! The crowd pops! Jakey is laid out on the mat. Taiga gets up and rubs her ass a bit where she landed on it.

 

MANSON, on the floor, is still trying to get up. He manages to push away the medics and trainers and stands up on rubbery legs.

 

Taiga points to the top rope and the crowd cheers for it. She grabs Jakey by an arm and a leg and drags him over to the corner. Taiga climbs outside onto the apron and begins to climb to the top turnbuckle... when MANSON comes up and grabs one of her legs! He pulls and Taiga holds onto the top rope for dear like. She kicks MANSON one, two, three times, knocking him back onto the floor. Taiga makes it to the top rope, measures the angle and distance, then leaps off the top and lands a DOUBLE STOMP right on Jakey's chest!! Taiga with the cover!! the crowd counts along!

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

MANSON scurries into the ring to pull her off the pin, but he is too late.

 

...THREE!!!!

 

 

DING DING DING!!!

 

 

 

Funyon - The winner of the match, going on to receive a shot at the cruiserwieght title, Taiga Star!!!

 

 

 

Be a Man reprises. MANSON pulls Taiga into the middle of the ring, making it obvious that he's extremely pissed off. He puts the boots to her, taking out his frustrations. Her music dies down. Referee Hall tries to pull MANSON off of Taiga, but he is shoved forcefully into the ropes, where he gets all tangled up as he falls to the floor on the outside. MANSON picks Taiga up and nails her with a Rocky Mountain Murder Bomb!!

 

 

 

Mak Francis - Now that's just unnecessary! MANSON sure is being a sore loser here tonight!

 

Suicide King - I don't blame him, Mak, he just lost a match against a woman AND one of the smallest competitors in the SWF.

 

 

 

MANSON storms to the back with a sneer on his face, still fuming at the loss. Jakey barely gets up, and he carefully makes his way up the ramp, clutching his stomach tenderly. Referee Hall, limping, is assisted by one of the trainers to the back. Taiga is carefully rolled out of the ring by two medics. One on each side of her, they carefully take her to the back.

 

 

 

Suicide King - She may have won the match, but she doesn't look like much of a winner right about now.

 

 

 

~Fade into the next segment~

[King Cucaracha 0]

Rolling thunder is heard, followed by the screen fading eeirely to black and white, the sounds of a storm playing behind the opening acoustic notes of "Wanted Dead or Alive". The newly non-Disneyed Alan Clark steps out first, with Walter Reynolds backing him imperiously up. Alan is clad all in white with Walter clad in black, the alternately dressed duo stopping with Alan standing in front of his larger partner to look down on the arena.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, this contest is scheduled for one fall, to be contested under SWF Cruiserweight Rules. A strict twenty count will be observed at ringside and the throwing of an opponent over the top rope will result in an automatic disqualification. Coming down the aisle, being accompanied by WALTER REYNOLDS! From Las Vegas, Nevada... weighing in at two hundred, twenty five pounds... AAAAAAAALLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAANN... CCLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRKK!!!!"

 

Alan reaches the ring and climbs the steps, leaving Walter to take his place at ringside as the black and white returns to color and the music fades away.

 

"A whole new Alan Clark here tonight, having parted ways with the Disney company in the time between tonight and Can't Get A Date."

 

"Hmm. I didn't think he did THAT badly against Tom." muses King.

 

"Well, Al..."

 

"Actually, I guess he didn't do that GREAT..."

 

"Damnit King, you talked through the entire intro."

 

"Did you have anything valuable to say?"

 

"...not particularly."

 

"Sunrise, sunset."

 

 

A DDR stage hollogram shines down in front of the entrance way and for a while it's quiet before the intro to "Hung Up" by Madonna hits. Calmly the tassel laden Dance Dance Dragon walks out. When the song picks up pace, multi-coloured strobes suddenly flash right throughout the rest of the arena and Dragon comes to life as we've grown to expect in the past few months, flanked by his Dragonesses!

 

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

 

"YYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

 

Dragon slides into the ring and throws some more shapes, as the kids may or may not actually say. With a distinctly unimpressed expression, Clark sits back in the corner and waves for Dragon to go ahead and get it out of his system.

 

"Coming off a big win earlier this month over Scott Pretzler, another big opportunity for The Dance Dance Dragon. A victory over Alan Clark and you wouldn't begrudge him another shot at Wildchild and the Cruiserweight Title."

 

"I would."

 

"After beating two former SWF champions? You can't say Dragon hasn't been a revelation in the early going of his SWF career King."

 

"Eh, I'm barely here. I just open my mouth occassionally so they'll keep paying me."

 

 

*DINGDINGDING!*

 

As the bell sounds, Clark stays leant in the corner, watching his opponent step to a beat only he can hear. Dragon shuffles about on the spot and bides his time with some popping and some locking while he waits for the real action to begin.

 

"That's certainly a unique way of loosening out your muscles before a match." observes Mak.

 

"Is THAT what he's doing!?"

 

Finally, Clark brushes back his hair and steps out of the corner. Where-as once he was the happiest guy on earth, tonight he seems to have nothing but contempt in his eyes as he stares at Dragon wondering what he's gotten himself into. Dragon, apparantly, didn't get the memo about the Disney contract. Pulling Clark towards him he starts to try and lead him in a WALTZ reminiscent of something out of Beauty And The Beast! Clark responds by bundling Dragon into a corner and working him over with right hands until referee Sexton Hardcastle drags him away, which certainly doesn't get him on the fans' good side.

 

"AL - AN SUCKS!"

"AL - AN SUCKS!"

"AL - AN SUCKS!"

 

Brushing Hardcastle away, Clark grabs Dragon again. A quick spin changes the momentum though, Dragon trapping Clark in the corner and nailing him with a right hand.

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

...chop. And a right hand.

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

...chop. Right hand.

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

Chop, Right hand.

 

"Alan Clark just got introduced to the Violence Party early! And he's finding out, Dragon can fight fire with fire when it comes to striking."

 

Pushing his way out of the corner Alan tries to create some distance, but Dragon is right on his tail. He spins Clark around, popping him with an elbow. And a second. Clark manages to get his forearms up in the way of a third though, pushing Dragon away and throwing a clothesline. Underneath goes DDD, running the ropes right into an armdrag from Clark. Dragon pops right back up to retaliate, armdragging Clark over. Before BOTH men go for armdrags, falling harmlessly to the mat with their arms intertwined. At a stalemate the two climb back to their feet and stare off for a second, before Dragon suddenly backflips away (for no apparant reason) and scales the turnbuckles to work the crowd.

 

"YYYEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

 

"The Landon Maddix SWF, ladies and gentlemen. Lesbians and goofballs. Keep 'em rollin'." King sighs.

 

Dragon gets the fan support he's looking for... but as he jumps down from the turnbuckles, Clark makes him pay for taking his eyes off of him, catching him with a boot to the gut! Boos ring out as Clark goes to work, driving away with some forearms before snapmaring him to the mat. Off the ropes behind, Clark delivers a basement dropkick to the back of the head and covers...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

Quick kickout.

 

Rear chinlock applied, Clark placing the knee in back and wrenching back on the neck.

 

"In Dragon's short SWF career, every person he's faced has made the mistake of underestimating him... except one, I would argue, Cruiserweight Champion Wildchild. If Alan Clark was making that mistake, he may have gotten a wake-up call or two with those chops."

 

Dragon quickly starts to rally and works himself up to a knee, before an elbow jammed into the back cuts him off. Shoving Dragon back into the corner, Clark then rears back...

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

...and cracks Dragon with a chop.

 

"There's a receipt."

 

Dragon lets out a low growl from undr his mask which unnerves Clark a little, prompting him to look for an irish whip out of the corner. Dragon reverses and sends Clark across the ring instead. But Clark gets a foot up onto the middle turnbuckle and throws back his elbow, catching DDD on the point of the... well, mask. Switching behind, Clark grabs a waistlock and looks for a suplex. Dragon fights him off with a succession of his own elbows though before taking a quick run-up the ropes...

 

 

 

 

...but before he can pull off the Moonsault, Clark lunges forward, crotches Triple D up on the top turnbuckle and watches Dragon tumble back to the canvas with a jarring landing on the back of his head!

 

"OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

"That could be the turning point right there." grimaces Mak.

 

"It could. And let me just take a second to say how great it is to see Alan Clark back to his best, no more of that Disney crap. Self respect, back. Look what they did to The Rock in The Game Plan. He got off lightly if you ask me."

 

Hands on hips, Clark stands over Dragon and nudges him with his boot, encouraging him to throw out some more dance moves now. Getting no response, he then sets Dragon's head against the bottom turnbuckle, elevating himself up off the middle rope to drop the knee in the back. Ref Hardcastle warns him against doing that again, but his warning distracts him from Walter Reynolds and an elbow strike to the side of the masked Dragon's head!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

Clark doesn't seem to realise what happened but certainly suspects as much as he looks out to Walter, stood innocently with arms folded. He doesn't look a gift horse in the mouth though and complying with Hardcastle's demands, he drags Dragon away from the corner, making a cover...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

No!

 

Draping Dragon over the middle rope Clark sets up for another knee, but again Hardcastle intervenes and Clark graciously backs away with his hands above his head. However, before Dragon can get out of the corner, the man of many monikers then not so graciously sidesteps Hardcastle and dropkicks Dragon to sandwich him against the turnbuckles! Clark then grabs the mask and bodysuit, pulling Dragon back to his feet. A waistlock sets up what looks like a back suplex. But on the way over he converts it, bringing down Dragon on his front like an inverted t-bone!

 

"Very innovative move right there." Mak calls.

 

Clark hangs on with a headlock and leans back as far as Dragon's neck muscles will allow.

 

"DRA - GON!"

"DRA - GON!"

"DRA - GON!"

"DRA - GON!"

