BATTLEGROUND 2008!

[Toxxic 0]

BATTLEGROUND

Taped LIVE to DVD from the Boardwalk Hall in Atlantic City, New Jersey!




All items due by 7pm EST. Send all marked matches, promos etc to Toxxic

Main Event
SWF World Cruiserweight Title
Wildchild© vs Taiga Star
Wildchild is a name synonymous with the Cruiserweight Division, a wrestler who has battled over the years to give his weight group the respect he feels they deserve. Taiga is a newcomer to the SWF who has battled all her life to get the respect she feels she deserves, and wants to make a case for the 'wrestler, not diva' movement among female competitors. Taiga was on a roll and got this title shot by beating MANSON and The Fabulous Jakey, but did the first loss of her SWF career to S.I.N. put a stutter in her step? Can even a fully-firing Taiga best possibly the best wrestler to have never held the World Heavyweight Title (arguably because he hasn't wanted to rather than because he couldn't)? It's all gonna go down in Atlantic City, and we're going to find out the result!

Rules: Cruiserweight Rules. 20 count on the outside, throwing an opponent over the top rope results in a DQ
Word Limit: 5500
Send To: Toxxic


Non-Title Tag Match
Slaughterhouse 5 (Michael Alexander© and MANSON) vs VDN© (Va'aiga and Dace Night)
Va'aiga's win over Spike Jenkins has got him back on track after his loss to Insane Luchador. Michael Alexander triumphed over El Hombre Sin Nombre but he got last show off when Clark twisted his knee. MANSON has been faltering since he lost his World Title challenge to his partner. Dace Night doesn't really do anything except back Va'aiga up in tag matches, and so hasn't been in the ring for the SWF this year. Who's rusty? Who's hitting form? Who's gonna step up?

Rules: Standard Tag. If Slaughterhouse 5 win, they get a Tag Title shot down the line. If either Dace or Va'aiga get the fall over Alexander, that wrestler gets a World Title shot down the line.
Word Limit: 5500
Send To: King Cucaracha



Battleground Match
Insane Luchador vs S.I.N.
S.I.N. is undefeated, and cocky as all hell. He may have to reevaluate his attitude as he comes up against the SWF's resident hardcore loon in his own environment. Andrew Rickmen is on a charge, and SWF management have taken note. This match could be a big stepping-stone for IL, and for S.I.N. it won't be a baptism of fire so much as a baptism of... C4?

Rules: Hardcore rules with appropriate military decoration (sandbags, barbed wire etc) and the addition of two barbed wire-wrapped C4 boards, primed and ready for detonation at ringside. A heavy weight onto the boards (such as, oh, a wrestler) will cause them to detonate. You win the match simply by pinning or making your opponent submit. The C4 boards don't HAVE to be brought into play... but you wouldn't want that effort to go to waste, would you?
Word Limit: 5000
Send To: Toxxic



Tom Flesher vs The Fabulous Jakey
Jakey needs to turn his form around. Tom REALLY needs to turn his form around, and preferably cut down on the drinking.

Rules: Standard singles
Word Limit: 4500
Send To: Dace59



Tod James Stuart vs Rikard Fleihr
Tod deKi-no, wait. The Artist Formerly Known As Tod deKindes is back, only he's not pretending to be German anymore, and he's using his real name. Go, TodMan! He faces the leader of the Four Norsemen in the hope that his form under this name will be rather more spectacular than his exploits in the latter part of last year when he was the fed's punching bag.

Rules: Standard singles
Word Limit: 4000
Send To: King Cucaracha


Anyone else wanting a match, just PM me or Landon

[Toxxic 0]

Presenting: A DVD Extra...

*SOMETIME LAST WEEK IN THE RUN-UP TO BATTLEGROUND*

 

 

Landon Maddix is at his desk, lounging back with his feet up. Megan Skye is sitting on the desk, bored and playing with paperclips. Despite Landon's laidback demeanor, he is speaking to someone in a mocking yet serious tone. He's in his usual power suit, whereas Megan is in a very cute pink minidress.

 

"What gives? You haven't really been yourself since the SWF relaunched. It wouldn't have anything to do with me being the new Commissioner, would it? Or the fact that some of your running buddies have up and left? Or that there's (sarcastic gasp) women wrestling now? You're no longer the head diva in charge, because Taiga Star beat you a few weeks ago to get the title shot I really thought you were gonna get. What happened, huh? Too many wild nights drinking with Amy Stephens? Waking up in too many foreign living rooms?"

 

"Thanks for the mental picture," Megan Skye groans.

 

Landon smiles back at her, then returns to his conversation partner.

 

"You got new theme music, ooooh!" Landon continues musing. "You used to be somebody around here. Now you're just like all these other people, nudging their way up and down the undercard not giving two shits about anything."

 

Landon forcefully stands up and leans over his desk, getting uncomfortably close. We now see he is taking to an uncharacteristically somber The Fabulous Jakey, who only maintains a little bit of flash wearing a black T-shirt with an ostentatious versace scribble.

 

"It's time for you to make a decision, Jakey. Put up or shut up. You got complacent. Are you done trying to prove yourself? Is it time for you to spread your glitter somewhere else?"

 

Jakey stares at Landon, then at the floor.

 

"Aw," Megan snarks. "For a while there, I thought I actually had some competition when it came to being the most .... fabulous around here."

 

Megan snickers a bit and goes back to her paperclips. Jakey stares at her intensely for what seems like a little too long. After a few beats, Megan looks up and sees the former Cruiserweight Champion's heated stare.

 

"I didn't mean to---" she begins, but before she can say anything else-

 

-----SLAP!!!

 

Jakey, having turned on his heel, gives Landon Maddix the bitch-slap of his life, then storms out of the office. Landon sits back in his chair, clutching his face.

 

"Oh my god," Megan says. "Are you okay?"

 

Landon stares at the door, looking pissed off, before a satisfied grin slowly spreads across his face.

 

"I think that went well," he says. Megan stares at him in bewilderment as we FADE TO BLACK.

Edited March 27, 2008 by Toxxic

[Toxxic 0]

The DVD's opening chapter starts in a darkened Boardwalk Hall in Atlantic City. Audible buzzing from the crowd can be heard as nervous excitement fills the air. As does a lound clunk followed by a swear.

 

"...damnable rolly chairs. Mak, if you weren't bound to it, I'd ask how you can stand it!" says King.

 

"Good to know you still have my best interests in heart" deadpans Mak.

 

The SmarkTron crackles to life to a fake black & white title screen simply entitles "Onita Institutes Presents:". Music reminiscent of a commercial from the 1950's begins to play, or if you rather, the tune during the "Science Says" segments from Clerks.

 

"Welcome to SWF Battleground..." starts Mak over the music, "and I have no idea what's going on. King?"

 

"Don't ask me, no one tells me anything." says King with a shrug.

 

The scene on the SmarkTron changes to the inside of a laboratory. An Onita sister is shown with a clipboard, glasses, and labcoat walking around, checking bubbling beakers and other scientific whatnot. Her hair is cut short, spiking downwards across her face.

 

"Here at Onita Insititute," begins a phantom voiceover, "Allison Onita has studied hard to perfect her scientifically based training regimen for wrestlers. She studied the effect on stamina a hard match can have..."

 

Cut to Allison taking notes on her clipboard as she watches an two men with electrodes strategically placed spar.

 

"... the nutritional needs of a fighter..."

 

Cut to Allison pointing out parts of a food pyramid to an ersatz classroom with musclebound men trying to look remotely interested.

 

"...and the total fitness required to be the best one can be in the ring..."

 

Cut to Allison taking notes as a respirator-clad jobber runs on a treadmill.

 

"Leading to a regimen that she thinks may be the key for anyone, from Ced Ordonez to Toxxic and everyone in between, to become and maintain the highest level of competition."

 

Cut to Allison standing in a lab, taking her glasses off and resting them atop her head. She moves her clipboard by her side as the (assumed) announcer reaches from behind the camera with an old style wire mesh microphone.

 

"Ms. Onita, have you found someone willing to train to your regimen's exact specifications?"

 

"Why yes," answers Allison, "None other than ..."

 

The crowd begins to murmur amongst themselves as they wait for the absurdly long pause from Allison to end.

 

"...My own sister, Annie Eclectic".

 

 

Darkness abruptly takes over the arena. The opening guitar riff from "Cult of Personality" plays to much cheering from the crowd.

 

*pop**pop**pop*... *BOOOOOOOOOOOM~!*

 

Pink and white pyro explodes, and in the resulting smoke the silohette of Annie Eclectic is visibly clear. Annie walks out of the cloud, holding her bokken in one hand and lighting her Frost brand Cigar with the other. Allison appears from behind her, grabbing the cigar before Annie can even take a puff and tossing it into the audience. Annie looks at her sister and sighs before stretching at the top of the ramp in her white UnderArmor ring gear. Picking up her bokken, the Hardcore Queen walks down the ramp with her weapon of choice held high to the adulating crowd.

 

"We are here at the Boardwalk Hall in Atlantic City," starts Mak over the music, "and the place is jumping! A near sellout crowd here in Jersey and things are starting off quick as the Hardcore Queen makes her way to the ring with... of all people... her sister Allison!"

 

"Is there really an Onita Institute?" asks King, "What do they teach there? 'How to turn your back on your friends 101'? 'Flipping for fun and profit'?"

 

Annie walks up the ring steps and heads over to the ropes, leaving her bokken leaning against the ring post. Sitting down on the second rope, she pushes up on the top to create extra room for her sister to walk through. Stepping through herself, Annie climbs the turnbuckles. She raises her left arm up, palm out, and extends her index, middle, and pinky fingers to create a three-pointed crown. She smiles as a few confused audience member flash the sign back but gets general applause overall. Allison walks towards Funyon, making a motion to steal his microphone. Obtaining the device she makes a 'cut' motion towards backstage and the music dies down. Annie jumps back to the ring, walking towards her sister who appears ready to speak...

 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you... Your Highness and soon to be next World Champion... The Hardcore Queen Annie Eclectic!"

 

Smiling, Allison passes the microphone to her sister, who waves her hands in a manner to try and quiet the rowdy audience.

 

"First, let me say what an honor it is to be in one of my FAVORITE CITIES...." Annie's voice trails off as she looks to her sister. Allison hurriedly scribbles something down on her clipboard and shows it to Annie.

 

"... ATLANTIC CITY, NEW JERSEY!"

 

The expected cheap pop comes from the crowd as King tuts.

 

"You'd think she could at least remember where she is."

 

Annie begins again, "Some people may be curious as to a few things here, and I understand that. Commissioners Maddix and Toxxic were nice enough to give me a bit of time here to clarify a few points." The crowd quiets down to a level allowing Eclectic to be audible. "First, I'm here to tie up two loose ends... specifically the two titles I've yet to win. Back in the olden days of 2003 and 2004 I wasn't much for tagging admittedly, and I certainly wasn't ready for the prime time lights of being a World Champion," she says, emphasizing her point by moving her free hand across her bare waist. Turning the other direction, she continues, "But thanks to my sister and her Onita Institute training, I believe I'm finally ready to make the next step. A stylish, eye popping haircut that cuts wind resistance," she says, pointing to her newly stylized pink hair, "A sponsorship she obtained from UnderArmor, who provided a cross between their normal fine product and a wrestling doublet," showing off her white outfit, with a pink crown embroidered over her left breast, "and most importantly the training. Training to make myself faster, more unpredictable and harder hitting. The Onita sisters are working together, and that's a BAD thing for the rest of the league!"

 

Annie allows this to soak in with the audience before continuing.

 

"So here I am, ready willing and able to take on the very best and brightest the league has to offer... and yet I have to talk about the very... how do I put this... shortest?" Annie turns to a smirking Allison who nods, "Yes, that's it. The very shortest and dimmest of the league - Taiga Star."

 

A mix of cheers and boos are heard, although who's doing what for whom is uncertain.

 

"This so called 'Princess' has the nerve... nay AUDACITY to lay claim to a title I thought I had well and truly cemented here - which is the title of 'Toughest Bitch in the SWF'. I thought I did a good job showing this and wasn't expecting anyone to try and challenge it. Until now..."

 

Annie now walks in the direction of the entrance ramp.

 

"Now I know you're listening back there, Baby Bitch, and listen well," Annie says, "Before I get to the task of becoming not only the first woman to win the world title, but to win EVERY title in the federation - I'd like to get to the task of determining who is the toughest woman here. Now if you'd like to waddle on down here..."

 

 

 

 

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

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

 

 

"That does NOT sound like Taiga's music, King!" exclaims Mak.

 

"Thank God it's not Maddix." replies King.

