SWF Storm (June 21/2002)

June 22, 2002

BOOM! BOOM!

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!

KA-BOOOOOOOOOOM!

Storm starts off with a bang... literally! The camera scans through the hot, jacked crowd, finding signs such as “The Real Annie E drinks Vanilla Coke” and “DEEZ NUTS” held by the most rabid of fans. The camera comes to a stop on the annoucne table, giving us a smiling “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens and an ambivalent (and ambiguous) Bobby Riley.

“Fans! Romans! Lend me your ears, your eyes, and your television sets! This... is... Storm! I’m Mark Stevens!”

“And I’m Bobby Riley!”

“That’s spelled B-O-B-B-I!”

“The hell it is.”

“And last week on Storm, Edwin MacPhisto was in a handicap match against Chris Wilson and Stryke, but got the victory with the help of an unlikely assistant!”

(Footage rolls of Thoth running in with a chair, nailing Stryke, and Edwin’s ensuing victory)

“Word from the back is that Chris Wilson and company are hot after all this, and they’ve been looking for payback ever since!” exclaims Riley.

“Not hot in the sense that you’re thinking of, Bobbi.”

“Shut up, Stevens,” quips Riley as “Summer in the City” by the St. Lunatics starts to play, the smoke from the opening fireworks display only starting to clear. Chris Wilson, dressed in a black trrench coat and flanked by Stryke, stands at the top of the ramp, staring at the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” announces Funyon, “Chris Wilson and Stryke!”

Wilson makes his way down to the ring, stepping up the steel steps. He steps through the middle rope and takes a slow stroll around the ring before leaning out through the ropes to grab a mic. He pulls his arm back in, mic in hand, as Stryke watches from a corner, arms crossed over his chest, SWF Tag Tam Championship belt over one shoulder, SWF Hardcore Championship over the other.

“Well, well. It’s been a week of ups and downs. On the up side, we’re still... YOUR! S-W-F Tag Team Champions.”

Wilson draws intended heat for that remark.

“The sWo is running rampant in the Junior League... you have me to thank for that, of course.”

More boos and jeers.

“But yet, something bugs me. Something that happened last Friday. I believe Stryke here, and myself, were taking quite a beating to Edwin MacPhisto in a handicap match. For those of you who are fucking retarded, a handicap match involves two people against one person. And last Friday on Storm, there was no handicap, none at all. Because Thoth, a man who isn’t even on the active roster, ran in with a chair and hit Stryke, my tag team partner and fellow champion, with a chair. Now, I don’t know what King knew, and I don’t know what Stubby knew... but most of all, I don’t know what Edwin MacPhisto-”

Huge pop for the World Champion. Wilson grimaces at the SWF fans.

“-I don’t know what Edwin MacPhisto knew... and I want to know! Edwin, get out here now! You have a lot to answer for.”

Wilson drops his arms to his sides, mic in hand, waiting on the arrival of the reigning champion. He paces back and forth across the ring, as the silence, save for the buzzing crowd, begins to grow. He raises the mic again-

“I said hallelujah

To the sixteen loyal fans

Now get down on your motherfuckin’ knees

Cause it’s time for your sickness again”

And the crowd goes nuclear as Edwin walks out onto the stage, with the world title around his waist, and yes, a mic in hand. Even as “Battleflag” fades, Edwin cannot speak over the roar of the crowd’s adulation. He holds his hands out, his arms wide, out to the fans, in appreciation. Stryke frowns, and Wilson just simply looks bemused.

“Wilson, Wilson, Wilson. You want your cake and to eat it too. Knowing you, it’s probably carrot cake. Or fruitcake.”

“Hey! I happen to like fruitcake,” snides Riley.

“I won that match fair and square with the referee’s back turned,” adds Edwin. “Something that I’m sure you’re quite familiar with. I mean, I really don’t understand just what your problem is. The tables turn, and I mean... look at you! You sure don’t look like an evil genius. You look like...”

“Cut the crap, Edwin! You-”

“Do not interrupt me while I am thinking of a name for you... that’s it! You look like Mister Interruptor!”

Wilson scrunches his face tight, but the crowd eats it up, cheering and laughing. He lifts the mic slowly, deliberately. “Edwin... if you don’t want to give us any answers, why don’t you come down that ramp... and Stryke and I will beat them out of you!”

“Is that a threat, Wilsy-kins? I don’t take kindly to threats,” says Edwin, with narrowed eyes. He drops the mic to a loud pop and starts to walk down the ramp.

“Here we go!” shouts a loud and giddy Bobby Riley. “It’s throwdown time!” adds Stevens.

Edwin walks with purpose down the ramp, as Wilson stands crouched...

And the arena is bathed in crimson. A riff from “Quarantined” by At The Drive-in plays, as dark red lights obfuscate the arena. Edwin stops in his tracks, and Wilson looks above the head of the world champion to the entryway, as Thoth appears from the back.

“It’s Thoth! Looks like he’s going to explain his sudden return last week,” says Stevens.

Thoth bends down at the knees, slowly, taking the mic Edwin dropped, then standing back up. The lights return to normal, and the music fades, but the situation has palpably changed. Thoth lifts the mic to speak...

And then lowers his arm. His lip shivers as he stares directly at Chris Wilson. The crowd is buzzing, ever more silently.

“What is going on, Mark?” asks Riley. “I dunno,” comes the reply,”But we’re about to find out.” Thoth raises the mic again.

“Wilson.”

The crowd buzzes noisily at the sound of the name of the man in the ring. Why did Thoth utter it? What is going on?

“Wilson... you whore.”

The crowd pops like mad. Wilson smirks, walking closer to the edge of the ring, waiting to hear what Thoth has to say.

“I’ve been in my home in Japan, pondering my streak of losses, wondering where I went wrong. I watched people come and go, I watched my Clan weaken... and then you showed up. Wilson, do you know why you exist?”

Wilson smiles, and laughs as the force of the question spins him a full three hundred and sixty degrees. “Sure, Thoth. Why don’t you enlighten us all as why you stopped navel-gazing on my account?”

“You exist to be crushed, Wilson. People like you... they build their egos just so people like me can come along and tear them apart. And today, you and I are those chosen people in this cataclysm of the universe.”

“Wow!” remarks Stevens. “Thoth is declaring war on Chris Wilson and whomever is allied with him.”

“Is he stupid?” replies a cyncial Riley. “Wilson’s a former World Champion on the rise! Thoth’s a has been US champion on the fall.”

“But see, Wilson... it doesn’t end there. Not by a longshot. This is personal. I’m sure you remember... the IGNWO.”

A few boos as bad memories are conjured by the crowd. “I remember more. It was the IGNWO... and the Clan, that dominated the IGNWF, so long ago. You needed our help, yet... you treated us like slaves. Dogs. Do you know how that feels? To sit on the sidelines, and to try to explain to your stablemates... your family... boku no kazoku... just why we all are treated like dirt? Meanwhile, the IGNWO controls nearly all of the championships in the federation? You held us down, Wilson. You held us down. And when I get my hands on you... I am going to hold you down... in the ring... while I choke the life, the air, the blood, out of you.

Wilson chuckles again, not intimidated in the least. “Well, if you think-”

“I’m not done!” shouts Thoth. The crowd pops again as Thoth breathes heavily, trying to control his emotions. “You remember... long ago... before the IGNWO. You took some people under your wing. One was the most dominant champion of all time, the HVille Thugg.”

Name-dropping HVT gets a huge pop. Thoth stands, waiting for the crowd to finish showing their approval for the retired champion before continuing.

“The other... was my mentor, Reece Black. Better known as the founder of the Clan, Spider Nekura.”

Thoth pauses.

“Did you think that Nekura would be subservient to you? To anyone?”

Wilson grins widely, showing his perfect white teeth. “Hm... does it really matter who I recruit? In the end, everyone will come to see my way of thinking.”

“YOU PIECE OF SHIT! Nekura was more than just someone to recruit... he was my surrogate father! He taught me everything I know about this business! He is a god, Wilson! A god! And you will remember his name as I smear your blood all over the very ring you are standing in.”