 

"The crowd trying to get Dragon going here. Clark has slowed the tempo right down here and, as we all know, the Dance Dance Dragon is a big fan of tempo."

 

"GROAN."

 

Pushing up on his heels, Clark tries to force a submission out of Dragon from the headlock. When that doesn't seem to be working though, he hooks up the arms and floats over pulling Dragon with him in a crucifix...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

No!

 

Away rolls Dragon, with Clark now keeping the pressure on and following him right into a corner.

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

Dragon shows some fight though, fending Clark off with a chop.

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

Another chop keeps Clark on the backfoot. But Clark finds a way through with a quick kick and spins Dragon around to send him face-first into the turnbuckle, leaving Dragon nursing the neck again. Wringing out the arm, Clark then sends Dragon across the ring with an irish whip. Full head of steam, Clark carthwheels, throwing the Enziguri... DUCKED! Dragon avoids a One Hit Kill and momentum sends Alan rolling all the way over the top and to the floor!

 

"YYYEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

 

"Clark took a gamble and it didn't pay off! A big break for Dragon."

 

"A lucky break you mean?"

 

"You make your own luck in this business King."

 

Walter Reynolds comes over to aide Clark, but Alan insists he's okay and dusts himself off with little fuss. As soon as he gets back on the apron though, he leaves himself open for an elbow to the face! A second elbow leaves Clark hanging precariously over the arena floor. And a third... is ducked, Clark throwing his shoulder through the ropes... but Dragon sidesteps, delivering a hard kick to the sternum that leaves Clark draped over the middle rope! Cutting a thumb across his throat, Dragon apparantly sees that as the sign that it's OVAH~!

 

"Looks like Dragon is going for the kill here!"

 

Stepping out of the ring Dragon quickly scales the turnbuckles, right above where Clark is hanging. As he reaches the top he then picks his spot and leaps...

 

 

 

 

 

 

...but MISSES the Perfect! double stomp! Clark narrowly pulls his head clear! Landing on his feet Dragon manages to prevent his knees from buckling underneath him, but as soon as he turns around he gets cut down with a clothesline from the apron anyway.

 

"Caught him! It certainly looks like Clark's knocked off the ring rust, since getting caught by Tom Flesher last time out at Can't Get A Date."

 

"I'm telling you, it's the Disney thing. He's wrestling with freedom now, he can be his own man again."

 

"Whoever that is."

 

Pulling himself back inside, Clark hooks Dragon up in a front facelock. Hanging the feet up on the ropes he then takes Triple D over with the Westplex...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kickout!

 

Hanging onto the back of the mask, Clark takes Dragon up and over again, this time with a traditional suplex. Clark continues to hang on though, rolling himself back through and bringing DDD up and over with a second suplex.

 

"That's two, Clark looking for one more For The Road!"

 

Clark brings Dragon up with him for the third suplex, elevating him up... but losing him in mid-air! Floating over the back, Dragon pulls Clark over into the Dragon Sleeper! Only a couple of seconds in the hold after suffered by Alan though before a quick spin changes the momentum. Clark comes out with an inverted front facelock, looking for the Fatebreaker... but Dragon rolls through with the momentum and surprises Alan with a Small Package!

 

"He's got him..."

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO!!

 

"Oh, so close, Dragon pulled that one from out of nowhere"

 

Rushing back to his feet, Clark runs in... and gets caught with some Blue Thunder!!

 

"And again..."

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO!!!

 

With the momentum clearly on his side, up top heads Dragon once again. Clark shakes out the cobwebs and climbs to his feet, still looking like he's wondering what the hell has hit him all of a sudden.

 

"Dragon has kicked into another gear here and after dictating the pace for so long, Clark is now playing catch-up!" Mak calls.

 

Getting his footing, Dragon steps from turnbuckle to ropes and launches himself feet-first at Clark with a BIG Front Missile Dropkick!!

 

"YYYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

 

The back of Dragon's head hits the mat hard on landing though, which stops him from following up immediately. Walter Reynolds doesn't neccessarily look 'concerned', but he shows an increased interest in the match all of a sudden, which is as good as. And he leans against the apron as Dragon manages to crawl over on top...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kickout!!

 

"See, Dragon's got some fancy moves." King admits. "I guess that's to be expected with the name. But it's one thing dancing and showing off, it's another putting guys like Clark or Wildchild away."

 

Dragon drags himself back up again and signals for the end once more. This time though, it's with the NEWBIE KILLER...

 

 

 

 

...but Clark has other ideas as he goes deadweight to a knee once the arms get trapped. Dragon lets him go and catches him with a kick to the chest. Off the ropes, Dragon then comes running back with a Palm Strike, only for Clark to duck...

 

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

...and lay Dragon out with a desperation Superkick!

 

"There's the veteran instincts of Alan Clark."

 

"He had that palm strike scouted, definately. Dragon's put that gloved hand to good use a number of times in the SWF."

 

"That's it, loaded glove, I'm calling it."

 

Hook of the leg by Clark...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kickout!!

 

Clark runs a hand through his hair, slapping the canvas and snapping to his feet with a sudden annoyance. He again grabs a handful of tassels and uses them to drag Dragon back up, despite the protests of Hardcastle.

 

"There's that look in the eyes again." notes Mak. "I kinda worry that Disney contract was the only thing keeping Clark from going off the rails sometimes."

 

"Well, there's no more contract, so you'd better hurry up and take back those derogatory comments you made about him."

 

"...ME!?"

 

A whip sends Dragon into a corner. Clark quickly takes base in the opposite corner and comes charging in, pulling out the cartwheel... and this time LANDING with the Enziguri, also landing a One Hit Kill in the process perhaps. Dragon slumps in the corner and Clark looks for the finish, as he spins The Masked Dance Assassin around and sits him up on the top turnbuckle facing out into the crowd.

 

"

 

"DRA - GON!"

"DRA - GON!"

"DRA - GON!"

"DRA - GON!"

 

Reaching up, Clark hooks his arms around DDD's waist, inch by inch moving him so that just his feet are hanging off the top rope. Clark then steps out and carries Dragon with him in a canadian backbreaker. Reaching up again he now tries to hook the arms, looking to pronounce Dragon Dead On Arrival! However, Dragon suddenly comes to life and puts up a struggle, squirming around until he manages to break Clark's grip... and slides safely down the back.

 

"No, he lost him!"

 

As Clark sprawls forward, Dragon then scrambles up the turnbuckles and launches himself backwards...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...coming down HARD on Clark with a Moonsault, cracking him in the head with his knee in the process!!

 

"OOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

"Moonsault... decapitation~!"

 

Repositioning himself on Clark, Dragon hooks a leg...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

...both legs...

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!!

 

Clark kicks a second too late, by which time the bell is already sounding!

 

"He got him! Dance Dance Dragon picks up his biggest victory to date, he is ROLLING!"

 

 

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

 

"YYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

Groggily, Clark sits up as Walter slides into the ring to chase Dragon off. Happy to take his win and leave Dragon scrambles from the ring and dares to tease Walter quickly with a little Running Man action before he heads off down the aisle in celebration.

 

"This year just keeps getting weirder and weirder." King groans, rubbing away at his forehead.

 

Clearly agreeing, Clark is helped back to his feet by Walter and looks around with a confused look on his face wondering what just happened. He got caught. Again.

[King Cucaracha 0]

(Listen to “Burn this City” by Lil’ Wayne, just for the loop and beginning… my apologies)

 

~

 

The screen is black when suddenly “Burn this City” by Lil’ Wayne featuring Twista begins…

 

This fire…

Burn this city… Burn this city…

This fire….

Burn this city… burn this city…

 

Va’aiga is shown climbing up the turnbuckles and whipping the crowd into a frenzy by throwing the shaka sign into the air. Next Insane Luchador is shown rolling up and energetically throwing his arms up in the air to incite the crowd.

 

This fire…

Burn this city… Burn this city…

This fire…

Burn this city… Burn this city…

 

The song’s bass blasts and Va’aiga is shown rushing at an opponent before attempting, and almost succeeding, with a lariat with intent for decapitation. The song fades away and Insane Luchador is shown lunging forward with a toe kick quickly followed by the Evenflow DDT.

 

This fire is outta’ control…

We’re going to burn this city… burn this city…

 

Va’aiga throws a right jab, a left jab, and finishes up the traditional chain with kissing his hand before nailing a huge right hook, finishing the Boo-yah Combination and sending his foe reeling back before backflipping out of the ring! Next IL locks in the full nelson and hops onto the top ropes before leaping off, swinging his legs to the side, and putting the nail in the coffin with the Brink of Insanity!

 

This fire is outta’ control…

We’re going to burn this city… burn this city…

 

Va’aiga is shown looking intensely into the camera and his intimidating voice ringing clear during his recent address to the fans and Insane Luchador-

 

“Don't blame the Maori for what's going to happen to you. Blame Maddix. Blame El Hombre. Blame the lust for violence amongst the wrestling fans. Hell blame yourself for being dumb enough to turn up.”

 

This fire is outta’ control...

 

The screen catches fire and then IL is seen and he warns-

 

“Do you think that I’m not used to violent situations? Do you think that I’ve been dubbed the Ill One because I’ve made a career out of rolling around on the canvas trying to tie up others’ limbs? Do you think that I’ve gained these scars, every single one, from trying to drop others on their head or being dropped onto mine? Am I completely delusional; am I really considered –that- insane now?”

 

We’re going to burn this city… burn this city…

 

Dueling clips between Va’aiga’s Lariat and Insane Luchador’s Brink of Insanity flash before cutting to Va’aiga capturing the World Title, IL’s Balcony Sault onto Erek Taylor. Once again their voices

 

This fire is outta’ control…

 

“So let me apologise in advance for COOKING YOU LIKE A BEEF JOINT IN A PIT!”