 

 

A crunchy low bassline vibrates the arena to it's core, the beginning of "the Gush" marking the entrance of SWF General Manager Toxxic - Resplendant in his red England jersey and sporting a healthy scowl perhaps linked to certain national team losing to France. Microphone in his good hand, Toxxic stares down the two women inside the ring as his music dies down...

 

"Yes yes..." begins the Straight Edge Sensation, "I seem to remember hearing this two weeks ago, and the week before that... and the week before that - in fact that seems to be all I've heard you say since I saw you come back. Taiga is stealing my spot! Taiga ran over my cat! Taiga ate my last Crunchie Bar!"

 

The Hardcore Queen's face darkens at the Englishman's words.

 

"Well you know what would be nice? Why don't you, and Taiga Star, get in that ring next show instead of bleating on like a pair of addled sheep!"

 

Annie shoots towards Toxxic until she hits ring ropes.

 

"Gladly, anything to show her where her place is!"

 

For the first time this night, Toxxic smiles. A lopsided smile, but a smile.

 

"Well, I think we've seen enough foreplay between you. You've bantered back and forth, you've felt each other out... or possibly up," the Englishman grins. "Don't listen to the rumours Annie, I do pay attention to women... and I've most definitely been paying attention to you and Taiga. I think it's time for the pair of you to go hardcore, wouldn't you say?"

 

Annie's face shows what she thinks of Toxxic's double-entendres.

 

"As in, I think that it's only appropriate for this to be Hardcore Rules, since you two are just so good at it. Don't you think?" Toxxic asks, causing Annie's face to brighten. The crowd pops at the idea too, possibly only more enjoyable to the two women in the ring.

 

"I think that is a wonderful idea, Toxxic," says a grinning Annie, "I thank you."

 

"You're welcome Annie... and while I'm here," the Englishman continues, "granted it would be very wrong of me to abuse my position as General Manager to hog mic time and remind everyone exactly how badly I owned the active roster while I was fit... but then, it was probably very wrong of me to handcuff you and hit you repeatedly in the head with a steel chair to retain the World Title back in 2004, wasn't it?" he grins widely at Ichiban. "You wouldn't want a repeat performance, would you? Protect yourself." He finishes with a slight knocking on his own head as he disappears, drawing a round of cheers from everyone but Allison and Annie.

 

"The Onitas do not look happy with that advice," says Mak, "I'm sure Eclectic remembers her loss to Toxxic very well."

 

"I'm sure I don't care what happens between any two women in that ring," says King.

 

"We have to pay some bills but keep watching for the return of Tod James Stuart against Rikhard Flair NEXT on SWF Battleground!"

 

(fade to black)

[Toxxic 0]

AND NOW...

 

 

SWF BATTLEGROUND 2008!!

 

 

"Welcome everyone," states commentator Mak Francis from the comfort of the ringside announce table, as the camera spans the rabid crowd that fills the Boardwalk Hall. "to another spectacular event, courtesy of the Smarks Wrestling Federation. THIS… is Battleground! I'm The Franchise Mak Francis, alongside me is the one and only Suicide King. King, we got a hell of a main event in store tonight; a major championship match!"

 

"That's right," replies Suicide King. "Taiga Star wants to prove she's got industrial strength guts by trying to win the Cruiserweight title tonight, but deep down, wayyyy down, she'll end up showing that she's just like any other woman I've met. She wants to validate whatever little self-image she's built up for herself, she wants to feel pretty inside. She wants the gold, the jewelry, or the 'bling' like you so eloquently say. Not so much to prove she's a good cruiserweight, she just wants to tell the world 'Look at *me*! I *can* be beautiful!' On the other hand, I'll give it to Wildchild; he's not about to let go of that belt and he'll be more than a challenge for Ms. Star tonight!"

 

"We'll have that and more," continues Mak. "but tonight, we're live from the Boardwalk in Atlantic City, New Jersey! We get right to business with the opening contest, thank you for joining us here in AC!"

 

"Don't call it that."

 

The camera eases into a wide shot of the ring and the entrance ramp, as one of the classic Lennon/McCartney compositions, Helter Skelter fires up on the PA.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to SWF Battleground!" declares ring announcer Funyon. "This is the opening contest, set for one fall! Introducing first; representing the Wrestling Clinic, by way of Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Weighing in at 237 lbs: Tooood… Jaaaames, Stuart!"

 

Following the song's brief guitar intro, Tod marches out onto the stage, his step matching the slow pace of the song. Clad in his blue and white wrestling tights and 'Wrestling Clinic' t-shirt, he stops for a second on the stage to send one or two impressed glances at the size of the crowd. A crowd that doesn't appear at first glance ready to accept him back into their fold, but somewhat happy not to see the Tod deKindes of old doing his best to antagonize them. Resuming his walk down the ramp, he stops halfway to intercept the cameraman.

 

"I know I wasn't even born when they wrote this, but how cool is it to be played down to the ring by the frickin' Beatles!! I'm BACK, baby!" utters Tod to you, me, and everyone watching at home, suitably cheery at the sight of the impressive crowd.

 

Following his short monologue, Tod calmly walks up the ring steps and a short length of the apron. He wipes his feet as a sign of respect, and casually enters the ring. After a friendly slap on the shoulder of ring announcer Funyon, he walks diagonally across the ring towards a corner and climbs on the second rope and gives the crowd a good-natured 'Power to the people' raise of the left fist. Following a good-hearted fan's proclamation that Tod was the man, Tod replies by pointing to the fan in question by denying the allegation and replying that it's the fan that is, in fact, the man. He then hops down from his perch, wrestles out of his t-shirt and happily tosses into the crowd. As 'Helter Skelter' fades to a stop, Tod awaits the arrival of his opponent while doing a few rope stretches.

 

"It's certainly nice to see a new Tod, so to speak." says Mak. "Now going by his real name of Tod James Stuart, it's kind of refreshing to see a newfound rededication to his craft on his part. King, you'll recall we spoke to him before the show, and he told us that from now on, he's all about the wrestling. No more empty bragging."

 

"That's all well and good, personally I'm not buying it." replies King. "But he also told us that he's dead set on climbing up the ranks and that he'll let no one stop him. If anyone tries to fight him dirty, he definitely won't be above bending a few rules in return. Although tonight he's got a hell of a task. Taking on any member of the Norsemen is a challenge in itself. Not only for their ability alone, but when you wrestle any member of the Norsemen, you're wrestling all four of them. These guys are one of the best cohesive units in this company, and they're not about to let one of their own lose a match, especially against a guy like Tod James Stuart who's got a lot to prove from now on. Add to that the fact he's wrestling the leader himself, Rikard Fleihr, you just know that Olaf, Arne and Tolland are gonna be watching this match very closely."

 

"That's why I'm looking forward to this match. Because you know Rikard Fleihr's never been the first guy to keep up with the rulebook." replies Mak.

 

"You know it as well as I do, Mak." says King. "Fleihr and the Four Norsemen will do whatever it takes to be winners in this business, and then get away with it. We'll just see how long Tod can keep up his little Moral Higher Ground act, though."

 

The electronic intro of Andreas Johnson's 'Glorious' begins on the PA, as the Four Norsemen logo forms onto the Smarktron.

 

"And his opponent; he is a member of the Four Norsemen, accompanied by Helle. From Oslo, Norway, Weighing in at 245 lbs: Rikaaaard - Fleiiiihr!" offers the golden tones of Funyon.

 

As the song kicks into gear, Rikard Fleihr walks out with the striking Helle at his arm. He briefly lets her go for the sake of giving the crowd a little spin, showing off how expensive his blue and red sequined ring robe really is. While Helle continues her walk and takes her place at ringside, Fleihr walks up the ring steps and enters the ring paying no mind to his opponent for now. As his music fades to a stop, he sheds his ring robe and hands it off to a ring attendant. It is then that he focuses his confident attention onto his opponent, trying to drill holes into Tod. After referee Nick Soapdish backs off both men into opposite corners, he throws the signal and the bell rings, officially starting this match.

 

Circling each other for a few seconds, both men converge in the center of the ring. Tod advances for a basic lock up, but Fleihr pulls back at the last second, instead giving everyone a sly slick back of his hair.

 

"WØØØØ!" offers the fair-haired leader of the Norsemen.

 

Undeterred, the smirking Tod decides to wait out Fleihr's antics with a calm nod and getting back to the ready position. Once the whole thing is out of his system, Fleihr returns to center ring, ready to lock up for real this time. With both men having similar levels of strength, the two have a brief stalemate until Fleihr uses his slight weight advantage in his favor, and backs up Tod into a corner. A split second before he can unleash his trademark knife edge chop, Tod quickly turns the tables and now has Fleihr backed into the corner. He balls up his fist, aimed at Fleihr's face, but referee Nick Soapdish is quick to get between the two, firing up his five-count and demanding the break. Once the break occurs, Fleihr is quick to complain of a hair pull; complete with slowly re-enacting the scenario with Fleihr as himself and Soapdish as Tod, while Tod himself patiently waits in the center of the ring with another amused smirk on his face.

 

"Rikard Fleihr certainly seems to be under the impression that he's being paid by the hour, here. That or all of his heavy drinking and partying must be causing him hallucinations of hair pulling." states Mak Francis.

 

"That's the joy of the stall tactic, Mak." replies Suicide King. "That's just his own perfect way of setting the pace to HIS advantage. He's gonna try and make Tod wrestling his own kind of match."

 

"Tod's seen his share, though. Notice he's not too bothered right away. It's a good thing he's keeping a cool head, especially against a guy like Fleihr."

 

Once Nick Soapdish has given a token warning to Tod about the pulling of the hair, both wrestlers converge once again at the center of the ring for another lock up. This time, Tod seizes the advantage and forcefully backs Fleihr into another corner. Soapdish fires up the five count once again, which then leads to Tod getting in his own way of getting under Fleihr's skin: a good old two-handed tussle of his well-maintained blond hair. Tod dutifully backs out of the corner with a grin, while a seething Fleihr immediately puts up his dukes and gives the referee whatfor about yet another instance of hair mishandling. Soapdish waves it off, justifying himself by saying no misdeed has actually occurred. Now in the mood to fight, Fleihr beckons Tod for a third lock up.

 

Tod complies by tying up with Fleihr yet again. After a little back and forth action, Fleihr grabs the advantage and cinches in a side headlock. Tod tries to power out of it the best he can, but Fleihr mightily holds on.

 

"Tod can try and squirm his way out of the hold all he can, but he's in there with one of the finest mat tacticians this company has ever seen." declares King.

 

"It's just a basic headlock, folks, but it can have so many uses." replies Mak. "Whether it's just to start working on your opponent's neck by grinding it into a pulp or just to gain the edge at the start of the match basically just by holding your opponent immobile while you talk trash at him. Which would be right up Rikard Fleihr's alley."

 

Shifting his weight, Tod manages to back Fleihr up to the ropes and shove him off to the opposite set of ropes. Bouncing back, Fleihr comes back right into a hard shoulder tackle from Tod, sending the Norseman to the mat. In a flash, Tod throws himself in the opposite set of ropes. At the same time; Fleihr rolls over to his stomach, allowing Tod to hop right over him. On the bounce back, Fleihr is quickly up to his feet and welcomes Tod with an impressive arm drag, stopping any momentum Tod could build up. Following another one of his trademark battle cries, Fleihr backs up into a corner with a couple of confident bicep slaps and waits for Tod to get up. For his part, Tod is a little less amused but still impressed at his opponent getting the better of that exchange.

 

Both men are back up and circling each other. Connecting into another lock up, Tod is seen putting a little more juice into this one. Both men are jockeying for position, but Fleihr is able to latch on yet another headlock. He works it for a few seconds before converting it into a rear hammerlock. Tod tries all available exits by tripping Fleihr off his feet, but eventually settles for reversing into a hammerlock of his own, and quickly into his own headlock. After drawing in the referee closer with another complaint of hair pulling, Fleihr works his way free of the hold by yanking Tod's own dark locks, backs him to a set of ropes and shoves him off in turn. Tod ducks under a clothesline and a back elbow attempt, but his met with Fleihr's own shoulder tackle, sending him to the mat in turn. Fleihr bounces off the ropes himself, allowing Tod to proceed with a rollover of his own, letting Fleihr hop right over him. On the rebound, Fleihr looks to hop over his prone opponent once again; but Tod executes a quick push up, lifting his entire body about two feet off the mat. The result is Fleihr tripping and smashing his face on the canvas and a chuckling front row.

 

"There's something you don't see every day." states Mak.