Thoth breathes heavier, his eyes actually turning bloodshot before the crowd’s very eyes. Cameras zoom in so the TV audience can see the same thing. Thoth speaks one last time:

“The unstoppable cannot be stopped. The invincible cannot be beaten. The Clan... can only be feared. So... says... the Clan... So... says... Thoth. Chris Wilson! I look forward to gagging you with your own blood.”

“Quarantined” hits once again, as Thoth drops the mic and leaves. Edwin looks up at Wilson, and glares, nodding slightly, as he turns to leave as well.

“Wow. That man is angry,” remarks a somewhat quiet Riley.

“A lot of questions were raised last week, and they were answered just now. It’s a personal quest of vengeance for Thoth, and Chris Wilson is at the end of that road. But up next, Thoth makes his in-ring return against Johnny Rotten! Stay with us... this is Storm!”

The cameras leave the TV audience with a shot of Wilson, his elbows propped up on the ropes, looking with a mixture of disbelief and smugness at the entryway where Thoth was standing. Stryke stands to the side, looking near the same place. Fade to black, then commercial.

June 22, 2002

SINGLES MATCH

Thoth vs. Johnny Rotten

- Thoth is back and will try to shake off any possible ring rust in a match against the uhhh…very impressive Johnny Rotten.

US TITLE MATCH

Durandal © vs. Chris Raynor

- A few weeks ago Chris Raynor was set to face Jay Dawg for the US title but the match never happened as Dawg continued to blow off the match until King stripped him of the title. Durandal has since won the strap and will face a returning Raynor this Friday!

SINGLES MATCH

Mercury vs. Xero

- Mercury is back. What are his intentions? Perhaps we’ll find out when he takes on the also returning Xero.

TAG TEAM TITLE MATCH

Chris Wilson & Stryke © vs. Longdogger Pete & Ash Ketchum

- Longdogger Pete is back and will join up with former X-force 9 team-mate, Ash Ketchum to take on the current tag champs (one of whom is Stryke, who has been trading wins with Ash for the past few weeks). It should be slobberknockalicious!

NON-TITLE TRIPLE THREAT MATCH

Edwin MacPhisto vs. Sacred vs. Fallout

- Sacred and Fallout have been putting on amazing matches against each other in the ICTV division and on Storm they get a shot at the main event. While this match isn’t for the title, if either Fallout or Sacred wins they get to face an opponent yet to be named in a heavyweight title #1 contendership match.

Match Description – DQ and count-out rules are in effect. The first wrestler to score a pinfall, submission or knockout is the winner.

June 22, 2002

“Welcome back!” says an invigorated Mark Stevens. “Thoth just had some heavy words for Chris Wilson and anyone involved with the Meat Festival.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” adds Riley. “Gag you with your own blood? What’s that? That doesn’t make sense. Couldn’t you just swallow your own blood?”

“It’s not meant to be taken literally, I don’t think. Thoth’s just really angry, and he’s looking to take it out on someone.”

“Before he left unexpectedly, Thoth was racking up quite the losing streak,” says Riley, looking smug. “Tonight, he’s up against Johnny Rotten. The big question is: Ring Rust. Does Thoth have it yes, or no? I go with yes.”

“And I’ll take no,” replies Stevens, quite snappily. “So, $5? $10?”

“$10 sounds good.”

“Anarchy in the U.K.” plays over the PA, as Johnny Rotten appears from behind the curtain to a mild pop, and start to walk down the ramp.

“The following contest,” announces a dapper Funyon, “Is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, weighing in at 268 pounds... Johnny... ROTTEN!”

Rotten climbs in the ring with a cocky sneer. “Despite all the hype over Thoth’s return, Rotten doesn’t seem too impressed. In fact, he’s probably thinking about what a boost it would be to get a win over Thoth.”

Rotten checks the tightness of his wristbands, making them comfortably snug. He looks up at the entryway as his music fades, and the lights in the arena turn a deep blue. “Quarantined” plays for the second time of the night. The music flows through the opening like a calm river... but then there is a bridge...

And a huge riff rocks the arena’s sound system as the lights turn a deep, crimson red! From behind the wall that separates the ring from the rest of the world, Thoth steps out into the crowd’s eye.

“And, his opponent, weighing in at 236 pounds... THOTH!”

Thoth walks slowly, methodically down the ramp, never taking his eyes off the ring as a whole. He never focuses on any one aspect... but walks, his face and hair highlighted by the red lights. He climbs a near turnbuckle, staring down at Rotten as he removes his dress shirt, tossing it aside.

“As much as Rotten wants to win this match, Thoth wants to show that he hasn’t lost a step in the ring, and that he is ready to take on Chris Wilson,” comments Stevens. Thoth hops deftly down into the ring, as the lights and music fade.

*DING DING DING*

Thoth and Rotten circle each other briefly before locking up. Rotten gets the better of it, and snatches Thoth is a powerful side headlock, kicking his leg up to further his strength. Thoth holds his arms out at his sides, trying to find an immediate way out. He takes steps in a direction, then shoves Rotten off. He heads toward the ropes, then comes back towards the Balancer with a shoulderblock, taking him down. He looks down at the prone Thoth, and charges toward the ropes again, coming back with an elbow drop... but Thoth rolls out of the way, quickly rising up to his feet. Rotten stands to meet him, and is whipped to the ropes again. He ducks a clothesline from Thoth, and comes off the rebound, and back again... Thoth leaps into the air and sticks out a leg, and Rotten runs jaw-first into the leg! He goes down, but pops back up... into the grasp of Thoth. The Balancer hits a few uppercuts, sending Johnny Rotten back into the corner. He smiles, turning his face to the side, before shouting out to nothing at all, landing a pair of kicks before whipping Rotten into the opposite corner. Rather than following up quickly, he stands back, breathing in and out deeply.

“Thoth getting quickly reacquainted with the ring... doesn’t look like he’s lost much of a step.”

“I dunno,” retorts Riley, as Rotten comes out of the corner with a clothesline, knocking Thoth down. “He’s got to remember to be more aware... and to stop lollygagging!”

“You sure know a lot about gagging, Bobby.” Rotten brings Thoth to his feet and hooks him in a front facelock. Lifts him up.... textbook vertical suplex. He hooks the leg...

ONE!

TWO!

And a kickout. Rotten looks up at the ref, yet he knows he only got a two count. He pulls on Thoth’s thin red hair, bringing him up to his feet. Scoop... and a slam. Rotten backs into the ropes and comes off with an elbow drop, which echoes through the arena with a satisfying thud. Another cover...

ONE!

TWO!

And a shoulder up from Thoth. Johnny Rotten licks his lips, exhaling out his nose. He brings Thoth up again, striking him across the face with a stinging right. Thoth backpedals, trying to get away from the blows, but Rotten grabs his arm and flings him toward the ropes. Thoth for the ride, as Rotten takes position in the center of the ring. On the return, Rotten steps forward, throwing the weight of his entire body forward, using it as a battering ram... but Thoth slides underneath, through Rotten’s legs! He gets behind his foe and drop toe holds him down to the canvas, floating over into a front chancery and cinching it in.

“Thoth back on the attack here... but he is showing a few mistakes commonly expected from rookies,” says Stevens, analyzing the situation. “He didn’t follow up on the earlier offense, and paid for it. That’s definitely hard to expect from someone like Thoth, who is known for his aggressive style. It’s obvious something is bothering him.”

“Aww, Stevens, why don’t you throw him a pity party? A wrestling match isn’t an excuse for behavioral psychology. It’s two people beating the crap out of each other until one man is pinned, or submits.”