 

“Hell, I don’t think he thought that if Va’aiga wants to throw around threats then I can guar-an-fuckin’-tee that Va’aiga will be burnt like a roasted pig, strung up against a pole, carried out by paramedics and have an apple crammed down his throat.”

 

We’re going to burn this city… burn this city…

 

Images rapidly flash of Insane Luchador and Va’aiga slugging it out with various opponents as the last of the threats are heard-

 

“Cripsy fried Luchador heads the Menu at From the Fire. And there's one Badass Maori chef servin' it up! BOO-YAH!”

 

“But I’ll tell you this- I’ll tell you this one thing coming into all this…

 

Far as I’m concerned, it’s personal… [/i]

 

IL’s voice fades away and the clips burn away from the screen to reveal the Badass Maori leaping onto the middle turnbuckle, throwing the shaka sign, and shouting a resounding “Boo-yah!” Then it cuts away to Luchador’s conclusion of his response-

 

He stands up and leans even closer into the camera before spitting onto the lens, sarcastically making the Shaka sign, and whispering, “Boo-yah.”

This fire…

Burn this city… burn this city…

 

This fire… (fades)

[King Cucaracha 0]

The video package fades away and it cuts to Mak and King at the announcer’s table.

 

“Welcome back and as that video shows, this one is going to get ugly,” Mak says.

 

“It’s not going to be pretty for Luchador,” King laughs.

 

“It’s not going to be pretty for anybody,” Mak corrects. “Those were some fierce words hurled at each other, it all began with Va’aiga simply speaking and was followed by a venomous response from Luchador.”

 

“This match has turned ugly quick and it hasn’t even started yet,” King replies. “This isn’t shocking, though, being thrown into a flaming tables match definitely can rattle their heads- it’s not surprising that they’re practically hyping themselves up. Besides this is a very competitive sport, even more so when the possibility of being burnt alive is present.”

 

“Well, we all knew it’ll be a violent one but after IL’s response to Va’aiga as he put it, it’s going to be personal.”

 

“Because throwing somebody into a flaming table isn’t personal enough,” King dryly points out.

 

“Even more interestingly this will be Va’aiga’s and Insane Luchador’s first encounter against each other,” Mak says.

 

“Unfortunately for IL that’s about to change and in a flaming tables match no less,” King replies.

 

“Both men sounded equally undaunted by the stipulation but that makes sense, both men are well adapted to a hardcore environment.”

 

“That's a real shame for Luchador because this isn’t exactly new turf for Va’aiga… and ‘Luch’ needs every advantage possible.”

 

Well, it’s hard to count Insane Luchador out when it comes to any hardcore match but against Va’aiga, well, he’s more so the underdog than usual,” Mak admits.

 

Right on cue the drums and grinding guitar of “Man in the Box” begins to signal the arrival of the Ill One to a loud pop from the crowd followed by two gigantic streams of red and black pyrotechnics launching off, leaving the lingering smoke hanging as the song really kicks underway. Insane Luchador emerges from the smoke and throws his arms high into the air to milk the cheers.

 

“Introducing… from Easton, Pennsylvania- weighing in at 225 pounds… HE IS YOUR PSYCHOTIC HERO- IIIIIIINNNNSSAAAAANNNEEE LLLLUUUCCHHHAADDDOOOR!”

 

He breaks into a sprint down the aisle, extending his hands for the Luchadorians to slap, and hits ringside, sliding into the ring, rolling up, and energetically throwing his arms into the air once again.

 

“I have to wonder, Mak, how effective Luchador can be when he’s swayed back to his striking ways,” King muses. “He also looks undaunted and confident… which is really, really stupid.”

 

“Va’aiga is a beast and has a nasty, nasty knack for striking, which are perhaps the hardest hits in the federation today,” Mak says. “Basically, Insane Luchador will have to strike quick and often to have any sort of advantage in the striking department.”

 

“Hell, knowing IL he’ll try to go toe-to-toe but I doubt that’ll last long,” King says with a laugh.

 

Suddenly the lights dim and smoke begins to blanket the entrance ramp before two spotlights hone in onto the top of the entrance ramp. The crowd explodes in cheers as Savage’s voice rings out-

 

PITO SUTE AKILAGI! (IT'S THE REEEEMIIIIIX!)

It ain't good, it ain't good 'cos you'll get jumped in my hood!

PITO SUTE AKILAGI! (SAVAGE!)

It ain't good, it ain't good 'cos you'll get jumped in my hood!

 

The Badass Maori steps out and throws a right jab, left jab, and a wide right hook before flashing the shaka sign with a loud “Boo-yah” that rallies the crowd. He pushes the hood off of his head and it’s immediately obvious he’s glaring down at the ring at Insane Luchador, who leans against the ring ropes while taunting. He simply smiles at his opponent in the ring and begins to walk down the entrance ramp shadow boxing on his way down the aisle, briefly stopping to bark “Toasted Luch comin’ up!” at the cameraman.

 

“Next, from Rotorua, Aotearoa… weighing in at 350 pounds… he is one half the SWF Tag Team Champions- the Badass Maori…. VVVVVAAAA’AAAAIIIGGGAAA!”

 

He hits ringside and removes his jacket, tossing it to one of the many ring crew members surrounding the ring- some with lighters, some with gasoline, but most with fire extinguishers. He checks out his surroundings, mostly taking note of the tables already set-up on the outside for each side of the ring. He looks back up and sees the Insane Luchador psychologically smiling but it doesn’t faze the Maori who slides into the ring.

 

“IL’s in for some real trouble,” King snickers.

 

“Insane Luchador certainly never backs down but if he goes punch for punch then he’s obviously lost sight of the match in all the traded words,” Mak replies. “He’s obviously beat in the power department as well and Va’aiga can give Luchador’s seemingly unreal stamina a run for its money, to say the least, but he has speed on his side.”

 

“Sure, he has the speed to steadily dodge and hide from Va’aiga but that doesn’t mean he can really get any successful offense in with flipping and flopping,” King firmly says. “I’m not the Maori’s biggest fan but it’s hard to see it swinging any other way.”

 

“Insane Luchador sounded equally confident, now whether that’s totally unfounded isn’t clear yet,” Mak says. “All I know is that when IL gets into a match, he gets into the match.”

 

“That’s a sad excuse to say he occasionally brings the goods, Mak.”

 

Matthew Kivell advises Luchador and Va’aiga to take a few steps away from each other, ready to explain the brief rules, but Insane Luchador slowly approaches the center of the ring and Va’aiga stalks forward to do the same. They begin to close the gap when Insane Luchador comes out with an early swing, planting a palm strike against his chest. Kivell steps out of their way and signals for the ring bell-

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

The Maori slightly steps back and briefly shakes his head before coming out with a lunging hook that Luchador speedily dodges. He throws a quick jab and a kick to Va’aiga’s legs before peppering in an uppercut that almost sends Maori off-balance. But Va’aiga comes back with a huge overhand right that has Luchador shaken but he foolishly comes back with his own looping overhand.

 

“I told you,” King laughs in reference to his earlier prediction. “I told you and this isn’t going to last long.”

 

Va’aiga comes back with another right hand that’s hard enough to go unanswered so he hits another, and another, and has Luchador stumbling back before dropping him with a third overhand right. The resilient Rickmen rolls right back to his feet and charges forward in an attempt to spear Va’aiga down, only to have Va’aiga budged by it and only to have him wrap his arms around him, throwing him over with a Gutwrench suplex! Insane Luchador rolls away and goes onto one knee before visibly taking a deep breath.

 

“Luchador seems to be getting a hold on himself, which is perhaps the smartest damn thing he can do- be smart about this one,” Mak says.

 

“First, he’s probably gasping for air but second, he’s got to have the right attitude for this one, even if it means letting his emotions go,” King says.

 

Va’aiga surges forward as IL stands back up and he lunges for a grapple, only to have Luchador slip underneath it and stomp on the back of his knee. He uses the opportunity to leap into the air and plant Va’aiga face first into the canvas with a bulldog! He quickly pushes himself back up to his feet but Insane Luchador has already apparently taken refuge on the outside of the ring.

 

“He’s scared,” King laughs.

 

“Actually, I’m pretty sure he’s going to even the odds by snagging a weapon,” Mak correctly says because IL gets down to one knee, digging underneath the ring apron.

 

He eyes one of the tables set up beside him but instead opts to pull out a steel chair early in the match. He watches Va’aiga stand up and smile at the sight of the steel chair, readily taunting to him to just get back into the ring and see what happens. Luchador returns the taunt by shaking the chair twice against the ring apron before sliding into the ring, trying to scramble back up before the advancing Va’aiga catches him. The Maori begins to rain down stomps but Luchador rolls away and instinctively swings the chair into the kneecaps, sending Maori down to one knee, and Luchador stands back up. He brings the chair up into the air, to a mixed response from the crowd, and he goes to swing it down with all intent to crack Va’aiga’s skull but instead the Maori surprises him by surging forward. He grabs a hold of Luchador’s legs and he frantically swings the chair but it’s too late- as Va’aiga flips Luchador over to smack face first into the chair with a spear tackle! The Ill One groans but the feeling of steel to his face is rather familiar since he just rolls away without the chair, leaving Va’aiga to happily pick it up. He simple waits for IL and, in the meanwhile, rallies the crowd with the shaka signs. IL gets back up to his feet and stares at Va’aiga standing there with a chair before boldly, and debatably stupidly, running at him. Va’aiga begins to swing the chair like a baseball bat but Insane Luchador hits the canvas with a roll and smacks him in the chest with the Rolling Koppo Kick, causing him to drop the chair. Luchador nimbly grabs the chair while rolling backwards onto his feet and he surges forward, throwing the chair at Va’aiga, who doesn’t catch it but doesn’t redirect it either. The chair closes in towards his chest and Insane Luchador times a dropkick straight into the chair, and thanks to the beauty of inertia, into Va’aiga’s chest!