 

"So much for the serious comeback." says King. "If Tod is gonna get cute like that in all of his matches, he won't last very long against the rest of the roster."

 

Holding his jaw in pain, Fleihr is now done playing around. He goads Tod into a honest to goodness "for reals" lock up this time… only to welcome him with a hard knee to the gut. He pushes Tod all the way to a corner, isolates his arm under the rope, and lets loose with a barrage of two stinging knife edge chops.

 

"WØØØØ!" offer the Jersey-ites in the crowd, following each strike.

 

Following a third hard chop, Tod half-collapses in the corner, holding his already reddening chest.

 

"NOW you're hurting, punk!"

 

Grabbing hold of Tod's left wrist, he attempts to Irish whip him to the opposite corner, but Tod quickly spins his hips and reverses the maneuver. Taking the trip into the corner instead, Fleihr lands back first hard on the turnbuckles. He quickly steps out to try and regain the advantage, but is met with a *high* back body drop, courtesy of Tod. Holding his back, Fleihr quickly regains his footing but is met with a barrage of hard forearm shots that stagger him to the ropes. As soon as they reach them, Tod lets loose with an even quicker barrage of forearms in quick succession, that leave Fleihr out on his feet. Soapdish is quick to get in between them with another five count.

 

"You mentionned getting cute." says Mak. "Nothing cute about those machine gun elbows Fleihr's getting! I think Tod's done playing now."

 

With Tod backed away to the center of the ring, Fleihr staggers forward and ready to flop face first to the mat. But Tod doesn't give him that priviledge, instead opting to charge forward and *nail* him with a sharp clothesline! Kneeling right next to the fallen Fleihr, Tod lets loose with a rapid fire series of right hands to the side of the head, drawing another warning from the referee. Being a little slow to listen, Tod is actually physically forced off by Nick Soapdish.

 

"Done playing, huh?" states King. "So he gets all serious and then will get himself disqualified. They don't think things through too much up in Toronto, Canada; do they?"

 

Once Tod is done listening to the referee jawing at him, he turns back to his opponent only to see him on his knees, both hands up in a pleading manner.

 

"NØØØ…!" begs the fear-stricken Norwegian.

 

With fist balled up and ready, Tod considers either wailing away some more on his opponent or forcing him up to his feet to inflict a move of some sort.

 

Instead, he leaves his feet in a flash and connects with a blindingly fast seated dropkick to the face! He yanks Fleihr by the arm, slides him to center ring, and falls on top with a lateral press.

 

"ONE!"

 

 

"TWO!"

 

Fleihr denies Tod the quick upset by lifting his shoulder. Maintaining the advantage, Tod clasps on another headlock but Fleihr has already played this game before. He quickly shoves Tod back into the ropes, but he's still a little too groggy to mount a quick offensive. The result is Fleihr knocked down once again, courtesy of another shoulder tackle. Tod bounces off the ropes once again, prompting Fleihr to roll over in turn. Instead of repeating this game of cat-and-mouse, Tod quickly stops short, Fleihr's prone form right in front of him. He once again leaves his feet and leaps forward, connecting with a *hard* senton back splash onto Fleihr's own back! Tod quickly scurries over for another pinfall attempt, this time hooking the leg.

 

"ONE!"

 

 

"TWO!"

 

Both men are back up. Tod backs up Fleihr for another Irish whip to the ropes, but Fleihr tries to craftily reverse the maneuver and ends up running the length of the ring anyway. On the bounce back, he's met with a well-executed hiptoss that sends him crashing once again to the unforgiving mat. Tod tries lifting up his opponent for some more offense, but he's met with a quick thumb to the eye and drawing another warning from the referee. This time it's Fleihr going for the tried and tested Irish whip, sending Tod to the ropes. Fleihr tries to catch his opponent with another stinging chop, but Tod ducks under the intense yet controlled swing of the arm. On the rebound, Fleihr bends down tries to follow up with a back body drop of his own, but Tod once again demonstrates his quickness by planting his feet to the mat in a stopping effort. He cinches in a front facelock to his caught-off-guard opponent and then snaps into an impressive DDT that drives Fleihr's head into the mat. He floats into another lateral press, but oddly finds no referee to count his pin cover. He looks up to see Nick Soapdish arguing with Helle, who had taken it upon herself to climb on the apron.

 

"Every damn time she does this," begins an incredulous Mak. "what the hell does she hope to accomplish by getting involved like this?!"

 

"I'm flabbergasted that you don't see the intention at hand there, Mak." replies King. "By getting up on that apron and distracting Nick Slopfish, it saves her man from the risk of getting beat AND it gives Rikard Fleihr enough time to recover, while Tod James Stuart will *most likely* go over there and try and deal with her… Yep, there he goes."

 

"Get the FUCK down!! I'm not afraid to hurt a woman! Ask the dyke backstage!!" roars Tod at the flame-haired beauty in a sudden outburst that is caught by the camera and its mic.

 

"…Whoa. Didn't expect that one. Hope for some balls on this one yet!" declares King.

 

"Goes to show you how serious Tod is about this comeback of sorts." points out Mak. "He's got nothing on his mind but wrestling and I don't think he'll tolerate Helle's antics much longer."

 

A stunned and immediately less vocal Helle quickly clambers down to the safety mats, unwilling to offer any more assistance to her man. Turning his attention back to his Norse opponent, Tod is met with another nasty thumb to the eye. For threatening his lady, Fleihr gets set to unleash a massive right haymaker to Tod's head; but Tod ducks the errant swing and catches Fleihr's arm into the uranage position. Rather than toss his opponent up and above him, Tod *drives* the back of Fleihr's head and his upper back onto his right knee. As if the move wasn't painful enough, he quickly muscles him back into a standing position and completes the move by sweeping Fleihr's legs out from under him with a hard STO! A near lifeless Fleihr rolls to the side of the ropes, while Tod falls on top of him for another pin cover.

 

"ONE!"

 

 

"TWO!"

 

"Wait, foot!" declares Nick Soapdish.

 

At the last second, Tod sees Helle remove her hand from Fleihr's ankle, which is resting on the bottom rope. Seething, Tod reaches through the ropes for a handful of red hair and tries to reel the valet in the ring for a dose of retribution. Before he can inflict some serious damage on the petite woman, Fleihr has found enough wherewithall to regain his footing and neutralize Tod with a well-placed chopblock behind his left knee. The plan has worked; as Helle backs off with a satisfied smirk and Fleihr can begin the dissection of his favorite body part to work on: the leg.

 

"This is perfect strategery on the part of Rikard Fleihr!" says King.

 

"Strategery?" asks Mak.

 

"Shut up! This is why he's been so good at what he does for so long. With a smart and beautiful lady like Helle at his side, Fleihr may have an average win-loss record here in the SWF, but it's little things like you just saw that get RESULTS in a match!"

 

Fleihr doesn't even give Tod time to grab his knee in pain as he begins unleashing a series of stomps and elbowdrops to the limb. Following that, he grabs Tod's left ankle and drags his entire body towards a set of ropes, where he'll rest the leg on the bottom strand. Springing off the second rope, Fleihr lands with all of his weight on the inside of Tod's knee, drawing another intense groan of agony by the Canadian. After Fleihr repeats the maneuver, Tod tries to retreat to the safety of the corner. Fleihr is pretty confident he has the situation well in control, so he takes his sweet time catching up to his suffering opponent. With a handful of hair, Fleihr raises Tod up to a kneeling position and lets loose with seven or eight closed fists to the forehead in rapid succession.

 

"I'm warning you, Rik, open up the fist!" says Soapdish.

 

"Quiet, you! WØØØØ!" replies the confident Fleihr.

 

Seeing Tod slumped against the second rope in the corner, Fleihr's hand quickly homes in on his neck and squeezes with a passion, which earns him another five-count and warning from Soapy. Fleihr backs away (complete with 'I didn't do it' pose) and waits out Soapdish's ass-chewing. This also effectively has the referee's back turned, which allows Helle to reach through the ropes in turn and claw at Tod's face furiously in retaliation for messing up her hair. While Tod is strong enough to shove the slender woman off, Fleihr is quickly back on him with a well-placed kick behind his knee that sends Tod back into a subdued state. Dragging Tod back to center ring, Fleihr has him in a spread eagle fashion on the mat, his left leg laying flat on the canvas. Holding the limb down with both hands, Fleihr lifts his body up and forcefully drives his knee into Tod's leg. Walking leisurely to a corner (as to gain a small headstart), Fleihr lets out another one of his trademark hollers and then half-jogs into a leaping kneedrop right onto Tod's head. He segues into a lateral press, grinding his forearm into Tod's face.

 

"ONE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

Tod won't give him the satisfaction as he pushes Fleihr off him. That knee to the head seemed like the ideal wake-up call as Tod is no longer focused on his knee and now sports a more determined demeanor.

 

" NØW we go to school!" bellows Fleihr.

 

"There we go, just like this supposedly 'newly-serious' Tod's been staring at the lights for the better part of last year, this time is no different. Rikard Fleihr is about to put him away in short order with one of the most basic yet devastating submission holds: the figure-four leglock!" declares King, no longer impressed by Tod's newly-found sass, which is about to get snuffed out in the opening contest against a lower-tier wrestler.

 

With Tod's left leg firmly in hand, Fleihr offers a confident strut to the booing crowd, to the delight of the smiling Helle at ringside. Before applying the dreaded figure-four, Fleihr leans down towards Tod for one final taunt, but that soon becomes one taunt too many. With renewed energy, and Fleihr's head in his sights, Tod uses his free and uninjured right leg to swing his body halfway up and connect with a loud smacking kick to the side of Fleihr's head! While some of the crowd cheers at the resurgence, a wobbly Fleihr falls to one knee while Tod limps to his feet. Making sure to shift his weight to his good leg, Tod ducks under another wild swing from Fleihr and traps him in a rear waistlock. With authority, he lifts him up and immediately drives him down to the mat with a fierce german suplex. Holding onto the waistlock, Tod rolls into position and delivers a *second* one. He rolls into position again…

 

"Looks like there's still a little german left in Tod James Stuart after all! Right now Rikard Fleihr is being floored by some of the crispest, most well-delivered german suplexes I've seen so far!." states Mak.

 

Following a third german, Fleihr is a quivering mass of skin on the mat and Helle is the definition of frantic at ringside. Under the growing cheers of the crowd, Tod maneuvers himself behind Fleihr and puts both hands out in the "I'm gonna creep up behind you and get you fashion".

 

"Here's another submission hold that's simple yet effective." says Mak. "He hasn't pulled that one out in a while, but damned if it don't get the job done! He's gearing up for the Silent Scream!"

 

Once Fleihr is up one knee, Tod pounces and locks in his katihajime hold, the aptly named Silent Scream. Fleihr tries to struggle against the hold, but the air is quickly leaving his head.

 

"It's not a done deal yet, Mak!" says King. "To get the full effectiveness of that hold, you need to throw yourself down and trap your opponent in a body scissors. Fleihr can still fight out of this!"

 

"Wait a minute, look at this!"

 

We'll never know if Rikard Fleihr was able to fight out as Arne Andersen is seen sprinting down the aisle. Tod quickly releases his hold while Arne immediately attacks him. The referee calls for the bell in the rapidly growing confusion.

 

"It's Arne Andersen!" yells Mak Francis. "He's got no business here!"

 

"The enforcer couldn't stand it anymore!" replies Suicide King.

 

Trading punches with the larger Arne, Tod seems to hold his own for a while, even managing to land a field goal kick to the groin that's sure to neutralize Arne for a minute. At the same time, Fleihr is back to his feet, only to be met with barrage of right hands.

 

"Tod is fighting an uphill battle, here! Meanwhile, here come Olaf and Tolland!" yells out Mak over the commotion.

 

"The Norsemen beatdown is on, Mak!" states King.

 

His odds having taken a hell of a nosedive, Tod now finds himself under the battering of four different european boots. All he can do is cover up as best as possible, but his ribs and head are taking quite the beating.

 

"Don't get me wrong, all of these guys are tremendous athletes, but I'm just waiting, WAITING for the day that they don't have to rely so much on each other!" offers Mak.

 

"What can you expect!" continues King. "He make the cardinal mistake of trying to make Rikard Fleihr look bad! As soon as that happens, you got the rest of the Norsemen swooping in to beat some sense in!"