“And with that attitude, you sure won a lot of titles,” retorts Stevens. Thoth drops to one knee, forcing more of his weight onto Rotten. The Anarchist flails his arms, looking for a way out, then launches himself forward with all his strength, driving Thoth into the turnbuckle. The Balancer struggles to keep the hold as Rotten drives his shoulder into the Balancer’s midsection. After the fourth or fifth shoulder, the referee tells Rotten to back off. Rotten holds up his hands in abeyance, backing off slowly, per referee’s orders... then sneaks in a cheap slap to Thoth’s left cheek! The crowd “Ooh’s” with the impact, both the force and the emotional subtext by it. Thoth calmly brings his hand up to the affected area on his cheek, rubbing it, feeling the sting pass through his jaw, his neck. He smirks, nodding slowly... then grazes the referee as he cleans Rotten’s clock with a roundhouse kick! He growls audibly, the frustration of being disrespected setting in. He flings himself carelessly into the ropes and leaps into the air, the strap running between the knees of his pants trailing behind him has he drops a pair of knees across the upper chest of Johnny Rotten. He gets up, and repeats the motion, screaming like a banshee as he drives his knees into Rotten’s face. Finally, almost mercifully, he pulls Rotten to his feet, and hooks him for a suplex... he snaps him over neatly and quickly, and flows through into the lateral press.

ONE!

TWO!

THR- No, Rotten gets the shoulder up. The crowd is further on the edge of their seats as Thoth turns up the pace of the match. He pulls Rotten to his feet, and with reckless abandon in his eyes, pulls him around in a circle, building momentum. before ultimately tossing him under the bottom rope into the cold, unforgiving steel ringpost. His spine makes contact, bending back painfully. Rotten cries out in pain, which brings a sick smile to Thoth’s face.

“If Chris Wilson had anyone to worry about facing in his career, it’s probably Thoth. Look how he’s treating Johnny Rotten in the ring!” Stevens remarks. “Can he be stopped?”

“I’ll admit, he looks impressive now, but just wait until he reaches the big time! Just a month ago, he was fighting for the right to face Jay Dawg! Jay Dawg! Remember him?” pokes Riley, jabbing a finger in between Stevens’ ribs.

Thoth pulls Rotten to his feet, and sticks his head under his armpit, bending back and planting Rotten in the center of the ring with a Northern Lights. Thoth, wiping the drool from his chin, climbs the nearby turnbuckle to the top, steadying himself as he goes.

“Look at the size of Thoth eyes! They’re like dinner plates!” He bends his knees, then takes flight, making a perfect arc, then tucking his knees in at the apex of his jump, sticking the points out like deadly needles, ready to draw the life out of his opponent...

But Johnny Rotten rolls out of the way! Thoth’s knees crash wildly into the pale blue canvas, jarring into his legs! Thoth is disoriented long enough for Johnny Rotten to hook and land a DDT! Thoth lands upside down like a railroad spike before flopping over onto his back, where he lays, his chest and stomach rising and falling with his breathing. Rotten hooks the ropes for support, as he tries to remain standing while catching his breath.

“Rotten with the chance to make a comeback... too bad he’s got to take a breather here,” says Stevens, analyzing the situation like only a ring veteran can. “If he could stay on the offensive, he’d have a good chance of scoring the upset, but Thoth’s just taken too much out of him!”

Rotten finds enough strength left within him to let go of the ropes; he tentatively approaches the prone Thoth, and lifts him to his feet. Thoth’s eyes are slightly glazed over; that DDT must have taken a lot more out of him than would normally be expected. He lands a punch, and another, and another, backing Thoth into the ropes. He leans against them hard, as the Balancer seems to be having trouble supporting his own weight. Rotten rears back and lands a hard knife-edge chop to Thoth’s chest, eliciting a “Woo!” from the crowd. Another chop, and another “Woo!” The impact smacks Thoth against the ropes, which bend and buckle under his weight, sending vibrations around the perimeter of the entire ring. Thoth’s head sinks low into his chest, and Rotten reads it, reads what Thoth’s condition is, and hits a big belly-to-belly, covering for the hot pin...

ONE!

TWO!

THRE- No! No! Thoth gets a shoulder up just before the three count. Rotten grunts his frustration, stomping away on Thoth’s chest and stomach. He pulls Thoth up, yelling, “Come on, satan-boy!” and nailing some stiff European uppercuts. Thoth reels in the turnbuckle, and Rotten whips him Irish-style to the far side...

But suddenly, there is a glimmer, a glimmer of recognition in Thoth’s eye, and he reverses the whip, pulling Johnny Rotten in close... for a Downward Spiral! Rotten kisses the mat and rolls over onto his back, as Thoth gets to his feet suddenly... which is probably not a good idea, as the sudden move takes blood away from his brain, which has been injured somewhat good from that DDT. He holds his hand up to his face, trying to relax himself and breathe. Rotten is pushing himself up to his feet at a frightening pace, and Thoth barely has enough time to dodge a desperation clothesline that takes all of Rotten’s energy to throw. Thoth gets behind the Anarchist and grabs the extended arm that was used for the clothesline, shoving it between his own legs. Thoth grabs the other arm, and hooks it behind his shoulder. With a heave-ho, he hoists Rotten up high in a pumphandle, and slams him down hard into a pile of arms and legs and a torso. Thoth gets up as Johnny Rotten undoes his own knots, then stands crouched, waiting for him to get it. “This could be it,” says Stevens, trailing off, as Rotten sees a final opportunity, and throws another desperation clothesline...

That misses. Thoth scoops him up, cradles the leg... holds him steady as Rotten tries to kick out, flailing wildly in this bad predicament...

And drops him right on his head as he falls to his knees! The crowd lets out a simultaneous, loud “Oh!” as Thoth covers his adversary for the pin.

“The Riot of the Blood! Johnny Rotten is out of this match!” screams Stevens.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

*DING DING DING*

“Here is your winner... Thoth!” announces Funyon, as “Quarantined” plays once again.

“And with a sound and decisive victory, Thoth is back!” announces a mildly elated Stevens. “Chris Wilson better watch out, because at this rate, he’ll be overwhelmed by personal enemies.”

“I don’t think Wilson has a thing to worry about; he’s always found a way to sneak out of situations and come out on top. Even if he has to destroy a few buildings in the process.”

“Such as toy stores?”

“Perhaps... it depends.”

The referee raises Thoth’s arm, then the Balancer leaves the artificial confines of the ring to head up the ramp... where greater challenges can, and do await. The cameras fade to black, then the commercials start to air.

June 22, 2002

Tap, tap, tap.

Standing outside the Carnival dressing room door, Chris Raynor taps his boot on the linoleum. “Edwin, hurry up! If you want to come, come--I’ve got a match, so let’s get going!”

In a blur, the Mac Daddy slides out of the doorway, red coat blazing behind him, a mild look of disappointment on his face. “Sorry, good Captain Chris – I couldn’t get the hair dye to take.” With a frown, the world champion points to some half-assed silver streaks through his red mane, then shrugs.

“The hair dye?” asks Raynor. “Wow. You must be more concerned about Sacred and Fallout than I thought. The hair dye is reserved for situations of extreme desperation and need--”

“Oh, sod off Chris! Let’s go.”

And go they do. The two Carnival members start to walk down the hall, Raynor grinning, Edwin looking a little more determined…or maybe paranoid. As they walk, the camera tracks with them, staying a few feet ahead of them and charting their every step, jog, and turn around the corners of the labyrinthine Boardwalk Hall backstage…

“So” says Raynor, “I’ve got an excuse to be walking. What’s yours?”

“Have to get ready, signore.”

“For?”

“For Sacred and Fallout.”

“You mean you’re going to the weight room? Now?”

“Have to get loosened up. Have to focus. It’s a big match, you know.”

“Worrying about a match? That’s not like you.”

Step to the side as a road agent with a pastry cart slides by. Edwin snags a Danish. He takes a bite.

“Well, I’ve got to be ready. It’s Sacred and Fallout. It’s not like I’m facing a pair of Cutthroats or something.”

“You’re usually not like that, though.”

“Can’t complacent. Gotta stay on my tip toes, right?”

Bite of the Danish. Turn another corner. There’s a brief pause in conversation…

“So--”

“What I’m trying to say here, Chris, is that I’ve been thinking about all this. I’m worried.”