 

“Insane Luchador starts to turn the tide with that swift move,” Mak says. “If nothing else, IL knows about every hardcore trick in the book.”

 

Insane Luchador snatches the chair back up and approaches Va’aiga, holding the chair upside down and viciously jabs it down into his opponent’s throat. Even the Badass Maori has to clutch at his throat but quickly responds by grabbing at Luchador’s ankle and using his sheer strength to drop him down to the canvas. The ambivalent crowd begins to respond as Va’aiga quickly sits on him for some good ole fashioned ground and pound. He rains down three quick yet painful elbows before Luchador desperately grabs the chair next to him with one hand and wildly swings it against Va’aiga which allows him worm free. They both get back on their feet and Luchador tries to swing it down from above but it gets grabbed in midair by Va’aiga who quickly throws a front toe kick to Luchador, doubling him over, and letting him snatch the chair. He quickly smacks it against Luchador’s back, causing him to drop onto all fours, and then brings it down once again to flatten him onto the canvas. He insultingly steps onto Luchador’s back before tossing away the chair, sick of Luchador’s uncanny skill to be a hardcore opportunist. He bends down and grabs a handful of Luchador’s spiked hair, yanking him back up to his feet. He grabs the back of his head and pulls it toward him to deliver a head BUTT that lets him easily slip behind Luchador, wrapping his arms around his waist with the waistlock. He quickly heaves Luchador over his head with a release German suplex that folds his neck against the canvas. Va’aiga stands up, glancing back at the groaning Luchador, and throws up a shaka sign to a chorus of cheers from the crowd.

 

“A big release German suplex and this two aren’t holding much back, there hasn’t been, well, any feeling out,” Mak points out.

 

“God, Mak, what feeling out period is needed? There are two guys in that ring and neither one wants to be the one who gets put through a flaming table,” King explains to Mak’s reluctant agreement.

 

IL seeks salvation by rolling to the outside and Va’aiga turns around to just be amused by noticing IL’s retreat, obviously aware he wants a weapon. He quickly slides to the outside laughing at the crawling Luchador, insultingly kicking him in the ass, and stalks behind him. IL looks up to see a frozen employee who holds a fire extinguisher and he barks a threat that causes him to hand over the extinguisher. Insane Luchador snags the fire extinguisher from the ringside crew member, as all the others scatter away, and he flops onto his back, spraying up at Va’aiga to halt his progress. He rolls onto both knees and stops to bring the extinguisher into Va’aiga’s kneecaps like a battering ram, tossing it underneath his legs, continues to roll behind him while grabbing the fire extinguisher again. He stands up and slams it into Va’aiga’s back, dropping it off to the side, and wrapping an arm around his neck before dropping down in a reverse DDT! He leans his face over Va’aiga and unwisely laughs directly in his face before dropping down a hard elbow. He stands back up and reaches down, grabbing a handful of Va’aiga’s hair, pulling him up onto his knees, only so IL can smack him in the face with a hard knee. He lets Va’aiga drop and begins to rain down stomps to his gut before ending it with a stomp onto his head, causing the crowd to show their split support. Insane Luchador looks over at a crew member who strays shy away from him but has captivated Luchador’s attention, mostly for having a Zippo lighter. He walks towards the staff member who willingly hands it over to Luchador, much to his satisfaction.

 

“Well, if nothing else he’s definitely prepared to be able to set that table alight at any time,” Mak says.

 

“It’s certainly a wise move but do you know what another wise move is?” King asks.

 

“What’s that?” Mak curiously asks.

 

King reaches down underneath the announcer’s table and pulls out a Frost Brand ™ cigar. “Investing in Frost Brand cigars, sure you might die quicker but I’ll be damned if the rich, savory flavor isn’t worth it.”

 

“That’s so utterly shameless that I’m not sure how to reply,” Mak responds, watching his partner light it up with a match, beginning to puff on it with a cough.

 

Va’aiga rolls away from the Insane Luchador, onto one knee, and digs underneath the ring to pull out his own chair, a weapon he’s shown amazing proficiency with to a roar of approval from the crowd. IL sees Va’aiga stand up straight with the chair at his side and rolls into the ring, giving himself a bit of time to respond, but the Maori slides right into the ring. He begins to stalk the Ill One down welding the chair and flashing a sadistic grin, who slowly takes back a few steps. Suddenly Luchador stands firm and breaks into a charge directed at Va’aiga. The Badass Maori, slightly taken aback, holds the chair up, and attempts to smash it into his head when Luchador suddenly slides underneath his legs. He pops back up and leaps into the air with a dropkick to the Maori’s back that only sends him stumbling. Luchador stands up and walks towards the Maori who suddenly turns around while swinging the chair through the air and catches the Ill One off guard, cracking him with the head with it! He drops down to the canvas and the Maori tosses the chair onto his face before stomping against it but Luchador clutches his face but evasively rolls away. He rolls back onto his feet and looks down at the chair near the Maori, who soon realizes Luchador’s attention towards it.

 

“I think Luchador’s going to test his speed here and I’m not exactly sure that’s the brightest thing to do,” Mak says.

 

“When has Luchador ever been noted for smart wrestling?” King fires back.

 

Luchador lunges for the chair as the Maori begins to swoop down upon it and he leaps into the air with a leg drop that connects to the back of Va’aiga’s head, driving his face down right onto the chair! He rolls back to his feet and cockily smacks his hands together as if it were easy as pie until cheers begin to pour in and the Ill One notices something isn’t right. He turns around to see the Maori already standing, fuming in anger, and with the chair lifted high above his head! IL feebly kicks him with the front toe kick, which only gets a grunt in response, and Va’aiga brings the chair down hard- cracking Insane Luchador right in the skull! IL sways, ready to drop for the canvas, but somehow manages to stand up and insults Va’aiga for his inability to put him down. This time the Maori jabs him in the gut with the chair and then sends it crashing down against Luchador’s spine, who collapses to all fours, and Va’aiga goes for a fourth chair shot but he luckily rolls away. He gets back up to his feet and Va’aiga charges forward with the chair, only to get stunned by a dropkick from Luchador, who quickly rolls back up and delivers yet another dropkick that still doesn’t drop the Maori. He rolls up a third time and throws a hard front toe kick, dazing Va’aiga, and he runs back into the ropes. He comes charging back and looks ready to leap out but Va’aiga swings the chair while taking a step further, slamming in against Luchador’s cranium with a resounding chair shot. The Ill One drops to a crumbled heap on the canvas, his hands gingerly touching his forehead, and (not to his surprise or anyone else’s) sees the blood on his fingertips. He grunts and tries to recollect himself but the vicious Va’aiga has no intent on giving Rickmen any recovery time, connecting with a hard chair shot onto the ground. He insults Luchador and spits down towards him before lifting the chair high in the air, pausing, and IL makes his move with a hard kick to his kneecap. His knee buckles and Luchador rolls up to his feet to deliver a palm strike directly into the Maori’s face, causing him to drop the chair, and stumble back. The Ill One grabs the chair and throws it into the air, watching it past the Maori, and arc to land right behind him to King’s laughter.

 

“He overshot that one.”

 

IL leaps into the air, grabbing Va’aiga’s head with the headlock, and uses the momentum to swing him over with a tornado DDT right onto the steel chair! The crowd breaks into mixed responses as the Ill One rolls up to his feet and grabs a handful of Va’aiga’s hair to yank him up to his feet. He throws a right kick to his floating ribs, a left kick to the leg, and a kick right to his leg, a left kick to his ribs, a quick right hook, and a left jab that sends the Va’aiga backpedaling near the ropes. Insane Luchador leaps into the air and plants his feet into Va’aiga’s chest with the dropkick with enough power to send the Maori flipping over the ropes, spilling to the outside with a thud that only a 350 pound man could produce. Insane Luchador throws his arms into the air and walks over to the ropes, grabbing hold of them, and the inevitable plancha sends the crowd roaring in approval. IL agilely hops up onto the top rope and uses it as a springboard to leap into the air with a shooting star press, quickly descending on Va’aiga. The Badass Maori simply laughs at the sight and lifts up his knees, leaving Luchador to crash into them, falling off the side with an audible swear followed by a low groan.

 

“Luchador just paid for taking flight and these two are literally right in front of us,” Mak excitedly says.

 

“They better not break this cigar, this things really are too damn expensive,” King admits before grumbling about how he shouldn’t have to purchase the cigars himself if it’s a sponsor.

 

Va’aiga stands up and sees the table a few feet away to his interest and he simply points to it to the crowd’s delight. He heads over to it and barks at one of the employees who doses it in gasoline to the Maori’s sadistic enjoyment. He signals for them to wait to set it on flames and he turns around to go pick up the Ill One. Rickmen, still clutching his ribs in a fetal position, sees the now soaked table, an advancing Va’aiga, and quickly registers the simple fact that he has to get the hell away. He begins to roll away to Va’aiga’s near delight who doesn’t even pick up speed but instead just stalks forward like a serial killer in any good slasher flick. Luchador rolls next to the ring and frantically begins to search for a suitable equalizer before suddenly stopping to everyone’s slight confusion until his eyes open wide and a laugh echoes in the arena. He slowly pulls out a bundle of light tubes attached to a steel handle or, as he so adoringly calls it, he finds his signature weapon, Excalibur! He begins to swipe the blood onto his palms before rubbing it onto the light tube sword in an eerie move. He rolls back up to his feet with a psychotic grin at Va’aiga who doesn’t even opt to arm himself. They slowly head towards it each as the crowd’s tension finally breaks by dissolving into dueling chants-

 

I-L!

I-L!

I-L!

 

BOO-YAH!

BOO-YAH!

BOO-YAH!