 

Tod's first solace comes in the form of the Norsemen taking a second to celebrate with a four-way high-five and a brief jawing session with the fans. What they don't see is Tod slithering to the outside of the ring, stagger towards Funyon's mini table and appropriate himself his steel chair. Back in the ring, Helle notices Tod's escape a second too late but is quick to warn her cohorts with a scream. Arne is the first to bolt to ringside to try and stop Tod, but he's met with a LOUD chairshot to the head that leaves the Swede knocked out. Sliding back in the ring; the first to welcome him is Fleihr, but he's met with the edge of Tod's chair to the gut. The same fate awaits Olaf Andersen, who then receives another massive chairshot to the back. Tolland Blankhardt is next in the crosshairs, but ducks at the last second, avoiding a deadly knockout shot.

 

Seeing as he's the only Norsemen with all of his present mental faculties left, he quickly hops out of the ring and yanks out the fallen Olaf, while Helle had taken it upon herself to escort Fleihr to the entrance way. Olaf collects his semi-conscious brother under his arm while the Norsemen slowly retreat to the lockerroom area. Meanwhile, Tod is on his knees and clutching his ribs in agony and propping himself up with the chair, but still stares daggers towards the group that just tried to have its way with him. Holding various body parts, three of the four Norsemen yell their own threats back at Tod while backing away.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen," begins Funyon. "here is your winner, by disqualification: Tooood, Jaaaames, Stuart!!"

 

Nick Soapdish goes to raise the winner's hand, but Tod is quickly to forcefully shove the official away, feeling nothing like a winner right now.

 

"Soaps is gonna rule this one a victory for Tod James Stuart, but not without a price, King." says Mak Francis.

 

"And in the end, Tod has to rely on the ONLY friend he has left in this company; a steel chair! Trust me, the Norsemen usually leave NO ONE standing. Tod wants to get serious? He's just picked the wrong set of guys to get serious with! This is not over between them…"

 

Trying to shake some feeling back into his leg, Tod clutches his own ribs and tosses down his chair. He clambers down to ringside, while the camera captures his final thoughts, spoken to himself.

 

"Bastards wanna play… Guess I'll have to go back to the well sooner than I thought…"

 

…

[Toxxic 0]

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall!" Funyon announces. A blue pyro blasts off and Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" begins playing. Tom Flesher rips through the curtain, looking ready to get this one over with.

 

"Introducing first!" Funyon continues. "From Buffalo, New York, weighing in at 231 pounds, The Superior One, TOM FLESHER!"

 

Flesher rolls under the bottom rope to enter the ring, then quickly removes the warm-up jacket.

 

"Tom Flesher looking to get back into the main-event picture here in the SWF!" Mak tells us and Suicide King. "And it looks as if his opponent has the same frame of mind!"

 

Pull up your pants

Just like 'em

Take out the trash

Just like 'em

 

Ciara's "Like a Boy" booms through the arena as The Fabulous Jakey, wearing his signature red trench, comes through the curtain.

 

"Introducing the opponent!" Funyon cries. "From New York City, weighing in at 160 lbs., The Fabulous Jakey!"

 

"Jakey having a mean streak as of late," Francis bemuses.

"The show's called Battleground," Suicide King snorts. "Of course he's not gonna be in a friendly mood."

 

Jakey walks up the steps and gets in the ring, but before referee Soapdish can ring the bell, Flesher quickly goes on the offensive, striking Jakey from behind!!

 

DING DING DING!!

 

"And the match is on, Jakey not even being able to get his trenchcoat off!" Mak cries.

 

Jakey yells at Nick Soapdish, who restrains Flesher while Jakey removes the trench.

 

"Flesher definitely getting the first punch in!" Mak cries.

"And that does so much, not just physically, but psychologically against your opponent, to get off his game!" Suicide King remarks.

 

Jakey gets the trench removed, then circles the ring while Soapdish lets them go, and the men tie up. Being the bigger man, Tom gets the advantage with a headlock, then sends Jakey off the ropes and delivers a clothesline. Jakey bounces back up, only to be flattened again. Flesher walks over to Jakey and stomps on him a bit, prompting Soapdish to again get in his face.

 

Flesher, standing over Jakey, begins trash-talking, when the resilient cruiserweight pulls him to the mat--

 

--"Inside cradle!

 

One--

 

two--"

 

"This thing almost ended in thirty seconds!"

 

Both men get to their feet, and Flesher runs at Jakey into an arm drag, followed by a second one. With Flesher on his BUTT, Jakey quickly gains advantage by locking his arm backwards into an impromptu submission hold.

 

"And Jakey, trying to ground the bigger man here--"

 

Flesher winces just a little, but doesn't seem to seriously be in pain until Jakey sticks his knee in the opponent's back. Flesher takes advantage of his height, reaching up and thumbing Jakey in the eye!

 

"Thumb to the eye! Flesher being the dirtier player in this game!"

 

Jakey restrains and breaks the hold, and complains to referee Nick Soapdish. While Soapdish tries to sort out any relevant complains, Flesher surprises Jakey with a roll-up!

 

"Roll-up! Soapdish slightly out of position!"

 

Soapdish hesitates a bit before getting to the floor and making the count

 

"ONE--"

 

Jakey gets out of it, and, still nursing the eye, wallops Flesher with a bitch-slap that makes Atlantic City gasp. Before Flesher can react, Jakey kicks him in the gut and throws him through the ropes out of the ring!

 

While Flesher reels and slowly gets to his feet, Soapdish yells at Jakey, but the Fabulous One bounces off the ropes and sends Flesher to the floor, sending him down with a baseball slide! Jakey slides out of the ring and follows up with kicks to Flesher's side, with Soapdish beginning to count them out.

 

ONE--

 

TWO--

 

Jakey jumps back in the ring to break the count, then goes back to the outside. With Flesher on all fours, Jakey winds up for another kick, but this time Flesher spots it, dodging the kick and using his physical advantage to send Jakey into the pole!

 

Flesher gets back on his feet and begins to hit Jakey with lefts and rights, then bashes Jakey's face into the announcer's table!

 

"C'mon, Flesher!" Mak cries. "Get him back in the ring!"

 

Flesher yells at Mak Francis, then obliges and throws back in the ring under the bottom rope. Flesher gets back in the ring and nails Jakey with a few kicks, then grabs his legs and appears to be a Figure-Four.

 

"If he gets the Figure-Four, it could be over here!" Francis cries.

 

Jakey writhes out of it and kicks Flesher in the gut, then lightly shoves referee Nick Soapdish into Flesher's direction to buy him time before he can get to his feet!

 

"Soapdish not calling for a DQ, possibly out of his own discretion," Mak Francis says.

"If you were a ref you'd call for a DQ if someone looked at you the wrong way," Suicide King balks. "He wants to see 'em go!"

 

Not wanting to mess around anymore, Flesher wipes out Jakey with a Lou Thesz Press, nailing him with several punches!

 

"Something set off here in Tom Flesher!"

 

Flesher picks Jakey up and hits an expert suplex, then does another one in quick succession. He wrings his arm in cocky fashion, then picks up Jakey but hooks the leg this time, sending him in the air with a Fisherman's Suplex!

 

"Fisherman Suplex! Shoulders are down!

 

ONE--

 

TWO--"

 

Jakey kicks out of it, but Flesher doesn't miss a beat, getting the opponent into a Front Face Lock.

 

"Oh no! Is he gonna go for a submission?" Francis asks. Tom telephatically answers the question by lifting Jakey in the air for a frontface lock suplex, ending in a crafty Thesz-style pin!

 

"That could do it!

 

ONE--

 

TWO--

 

THR--"

 

--Jakey kicks out of it again, but is winded and on all fours, and when Flesher runs at him, Jakey scouts it by using a droptoe-hold to send him throat-first into the bottom rope!

 

"That's gotta by him some time!" Francis yells.

 

Jakey, holding his side, gets to his feet, lifts up the top two ropes above Tom, and stands on Francis's neck with force. Soapdish begins his count

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

THREE

 

FOUR

 

and Jakey breaks it, then reminds Soapdish that he got thumbed in the eye not too long ago. Jakey picks up Flesher and throws him into the nearby turnbuckle, then kicks him several times in his paunchy stomach. Jakey yells at the crowd, who's not sure whom to side with, but beginning to go his way ...

 

Jakey then jumps to the second rope and begins going for a 10-punch

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

THREE

 

But on three Flesher uses his physical advantage to send Jakey to the mat with a modified powerbomb!

 

"Oh no!"

"Jakey using more guts than brains on that exchange!"

 

Flesher goes for the pin, putting his feet on the ropes--

 

"ONE

 

TWO

 

THR--

 

He's got his feet on the ropes!"

 

Soapdish sees that Flesher has the illegal advantage and breaks the count, causing them to have a war of words. Flesher gets in Soapdish's face, and when he turns around Jakey, on the ground but holding onto the ropes, kicks him in the gut, then gets to his feet and locks in the front-face lock ...

 

"Could it be? Jumping Jakey Flash!"

 

Jakey springboards off of the ropes into his version of the DDT, nailing it with perfection!

 

"The Jumping Jakey Flash!

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

THR--"

 

Flesher gets his foot on the bottom rope, calling for Soapdish to break this count as well. Relentless, Jakey kicks Tom in the side a few times and goes off the ropes for a jackknife pin

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

but Flesher gets out after two, and when they get back up Flesher NAILS him with a Yakuza Kick to the face, audible from the highest rafters. Jakey crawls over on his belly to help himself up with the ropes, but while he grabs the second rope, Flesher rolls him up with precision ...

 

ONE ....

 

TWO ...

 

And on the count of #2 Flesher's hand gets a little bit of assistance from the second rope ...

 

THREE!

 

"Here is your winner, TOM FLESHER!"

 

Jakey looks as if he's about to cry when The Superior One's hand is raised. Flesher, meanwhile, celebrates as if he's won the Super Bowl.

 

"Well, this is what supposed to be Jakey's night here, he had that meeting with Landon Maddix, but Flesher is more experienced!" Mak Francis says.

"And it's not like Jakey's won all his matches clean," Suicide King agrees.

 

Flesher rolls out of the ring, cheering for himself like it was a title match, while Jakey is helped up by Nick Soapdish in the ring. Nick asks Jakey a rhetorical question (i.e., "are you okay?") ...

 

...and Jakey swiftly kicks the ref in the stomach, then nails him with a DDT!

 

"He just assaulted a referee!" Mak Francis cries.

 

Jakey angrily grabs his coat and storms up the ramp, bemoaning that it's not fair while Atlantic City boos him.

 

"Who knew there's a worse sport in the SWF than Tom Flesher?" Francis cries.

 

"Let's see, he slapped Landon Maddix, he's assaulted a referee ... I don't really know what's going on here!"

 

 

[Toxxic 0]

“We are back and now it’s time to see the impressive newcomer S.I.N. square off against Insane Luchador, who has begun to pick up some momentum in the last few shows,” Mak says.

 

“That’s true, Mak, S.I.N. has already established himself as a force in the SWF,” King replies.

 

“Meanwhile, IL has begun to remind us why he’s called the Ill One recently by shocking us with a win against Va’aiga and followed it up by beating the Fabulous Jakey,” Mak says. “These men were tailor made for this match as S.I.N. and IL are both tough as nails and love a good fight, which is somewhat a prerequisite for this upcoming hardcore match.”

 

“Not only is this a hardcore match, Mak, but the décor, if you will, has a huge role to play here. Not only is everything seemingly war-torn but on the outside there are two barbed wire C4 boards on opposite sides of the rings, just begging to be used by the wrestlers.”

 

“That’s right, King, whoever can make use of their surroundings is definitely going to have the upper hand and resourcefulness is crucial here,” Mak replies.

 

“Those aren’t make-belief barbed wire C4 boards either,” King chuckles. “Those babies are primed and ready to explode for whoever is unlucky enough to be put through them, there’s potential for irreversible damage, Mak.”

 

“Well, to win it only requires a pin fall or submission, not necessarily going through those boards,” Mak points out.

 

“Yeah, but do you really think that IL is willingly to let those go to waste or that S.I.N. will be shy about putting IL through them?” King asks.

 

“Good point,” Mak responds. “It’s going to be an interesting one, that’s for sure.”

 

“This is a hardcore match scheduled for one fall…”

 

The lights dim down, a hush falling over the crowd, and “I’m So Hood” by DJ Khaled begins before it stops, another pause of silence, and “Come Home with Me” by Cam’ron and Dipset starts, signaling the arrival of Sammy Irizarry Nuñez, better known as the intimidating new sensation, S.I.N. White letters of “S.I.N.” come onto the SmarkTron but otherwise nothing else happens except for the entrance of the 6’6” S.I.N. wearing a black tank top, loose army pants, and unlaced Timberlands. S.I.N., far from being one to suck up to the crowd, simply walks down the aisle as Funyon introduces him-

 

“Introducing, residing in the Bronx, New York… weighing in at 265 pounds… Sammy Irizarry Nunez, SSSSSIIIIIINNNNN!”