“You seemed all right laying the verbal smack on Wilson before--”

“That’s talking, Chris. Tonight, I have to wrestle. Everyone’s heard what Wilson said so far, and now I’ve got to get in the ring with two of the people voted Most Likely To Debilitate Someone With A Claw Hammer in their graduating classes. Sacred’s gunning for me. Fallout’s gunning for me. Magnifico’s mysteriously vanished. Hell, I don’t even know a whit about Thoth! Maybe he’s gunning for me. Wilson certainly is, that plucky little bastard, but he’s taking his time about it. Even his little pricklers in the JL, Mak Francis and Poisyn, are taking pot-shots at me!” He pauses. “Have I really been holding them all back?”

“No—if Wilson said it, it’s wrong. Don’t let it get to you.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the world champion.”

Raynor looks down at the floor, still walking.

Ouch.

Edwin thinks better of that. Turn a corner.

“…sorry, Chris. I didn’t--”

Raynor looks up.

“It’s cool, Edwin. But look—you’re the world champion. Of course everyone’s going to be after you. You’ve got the biggest prize in the business around your waist: people want it, you have it! Simple as that!”

Edwin stops walking. They’re at the end of the hall, and here it splits into two paths. “I don’t want to be the Holy Grail that Harrison Ford, Sean Connery, and a rather portly John-Rhys Davies are tumbling and stumbling after, Chris. I’m living in fear. Me! In fear! The man who usually walks up to fear, honks its nose, and sprays it in the face with a squirt-gun corsage!”

“Edwin, you gotta face facts. You’ve got the Holy Grail, the Ark of the Covenant, and…whatever they were after in Temple of Doom in your hands. We’re here to back you up—but you’ve got to stand, and deliver.”

“Stand and Deliver? Edward James Olmos? I am not a Mexican schoolteacher, thankyouverymuch!”

“I mean it, Edwin. Get out there, and wrestle like you know you can, and no one’s going to stop you. Keep worrying, and they’re gonna pick away at your bones. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a US Title to win…finally. We’ll get drinks later, and everything’ll be cool like Fonzie.”

“Good luck, Chris.”

“Good luck, Edwin.”

Raynor goes off left, leaving Edwin standing alone in front of the camera. He looks down at the belt cinched around his waist, the ounces of gold on leather, the name-plate that reads “Edwin MacPhisto,” thinking of the prestigious lineage of the great champs before him…Divefire…Mark Stevens…The HVille Thugg.

Vanished. Retired. Crippled. All gone. This belt—it got them to the top.

And then? It killed them.

“A bloody blessing,” he mutters, “and a bloody curse.”

Edwin disappears off to the left, leaving a half-eaten Danish, and a long, empty hallway behind him.

June 22, 2002

Just as we return to SWF Storm, the lights are dimmed down, and “Darkest Days” incites the crowd to near riotous booing! “SO SAYS THE CLAN” appears on the SmarkTron in bold white gothic letters, and moments later as the music kicks up, Durandal slowly steps out from underneath the giant screen, his US Title concealed by his robe.

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the Smarks Wrestling Federation United States Championship! Introducing first, from Buffalo, New York… weighing in at two hundred and thirteen pounds… He is the SWF US Champion… DUUURAAANDAAALL!”

Mark: Welcome back to Storm, ladies and germs, and I hope you’re ready for some US Title action!

Bobby: Durandal of the Clan takes on Chris Raynor, in a match that will surely drive the Carny back into retirement!

Mark: Really?

Bobby: God I hope so!

Durandal slowly walks down the ramp, his eyes scouring the crowd but his face shows no emotion. He reaches the ring and slides in underneath the bottom rope, pauses for a moment, then removes his robe and begins folding it up. He shoots a quick, cold look at the referee, and it‘s enough to send the official back a few feet-

“YEA!”

*KABOOM*

“Electra Made Me Blind” stirs the crowd up, and moments later Chris Raynor steps out onto the stage, smiling broadly and pumping his arms to the crowd!

“Introducing the challenger, from Baton Rouge, Louisianaaa… weighing in at two hundred and fifty pounds…. CHRIIIIIISS RAYYYYNOOORRRR!”

Raynor heads out along the very edge of the stage, still pumping his fists and shouting at the crowd, drawing massive cheers! He tears his jersey off and heaves it to the fans, then heads for the other side of the stage!

Bobby: Damn crowd whore.

Mark: Raynor’s been gone for a few weeks, but before he left he had a US Title shot, and now he’s cashing it in.

Bobby: Where the hell was he, anyway? He was scheduled to face Jay Dawg for the title twice!

Mark: I’ve heard he bought a house in Utah, and he was gone for two weeks to oversee the moving.

Bobby: Utah? What the hell is in Utah?

Having caused enough of a ruckus, Raynor turns to the ramp, sprints down it, and slides into the ring and almost crashes into the ref! The ref hopped out of the way just in time, and Raynor looks at him, grinning apologetically, before jumping to his feet and mounting the nearest turnbuckle. Another cry of joy from the fans, and Durandal looks on with complete stillness…

Mark: Talk about intimidating.

Raynor hops off the turnbuckle and falls back into it, leaning against it while eyeing his opponent. Funyon takes his leave, and the referee signals for the bell…

*DING DING DING*

Bobby: Mormons. And green jello.

Mark: Huh?

Bobby: That’s what’s in Utah. Mormons and green jello.

… neither competitor moves. The crowd begins to stir anxiously… more time passes, and now Raynor slowly slinks out of the corner, keeping his back to the ropes. Durandal too begins to move, and a slow circling motion- Raynor leaps forward, but Durandal is ready and he delivers an incredibly painful-looking palm-strike right to Raynor’s incoming face! It connects with his mouth, and the Carny falls back quickly, trying to tell if he has any teeth left. Durandal is quick to follow up, delivering a second palm strike, a third, and then he grabs Raynor’s arm and whips him into the ropes. He hit’s the opposite ropes and comes screaming back at the Clan member, arm extended, but Durandel ducks! Raynor continues and hits the ropes again, but after taking one step off them Durandel drops and catches Raynor with a single leg take down, then rolls over him and locks on an Anklelock! Raynor immediately scrambles for the ropes, and manages to snag the bottom one before Duran gets a good grip on his leg.

Mark: That seems to be Durandal’s style, submissions early and often.

Bobby: And it’s worked, too! Got him the US Title, it did.

Raynor pulls himself up to his feet and whirls around, but Durandal is already on him. He grabs Raynor’s hand and throws him into the ropes again. This time around Raynor pulls his foot back for a Big Boot!

Too bad he didn’t get his foot up, as Durandal steps back and kicks up, nailing a Superkick! It hit’s the side of Raynor’s face and is deflected off, but enough of it caught him, and Raynor goes down hard, wondering what his mouth did to deserve such punishment. Durandal lets the Carny get to one knee before running to the ropes, bouncing back, and dropkicking the side of his head! Raynor decides the best course of action is to roll outside and fall to the ground, since the dropkick sent him there anyway.

Mark: Man, Durandal hasn’t been in the WF long, but he’s really taking it to the veteran Raynor!

Bobby: The man is a jackal, Mark! He fought tooth and nail for that title and he’s gonna do everything he can to keep it!

Raynor lands on his knees and hands, and he spends a few moments shaking the cobwebs. Durandal is kept in the ring by the referee, to his disappointment. Raynor gets up to his feet and leans against the apron as the ref’s count hits four… five… six… Raynor rolls back in under the ropes and immediately pops to his feet. Durandal had taken a step forward, but Raynor’s quick rise caused him to stop. The champion smirks, then the two men slowly step forward, meeting center-ring… collar and elbow tieup. Raynor manages to lock a headlock on Durandal, and he uses his free right hand to punch away at his exposed face. He only gets a few punches fired off before Duran shoves Raynor off and into the ropes. Raynor comes back, and Durandal drop-toeholds him down, rolls over, and grabs his ankle! Again Raynor rolls for the ropes, and Durandal doesn’t have time to lock in a submission!