 

Insane Luchador lunges out with a baseball swing that Va’aiga jukes out of the way of before sending an overhand right that dazes his opponent. He grabs at Excalibur with his bare hands and tries to pull it free but his hands slide right through thanks to Luchador’s unnerving lubricant. Luchador laughs at the sight and quickly swings it over his head when Va’aiga suddenly brings a forearm up to shield himself, shattering the light tubes in a relatively harmless manner. The Badass Maori steps through the white powder in the air from the broken weapon that IL still clutches onto with a wild glare. He comes at him with a huge elbow smash that stuns the Ill One before making his move, clutching the back of Rickmen’s head with one arm, capturing the leg with the other. He seems ready to hurl Rickmen away with an Exploder Suplex when suddenly the Maori screams in agony to Luchador’s laughing glee. Va’aiga releases a hold of Rickmen and it becomes apparent why as Luchador tugs the remainder of the light tube from his back. He shakes his head at his opponent and violently lashes out by stabbing at Va’aiga right in his face with the stub of Excalibur!

 

“Jesus Christ, Luchador’s ruthlessly hitting him in the face with that!” Mak exclaims with a cringe.

 

“That’s a pain that’ll linger,” King says.

 

Luchador ceases it and tosses Excalibur, or what’s left of it, to the side and watches Va’aiga crumble against the ring apron, clutching his now bloody face. Luchador looks over to the table with a psychotic smile and he steps forward to kick Va’aiga right in the head, just stunning him more. He grabs the gigantic Maori and leads him in the direction of the table, clutching the back of his head, and brings it crashing down against the table before pushing him onto it. He turns to one of the employees holding a gas can and tells him to dose it, only to be informed it has been, and only to reply he knows, encouraging him to dose Va’aiga in the gas!

 

“Now that’s just too far,” Mak says.

 

“You’re supposed to put your opponent through a flaming table, not a flaming opponent through a table,” King spits with disgust.

 

IL steps over, barking threats, and lunges at the gas canister but the crew member shows balls by struggling over it while other crew members come to the site before prying the canister away from Luchador. He begins to argue and pulls out his earlier acquired Zippo lighter near the gasoline can only to fumble with it and accidentally drop it. He swears and when he bends over to pick it up the crew members scatter like cockroaches caught in the light. He turns around in a fuming rage only to see the Badass Maori standing there, well aware of what Luchador just tried to accomplish, and he gets a head BUTT that sends Luchador smacking against the guardrail. Now without any source of fire the Maori struggles before turning to the announcer’s table where King puffs away at the cigar. He stomps over and gets ready to snatch it when suddenly Luchador ambushes him from behind. Va’aiga sends an elbow back against Luchador’s temple, snatches King’s cigar to mild protest, and he whirls around, head butting Luchador again before tossing the cigar onto the table, igniting it to the crowd’s roar.

 

“Now that table is lit up and sorry about the cigar,” Mak says.

 

“It was stale as hell anyway.”

 

Va’aiga doubles Luchador over with a knee to lock in the standing headscissors, wrapping his arms around Luchador’s waist, and wasting no time hoisting him into the air. The Ill One furiously rains down strikes against Va’aiga as the Maori toughs through it, heading straight for the flaming table! Luchador sends a punch straight into one of Va’aiga’s wounds but he continues to head for the table.

 

“This may be it,” Mak exclaims.

 

Luchador sickly grabs a hold of the wound and tries to peel back and Va’aiga begins to drop him but the Ill One reverses it by hurricanrana, sending Va’aiga straight through the flaming table to a deafening mixed response from the crowd! The crew members swarm the scene, instantly extinguishing it, as Luchador drops to the cement with a little thud. He gets onto one knee and Kivell raises his hand into the air in victory-

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“YOUR WINNER… IIIINNNSSAAAANNNEEEE LLLLUUUCCCHHHAADDDOOOOR!”

 

“Insane Luchador has done it in a brief but brutal contest,” Mak exclaims.

 

“IL had some real malicious intent there,” King replies. “But so did Va’aiga, hopefully it’s over between them for their sake and ours.”

 

“It’s hard to tell, King, but don’t move because there’s more to come!”

 

IL is seen taunting Va’aiga before throwing his arms up in the air while the Maori shoves away the paramedics, boldly getting up on his own.

 

FADE TO BLACK

Edited March 2, 2008 by Toxxic

[King Cucaracha 0]

Backstage, Landon Maddix is having an argument.

 

"Tom, look!" the Commissioner snaps, waving a breathalyser. "The red light is on! You've been at the Bourbon again!"

 

"Have not," Flesher argues, but the slight slur in his voice gives the lie to his words. Flesher is a stocky man and he can hold his liquor, but he seems to have been taking too many classes at the Nathaniel Kibagami Class Of Match Preparation.

 

"Tom, I'm sorry to have to do this," Maddix sighs, shaking his head, "especially since it's future ticket revenue I'm losing, but... turn around please."

 

Flesher turns around.

 

"Urk!"

 

*BANG!*

 

"Thanks," Landon says absently to President Ramu as she steps over Flesher's chokeslammed form. "Now, Annie isn't even in the building as far as I know..."

 

"Last we heard, she was in a strip club," Megan calls from the back office. Landon rolls his eyes, then looks down at Ramu. "Hey, that'll be licensed premises," he tells her seriously, "you won't be able to get in."

 

Ramu just sticks out her tongue and leaves.

Edited March 2, 2008 by Toxxic

[King Cucaracha 0]

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

 

"YYYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

 

Already halfway down the aisle, Maddix continues his PR exercise with the crowd as he shakes away at all the hands he can get to, only stopping to milk the cheer that goes up for his introduction. To save time Landon simply waves to the furthest away section of the crowd, not fancying the entire tour of ringside in a rare show of restraint and instead sliding into the ring. The Commissioner shares a handshake with Funyon, the irony being how much smartly dressed the ring announcer is compared to the guy in control of the entire show.

 

"Buenos Días, Cincinnati!"

 

"YYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY!!

 

Oh, he knows how to work a crowd, huh?

 

"First things first, the continued thanks of myself and Co-Commissioner Skye for your continued support of the Cucaracha Era in the SWF. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. This job is a pretty stressful one, as I've come to find out over the past few months, so it helps to know I've got people on my side. And I know there's all these rumours floating around about additions to the management team of the SWF and all of that stuff. But I think it's clear for all to see, the success of the SWF post-Genesis has been down to Landon Maddix and Landon Maddix alone, so hey if it ain't broke don't fix it, that's what Mama Maddix always told me."

 

"Nice to see he's grown humbler in his new role, isn't it?" chides King.

 

"So all that aside, let's talk business. Let's talk the future. We've got the big main-event coming up later on tonight and it will feature two profiteers of what is being called The Year Of The Upset here in the SWF in 2008. Granted it's only February, but it worked for the UFC, so whatever."

 

Landon shrugs, mouthing something about 'buyrates'.

 

"Yes. Tonight it will be the Clusterfuck winner, El Hombre Sin Nombre, taking on the SWF World Champion Michael Alexander. And take it from somebody who knows, that being the ONLY two-time Clusterfuck winner in history, moi, that The Year Of The Upset may only just be getting started. So we look forward to that later on. Now, from there, we will be back in action across the month of March, beginning on the 13th and then again for Battleground 2008 on the 27th. And the onus is going to be on the future. The proverbial glass ceiling has been down from the day I arrived and things aren't going to change. Too many past greats are coasting along on legacies, legacies that are finally being tarnished by the upset kids. And I'm all for that. There's no such thing as name value in the SWF anymore. Guys, and girls, are going to get their shots on merit and everybody is going to have to earn their bookings. So, with tha-"

 

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

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

 

Landon looks round, a long-suffering expression on his face as the raucous chorus fades into the oozing bassline of ‘The Gush’ by Raging Speedhorn. The cameras cut away from Maddix to focus on the soundstage (probably earning the producer a telling-off from the Commissioner when he sees the show) as the large ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG’ logo flashes up one word after another on the Smarktron.

 

“Well, here’s the victim of one of those upsets,” Mak Francis comments, “someone we haven’t seen since his title loss at the Clusterfuck…”

 

However, the normal grandiose, self-indulgent entrance of the longest-reigning World Champion in SWF history does not take place. Instead Toxxic strolls out in his ‘casual’ clothes of… well, the baggy trousers he normally wears to the ring, plus one of his old ‘Hardcore Punk’ T-shirts with the barbed wire font. However, a new addition is the sling that holds his left arm.

 

“Landon, if I can just cut you off there…” Toxxic begins, then grins. “Well, we’ve all just seen that I can cut you off there so, uh, go me.” He grins again and tries to shrug apologetically, then winces. “Bloody hell… yes folks, I’m afraid that if you haven’t been keeping up with the very latest SWF news at ‘www.smartmarkswrestling.com/smarkwire’,” he pauses and mimes shooting a gun at Landon with the forefingers and thumb of his slinged left hand in a ‘look at me plugging the company website’ way, “you’ll have missed the news that the Straight-Edge Sensation is currently out of commission. I suffered a torn pectoral muscle in my title defence against Michael Alexander,” he continues, the tone of his voice rising slightly as he directs a warning glare at Maddix, “and I won’t be stepping back into that ring for several months. However,” he smirks, “everyone will be pleased to note that it hasn’t affected my microphone arm.”

 

“More’s the pity,” Francis grumbles.

 

“Anyway,” Toxxic continues, now starting to climb the ring steps towards where Landon stands, rolling his eyes and rotating one hand in a ‘move this along’ way, “I thought I’d come out here and say something that you all never thought I’d say, that I never thought I’d say, that Landon himself never thought I’d say…” He steps into the ring, walks up to Maddix and places his hand, with microphone, on Maddix’s shoulder for a second before stepping back and raising it to his mouth again.

 

“…Landon, you are absolutely, one hundred percent right.”