 

S.I.N. hits ringside and looks over to the other two parallel sides of the ring with the C4 board, then forward to stare at the announcers’ table, and can’t help but to smirk while walking up the stairs, noticing barbed wire wrapped around the timekeeper’s table and scattered sandbags before stepping into the ring. The crowd, giving a mixed response, settles down while the music dies lights return to normal only to have “Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains kick up, causing them to bust out in cheers.

 

“S.I.N. looks absolutely focused right now,” Mak says. “That’s definitely a good thing because right now isn’t a good time to not be in the right frame of mind.”

 

“Really?” King asks. “Because IL hasn’t ever been in the right frame of mind… on the other hand, look at how far that has gotten him in his not-so-illustrious seven year career.”

 

Red and black pyro burst on the sides of the entrance ramp and the 6’2” IL comes out, a psychotic smile on his face, and energetically throws his arms into the air to incite the crowd. He takes in his surroundings with a deep breath before sprinting down to ringside, looking unfazed by S.I.N.’s snarling and visibly pleased with the hardcore-friendly environment.

 

“Next, from Easton, Pennsylvania… weighing in at 225 pounds… IIIIINNNSSSAAAANNNNEEEE LLLLUUUCCCHHHHAAADOOORR!”

 

IL hits ringside and slides into the ring, getting right up to his feet, and running right at S.I.N., smacking him with an overhand right that gets sent right back at him as the two begin to slug it out in center of the ring! Matthew Kivell simply shakes his head and signals for the bell-

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“IL has tried to get the advantage early but has kind of thrown it away by trading blows with S.I.N.,” Mak says.

 

S.I.N. blocks an incoming shot from Rickmen and hits him right in the face with a hard right, sending him stumbling back. S.I.N. moves forward with a lunging, wild right hook that gets evaded by IL ducking, and that allows Luchador to stomp on S.I.N.’s kneecap, buckling his knee. He throws up a high kick that smacks S.I.N. on the side of his head to the crowd’s delight and he tries to throw another that S.I.N. catches, using it to throw IL down to the canvas. The Ill One rolls right back up to his feet but gets knocked down once again by S.I.N. with a shoulderblock that gets followed with a good old fashion stomping. He brings down his foot into Luchador’s gut and bends over to grab Rickmen but instead gets an elbow for his efforts, followed by a hard leg sweep that drops S.I.N., and they race back up to their feet. Luchador, easily being the quicker one, leaps into the air, hits a spinning back kick to the gut, and he continues to turn to catch S.I.N. with a hard spinning backfist to the delight of the crowd. The Ill One, beginning to go on a roll, dumbly bulls forward to trade blows once again but this time he doesn’t even land one overhand right since S.I.N. catches it by his wrist, yanking him towards him, and floors him with a hard clothesline!

 

“See, this is an example of IL getting too into the moment,” Mak says. “He knows that he can have some success striking if he’s quick, counters and then follows up opposed to continuing to slug it out.”

 

“Having too big of balls, too small of a brain,” King agrees.

 

S.I.N. reaches down to pick Luchador up off the canvas, only to pick him up off the ground to drop him in a scoop slam before taking a few steps back to fall down with the Blood Moon, his diving fist drop. S.I.N. tugs IL up yet again only to floor him with a dropkick of his own before pulling him up along with him to his feet, watching him sway in a daze. Almost as if angered by embarrassment by Luchador’s early string of strikes S.I.N. slaps the dazed Luchador across the face and asks, “Who you?” He doesn’t get a response and backhands him and asks once again, “Who you?” He laughs at Luchador, pushing him back, and then unleashes one last slap before barking, “Who you!” He grabs Luchador by his spiked hair, tosses him over the top rope, and laughs at the Ill One who catches himself on the rope, landing on the ring apron. S.I.N. runs back into the ropes and comes charging back, lunging out with a Yakuza Kick that hits IL in the chest, sending him flying off the ring apron, crashing back against the barricade! S.I.N. slides outside the ring and IL tries to crawl away in retreat but S.I.N. quickly stops it by stomping on his back with a smirk.

 

“Insane Luchador has already paid for trying to go toe-to-toe with S.I.N., losing a possible early lead, but S.I.N. shouldn’t be working him up,” Mak says.

 

“A good rule of thumb is to avoid pissing off somebody dubbed ‘The Ill One,’” King echoes.

 

He lifts Luchador onto his feet before slightly squatting down to lift Luchador up in the air with a Gorilla Press, stepping towards the steel barricade, and dropping him down throat first onto it! IL grabs at his throat and wheezes, again trying to roll away from his opponent, but the relentless S.I.N. picks him up once again, grabbing the back of his head, and turning to the ring apron, smacking him head against that, only to turn around to the barricade, slamming his head against that, only to smack his head against the ring apron once again before finishing it by slamming his head against the steel barricade!

 

“Lather, rinse, repeat,” King snickers.

 

He lets Luchador crumble and he goes underneath the ring, pulling out a baseball to a roar from the crowd. S.I.N. looks at it with a big smile while Insane Luchador rolls onto all fours. S.I.N. surges forward, trying to bring the bat down right onto his skull but IL safely lunges away, now going underneath the ring apron himself. He glances up, looking across the ring almost panicked, but then suddenly smirks as he brings out his signature weapon, the light tube sword, Excalibur!

 

“Gee, wood versus glass,” King sarcastically says. “Can’t imagine who will win this one.”

 

Insane Luchador, all too aware of this as well, simply slides the weapon into the ring, turning his attention back to S.I.N. and getting smacked in the stomach with the baseball bat! He doubles over and S.I.N. lifts it into the air, bringing it down across his back, causing him to drop onto all fours. He gets down onto one knee and brings the bat across Luchador’s throat, choking him while lifting him back up, and in desperation IL hits a low blow! He forces his way free and knees S.I.N. in the stomach, grabbing the bat, and throwing it away to the side, quickly sliding into the ring with S.I.N. in hot pursuit. IL goes to the center of the ring, gaining safe distance, and then turns his attention to his weapon, only to realize that S.I.N. is closer! IL and S.I.N. both look down at Excalibur in front of them and look into each others’ eyes before both lunge forward in hopes to snatch the weapon up. They each come close to snatching it, in a dead heat, and S.I.N. throws an overhand right that catches IL flush, only to throw one right back at S.I.N. The crowd breaks into cheers as S.I.N. and IL begin to go blow-for-blow with overhand rights with S.I.N. making Luchador stumble back, obviously having the edge in his powerful striking, but the resilient IL willingly continues to go toe-to-toe!

 

“This is practically the epitome of IL, he’s not going to back down to S.I.N. but it’s at the expense of losing this duel for Excalibur,” Mak says.

 

“It’s the epitome of stupidity, sure,” King corrects.

 

S.I.N. nails him with a hard overhand right that drops IL, but he rolls right back up, only to get dropped once again. He gets right back up and bulls forward at S.I.N. who catches him with another right, sending him staggering forward, and desperately attempting to recover by trying to tackle the massive S.I.N. down but doesn’t have any luck, as S.I.N. simply contains him in a headlock. He lets go, pulling Luchador’s head up to look at him, and begins to smile but IL quickly headbutts him hard enough to daze and it allows him to slip away. He swoops down and grabs Excalibur, to the crowd’s delight, and swings it sideways only to have S.I.N. duck underneath it. He turns around to throw a front toe kick that S.I.N. catches and he stops IL’s plans cold by sweeping his leg, dropping him to the canvas. He plucks Excalibur out of his hands and lifts it into the air with IL lying underneath him, ready to swing it down, but IL throws an up kick to his gut, keeping him from using Luchador’s signature weapon, and he rolls away. He rushes up and elbows S.I.N., kicks him in the gut, and pries Excalibur from S.I.N.’s grip, bringing it into the air, and whiffs on the way down because S.I.N. narrowly avoids it to the Ill One’s frustration. IL tries to swing it once again but S.I.N. leans against the ropes and spins away but accidentally backs himself into the turnbuckle. The Ill One smirks and lifts it into the air while S.I.N. looks ready to lunge out, but swiftly brings it down, shattering it over S.I.N.’s head!

 

“Insane Luchador finally gets the better of that exchange and smashed it right onto his skull!” Mak exclaims out while King’s winces in sympathy for S.I.N.

 

S.I.N. goes limp in the corner and IL tosses the stump of the light tube sword off to the side with a psychotic laugh, seemingly quite pleased and, frankly, relieved before throwing his arms into the air to rally the crowd. Luchador focuses back on his stunned opponent and sends a kick to his ribs before hoisting S.I.N. onto the top turnbuckle. He hops onto the second turnbuckle and tries to wrap an arm around S.I.N.’s head but instead he gets a punch to his ribs followed by a quick headbutt to his face. He shoves Luchador down to the canvas, but he quickly springs back up, and S.I.N. leaps off to tackle IL down with a Lou Thesz Press and begins to absolutely unleash hell by unloading rights onto Luchador’s face to a wave of jeers from the crowd.

 

“Luchador may have gotten the upper hand for a moment but S.I.N. has quickly rallied back,” King says. “Now he seems pretty intent on rearranging Luchador’s face.”

 

“It looks like it may be successful too,” Mak adds while he watches IL feebly try to shield the blows with his arms but the hits keep on coming until he finally stops trying, going limp on the canvas.

 

S.I.N. gets onto one knee and spits on Luchador before grabbing a handful of his hair, tugging him back up to his feet, and steps behind IL, locking in a full nelson! The Ill One tries to slide free but S.I.N. has the hold too tight and he lifts him into the air, sits down, and plants him to the canvas with his signature Lust, the full nelson wheelbarrow facebuster! He rolls Luchador over and tries for a cover-

 

“ONE!”

 

 

“TWO!” IL promptly gets a shoulder up and Mak says, “S.I.N. was being optimistic there because it’s going to take a lot more to keep the Ill One down.”

 

“Never hurts to try,” King counters with a shrug.

 

S.I.N. grunts and IL rolls away from his opponent, seeking refuge from S.I.N. by rolling to the outside, and undoubtedly ready to bring another weapon into the mix. S.I.N. stands up and condescendingly shakes his head at the retreating Rickmen, who uses the steel barricade to pick himself back up. He looks off to his side and sees the baseball bat S.I.N. had brought out earlier and then his eyes pan to the barbed wire wrapping around the timekeeper’s table. He walks over and Funyon invites him to take the bundle, which he does, and he gingerly holds it while walking towards the baseball bat off to the side, near the barbed wire C4 board. Meanwhile S.I.N. sees what Luchador is doing and quickly slides to the outside, charging after Luchador but only to get whipped with the barbed wire. He flinches and IL knees him in the gut, doubling him over, and yanks off his tank top, and then IL smoothly steps behind S.I.N. and presses the barbed wire against his back, beginning to grind it along his back to sear his opponent’s flesh! S.I.N. stumbles forward in pain and Rickmen yanks the barbed wire away, holding it in one hand, and grabs S.I.N.’s head in the other, tossing him into the steel barricade to keep him at bay. He walks towards the baseball bat but can’t help but to stop at the C4 board at his feet and stares at it in ambivalence, only to get clubbed in the back by S.I.N. He stumbles forward, right next to the baseball bat, and he grabs it in one hand, turning around while wildly swinging it in one hand in hopes to catch S.I.N. who wisely jukes away from the blow. He charges at Luchador who tries to whip him once again with the barbed wire, and begins to back up in retreat, and he swings the bat at S.I.N., who catches it, and yanks it right out of his hand. He jabs the baseball bat into Luchador’s gut, doubling him over, and then brings it down across his back, dropping him down to the ground. He begins to stomp on Luchador’s back until he stops, looking down at the groaning IL, and reaches down to grab the barbed wire himself. He wraps it around the bat the best he can and looks ready to use it against the Ill One but gets caught off guard by Luchador’s double leg takedown. However, in starch contrast to Luchador’s hopes, S.I.N. holds onto the bat and while IL gets the full mount he butts him in the forehead with the end of the handle, causing him to flop over him, and S.I.N. rolls on top of Luchador, fiercely bringing the bat down across his forehead and scrapes it across his skin!

 

“Oh man, this isn’t good for Luchador,” Mak says.

 

“Wow, really?” King sarcastically replies. “He’s getting his flesh torn off his face but he did the same to S.I.N.’s back so it’s all fair, although it would’ve been fair anyway… mostly since there isn’t ‘fair’ or ‘unfair’ right now.”