Mark: Raynor can’t get caught in one of those leg-based submissions - Durandal’s got some of the best in the business.

Duran waits for Raynor to get to his feet, then once again fires off a palm-strike assault! The blows send Raynor reeling into the nearby corner, and Durandal switches to boots which put Raynor down on his ass in the corner. The champ then heads across to the opposite corner.

Bobby: Doc Marten time!

Mark: Hard hitting offense from the champ, and it looks like there’s more coming!

Durandal backs into the corner, then tears for Raynor! He kicks his boot up just before hitting his target, but Raynor rolls out of the way! Durandals foot hits the middle turnbuckle instead, and when he whips around he’s immediately met with a hard right hand! The crowd begins to rally behind Raynor as he lays into the champ with a series of rights and lefts, reaching up to twelve as the crowd counts along! Raynor then grabs Durandal’s arm and drags him out towards the center of the ring…

Mark: Raynor’s gonna have to be quick in his offense - showboating is dangerous against a guy like Durandal.

Bobby: You mean “Crowd Whore Raynor”? Probably doesn’t even know there’s a match going on.

Mark: Uh… right…

A quick knee to the gut, and Durandal is doubled over. Raynor throws the champ’s arm around his own neck then hooks his tights, lifts him and holds him straight up in a suplex position!

Mark: Come on Chris… This is what I’m talking about, he can’t afford to-

Durandal begins to struggle! Kicking and squirming and being a general nuisance, he eventually forces Raynor to drop him back down on his feet… Raynor kicks him in the gut again, sets him up, SNAP SUPLEX~!

Mark: Oh… Hrm.

Bobby: Bah!

Raynor rolls over Durandal and hooks his leg!

Mark: First fall of the match, one, T- and Duran Duran kicks out.

Bobby: Don’t call him that!

Durandal rolls his shoulder up off the mat, breaking the count, then continues to roll away from his attacker. He kip-ups and turns around, but Raynor is already waiting, and a well timed chop goes SMACK~!, prompting “WHOOOO!” from the crowd!

SMACK~!

“WHOOO!”

SMACK~!

“WHOOO!”

SMA-

No, no SMACK~! this time, as Durandal grabs Raynor’s incoming hand and twists it around while stepping behind him. He then kicks Raynor in the back of the knee, and the Carny goes down on his stomach - the US champ quickly climbs on top and hooks on an STF!

Bobby: And Raynor’s nowhere near the ropes!

Mark: Yes he is.

Bobby: A guy can dream, Mark.

Raynor’s arm frantically swipes at the nearest rope, which is still about half a foot away! Durandal yanks back, and Raynor screams out in pain! His clenched fists suddenly pound down onto the mat, and practically shaking from the energy he’s using, he manages to puuuuuull himself an inch or two closer… closer… his hand goes out for the ropes-

Durandal again YANKS back, and Raynor’s hand instinctively goes from the rope to flailing around aimlessly! The champ leans back, pulling as hard as he can, and again you can hear Raynor screaming! He pounds his fists on the mat, slowly a rhythmically, and soon the crowd is clapping along as he grits his teeth and pulls forward again…

… and GRABS THE ROPE!

Mark: YES!

Bobby: Hey! Be objective!

Mark: Er… yes, this great match with two great athletes will continue!

Bobby: Damn it!

Durandal reluctantly lets go of the hold, leaving Raynor gasping for breath while maintaining a death grip on the bottom rope. Duran steps up, then drops and drives the point of his elbow in the back of Raynor’s neck! A rapid fire succession of elbow drops follow, reaching six, before Durandal relents and steps away for a moment. Raynor is on his knees, facing the audience and clutching the middle rope, when Durandal’s hand grabs a handful of his hair and yanks him up. He wraps his arm around Raynor’s head from the front and dri-

Mark: -ves him down with an Unprettier! Here’s the cover, one, tw- No, Raynor kicks out at the count of two!

Bobby: Shouldn’t that be named the Uglier…er?

Mark: The Uglierer?

Bobby: Shut up.

Durandal shoots a cold glare at the referee while climbing back to his feet, and the official quickly steps back. The champ turns back to Raynor, who is attempting to get to his feet. Another handful of hair helps him up to his feet, and when Durandal lets go, the challenger wobbles, barely able to stand. Duran pulls his hand back, opening his palm, then fires it forward-

Raynor catches it and twists his arm, then quickly steps behind him! The crowd roars at the spot-stealing, and gets louder as Raynor kicks Durandal in the back of the leg and drops him to the mat! Durandal immediately scrambles for the ropes and he manages to grab them before Raynor can get the STF!

Mark: Ha! Raynor stole his move!

Durandal grabs the ropes hand over hand and pulls himself up, but the moment he’s on his feet he’s clotheslined over the top rope! He tumbles over and lands in a mangled heap of himself, and the crowd again pops as Raynor swings his feet over the ropes and heads out after him! Raynor hops down to the matted floor, grabs Durandal by the hair, and jerks him hard up to his feet. He moves his hand to the back of the US champ’s head, then slams it forward into the ring apron!

Mark: I don’t know if Durandal was prepared for this style of offense-

Raynor pulls Durandal away from the ring apron, toward the announce table. He waves Mark away with his free hand.

Mark: Uh, we better mov- *disconnects headset*

Bobby: Whenever you’re ready, CB- *disconnects headset*

Durandal goes FLYING OVER THE TABLE! He crashes into the announcers chairs and falls out of view behind the booth! Raynor turns away and throws his arms up, and the crowd roars in response!

Mark and Bobby have both retreated to the timekeepers table, and watch as Raynor continues to play to the crowd. After a few moments, he turns back and slowly heads for the booth. Raynor leans over the table to grab Durandal- A foot flies up from behind the booth, catching Raynor square in the jaw! He’s thrown back to the ring apron, where he falls to his knees cradling his mouth, and the US champ leaps over the table and attacks!

Bobby: *plugging back in*-t’d I tell ya, Mark? Crowd-Whore!

Mark: *plugging back in*-ooks like it cost him, too!

The referee has turned beet red screeching at the competitors, and Durandal for one is sick of hearing him scream. So he grabs Raynor by the seat of his pants and heaves him in under the ropes, then rolls in after him. They both get to their feet at the same time, but Raynor is woozy. Durandal steps up next to him and overlaps their arm and leg, then throws himself back, taking Raynor down with a Side Russian Legsweep. The champ then rolls over him for the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

T- Just before the T in Three, Raynor rolls his shoulder off the mat!

Mark: Durandal gets two and change after the Legsweep. Durandal can’t make the same mistake-

Bobby: Crowd whoring? He won’t.

Mark: I mean he can’t waste any time. Raynor’s capable of second, third, sometimes fourth winds!

The US Champ gets up, puts his foot underneath Raynor’s back and rolls him over. He then steps over to Raynor’s legs and suddenly drops down, driving the point of his elbow into the back of Raynor’s left knee! Raynor immediately rolls away, cradling his leg, but Durandal quickly rolls him back onto his stomach and drops the elbow again!

Mark: That’s unique - and painful looking, too.

Duran picks Raynor up off the mat and leads him to the center of the ring, taking good notice of Raynor’s slight limping. He leaves the Carny standing in the center of the ring and runs for the ropes, comes back and jumps and dropkicks Raynor’s left knee! It almost looks like the knee was going to cave in, and Raynor audibly curses, prompting a “BLEEP” for the television audience! The challenger falls back down to the mat and rolls away, clutching his knee and crying out in pain!

Bobby: Bwahaha! Cry you infant! CRY!

Satisfied with his work, the US champ stops Raynor before he can roll out of the ring. He stands the challenger up, and sets him up Suplex Style. He quickly jerks and Raynor goes up, then Durandal drops him straight down in a Brainbuster, rolls into the cover!

Mark: Raynor’s a big guy, and it didn’t look like Durandal got as much out of that as he could hav- here’s the cover. One, Two, TH- Raynor gets the shoulder up at three.