 

There is a brief moment of stunned silence. Then a slow grin creeps across Maddix’s face.

 

“On this one thing,” Toxxic hastily adds, halting but not destroying the smile. The Englishman spreads the black-nailed fingers on his right hand to ask for more time to speak, although not so much that he drops the mic. “You see Landon, I agree with you about past greats coasting along on legacies. People like Tom Flesher, still living off the achievements of being World Champion what, five years ago?”

 

“Shit, don’t tell me that,” King groans, covering his face, “was it really that long ago?”

 

“For you it was much, much longer,” Francis tells him without a shred of sympathy.

 

“OK, so when did you hold the World Title, wise guy?”

 

“I mean, we all know that I pretty much smashed the glass ceiling the moment I stepped into this company,” Toxxic continues, oblivious of the commentary team’s in-fighting, “but what can I say, some of us just rise quicker than others. But yes Landon,” he states, turning back to the Commissioner, “I think booking on merit is a great idea. Kudos to you.”

 

“Uh, Mike,” Landon smirks, “I’ve got something to tell you. When I was talking about past greats coasting along on legacies…”

 

Toxxic’s head tilts slightly to one side.

 

“…well, I was also talking about you.”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

The crowd cheer on general principles, because this is Toxxic and although he can be amusingly insulting to people they don’t like sometimes, it’s also amusing when he gets insulted himself. Toxxic’s eyebrows raise at Landon’s statement and the Straight-Edge Sensation appears to be lost for words for a moment.

 

Appearances can be deceptive, mind you.

 

“Landon, I’ve got something to tell you,” Toxxic informs the Commissioner, “something which may give you some insight on why I’m out here instead of eating pizza in Sacremento, which is what I told you I’d be doing. You see sunshine, when you were talking earlier about rumoured additions to the SWF management team…”

 

Landon’s eyes widen slightly.

 

“…well, then you were also talking about me.”

 

The crowd reaction this time is not as noisy, but is certainly mixed. However, nothing is as eloquent as Mak and King who are seen on camera to look at each other, then put their heads in their respective hands.

 

“Yes folks, there’s been a vacancy in the old General Manager position since Joe Peters went the way of the dodo,” Toxxic informs the audience and Landon, “but not any longer! It seems that the Board have decided there should be someone on hand to counterbalance your, shall we say, more ‘creative’ ideas for booking matches,” the Englishman says, casting an eye around at the wreckage left by the Into The Fire match, “and make sure that there is a strong wrestling presence on the show. Oh,” he continues, lowering his voice slightly and talking to Landon, “and that someone should, unlike Megan Skye, be able to use a microphone.”

 

“FI-IRE TOXX-IC!”

 

“FI-IRE TOXX-IC!”

 

The fans seem to have come to a conclusion; Landon Maddix, meanwhile, looks vaguely lost and slightly distraught. Toxxic starts to put a comforting arm around his shoulder, then realises that if he does that he won’t be able to speak audibly, so he settles for chucking Landon’s shoulder with the hand that holds the microphone.

 

“C’mon, don’t worry!” he tells La Cucaracha, “The Galacticos are back together, and now we’re running the show! And,” he adds with a mischievous grin, “we always have a plan!”

 

“Hey! That’s my line! You stole my-”

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

[King Cucaracha 0]

“Well, fans, we’re back for our main event of the evening!” Mak Francis pipes. “We’ve had a great evening here in Cincinnati so far, and our next match should prove no exception.”

 

“You’re right about that much. We’re about to see Michael Alexander destroy that upstart lucha-dud before he even gets his own mask. Ha!” The Suicide King laughs.

 

The cameras pan out to reveal the fans packed into the Cintas Center, and the camera men focus on various fan signs including: “I’ve got El Hombre’s mask!”; “If it ain’t broke, it soon will be!”; and “Get used to being second best!” The crews shift the scene back to the ring itself as Referee Matthew Kivell and Funyon enter.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Funyon begins, his voice rising as he continues. “The following match is our main event of the evening. It will be three falls, under Lucha Libre rules, for SWF World Heavyweight Championship!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!”

 

“First, the challenger…the first rookie to ever win the Clusterfuck in his debut match…from…uh…’Parts Unnamed’…weighing in at 165 pounds…”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

Funyon blares to overcome the crowd noise. “He is…EL HOOOOOOOOOOOOOMBRE SIN NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMBRE!”

 

“YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

The crowd roars as “Welcome to the Black Parade” by My Chemical Romance heralds the somewhat nervous entrance of El Hombre. Seeing the crowd’s reaction, the rookie sensation strikes a classic heroic pose, his cape flapping about him due to the conveniently placed fans on the stage area. He points out to the crowd to either side of the ramp, then dashes down at a full run, springing up the apron then flipping over the top rope. He raises his hands and the crowd goes wild yet again!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“These people in Ohio are seriously into this rookie, King.”

 

“Oh, please, Francis. These people are so jealous of the phenomenon that is Michael Alexander that they’ll cheer for anyone that goes up against him.”

 

“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.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Funyon breaks into the crowd’s jeers. “And the opponent…the SWF World Heavyweight Champion…hailing from Greenville, South Carolina…weighing in at 221 pounds…the Mad Scientist of the Mat…MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAEL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALEXAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDER!”

 

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. Michael ascends the steps to the ring, stepping lithely through the ropes. He looks over at the luchador and pats the championship belt, then points at the youngster and shakes his head dismissively.

 

“The champion seems to be taking this match very lightly, King. That’s dangerous. This kid’s not here on a day pass; he earned this shot.”

 

“Earned?! He got lucky in the Clusterfuck, and you know it Francis! You and I were both there! Alexander’s supposed to take a title challenge from someone who hasn’t even got his own freaking IDENTITY yet seriously? This kid is riding a fluke, Francis, and tonight he’s at the end of it.”

 

“I don’t know, King; it has been the Year of the Upset…stranger things have happened. Alexander won his first title match barely a month ago, and just managed to get by Manson a couple of weeks ago.”

 

“Year of the Upset? Maybe, Francis, but look at what side of your ‘upsets’ that Michael’s been on…he’s beaten Toxxic, he managed to survive MANSON, hallowed be His Name, and he’s still the champion.”

 

“And so far, El Hombre has been in a similar situation,” Mak points out. “He was on the good side of a serious upset at the Clusterfuck, if you’ll recall. Add to that this match is Regla de Lucha Libre, which is the kid’s element…”

 

Michael Alexander glares disdainfully at El Hombre, who shifts his feet nervously, bouncing on his heels like a boxer. Referee Matt Kivell checks with both men, who nod, and calls for the bell to start things off.

 

DING! DING!

 

The two men close in a collar-and-elbow tieup, which Alexander immediately takes control of with a side headlock. He grinds on the hold for a moment, then pivots, using the headlock to whip his opponent to the mat. Once there, Alexander slaps the head of the luchador several times. Fuming, El Hombre wraps his legs around the head of Alexander, showing that characteristic lucha flexibility, pulling the Mad Scientist into a head scissors. Alexander quickly manages to squirm free of the hold, but before he can move to keep El Hombre down, the luchador has kipped up to his feet.

 

“Michael Alexander starts things off as usual,” Mak laments. “He seems to get way too much joy out of slapping other people.”

 

“The joy of delivering richly deserved comeuppance, Francis,” King replies. “I remember it well. But of course, because of your bias against Michael, you omit that he opened the match with a classic wrestling exchange.”

 

“I know that, King, but his disrespect for his opponent detracts from his performace.”

 

“How can you have any respect when you’ve been forced into the ring with someone who DOESN’T EVEN HAVE HIS OWN GIMMICK? For MANSON’s sake, Francis, look at this!”

 

The two men circle each other, again coming together in a collar-and-elbow, but this time Alexander takes hold his opponent’s wrist, twisting El Hombre right arm around a hammerlock. The luchador reaches over his shoulder and grabs Michael’s head in a half-cravate and tries to snapmare the Evil Genius. However, the Mad Scientist has other plans, and simply keeps a deathgrip on the hammerlock, putting the breaks on the attempt. El Hombre winces at the pain in his arm and release the cravate.

 

“Another brilliant show of wrestling skill by Michael, even countering the attempted ‘mare by El Hombre,” Mak acknowledges.

 

“Glad to see you can put prejudice aside, Francis,” King nods. Mak grumbles something under his breath and away from his mike.

 

Michael takes the opportunity to immediately clip the young luchador with a drop toehold, which he rolls through to clamp on another headlock. He again slaps the back of El Hombre’s head, berating him. In a surge of youthful indignance, the luchador powers his way back up, and upon reaching his feet fires a series of forearm shots into the ribs of the Mad Scientist. These force a break in the headlock, and El Hombre grabs the arm of Michael Alexander and executes a beautiful armdrag to put the Evil Genius down on the mat.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“That disrespect finally came back to bite him, King,” Mak points out. “It’s lit a fire beneath El Hombre, and Michael’s getting burnt.”

 

“Oh, please! The kid escaped from a headlock? That’s supposed to impress me, Francis?”

 

Alexander is right back to his feet in a rage, but his fury is checked by a perfect dropkick right to the jaw, which sends Alexander crashing back to the mat. With a speed seen only in luchadors, El Hombre pops right back to his feet and, before Michael can even move from his supine position, executes a standing backflip senton onto the Mad Scientist. Before Alexander has time to grunt, his opponent hooks his leg and goes for a quick pin!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“El Hombre with a flurry of offense on Alexander! He’s going for the pin!” Mak exclaims.

 

“What?! No way is that going to get a three count…!” King’s rising voice takes some of the sting from his denial.

 

ONE…!

 

NO!

 

The Evil Genius kicks out quickly and scrambles out of the ring to break up this momentum. The crowd disapproves of this, but Alexander ignores them as the referee begins his count.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

One…

Two…

Three…

Four…

 

“Michael Alexander exits the ring after a serious run of offense by El Hombre,” Mak observes. “It seems he might need to reassess his view of this youngster.”