 

S.I.N. temporarily stops and watches the Ill One clutch at his face, seeing the blood ooze out of the broken skin, and sees the smile creep onto his face. IL suddenly grabs the lower end of the bat and bucks his legs up to send S.I.N. off of him, allowing him to roll free with his hands grasping the bat. He stomps on S.I.N.’s foot but still can’t overpower S.I.N. who rips the bat from his clutches, swinging it against his side but misses, smacking it against the guardrail, the vibrations from the bat of the missed hit causing S.I.N. to stand relatively stunned. IL wipes the back of his hand against his crimson forehead, glancing at his blood with a small grin, and insults S.I.N. by backhanding him with the bloody hand, stunning him by the sheer testicular fortitude of the Ill One. He grinds his teeth and wildly swings the bat once again, that IL ducks underneath and slips behind him, to set up a dropkick to S.I.N.’s bloody back. He stumbles forward, dropping the bat, and his momentum gets stopped when he slams into the barricade, knocking the wind out of him, and giving IL the chance to pick up the barbed wire baseball bat behind him. He holds it up into the air to a round of cheers before charging forward, bat ready to be swung, when S.I.N. whirls around with a big boot that catches him, sending him reeling backwards. S.I.N. comes out swinging with an overhand right that Luchador ducks underneath and he jabs the tip of the bat into S.I.N.’s gut, causing him to bend over, and IL brings the bat down against S.I.N.’s already abused back. This time, however, he holds the baseball bat like a rolling pin and begins to roll it up S.I.N.’s back, sickeningly ripping flesh to cries of agony. IL sends up a knee that cracks his opponent in the face, dropping him down, and he tosses the baseball bat far off to the side, just to make sure S.I.N. can’t easily get it.

 

“Man, we have some sadistic fans,” King mumbles.

 

“Sadistic fans to match equally, if not more, sadistic wrestlers… S.I.N. practically tried to scalp Luchador and in response his back has been torn to shreds,” Mak replies.

 

He reaches down and rolls S.I.N. over, going for the cover-

 

“ONE!” “S.I.N. has to be in some agony and the thought of quitting just might be crossing his mind,” Mak says.

 

“TWO!” S.I.N. gets his shoulder up and Luchador just shrugs, grabbing him by his head, and lifting him up, guiding him over to roll him into the ring, but he remains on the outside. He kneels down and throws up the ring skirt, reaching underneath, and pulling out a light tube bundle to a chorus of cheers. He smirks and slides it into the ring before reaching underneath to pull yet another, sliding it into the ring, and the crowd roars for him to continue. He stands up, smirking and wagging his finger before shrugging and grabbing one last bundle, sliding it into the ring, and then getting in himself. He gets up and grabs one of the bundles in his arms, approaching S.I.N. who has rolled onto his stomach, leaving a visible blood splatter on the canvas, and begins to get up onto all fours. The Ill One walks over and S.I.N. sees his shadow on the canvas so he flops onto his stomach, wisely sending a kick towards IL’s gut, but it misses. IL smirks and brings the bundle down across his chest, shattering it, and garnering cheers. He glances down at S.I.N.’s legs and, oddly enough, reaches down to remove one of S.I.N.’s Timberlands and proceeds to beat him with his own boot! He laughs and asks, “You hood?” before whacking him once again, he repeats the question, and smacks the boot against S.I.N.’s stomach, driving shards of glass in, and he repeats the question one last time, throwing the boot down against his face. IL bends down and picks up a small portion of an unbroken tube, smirking, and palms it in his hands only to swoop down to the canvas, crushing it against S.I.N.’s exposed foot!

 

“That’s just mean,” King says. “To answer IL’s question, though, only having one shoe is pretty damn ghetto.”

 

Nũnez wipes away the glass and watches the Ill One walk over, fetching the next light tube bundle in fury, grabbing his boot, trying to wipe away the glass, putting it back on, and impressively stands right back up after the beating. Insane Luchador cockily holds the bundle in the air and turns around to see S.I.N. charging forward so he swings the bundle, only to have it miss, and gets caught with an elbow smash that causes him to drop the bundle. S.I.N. bends down to grab it but Luchador takes a hold of the back of his head, sending a knee up, and then he tries to retrieve it, only to have a knee thrown at him! They each take a step back and S.I.N. kicks him in the gut, locking in the front facelock, grabs a thigh, and hoists him into the air. He then drops down, driving IL off to the side, and slams him head first into the bundle of light tubes with Lust, the Northern Lights Bomb. The crowd whips into a frenzy as S.I.N. rolls onto one knee, over IL, and grabs the back of his head, lifting it up, and then grabs a large piece of the light tube, placing it over his forehead, and sending a punch down to shatter it, making the earlier gashing all the worse! He lies over Luchador for a cover to a mixed response, mostly boos, from the crowd-

 

“ONE!” “IL just got planted through the bundle!”

 

“TWO!”

 

S.I.N. grunts and presses down on Luchador’s shoulders but he still bucks up, breaking up the pin to the fans’ approval,

 

“Okay, so another good rule of thumb is avoid pissing off somebody from the Bronx,” King says with a cringe.

 

S.I.N. looks off to the side and leans over to grab the final light tube bundle and the Ill One rolls to the outside, plopping down, and seeing the barbed wire C4 board off out of his peripherals. S.I.N. insults Luchador as he holds the light tube bundle, sliding to the outside, and lifts it high into the air, towering over Luchador, getting ready to bring it down but IL rolls out of the way. Insane Luchador continues his evasive roll off to the side and desperately shoves his arms underneath the ring, retrieving a burlap sack, boldly reaching in, and waits for S.I.N. to get closer before throwing salt up into his eyes! He rolls up and steps behind the blinded S.I.N. and turns the burlap sack upside right over S.I.N.’s bloody back that makes him cringe, allowing IL to reach around, grabbing the bundle himself. He gets ready to swing it but S.I.N. throws an elbow back, clawing at his watering eyes, and whirls around to head BUTT IL, stunning him, and he grabs hold of the bundle himself. IL instinctively throws a front toe kick that lands, letting him yank it out of his hands, and he seemingly swings it to the side, causing S.I.N. to duck, but he pulls back, suddenly lifting it into the air and shattering it over his back! S.I.N. falls onto one knee and IL launches a kick to the back of his head, causing him to fall forward in the remains of salt and glass, before he tosses the last bit of light tube down. He points to the barbed wire C4 board to a deafening response from the crowd and a concerned one from Mak-

 

“Oh no, IL has set his eyes on that barbed wire C4 board and it was only a matter of time before one of them did.”

 

“I’m surprised it took this long,” King admits. “Things are definitely taking a turn for the worse if you’re S.I.N.”

 

Insane Luchador walks over to the board and picks it up, staring down at it like a child with a Christmas gift, eyeing its size. He lies it down across the ring apron to the steel barricade, causing SWF security to scramble to escort fans away, and he breaks into a psychotic laugh, turning around to find S.I.N. bravely getting up onto a knee. He walks over, grabbing him by the back of his head, bringing him onto his feet, and points to the C4 board, guiding him towards it. But S.I.N. throws a hard back elbow that catches IL square in the face, stunning him, and he turns around to lock in the front facelock, grabbing a handful of tights, and hoisting him into the air for the vertical suplex. He staggers forward towards the barbed wire C4 board, while blood rushes to IL’s head and, apparently, right back out thanks to his shredded forehead and the crowd breaks into jeers. He glances behind him, practically at the board’s edge, and gets ready to drop when IL slides out from behind, luckily landing on his feet on the other side of the board! The Ill One instantly wraps an arm around S.I.N. in a sleeper, hoping to now put him through it, but the powerful S.I.N. is still able to overpower IL, freeing himself. He takes a few steps back and notices the sack of sandbags to side, watching IL slide underneath the board before charging at him, and he picks the heavy bag up. He swings it, catching IL, and sends him reeling back, smacking against the edge of the table to the baited breath of the fans. S.I.N. drops the bag and moves forward, kneeing him in the gut and securing the standing headscissors. He lifts him up for a powerbomb, letting IL slide back while grabbing onto his armpits, and then turns him over, setting him up for Anger, the inverted crucifix powerbomb!

 

“This could be it,” Mak excitedly says. “S.I.N. is ready to throw IL face first into that barbed wire C4 board!”

 

“It’s not like IL wouldn’t do the same,” King counters with a cheerful tone.

 

The entire arena gets to their feet, excluding Mak, and S.I.N. looks ready to throw when his arms begin to shake a little, his back beginning to give out on him!

 

“Oh no, no, no, no!” King exclaims. “The combination of blood lose from his back could have finally caught up!”

 

Insane Luchador desperately struggles and slips free, now standing behind S.I.N., and he immediately locks in the full nelson to a thunderous roar from the crowd!

 

“Luchador’s got the full nelson, he’s looking for the Brink of Insanity!” Mak exclaims.

 

S.I.N. tries to muscle out but can’t, so he begins to push back, but it only aids IL as it creates room for him to hop onto the ring apron, take a few steps forward, and leap off, swinging his legs off to the side while bringing S.I.N. down, right down onto the barbed wire C4 board to a chaotic wave of noise-

 

BOOM!

 

The flash of light goes up followed by a thick stream of smoke to complete the chaotic scene while IL grabs S.I.N. pulling him off of the board.

 

“Brink of Insanity onto the barbed wire C4 board, stick a fork in him, he’s done!” Mak screams. “Paramedics are already streaming down, both men are down, and IL wasn’t exactly far from the blast radius either!”

 

 

The explosion causes the entire arena to erupt into the classic chant-

 

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

 

IL lays an arm over S.I.N., both men writhing in agony, and Kivell, dazed at the spectacle, begins the count-

 

“ONE!” The crowd chants.

 

“TWO!”

 

“THREE!”

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“Insane Luchador has won this one and all we can hope is both men are okay as the paramedics have flooded the scene, stretchers have been brought out,” Mak informs.

 

“Man in the Box” begins while the chaos begins to die down, although the chant doesn’t, while the paramedics aid them.

 

“This one, well, this one was one for the books,” Mak says, looking over at somebody who tells him something. “Okay, word is that both men are bleeding badly and S.I.N. has some minor burn injuries but they will be okay, which is hard to believe but a hell of a relief. But don’t go away because the tag match is up next!”

 

 

[Toxxic 0]

VDN vs S5 to be edited in.

 

Ramu may be involved.

[Toxxic 0]

FADE IN

 

“It’s just about time for the main event,” says Mak Francis. “And it promises to be a very fast-paced match, King, as Wildchild defends the World Cruiserweight Championship against the newcomer, Taiga Star! King, Taiga Star recently suffered something of a setback at the hands of S.I.N., but she earned herself a title shot with an impressive win at From the Fire, when she defeated both MANSON and the former World Cruiserweight Champion, the Fabulous Jakey!”

 

“Well, Taiga has definitely had momentum on her side,” says the Suicide King. “I think she’s won something like four out of her five matches since she debuted here in the SWF… but she’s never faced an opponent like this before. And you know me, Francis, I’m no Wildchild fan, but even I’ve got to give the edge in this match to the Champion!”

 

“Speed, agility and athleticism all favor the Champion,” agrees Mak, “and let’s not forget the experience factor. Wildchild has been competing at this level for far longer than the challenger can claim to!”

 

“The only thing that you have to worry about, if you’re a Wildchild fan, is whether or not the time off has been to his detriment; he hasn’t been in an SWF ring since he defended his title at Clusterfuck!”

 

“Well, Wildchild has stated before that he’d happily defend against whomever the SWF put in front of him, but the Championship committee hasn’t recently had any viable challengers for the World Cruiserweight Title.”

 

“So,” asks King, “do you think that Taiga Star can beat Wildchild?”

 

“I don’t know,” replies Mak. “It’s a tall order to ask a newcomer to beat Wildchild on their first time wrestling against him… especially when the World Cruiserweight Title is on the line… Hell, even Dance Dance Dragon only managed a draw, and he actually had major credentials coming in! It’s going to be extremely tough for Star to get a major upset when the title’s on the line, in her first shot!”

 

“The other thing that you have to consider is that the only real weakness in Wildchild’s game, which is a lack of upper body strength, is pretty much negated when he’s in there against another cruiserweight,” remarks King, “especially against one that’s actually lighter than him!”

 

“I’ll agree with you there, King,” affirms Mak. “As we’ve seen in the past, Wildchild shows us his full offensive repertoire whenever he’s in there against somebody he’s strong enough to pick up. But that’s not where I think the biggest difference in this match is going to be!”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, Taiga Star is used to being slammed,” explains Mak. “She’s used to being in there against people bigger and stronger than her, and we know that she can take punishment… But she’s not used to being in the ring with somebody as FAST as Wildchild; she’s not used to being in the ring with somebody that can do all the different things that he can do from the top rope, and his ability to hang in the air makes it really hard to time and counter his moves! But, even more than that, is his agility, and his flexibility: It’s hard to make Wildchild submit to any move that puts his body in an unusual position, such as the Texas Cloverleaf, and that’s arguably Taiga’s most dangerous move!”