Durandal gets back to his feet and takes Raynor up to his by the hair. He takes a moment, looking over his opponent… then spins Raynor around and locks arms around his waist. He throws Raynor’s own left arm around his head-

-Suddenly Raynor pulls his arm away and throws an elbow back at the champions head! It connects! A second! A third! Durandal looks woozy! Raynor pulls back then launches a fourth elbo- Durandal ducks! He rewraps Raynors arm around his own head, then quickly picks him up at a high angle and drops him down in a Backd-

Mark: -rop Driver! Durandal’s already gotten Raynor’s leg, it looks like now he’s going for the neck.

Bobby: The man’s an animal, Mark. A machine!

Mark: … huh? Which is he?

Bobby: Er… he’s an animal machine! Go go Power Rangers!

Mark: *sigh*

The US champ pops up to his feet and pauses, contemplating his next move… he decides, and grabs Raynor’s arm and jerks him to his feet. Boot to the stomach, then he jams Raynor’s head under his legs.

Mark: Ego Buster - Durandal could be signaling the beginning of the end here- wait a minute!

Durandal suddenly finds himself going uuuuuuuuppp and over! Backdrop counter from Raynor! The challenger turns and faces the champ, apparently hitting a second stride! Durandal is quick to his feet, but once up Raynor immediately levels him with a clothesline! The champ pops up a second time, and a second clothesline drives him right back down!

Bobby: Damn it, STAY DOWN!

Durandal again gets up, and Raynor runs in for the clothesline- Durandal ducks the third one, and he reaches up behind him and grabs Raynor by the head and drops down- Neckbreaker! He rolls into a cover!

Mark: One… Two… THR- NO! Raynor kicks out again!

Durandal quickly moves to behind Raynor’s head and grabs both of his arms! It looks like he’s setting up for- Raynor jerks his arms forward, and Durandal flips over him and across the ring, landing hard on his back! The crowd begins to rally behind Raynor again as both men slowly climb to their feet. Durandal is up first, and he sprints for Raynor-

-the challenger’s arm extends, and the champion finds himself going TILT-A-WHIIIIIIRLS SLAM INTO THE COVER!

Mark: Raynor caught him by surprise! ONE! TWO!

T

H

R- NO! Durandal rolls away from his attacker!

Mark: Raynor’s gotta stay on him!

Durandal grabs the middle rope and pulls himself up to his knees, but Raynor LEAPS across the ring and drives his forearm down across the champ’s back, and Duran falls flat on the canvas! Raynor drops forearm after forearm, wearing down Durandal’s back, before getting to his feet. He stoops down and leads Durandal up by the arm, then leads him over to the nearest corner. He shoves the champ into it, then mounts the second turnbuckle, standing over him! A cheer from the crowd, and Raynor begins to fire away as everyone counts along!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

Raynor pauses holding his hands and all ten fingers up, before looking down aaaaand DURANDAL SHOOTS UP A VICIOUS SHOTEI TO RAYNOR’S NECK! RAYNOR FLIES OFF THE TURNBUCKLE AND LANDS ACROSS THE RING, GASPING FOR BREATH!

Bobby: HAH! I love it!

Mark: I don’t think that’s legal!

Bobby: But you don’t know! Tie goes to the runner, you should know that!

Raynor is on the ground choking profusely, while Durandal looks upon him with utter disdain. The champion lunges forward, with newfound aggressiveness, dropping a series of elbows on Raynor’s now tender neck, then staying down for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

Mark: THRE- NO! Raynor kicks out AGAIN!

Bobby: But the end is near, Marky Mark! Not much longer now!

Durandal moves quickly now, bringing Raynor up to his feet. Raynor is doubled over, trying to regain his normal breathing pattern, leaving him wide open. Durandal picks him up and quickly Scoop Slams him back down, then goes for the closest ringpost. He steps through the ropes and ignores the referee’s count as he scales the turnbuckle.

Bobby: Thank you for flying Clan Airlines-

Durandal springs off!

Bobby: -and we HOPE-

HOPE was accented as it was the exact moment Durandal’s Flying Headbutt connected on Raynor!

Bobby: -you enjoyed your flight!

Mark: How clever.

Durandal opts not to make a cover - instead, he jerks the unwilling Raynor back up to his feet and kicks him in the gut… looks like he’s going for a se-

Mark: -cond attempt at the Ego Buster.

He bends down and locks his arms around Raynor’s waist, then puuuuuuullllllssss, but Raynor kicks, and stays grounded! Duran grits his teeth and tries again, but no dice! The challenger remains! Durandal clubs Raynor’s back a few times, then relocks his arms and, visibly straining, pulls and manages to get Raynor up! He’s shaking from the amount of strength it’s taking to hoist him up-

-Raynor begins kicking! One of his randomly flying boots catches Durandal in the face, and the tired champion falls backward, releasing Raynor! The crowd cheers wildly as Raynor AGAIN seems to be filled with energy! The Carny gets to his feet, feeling the vibe from the crowd, and heads over to Durandal, who’s already up. Raynor boots him in the stomach, then shoves the champions head between HIS legs!

Bobby: Spot stealing again?!

Raynor pulls the lighter Durandal up, holds him there briefly, then puts all his force into the POWERBOMB~! The impact is heard at the very tip top of the arena!

Mark: Man, what force! What im-… wait a minute… Raynor’s not done! You know what’s coming!

Bobby: No I don’t. I refuse to acknowledge it’s existence.

Mark: You mean-

“SMAAAAAAAAAAAASH!”

The crowd is calling for it, chanting “SMASH! SMASH! SMASH!”, and that is Raynor’s battlecry as he pulls Durandal back up from the power bomb, back up onto his shoulders, then drops him throat first across the top rope! The rebound launches Durandal across the ring, and he lands with a *THUD* and lies motionless in the center of the canvas! Raynor catches his breath, then scrambles on his hands and knees over to the fallen champion!

ONE!

TWO!

T

H

R

E- NO! The champ kicks out! Raynor pounds the mat once with a clenched fist, then takes Durandal by the hair and brings him up to his feet.

Mark: CLOSE close call!

Bobby: It wasn’t THAT close.

Durandal is up, and he quickly fires a palm strike to try and buy time, but Raynor sidesteps it! He ducks around behind the champion and locks arms around his waist, then hoists him UUUUUP AND OVER IN A BRIDGED GERMAN SUPLEX! The referee and the crowd count in unison!

ONE!

TWOOOO!

T

H

R

E

EEEE- NOOOOOOOO! Durandal kicks out at the last possible second, so close that the ref actually hit three, but only because he couldn’t stop his hand in time!

Bobby: THAT was close! Come on Durandal, the Carnival has enough gold already! DO SOMETHING!

Raynor slowly gets to his feet, looking down at Durandal and planning his next move… he suddenly smiles broadly, then stoops down and grabs the champion’s arm and picks him up. He leads the dazed US Champ over to the nearest turnbuckle, then picks him up from behind and hoists him onto the top rope.

Mark: Raynor’s got Durandal on the top rope… hey wait… Bobby, I think Raynor’s going Old Sk00l!

Bobby: Huh?

Mark: This is the setup to the old Acid Rayn! The top rope Belly-to-Back Suplex!

Durandal opens his eyes and sees the roaring crowd. Funny… everything seems a bit farther a way… I didn’t magically grow taller, he thinks… Hey, wait a sec.

Raynor has mounted the second rope behind Durandal and goes to lock his arms around his waist. Suddenly, the champ throws his left elbow back and drives it into Raynor’s face! Raynor falls off the second rope and stumbles away, and Durandal tries frantically to get off the top rope. He gets one foot loose when Raynor comes back, and he uses that foot to kick his attacker off. Duran then gets his other foot free and, still on the top rope, he turns around to face the ring. Raynor jumps onto the second rope and tries again to hook Durandal, this time for a Superplex, but Durandal locks his arm around Raynor’s head from above!

Mark: Now Durandal has Raynor set up for the Spinning Darkness!