 

“Why? Michael’s just making use of a very sound strategy to break up that Mexican Jumping Bean’s momentum. That’s all those lucha-duds have, and if you don’t let them use it, then they can be grounded just like anyone else,” King pronounces smugly.

 

El Hombre, his blood pumping, can’t resist this temptation. He charges to the opposite ropes and rebounds, flipping out over the top rope to land on Michael Alexander’s shoulders and bring him to the floor with a fantastic huracanrana!

 

“HOLY SHIT!”

 

“HOLY SHIT!”

 

“El Hombre with an awesome flipping huracanrana to the floor!” Mak yells. “He’s really giving this match everything he’s got!”

 

“He’d better, because that’s the only way he’s walking out of this arena tonight, Francis. Unfortunately for this little Halloween reject, what he’s got will not be enough to get him past Michael Alexander. This is just like how a fish flops around once you’ve landed it; lots of energy, a lot of jumping around, but ultimately it’s done for.”

 

Five…

Six…

Seven…

 

Wishing to capitalize on the situation, the exhuberant luchador picks Alexander up and shoves him back into the ring. He then climbs up onto the apron, waiting until Michael gets back to his feet before leaping up and springing off the top rope in a springboard elbow smash!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Unfortunately for Michael Alexander, this fish still has some serious bite to him, King. You’re dismissing this kid too readily, and I think you and Alexander are going to be surprised…unpleasantly.”

 

“Flop, flop, flop, Francis…then into the frying pan. Mark my words.”

 

Michael is knocked back down to the mat, and El Hombre, his adrenaline pumping, kips up, raising his arms to the crowd and pointing to the turnbuckle, which he leaps up to mount, his back to the prone Evil Genius. The luchador then leaps backwards, twisting to execute a corkscrew moonsault! He goes for the pin as the crowd roars!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“El Hombre nails that Corkscrew Moonsault! This could be it…!” Mak shouts.

 

“NO WAY! Get up, Michael!” King squeals.

 

ONE…!

 

TWO…!

 

NO!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“I told you so, Francis,” King squawks, his voice still squeaking.

 

“That’s a two count, King. From a guy you were ready to laugh out of the arena just a few minutes ago.”

 

Alexander kicks out just in time. He rolls to the ropes in an attempt to gain a brief respite, but El Hombre is on a roll. The young masked man goes right after Alexander, grabbing his arm and twisting it into a standing arm bar. Michael snarls in fury and pain at being caught in this hold, but he takes a moment to regain composure before making his move. El Hombre, being a luchador, has no intention of simply using a weardown hold, and pulls the Mad Scientist to the corner, where he runs up the turnbuckle, still holding the arm bar, then backflips off to execute a strange corkscrew variation of a flying arm drag, using the barred arm to flip Alexander head over heels.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Incredibly athletic move from El Hombre!” Mak cheers. “He’s keeping Michael Alexander off balance with his unorthodox offense, and if he manages to keep it up, he might just become the SWF’s youngest World Heavyweight Champion…”

 

“Never going to happen, Francis. I’m telling you this is just the flash before the fizzle.”

 

Alexander makes good use of the momentum of the move to put some distance between the two, rolling to the far corner to gain a little breathing room. El Hombre charges after him immediately, barreling into the corner, only to crash into the upraised boot of Alexander. The young luchador staggers back, and Alexander charges out himself with a crisp running knee lift which looks like it might just have taken El Hombre’s head off, as the luchador almost flips over backwards, landing on his head and neck.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“El Hombre’s exuberance got the better of him, and he paid for it,” Mak sighs.

 

“Nonsense, Franics. Michael Alexander just got the better of this upstart. He was luring this kid in like a classic angler,” King continues with his fishing analogy happily.

 

The Evil Genius grabs El Hombre’s right leg, and steps over it with his own right leg, twisting the luchador’s knee at a painful angle around his leg, then drops to the mat, using the additional force of the drop to put even more pressure on the hold. El Hombre grunts in pain and Michael wrenches the hold mercilessly as his opponent struggles to drag himself toward the salvation of the ropes.

 

“HOMBRE! HOMBRE! HOMBRE!”

 

“Alexander is at his most dangerous once he’s zeroed in a body part,” Mak warns. “El Hombre can’t afford to stay in this kind of position.”

 

“What’s he going to do, Francis? The damage is done, and now the sharks are circling.”

 

“What is it with you and fish tonight?”

 

With the support of the crowd, the young luchador manages to scrape just far enough to grasp the bottom rope. Referee Matt Kivell calls for the break, but Alexander is conveniently unmindful until Kivell’s count reaches four, at which point he release the hold nonchalantly. El Hombre hauls himself back to his feet, favoring his leg a little. Michael Alexander smiles like a waiting crocodile.

 

“The challenger managed to make it to the ropes and break the hold, but it looks like the hold did its job,” Mak laments.

 

“Well, what did you expect, Francis? This is what Michael Alexander does…he takes people apart. Let’s see this little masquerader hop around with a gimp leg, eh?” King laughs.

 

El Hombre watches warily as Alexander closes with him again, but not warily enough, as Alexander delivers a series of lightning-quick kicks to his weakened leg. The luchador hops back, using the ropes for a bit of support. As Alexander charges in, sensing weakness, El Hombre uses the ropes for balance and his left leg for bounce, leaping up to clamp his legs around the head of the Evil Genius and roll him over with a flying headscissors!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Well, King?”

 

“Shut up, Francis! So he managed to do a headscissors! Big deal! You and I both know that leg is hurt, and that’s all a guy like Alexander will need to finish this kid off.”

 

Michael Alexander, taken aback momentarily, is slow to recover, stumbling back to his feet in time to meet a barrage of quick punches from El Hombre, driving Michael into the corner. The young luchador then grabs Alexander’s wrist and drags him into an Irish whip, which Alexander promptly reverses, sending El Hombre into the opposite corner, charging in after him…but the young luchador grabs the top rope and leaps up into a handstand, coming down behind Michael as he charges in…

 

“El Hombre with a perfect handstand on the turnbuckle, and Alexander’s already in the turnbuckle…! This kid may be setting Alexander up for something…!” Mak exclaims.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAA-!”

 

But the rookie sensation lands a little too hard on his right leg, causing him to stumble…allowing Michael Alexander to whip a spinning back elbow into his jaw, spinning him around...leaving him open for a quick back suplex lift by the Evil Genius, which Alexander turns into a spinning Blue Thunder bomb! Michael grabs El Hombre’s legs and holds him down for the pin…!

 

“He set Alexander up to hit him with the Event Horizon!” King gloats. “One fall down…”

 

“Looks like that leg gave him some trouble, and Alexander was there to capitalize,” Mak admits.

 

ONE…!

 

TWO…!

 

THREE…!

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Matthew Kivell forces both men to go to opposite corners as Funyon blares out the result of the first fall. “The first fall goes to Michael Alexander…! Two falls remain…!” El Hombre rubs the back of his head a bit and still seems to be favoring his right leg. Michael Alexander seems to ooze smugness now. Kivell looks to both men, then motions for the next fall to begin.

 

“And the second fall begins, with Alexander up by one. El Hombre has to win this fall, or it’s over,” Mak states.

 

“Oh, it’s already over, Francis,” King snorts. “El Whatshisname just doesn’t know it yet.”

 

El Hombre and Alexander close once more, but this time Michael shoots low, coming up with a quick single-leg pickup, then kicks the remaining leg away, causing the luchador to crash to the mat! The Evil Genius then tucks El Hombre’s right leg under his left arm and steps over to lock in a single leg crab, crouching back to lock his legs around the rookie’s head in a reverse headscissors, completing the loop of the Ouroboros II by rolling over onto his right side!

 

“Alexander hooks in the Ouroboros II! El Hombre’s in big trouble if he can’t work his way out of this!” Mak says.

 

“El Hombre was in trouble when he accepted this match, Francis. Now he’s just getting what he deserves.”

 

El Hombre yelps in pain as the Mad Scientist puts pressure on his neck and right leg with the painful submission. Luckily for the young luchador, the rolling portion of the hold has placed him just close enough to stretch out his left leg and hook the bottom rope. Matt Kivell calls for the break, which Alexander once again ignores until Kivell counts to four.

 

“Why can’t anybody break the hold when it’s called for?” Mak asks.

 

“Because you don’t have to break the hold until the count of four, Francis,” King replies pointedly.

 

A wicked grin spreads across Michael Alexander’s face as he casually rises from the mat and listens to the futile admonitions of the referee. El Hombre manages to get back to his feet, but the damage done is obvious as he seems to be favoring his right leg even more than before. Never one to miss such things, Michael Alexander stalks the young luchador and delivers a vicious kick to El Hombre’s right leg, buckling it. Only a death grip on the ropes allows El Hombre to remain upright, and only the most stubborn will of youth and desperation account for the barrage of knife-edge chops that he fires into the chest of his opponent. Alexander staggers back from the stinging chops, and El Hombre grabs his wrist and whips him into the ropes, catching him on the rebound with a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“El Hombre manages to get himself back in this match with a barrage of chops and that somewhat ill-advised tiltawhirl backbreaker, King.”

 

“Hmmph. Leave it to an idiot rookie to use a move that impacts his own legs after his legs have been worked over,” King grumbles. “He’s obviously only hurting himself, Francis.”

 

“Well, it looks like it hurt Michael Alexander a bit, too,” Mak replies smugly. “To be fair.”