 

“Well, her most dangerous move is the Double Stomp,” replies King, “especially against a guy like the Wildchild. But, again, with how much time we’ve seen it take her to set that move up, and how fast Wildchild is, she’s going to have to really do some damage to him in order to have him down long enough to hit it!”

 

“We’re only moments away,” says Mak, “so let’s go right to Funyon!”

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” booms Funyon, “This… is the MAIN EVENT… of Battleground!”

 

 

The fans begin cheering as Hole’s “Be a Man” begins to play. Taiga Star jogs down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans at ringside. She rolls underneath the bottom rope and scrambling quickly to her feet.

 

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall,” shouts Funyon, “and it is for the SWF World Cruiserweight Championship! Introducing first, already in the ring, the challenger: from Helltown, in Havervill, Massachusetts, and weighing one hundred and…

 

Star gives Funyon the Evil Eye, and he pauses in disbelief as he reads his index card…

 

“None of your business pounds?” Star nods in approval as Funyon reads on: “Taiga… STAR!” Star raises her hands overhead and acknowledges the fans at ringside.

 

“Taiga Star has the opportunity to become the first female to win a singles title here in the SWF since the Hardcore Queen herself, Annie Eclectic!”

 

“I wouldn’t let Taiga Star hear you say that name too loudly,” says King. “The two of them aren’t exactly on each other’s Christmas Card list!”

 

“You mean we won’t be seeing any Mickie James/Trish Stratus mistletoe moments between the two of them any time soon?”

 

King shudders at the thought. “God, I hope not.”

 

“Be a Man” fades into the ethereal, and the fans begin to cheer wildly the lights abruptly cut out and a familiar squeal echoes throughout the arena:

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

 

“ATTENTION!

 

 

ALL YOU NIGGAZ!

 

ALL YOU BITCHES!

 

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

 

 

TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKA…”

 

Atlantic City erupts as Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” heralds the arrival of the Bahama Bomber! A solitary spotlight pierces the Boardwalk Hall, flashing off and on in rhythmic time as the beat throbs melodiously. The cheers become even louder as the Bahama Bomber bursts from behind the curtain…

 

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“They love the Wildchild here in Atlantic City!” cries Mak, as Wildchild pauses at the top of the staging area, before purposefully making his way down the aisle. The Champion slaps hands with the fans surrounding the barricade as he proceeds towards the ring.

 

“Well, whether I like it or not, Wildchild’s one the biggest stars we have here in the SWF right now,” says King. “Even if that’s more a matter of attrition than anything else!”

 

“His opponent,” booms Funyon, “hails from the Bahamas, and weighs two hundred fourteen pounds! He is the SWF World Cruiserweight Champion: the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” WC somersaults between the bottom and middle ropes to enter the ring; the Champion rolls to his feet and heads over towards the edge of the ring, removing his championship belt as he leaps up onto the middle rope and holds the title overhead as the lights come back on, and Redman’s voice bleats throughout the arena:

 

 

“I CAN’T GET IN DA CLUUUUUB!”

 

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“King’s backhanded compliments notwithstanding,” says Mak, as WC’s music fades out, “there’s no question that Wildchild is of our most popular superstars here in the SWF right now; thousands of people packed the Boardwalk Hall tonight to see him defend the Cruiserweight Title here tonight, so let’s get right to it!” WC surrenders the World Cruiserweight Championship to senior referee Ronald “Red” Herrington; Herrington holds the belt overhead, displaying it to the crowd, and then hands it to the departing Funyon. He then motions for the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match:

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

“Bell’s gone,” shouts Mak, “and we’re underway!” Wildchild and Taiga meet in the center of the ring for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, and WC immediately takes control, shifting behind Star into a waistlock, and picking the ankle to surprise her with a waistlock takedown; the challenger barely has time to get back onto her knees before WC releases the waistlock and leaps into the air, crashing into Taiga’s back with a jumping senton that knocks her back flat against the canvas! Wildchild rolls to his feet in one fluid motion and runs towards the edge of the ring, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes and smashing Taiga as just as she’s getting back to her knees with a basement dropkick! WC then somersaults back to his feet and runs to the ropes, leaping into the air as he rebounds and flipping forward to crash into Taiga’s chest with a running shooting star press! He hooks the far leg as he applies a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Taiga kicks out at two and immediately rolls out of the ring; she shakes her head to clear out the cobwebs, and glares angrily back into the ring.

 

“Well, Francis, you talked about the speed earlier,” says King, as Herrington begins his count, “and Taiga Star’s getting firsthand experience on just how fast he is.” Star climbs back into the ring and scrambles to her feet, holding her hands overhead to invite a knuckle lock.

 

“Taiga definitely needs to try and slow this match down,” says Mak, “and looks like she’s going try to lure Wildchild into a test of strength.” WC looks back and forth towards the different sides of the ring, out into the crowd. As his eyes come to rest on the challenger, a mischievous grin spreads across his face and he steps forward to lock fingers with Taiga… only to swing his legs up between them and hook them around Star’s neck, before arching backwards to take her over with a spectacular standing rana! WC beats Taiga to her feet and leaps into the air, planting both feet in her midsection as he locks his hands behind her head, before arching backwards to take her over with his patented Freefall monkey flip! Star stumbles to her feet, and right into the waiting hands of the Champion, who sends her to the canvas yet again, this time with a lightning-fast armdrag takeover! The crowd cheers as WC sprawls out on the canvas, shifting the armdrag into an armbar.

 

“Nice, deep armdrag by the Cruiserweight Champion,” praises Mak, as Taiga bumps across the canvas to make her way over to the edge of the ring. “And, once again, Wildchild is able to control this match thanks to his speed!” Star gets her leg underneath the bottom rope, and Herrington calls for, and gets, a clean break. Wildchild gets to his feet and, clearly feeling confident, decides to have a little fun at Taiga’s expense; he walks over towards the edge of the ring and sits down on the middle rope, holding it open as he waves his arm across his chest, as if inviting Star to leave the ring.

 

“Look at this!” exclaims King. “Wildchild is playing mind games with Taiga Star; he’s telling her to take a walk!” Not surprisingly, this doesn’t go over well with the challenger, and she charges across the ring to get her hands on WC, but the Bahama Bomber slips out to the apron as she lunges through the ropes…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… And smashes her in the face with a shin guard-assisted kick! Wildchild dashes across the apron and swings around the ringpost to the opposing edge of the ring; Star staggers away from the ropes and grabs her face, checking her nose and mouth for blood, before turning back towards the edge of the ring, surprised when she sees Wildchild no longer there. A whistle alerts her to the World Cruiserweight Champion, still on the apron behind her, and Taiga charges towards him, only for the Tropical Tumbler to grab the top rope and flip over her head to re-enter the ring, hooking his arm under hers as she bounces off the ropes and taking her overhead with a hiptoss! As soon as Taiga sits up, WC hops towards her and thrusts his feet forward, slamming both into the back of the challenger’s head with a basement dropkick! The Human Hurricane quickly gets back to his feet and runs past Star, leaping onto the middle rope and the springing backwards into the ring, crashing into Taiga with a Quebrada moonsault! WC remains atop her for the cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Taiga reaches out with her hand and grabs onto the bottom rope, breaking up the count; the challenger rolls back out of the ring to regroup, as Wildchild gets to his feet and pumps his fists to get the crowd into it.

 

“Taiga Star had better have some more tricks up her sleeve,” says King, “because this has been ALL Wildchild early!” WC heads over towards the edge of the ring and reaches over the top rope to grab Taiga by the hair and pull her up onto the apron…

 

 

THWACK!

 

 

… But the challenger surprises WC, grabbing him by the head and falling to her backside on the apron, clotheslining the Champion on the top rope! Not willing to let the opportunity pass her by, Star reaches into the ring and grabs WC by the head, pulling it over towards the ropes and leaving it dangling over the edge of the ring as she plops down to the arena floor…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… And proceeds to lay into Wildchild’s upper chest with clubbing forearm shots!

 

 

 

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

 

“Well,” remarks King, “it looks like we’ve got a match after all!”

 

“Indeed,” says Mak. “This is the first offense she’s shown in this entire match!” Star pulls Wildchild into a sitting position, with his legs still inside the ring, and then climbs into the ring; she reaches through the ropes to trap WC in a front facelock, wrapping her legs around the Champion’s torso in a body scissors as she does so.

 

“How about that!” shouts Mak, as Herrington begins to count. “Taiga Star has Wildchild in what looks like a modified Wet Cement!”

 

“Too bad the referee’s going to make her break it,” adds King. Right on cue, Herrington orders Star to release the hold, which she does reluctantly. Wildchild stretches out on the apron to recover, but Taiga decides to press her luck, and grabs onto the top rope, launching herself out of the ring…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And slams her posterior into Wildchild’s chest with a modified sitdown splash! Wildchild instinctively rolls towards the center of the ring, but Star slides in after him and crawls over to apply a lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Wildchild kicks out at two! He again tries to roll away from the challenger, but Star gets to her feet and runs towards WC, leaping into the air and crashing into his midsection with a diving headbutt! She quickly pulls him to his feet and follows up by trapping him in a front facelock, before snatching him overhead suddenly with a snap suplex! Taiga floats over into a lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Wildchild again kicks out at two! Taiga pulls WC back to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring and into a neutral corner; she approaches the corner deliberately to make sure he doesn’t try to out-quick her, and then proceeds to deliver several well-placed boots to the midsection! Star delivers a couple of headbutts, and then grabs him by the wrist to whip him across the ring to the opposite corner; she charges into the corner to crush Wildchild against the turnbuckles with a splash…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But she over-plays her hand, and the Bahama Bomber charges out of the corner, running right past her as she crashes headfirst into the turnbuckles! WC runs towards the edge of the ring as Taiga staggers out of the corner; he leaps onto the top rope and curls himself into a ball as he launches back into the ring to knock Taiga down with his patented Pinball attack! Wildchild quickly gets to his feet and dashes across the ring; he dives headfirst towards the edge of the ring, and plants his hands on the canvas, using the ropes to propel his body back towards the center of the ring as he performs a handspring into a moonsault press! The Champion applies a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Taiga kicks out at two! Wildchild pulls her to her feet and traps her in a front facelock; he then lifts her up overhead, rotating both their bodies until he’s lined up just so with the nearby corner, and drops her back down to the canvas with a corkscrew suplex!

 

“And right there, you see what makes Wildchild so dangerous!” says Mak, as WC steps out onto the apron. “Even if you think you’ve got him down, he’s so fast, that it doesn’t take him any time at all to get back on top!” Wildchild leaps from the top turnbuckles and spins his body laterally in midair to come crashing down onto the challenger with the Andros Drop! Wildchild hooks the leg as he tries to get the pin:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Taiga kicks out at two! Wildchild pulls Taiga to her feet and stuns her with a headbutt; he then spins around as he leaps off his feet, and knocks Star back against the ropes with a jump spinning back kick that knocks her back against the ropes; he then runs across the ring, diving into a cartwheel as he rebounds and leaping off the canvas, extending his body to deliver a cross-body block…

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

… But the challenger ducks at the last second, and Wildchild goes sailing over the top rope, crashing to the arena floor!

 

“Ouch!” cringes Mak, as WC rolls around in pain on the concrete floor. “It looked like Wildchild was going for some kind of cartwheel into a cross-body, but he was just a little too high off the canvas, and Taiga Star, amazingly, still had the presence of mind to get out of the way!”

 

“That’s why they call it high risk,” says King, as Star rolls out of the ring. The challenger pulls WC to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the floor, and sending him headfirst into the solid steel steps! Taiga rolls WC into the ring and slides in underneath the bottom rope herself; the challenger crawls over to Wildchild and falls atop him in a lateral press as Red Herrington gets into position to count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR—

 

 

KICKOUT!

 

 

Taiga takes a step back as Wildchild gets to his knees, and then suddenly thrusts her leg forward, blasting the Bahaman in the chest with a stiff kick! She kicks him again and then backs away, only to step back towards her opponent and drills him with a kick to the face that knocks him on his back! Taiga goes for another pinfall:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

BUT ONLY GETS TWO!

 

 

“Another near fall for Taiga,” says Mak, “as it appears that she’s regained control of this match!” Taiga pulls Wildchild to his feet and delivers several crisp knife-edge chops to the chest, before running back towards the ropes and raising her arm as she rebounds to deliver a running lariat… but Wildchild ducks and begins hammering her with quick right hands!