Without missing a beat, Durandal leaps off the top rope, spinning around toward the center of the ring! The top rope Tornado DDT has a devastating effect-

-on Durandal, as Raynor puts his hands up to Duran and shoved him off mid-air! The US Champ crashes down to the mat WITHOUT Raynor in tow!

Mark: They’ve both thwarted each other’s finishing moves!

Bobby: They’ve still each got one to go!

Duran lands on his arse, but backrolls and immediately leaps to his feet. But in doing so, he opens himself up wide open for a BIG BOOT! His head snaps back and he collapses to the canvas, and the crowd begins chanting “SMASH! SMASH! SMASH!” for a second time! Having learned his lesson now, Raynor doesn’t waste a single second in picking Durandal up and heaving him with all his force into the farthest turnbuckle! He sprints over in front of Duran and doesn’t bother to kneel, instead just turns his back to the champ, HOOKS HIS ARMS, AND PICKS HIM UP AND OVER INTO THE ACIIIIIID RAYN!

Mark: ACID RAYN!

Bobby: ANOTHER stolen move!

In one smooth motion, Raynor’s arms (still hooked to Durandal) roll the champion over, and Raynor rolls on top of him and hooks the leg! The crowd chants along with the referee’s count!

ONE!

Mark: HE’S GOT HIM!

TWOOOO!

Bobby: KICK OOOOOUT!

T

H

R

E

EEEEEE- YEEEEEEEEES! THREE! THREE! THREE!

Mark: NEW CHAMPION! NEW CHAMPION!

*DING DING DING*

The arena comes unglued as Raynor jumps to his feet, then falls back over, apparently the second wind having run its course! “Electra Made Me Blind” plays off somewhere in the background, but it really can’t be heard too well on account of the crowd! The referee (unwillingly) offers himself as a crutch, and it takes a minute for Raynor to get back to his feet!

“Here is your winner….. And NEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWW SWF United States Champiooooonn…. CHRIIIIIIISSSS RAYYYYYNOOOORRRRR!”

The referee leads Raynor to the ropes to support himself, then leans out over the top rope and is handed the belt. Raynor’s fallen down again, but he manages to stand as the referee hands him the gold! Raynor holds it front of him, staring at it for a few moments, then turns it around and hoists it up for the crowd!

Mark: The Carnival picks up another championship!

Bobby: You can bet your ass Durandal’s gonna have something to say about this - not to mention he’s got a rematch comin’! TAKE IT NOW, DURANDAL! REMATCH NOW!

Mark: I don’t think he can have the rematch now, but I agree with you - Durandal’s not going to take this lightly, and if you thought this match was good folks, I’ll bet the rematch will be better! We’ve still got a ways to go tonight, so stay with us here on Storm!

*faaaaaade to black*

June 22, 2002

The shot fades in from commercial and we see Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley sitting in their seats at the commentary table, awaiting the entrance of the next superstars to do battle within the squared circle.

“Welcome back to SWF Storm! Hmm...it’s still weird saying that, don’t you think Mark?”

“No, not really.”

“Well...yeah, I was just testing you, to see if you were stupid or anything. You passed, congratulations.”

Mark sighs.

“Anyway, we’ve got a match coming up, so let’s not waste too much time with your idiotic rambles, okay Bobby? Xero is in due out here next to face off with a man that he’s familiar with...the Regenerate King himself, Mercury. Now, this is Merc’s first match back, so what should we expect from him, Mr. Riley?”

“How the hell should I know? Wrestling, I guess. He might win, he might lose. But either way, we’ll probably see a winner to this match.”

“...You know, you should get a job with the NFL, you’d fit in perfectly as a commentator.”

“Yeah, I know it. Plus, I know a lot about football.”

“Right. I’ve just gotten word from the back, so here comes Mercury!”

Silence. The crowd ceases to be a factor as light fades into darkness, and they are immersed within an unusual circumstance. There is no movement, for a moment...and then...

““...one last disguise...””

As if the sky were opening, the stage explodes with light blue flashing in every which way as ““Spy Hunter”” by Project 86 emits it’’s sounds through the system. Simultaneously, Mercury steps out from the back to an intimidating collective roar from the crowd. Clips from his matches of the past flash by on the Smarktron above him, and through them all the Regeneration-X symbol slowly strengthens in opacity as he peers out at the cheering crowd and responds with a charismatic smile and the X symbol, crossing his wrists a foot in front of his chest for a brief moment. Slipping his arms back down to his side, he slowly descends the entrance ramp as he makes the trek toward the ring.

“Making his way to the ring...from Los Angeles, California...standing at six feet, two inches tall, and tipping the scales at two hundred thirty three pounds...returning to the Smarks Wrestling Federation after a long hiatus...Ladies and Gentlemen...Merrrrrcuryyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!”

As he is half-way down the ramp, he begins to sprint the rest of the way to the ring, diving in under the ropes. Running to the opposite side of the ring as he gets to his feet, he leaps up onto the ropes and stands for a moment with his arms outstretched. As he begins to lose his balance, he jumps back down into the ring and awaits his opponent.

“Not a bad way to make a re-entry into a fed, eh?”

Stevens looks over at Riley, who gives him a strange look, and turns away.

“What the hell are you looking at me like that for, dude? I’m NOT gay...”

“No? I guess you’re just retarded then. That’s okay, the special olympics aren’t that far away.”

“Shut up.”

“Merc comes out to a huge welcome from this crowd, and I can’t remember a time when he’s gotten a bigger cheer than that...at least, not since the JL. Speaking of the JL, Xero was a one-time pupil of Mercury, during the inception of the federation. They have since parted ways, and last I heard, there wasn’t too strong of a friendship between these two.”

“Well then...let’s hope that they fight to the death, with lots of blood. It’ll be like Gladiator all over again.”

“Um...yeah. Anyway, without further adieu...here’s Xero!”

The lights are pitch black as you hear the intro of "Master of Puppets" by Metallica. After a few seconds, the music fades to black. Suddenly the chorus starts to play and the words are heard "OBEY YOUR MASTER!" At that point, Xero emerges from the dark, as "Master of Puppets" is being played again. Red fireworks explode from each side, as Xero heads down towards the ring.

“Looks like you were right Mark, as Xero is wasting little time getting to the ring! He’s in under the ropes, and here we go!”

The slightly smaller Xero heads right at Mercury and begins swinging wildly as the ring bell sounds and the referee makes a conscious effort to get out of the way. A duck is the response from Mercury, who grabs Xero behind his neck and under his arm, and begins to push him forward. Without losing his balance, Xero begins to lurch forward a bit. Realizing that it will take just a bit more force than he’s using, Mercury swivels his leg out and in front of Xero and kicks it back into his knees as hard as he can, and they both go tumbling to the ground, Merc pushing Xero face-first. The mat springs upon impact, sending them both jolting a bit as the referee drops to the mat in search of a tapping hand. He doesn’t find one, though, as Xero reaches out his foot and drapes it over the bottom rope, causing a break in the hold. Merc is quick to let the hold go and leap up to his feet, and Xero is a bit slower. Going right back at him again, a tie-up is initiated by Xero, resulting in a knee to his stomach by Mercury, and as he’s spun through into a hammerlock, he is all but unable to fight back.

“They’re already at it, and Merc is spinning him through...into a hammerlock! He might be setting him up for an early exit with the pipedream, BR.”

“He might be trying to, but it’s a foolish move to do so. He’ll never hit a move like that so early.”

“That remains to be seen. Stranger things have happened.”