 

Michael lands on the mat, arching his back in shock and pain. Unfortunately, even though El Hombre was savvy enough not to drop Alexander over his right knee, the move nonetheless placed some stress on the luchador’s injured leg. He hobbles back to his feet just in time to see Michael Alexander scramble back up as well, and the two eye each other warily. Michael again charges forward and snatches the young luchador’s right leg, lifting it up as he taunts his opponent. It’s apparently been a little too long since Michael’s last tour of Mexico, or he probably would have remembered that leaving a luchador hopping on one foot while holding the other is an invitation for something dangers…and El Hombre reminds him of this with a backflip kick that cracks Alexander right under the chin!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“And again Michael Alexander’s overactive ego and sadistic streak come back to bite him,” Mak admonishes. “Even a rookie is going to figure a move out if you do it twice in rapid succession.”

 

“The kid’s getting lucky, Francis, and that’s all there is to it. Michael’s also still recovering from his match with MANSON only a couple of weeks ago. That’s got to be what the problem is.”

 

The Mad Scientist crashes to the mat, while El Hombre manages to land somewhat better. He scrambles back to his feet as best he can, and leaps into a shooting star flip to land on a supine Evil Genius with a decided thump! The referee goes for the count…!

 

ONE…!

 

TWO…!

 

NO!

 

“Another close call for Michael! I think you and he are taking El Hombre far too lightly, King.”

 

“Say what you want, Francis. So far, I see this kid getting a few moves in spurts, then getting shot down hard. And you’ll notice that his pins all seem to come up just a little…short.”

 

Michael Alexander surges up in a fury, and El Hombre barely able to get back to his feet in time to meet the incensed charge of the Mad Scientist, who fires a series of forearm shots into the head of the young luchador. Forcing his foe into the corner, Alexander then shifts to a barrage of alternating knife-edge and kesagiri chops, finishing the fusillade off with a sharp knee to the gut. Michael then grabs El Hombre’s wrist and initiates an Irish whip…which El Hombre reverses, sending Michael crashing into the opposite turnbuckle. His adrenaline surging again, the young luchador ignores the pain in his leg and begins cartwheeling toward said turnbuckle and springs at Michael Alexander with the point of his elbow extended…but the Evil Genius bolts out of the way, leaving El Hombre to crash into the turnbuckle!

 

“Alexander lured this kid into yet another mistake, Francis,” King chirps. “When are you going to admit that the kid is in over his head?”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

As the young luchador staggers out of the turnbuckle, Michael Alexander grabs him and lifts him into a fireman’s carry, then begins to spin…

 

ONCE…

 

“El Hombre’s in the Crucible…!” Mak gasps.

 

TWICE…

 

“And we all know where that’s going to put him,” King adds happily. “Tied into a certain kind of knot, I think.”

 

And then he flings El Hombre off his shoulders for the flapjack that completes the Crucible…but the young luchador’s legs clamp tightly around Alexander’s arm and shoulder, using them as a base from which to whip himself back around behind the Evil Genius and grab the opposite arm while rolling backwards, pulling a surprised Alexander into a modified crucifix rollup!

 

ONE…!

 

TWO…!

 

THREE!

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“What the?!” King chokes.

 

“Holy crap! El Hombre just pinned Michael Alexander! It’s tied up at one fall apiece! Things just got very interesting, folks!” Mak says.

 

Matthew Kivell holds up three fingers and points to El Hombre. Funyon’s drawl echoes through the arena. “The second fall goes to El Hombre Sin Nombre!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“One fall remains, and the winner of the next fall will be the SWF World Heavyweight Champion!” Funyon is cut off as Michael Alexander immediately renews his assault on El Hombre, kicking and stomping the young luchador before Kivell can move to intervene. The Mad Scientist’s face is painted in various shades of raw fury as he begins to focus his onslaught on his opponent’s right leg once more. Kivell finally manages to push Alexander back with the threat of a disqualification, which would grant the deciding fall to his opponent. Only that seems to push Michael back from the brink, and he stalks away to the opposite corner as Kivell checks on El Hombre, who nods assent as he doggedly rises back to his feet. The referee then calls for the third fall to officially begin.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Alexander with yet another showing of bad sportsmanship,” Mak sighs. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect any different from him at this point.”

 

“Bad sportsmanship? He was ready to immediately go back to the contest at hand, Francis. That’s the best sportsmanship, as far as I’m concerned.”

 

The Evil Genius rushes in immediately to clip El Hombre’s right leg with a Grizzly-style clothesline, spilling the young luchador face-first to the mat. The Mad Scientist then grabs El Hombre’s right leg and hauls him bodily toward the ropes. He then pulls the leg between the bottom and middle rope, laying it across the bottom rope and stepping onto it, putting pressure on the calf and knee of the injured leg by bouncing the rope. The young luchador howls in pain, but that howl ends in a scream as Alexander springs over the top rope to deliver a double stomp right to El Hombre’s exposed knee.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“The gloves are off now, Francis. If you really like this kid, you better roll over there and throw in a towel for him.”

 

“El Hombre has come this far on his own power, King. I think he at least deserves some respect for that.”

 

“I’ll respect him if he leaves the ring under his own power after Alexander is done with him, Francis. How’s that?”

 

Michael Alexander laughs cruelly as his opponent writhes in agony. El Hombre rolls to the corner in an attempt to use the corner for support as he tries to get back to his feet. The Mad Scientist follows El Hombre to the corner and begins an Irish whip, but holds onto it, and instead of whipping the luchador across the ring, he fires him chest-first right into the corner he just left, driving the air out of El Hombre in an audible whoosh. As El Hombre staggers back out of the corner, Michael hooks in a full nelson and snaps his young opponent over in a release Dragon Suplex!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Michael’s on a roll now,” King laughs. “El Hombre’s fifteen minutes of fame are just about up.”

 

“Alexander delivered that Dragon Suplex with authority,” Mak comments sadly. “El Hombre may need medical attention for more than his leg.”

 

As his opponent slowly regains his senses, Michael nonchalantly steps through the ropes to the apron, his wicked grin returning. He hops on the apron as the young luchador slowly rises back to his feet. The Evil Genius then springs up to the top rope and leaps toward his black-masked opponent. Funny thing about that mask…it covers the eyes, so you never know what the man beneath it can see. Say, whether he has glanced over to see his opponent waiting on the apron in an obvious position for a springboard move of some sort, and prepared to meet said move with a dropkick, perhaps? Such is the speculation that may have run through a springboarding Michael Alexander’s mind as he notices that El Hombre has also become airborne and that El Hombre’s feet seem to have placed themselves in eerily perfect position to allow Michael Alexander’s face to crash into them unceremoniously…

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“HOMBRE! HOMBRE! HOMBRE!”

 

“That sneaky little…!” King growls.

 

“El Hombre lured Alexander into that one!” Mak laughs. “And the self-proclaimed ‘Evil Genius’ leapt face-first into El Hombre’s boots!”

 

Both men land on the mat, with Michael Alexander looking the worse for their midair encounter. El Hombre gets to his feet again and, true to his instincts, heads for the high ground, climbing the nearest turnbuckle. Checking again to assure that Alexander hasn’t moved, the young luchador springs over to the middle of the top rope, where we notice a slight wobble in his right leg as he balances there for a second before springing backwards in beautiful Asai moonsault.

 

“Dios Mio~!” Mak yells. “That could be it…!” The Suicide King chokes hoarsely.

 

The perfect moment is ruined, however, by Michael Alexander’s absence from the point of impact, leaving El Hombre to careen helplessly toward the bare canvas. To his credit, the young luchador tries to land on his feet, and does…but his injured right leg buckles, causing him to stagger. The situation is not improved by the devastating clip from Michael Alexander’s vicious chopblock.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“I think that really was it, Francis,” King rallies, his voice only a little shaky. “For El Hombre, that is.”

 

The instant the luchador crashes face-down to the mat, Michael is on him, weaving El Hombre’s legs into position, and snapping down to the mat to tie the Gordian Knot! El Hombre howls in pain as his injured leg is twisted at an angle never intended by its evolution. In his agony he flails for the ropes, but they are too far away. He tries to raise himself to pull himself closer, but a sharp wrench of the hold from the Mad Scientist brings him crashing back down to the mat, no closer to the ropes than before.

 

“He just tied the Gordian Knot! I don’t know what El Hombre can do, but if he’s got anything else, now is the time!” Mak urges.

 

“The only thing he’s got left is an improv of ‘Shave and a Haircut’ on the mat, Francis.”

 

“HOMBRE! HOMBRE! HOMBRE!”

 

Looking out, El Hombre feels his leg being stretched to its breaking point. He knows that he can’t reach the ropes without placing even further pressure on his agonized limb. And in the final analysis, he knows that further struggle will only make it worse. But there is one thing that can end it, and El Hombre makes his decision, though it is only slightly less painful.

 

TAP! TAP! TAP!

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Surprisingly, Michael Alexander releases the hold immediately after the bell, with only a minor wrench to bring his point home. El Hombre hold his leg in pain, as Matt Kivell somewhat reluctantly raises the hand of the winner. Funyon bellows, “Here is your winner…and STILL SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION…MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAEL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALEXAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDER!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Michael Alexander successfully defends yet again, although I would say he got a little more than he bargained for out of El Hombre tonight, King.”

 

“Whatever, Francis. Bargain, schmargin. Look who’s got the belt, and who’s going to visit their physical therapist tomorrow. Welcome to the show, kid.”

 

“Thanks for joining us, folks,” Mak shills. “And Good Night, Cincinatti!”

 

Michael Alexander sports a wicked grin once more as he holds his title belt up as he rolls out of the ring over the top rope. He straps it around his waist and pats it poignantly while walking up the ramp.

 

“EL HOMBRE! EL HOMBRE! EL HOMBRE!”

 

The crowd’s chant heralds the young luchador’s lurch to his feet, hobbling to the ropes for support, staring up at Michael Alexander. The Evil Genius returns the stare, his grin never faltering, and shakes his head at the luchador as we…

 

FADE OUT.