 

 

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

 

Wildchild backs Taiga into a corner and then whips her across the ring towards the other corner, but Taiga reverses, sending Wildchild rocketing into the corner…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Where he crashes chest-first into the turnbuckles at an unbelievably high velocity! Wildchild bounces off the turnbuckles like a jet ball and collapses onto his back! Taiga staggers over to her opponent and falls atop him with a pinfall attempt:

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE— NO!

 

 

“Two count only,” says Mak, “but Taiga seems to be getting stronger with each passing move, and those kickouts are becoming less and less forceful on the part of the Wildchild!”

 

“That tends to happen when you get your man worn down,” explains King. “Now, we’ll need to see whether or not Taiga has the killer instinct to extend this advantage.” Taiga pulls Wildchild back to his feet and whips him towards a nearby corner, racing to the ropes as Wildchild staggers backwards towards the center of the ring, and leaps into the air as she rebounds, reaching for Wildchild’s neck to hit him with a running hangman’s neckbreaker, but the Caribbean Cruiser sidesteps her! Wildchild whips his leg through the air as Taiga turns around to deliver a roundhouse kick, but the challenger catches his leg in mid-move…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… Only for the Human Hurricane to whip his other leg through the air and blast Taiga in the face with a Gamengiri! Wildchild stands with his back to Taiga and springs off the canvas, crashing down onto her chest with a backflip splash!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

BUT ONLY GETS TWO!

 

 

“Boy, I thought that Wildchild had her after that Gamengiri!” says Mak. “These two continue to go back and forth, and you have to wonder who will be able to come away with the win!” Wildchild pulls Taiga back to her feet and whips her across the ring into a corner. He charges in after her, but Taiga lowers her shoulder and lifts him out of the ring, only for the Bahama Bomber to land on his feet on the apron. Wildchild takes the initiative on this occasion, turning Taiga around and grabbing him by the back of the head, slamming him face-first into the top turnbuckle! He then leaps onto the top rope as Taiga staggers away, before springing back into the ring, body extended to crash into Taiga with a cross-body block!

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But Taiga snatches him out of the air and plants him with a ferocious powerslam!

 

“Oh my word!” shouts Mak. “Taiga with a terrific counter! And she’s going for the pinfall!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

“We’ve got a new champion!”

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREEE— NO!

 

 

“That was extremely close!” cries Mak. “Wildchild was about four inches away from losing the World Cruiserweight Title there!” Taiga lifts Wildchild up off the canvas and plants him with a scoop slam. She then runs to the ropes, measuring Wildchild as she rebounds, before planting a kneedrop between his eyes.

 

“Taiga scoring with another big move here,” says Mak, “but she could be making a big mistake in not going for the cover here!” Taiga pulls Wildchild to his feet and traps him in a front-facelock before snatching him off the canvas and holding him overhead, only to drive him back down with a ferocious Brainbuster! She quickly scrambles to her feet and waits until WC stands as well before she runs to the ropes, lifting her arm as she rebounds to nail Wildchild with a lariat, but the Caribbean Cruiser shows great resiliency of his own, as he ducks underneath…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… And knocks Taiga senseless with a shuffling sidekick!

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Superkick out of nowhere!” shouts Mak. “Wildchild still has some fight left in him!” Red Herrington begins to count both wrestlers down:

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

“This match looks like a pick-em at this stage, King,” notes LDP.

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

 

“Definitely,” agrees King. “The next person to score a big move will probably be the winner!”

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

SIX!

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

Around the seven count, both combatants begin to stir. Wildchild crawls over to Taiga and applies a weak lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

That only gets two! Wildchild and Taiga then each roll to their knees, and begin to exchange blows as they fight to their feet, with the Bahama Bomber trading hard right fists with Taiga’s chops:

 

BAP!

SMACK!

BAP!

SMACK!

BAP!

SMACK!

 

Taiga eventually takes control, backing Wildchild up against the ropes and whipping him across the ring. The Human Hurricane ducks underneath a rolling elbow attempt as he bounces off the ropes, and then leaps into the air as he rebound a second time, crashing into Taiga with a cross-body block, only for the challenger to roll through it and roll him into a cradle, hooking the tights as Herrington falls into position to count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

NO!

 

 

“Man, was that close!” sighs Mak. “She got away with hooking those tights, and I thought for sure she had the match with that!!” Taiga beats Wildchild to his feet and stuns him with a kneelift to the midsection. She whips Wildchild into the ropes once more and lowers her shoulder to deliver a back-body drop, only for Wildchild to catch her in an inside cradle as he comes off the ropes!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR— NO!

 

 

“And that was another close near-fall,” mentions King. “Taiga thought that she had firmly established control, but Wildchild’s lightning-fast reflexes were almost able to get him the victory!” Wildchild sidesteps a charging Taiga and leaps into the air as she bounces off the ropes, blasting her in the face with a flying back elbow!

 

“Another nice counter by the Wildchild,” says Mak. “And it looks like he’s going up… that’s high-risk territory, King, but not for this guy!”

 

“And the thing about it is that you never know what he’s going to do up there!” adds King. Wildchild leaps from the top turnbuckle and dives into the ring to deliver a flying elbow smash…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… Only to get caught flush on the chin by a Taiga dropkick!

 

“I gotta give Taiga credit on that one,” concedes King. “I didn’t think that she was fast enough to catch Wildchild like that! Now, we’ll have to see if she can put him away for good this time!” Star pulls WC to his feet and drops him back down to the canvas with a somewhat weak backdrop suplex; she staggers weakly to the “There appeared to be some hesitation on Red Herrington’s part on that count!” Taiga grabs WC’s lower body and crosses his legs together; she then hooks her hands underneath Wildchild’s legs as she rolls the Champion onto his back and into the dreaded Texas Cloverleaf!

 

“Texas Cloverleaf!” reports Mak. “We could get a submission right here!” Red Herrington asks Wildchild if he wants to submit, but the Bahama Bomber shakes his head and squawks a negative response.

 

“Wildchild’s trying to fight his way out of the Crab,” says Mak, “but I don’t think that he’s going to make it!” Wildchild flops about the canvas as if he had a broken wing, but is unable to free himself. Eventually, the flopping subsides.

 

“And, like we mentioned before, Wildchild isn’t usually vulnerable to these kinds of submissions,” says King, “but maybe Taiga’s done enough damage to actually be hurting Wildchild with this hold!” Wildchild plants his palms against the canvas, surprising Taiga as he pushes himself up a few inches as he tries to scoot closer to the edge of the ring.

 

“Look at this!” exclaims Mak, as Wildchild pushes himself up a second time. “Wildchild’s making a move towards the ropes!” WC reaches out towards the ropes, but is nearly a full arm-length short, and realizes that he’s going to have to make one more push.

 

“And this is where Taiga Star’s lack of body weight works against her,” says King. “She’s somewhere short of two hundred pounds, and that’s not enough when you’re trying to hold a guy down for a submission, unless you’ve beat them beyond their ability to fight back!” Taiga tenses her body to try and make her weight more difficult for Wildchild to move, but the Bahama Bomber shifts his body to tilt towards the right as he pushes himself up, taking Taiga off-balance as he makes one more desperate push towards the ropes…

 

 

Six more inches…

 

 

Three more…

 

 

Two more…

 

 

ONE MORE!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

The fans cheer excitedly as Wildchild gets his fingers around the bottom rope! Red Herrington orders Taiga to let go, but the Challenger takes every bit of her five-count before finally letting go!

 

“He made it,” says Mak, “but how much does he have left?” Taiga drags Wildchild away from the ropes and begins delivering a grueling series of kneedrops between WC’s shoulder blades! She then rolls Wildchild over onto his back and applies a lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

NO! WILDCHILD GETS THE SHOULDER UP!

 

 

“This Wildchild is tough!” marvels Francis. “I thought that he was done there, for sure!” Taiga pulls Wildchild to his feet, but the Bahama Bomber stuns her with a rabbit punch to the midsection!

 

“And look at Wildchild fire back!” shouts Mak, as WC delivers another shot to the midsection. Wildchild with a chop to the chest, followed by a headbutt which staggers the challenger! Wildchild runs towards the edge of the ring…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… But Taiga raises her arm as he quickly spins around, blasting Wildchild in the face as he bounces off the ropes with a ferocious rolling elbow smash!

 

“Big elbow by Taiga!” shouts King. “That could just about do it!” Taiga pulls Wildchild back to his feet and whips him towards a nearby corner, racing to the ropes as Wildchild staggers backwards towards the center of the ring, and leaps into the air as she rebounds, reaching for Wildchild’s neck to hit him with a running neckbreaker, but WC sidesteps her! Wildchild whips his leg through the air as Taiga turns around to deliver a roundhouse kick, but the challenger catches his leg in mid-move…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… Only for the Bahama Bomber to whip his other leg through the air and blast Taiga in the face with a Gamengiri! Wildchild stands with his back to Taiga and springs off the canvas, crashing down onto his chest with a backflip splash!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

BUT ONLY GETS TWO!

 

 

“Boy, I thought that Wildchild had her after that Gamengiri!” says Mak. “These two continue to go back and forth, and you have to wonder who will be able to come away with the win!” Wildchild pulls Taiga to her feet, but Taiga slips out of his grip and maneuvers behind him, lifting him overhead and slamming the Champion down onto her outstretched thigh with an Atomic Drop! The challenger then pulls WC’s hair from behind to trap him in an inverted front-facelock…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And drops to the canvas, slamming the back of Wildchild’s head into the mat with a reverse DDT!

 

“Reverse DDT!” shouts Mak. “That could be huge for the challenger!”

 

“Well, Taiga’s had some great opportunities in this match,” says King. “You’ve got to give her credit: she didn’t come here tonight to have a good showing, she came to win!”

 

“It remains to be seen, though, whether she can do enough damage to nail that double stomp,” adds Mak. “We’ve already seen that the Texas Cloverleaf didn’t meet with as much success as she was hoping for!” Taiga traps Wildchild in a double-underhook and then pops her hips as she falls backwards, taking the Bahama Bomber over with a Butterfly suplex!

 

“Hey, now, give credit to Taiga!” praises King, as Taiga returns to a sitting position, still favoring his elbow. “A lot of wrestlers would have stopped fighting when Wildchild started to make his comeback, but Taiga stuck it out and regained control of the match!” The challenger gets to her feet and heads over to the nearby corner.

 

“Why isn’t she going for the cover, though?” asks Mak, as Taiga begins to climb up the turnbuckles.

 

“I think she’s going for that Double Stomp!” replies King. “I think this may be a mistake; I don’t know that she’s got Wildchild compromised enough to go for this!”

 

“If she hits this, it’s over!” says Mak. “But the question is can she hit it?” Taiga steadies herself on the top rope in preparation to dive down to hit the Double Stomp…

 

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But the Bahama Bomber suddenly gets to his feet and makes a running leap to the top rope, catching Taiga with a head-and-arm trap before flipping backwards, taking the challenger with him as he plummets to the canvas, crushing her with a moonsault slam!

 

 

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

 

 

“Oh… My… GOD!” shrieks Mak. “That was incredible! Wildchild appeared to come back from the dead, and then got up to the top rope to hit what looked like a top rope C4!”

 

“And he’s going back up!” exclaims King, as WC struggles to climb back up the turnbuckles from inside the ring. “What the hell is he going for now?” The Human Hurricane gets both feet set on the top rope and then backflips into the ring…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Crashing into Taiga’s chest for an inverted Bird Dropping! Herrington slides into position to count the pinfall:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

 

The crowd erupts as “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to pump through the speakers once more! Wildchild rolls off of his defeated challenger and onto his knees, breathing heavily as Herrington raises his hand in victory.

 

Funyon rises from his seat at ringside, delivering the title belt to the edge of the ring as he lifts the microphone to his lips. “Here is your winner,” he says, “and STIIIIIL SWF World Cruiserweight Champion… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

 

“Unbelievable performance by the Wildchild!” says Mak. “For that matter, unbelievable performance by Taiga Star! Like you said, King, she came into this match to win it, and damned if she almost didn’t… But, in the end, Wildchild pulls out an amazing sequence of moves, which only he could have pulled off, and at the end of the night, he’s still the Cruiserweight Champion! Folks, we’re out of time! For the King, I’m the Franchise, and we’ll see you next time… Good night, everybody!”

 

 

Wildchild walks over to the corner and climbs to the middle ropes, saluting the crowd once more with his arms above his head, and his title held high…

 

 

As we:

FADE OUT