Still stunned by the knee to the stomach, Xero is easily spun through the hammerlock and into a front face lock hammerlock position. Merc signals to the crowd, and drops back with a brutal amount of force, flooring Xero with the pipedream! The hold is released as his head connects with the mat and ricochets off, elevating a few inches as he rolls onto his back for a quick breather. Taking advantage, Mercury hooks the leg for a cover and the referee dives in the make the count...one...two...no! Kick out by Xero, and they’re getting back to their feet. Another tie-up, and Merc sends Xero flying into the ropes. Xero leans back into them and really gets some force coming off of them, as Merc telegraphs a back body drop. Here comes Xero with a kick to the chest...but no! Mercury rolls out of the way, avoiding the kick. Xero takes it in stride, and heads to the ropes on the other end, as Mercury gets back into place. He appears to be telegraphing it again...no! He dives in for a spear on Xero, who gets a knee up and connects to the face of Mercury, nearly knocking his head off! He falls to the mat with a thud as Xero takes a knee, and then goes in for the cover. One...two...kickout! Merc gets out in plenty of time, and now Xero is pulling him up to his feet again. He whips him at the turnbuckle, and immediately charges in and connects with a running splash!

“Wow, what a shot to the face of Mercury by Xero, and he may have knocked something loose.”

“That’s what I like to see. It was a perfectly planned move on the part of Xero.”

“It wasn’t planned at all, it was spur of the moment. That’s typically how wrestling is, Riley.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Well then, how come the match endings are pre-deter-”

“Shut up!”

Merc slumps down in the corner, but Xero pulls him back up and starts in with shoot-fight style right hands to the head. Brutal. Wasting little time, he connects a few punches, and then lifts Mercury up to sit him upon the apex of the turnbuckle. He attempts to fight back in vain, as Xero just hits him in the head once more and regains control. Climbing up onto the turnbuckles himself, he nearly loses his balance before grabbing the top rope for stability. He reaches the top tier and sets up his opponent...sending him crashing to the mat with a vicious hurricanrana! Mercury lands back first on the mat, bouncing up a bit and immediately reaching his arm back to support his back as Xero lands a few feet away, on his knees. He’s quickly back up, and he grabs Mercury on his way up as well. He puts him back into the corner, and begins to unleash some more right hands...but they’re blocked. He tries some more...but they’re blocked as well. Here comes Mercury, springing off of the bottom rope and taking out Xero with a diving lariat!

“Damn, did you see that Riley? Nice counter by Mercury, and he’s not showing as much ring rust as we expected.”

“Ahem...you expected. I never said a word about it.”

“Fair enough, but you can’t deny that the man is looking very decent in the ring.”

“I can, and will. He SUCKS!”

“That’s funny, coming from you...”

“...SHUT UP!!!!!!!!”

Mercury rolls through the dive and Xero is quickly back up off of the mat, and they begin to circle each other as they peer into one another’s eyes, trying to get a feel for the frame of mind hidden within the eyes of each other. Xero lunges forward, but Mercury sidesteps it, and swings at the mid-section of Xero...who also sidesteps, and they begin to circle each other once again. They tie-up, and Xero puts Merc into a hammerlock...reversed into another hammerlock by Merc...Xero tries to break free with a back elbow smash, but Merc avoids it and begins to put Xero into a sleeper hold...he tries to fight out of the hold, but it is to no avail. Ever so slowly, his energy is disappearing as his eyelids become heavier and his knees start to become weak. The referee begins administering the usual arm-lift submissions check, lifting the arm up high, and then releasing it. Sure enough, it drops the first time. He lifts it up again, and sure enough, it drops again. He lifts it up a third time...and before it has time to drop, Mercury takes Xero to the mat with a vicious neckbreaker drop! Merc applies a lateral press for a lackadaisical cover, and the referee makes the count...one...two...thr-no! Kickout by Xero, which baffles Mercury.

“Wow, Xero showed some resilience there. I really thought Merc had it won.”

“No way, it’s far too early for that. These guys need to beat the hell out of each other quite a bit more before anyone in the arena will be satisfied to call it a ‘match’.”

“Perhaps you’re right, and for the sake of enjoyment, I hope you are.”

Pulling him back up to his feet, Mercury tosses Xero into a corner and then starts in with some hard kicks to the stomach. Before long, Xero is beginning to slouch, and Merc goes after him with a foot to the throat, and he’s really choking the hell out of him. The ref starts to make the count...one...two...three...four...and he releases the hold. He pulls Xero back up to his feet, and whips him hard at the ropes, and as he ricochets off of them and heads toward the other side, Merc heads to the set of ropes opposite Xero. Leaping off of them as Xero comes in close, Merc reaches his hands out just far enough to grab the head of his opponent, and send them both colliding into the mat with a springboard reverse neckbreaker!

“Oh my GOD! Did you see that move? I can’t believe he just did that!!”

“What, it’s just a springboard reverse neckbreaker. Hell, I can do that.”

“Let’s see it, then. After the show.”

“Errr....umm...I can’t, I have plans. Sorry.”

“Heh...yeah.”

“Anyway, both men are down from that devastating maneuver, and one can’t help but wonder if it was worth it for Mercury to do something so high risk. Sure, it took down his opponent, but he may have hurt himself even more than he hurt Xero.”

“That’s a good point, Riley, and one that you always have to think about with the flyers in the ring. You never know if a high-risk move will pay off, or if it’ll be their own demise. Nice insight there, Bob.”

Xero holds his head from the pain of yet another collision with the mat while Mercury lies nearly motionless on his back, looking up at the lights with a glazed look hinting about his pupils. The first one to move is Xero, but he is momentarily followed by Mercury as they head to separate areas of the ring to recover. Xero rolls out of the ring, while Merc pulls himself up, using the ring ropes as a ladder. Within a few moments they are ready to go again, and Xero gets himself back into the ring. They tie-up, and Merc tries to send Xero flailing into the ropes, but he counters it with a whip of his own, and the Regenerate King finds himself precariously headed toward the ropes. Upon impact he is quickly sent back the way from which he came, and Xero perfectly times a superkick that connects with the jaw of Mercury, knocking his head to the side and sending him face first to the mat. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Xero grabs his leg and begins to apply a single-leg boston crab, and there is movement. He can’t quite get the move on, but he keeps trying nonetheless. As he lifts up the leg, Mercury twists and sends Xero falling to the mat, rolling him over and through into an ankle lock! Before he can do any damage, however, Xero grabs the rope which is right in front of his face, and the hold is broken.

“It’s back and forth all the way. That superkick from Xero was enough to shatter a man’s jaw if he hits it dead center, and luckily enough for Mercury, he only caught a piece of it.”

“That’s too bad though, I really wanted to see blood on that hit. It had so much potential!”

“This match definitely had potential, and we’re getting to see the payoff of two hard working superstars in the ring right now. They’re both top competitors, and it shows.”

Xero is quick to get back on his feet, and he backs himself up to the ropes, lunging off of them and heading straight for Mercury. Merc assumes a readied stance in response, but Xero slides in between his legs and pushes himself up, connecting a vicious kick to the back of Mercury’s head, sending Merc to his knees. Xero gets up and runs at the ropes, springing off of them and leaping shallowly into the air, hitting the back of Mercury’s head with a diving dropkick, and sending him all the way down to the mat. Lifting him to his feet, Xero pulls Mercury into a front face lock position, and quickly falls to the mat, driving his opponent’s head down with a ddt! Springing back up, he heads to the top rope, where he remains for a moment, looking down at his fallen opponent. He smirks, and mutters something inaudible, and then leaps blindly into the air, connecting with his grounded adversary with a frog star splash! The impact does some damage to both men, but Xero manages to hook the leg and go for the win here. The ref counts it...one...two...thre-no! Mercury got his shoulders up at the last possible moment, and avoided defeat. Xero can’t believe it, and he’s going ballistic at the ref, rattling off an f-bomb or two, which have to be edited out for network television. This gives Mercury just enough time to get back to his feet as Xero turns around. Kicking him in the stomach, he applies a front-face lock to Mercury, and begins to try and lift him up for a suplex...but Merc blocks it with a leg behind Xero. He tries again, and it’s blocked again. He tries a third time, and it’s blocked yet again, followed by a knee to the stomach, courtesy of his rival. Merc applies a front face lock of his own, and hooks underneath the leg of Xero...and drops him to the mat with a Cradle neck breaker!

“Wow, that’s the third neck breaker variation that Merc has used in this match. He’s showing his creativity and diversity in the ring, and it has to be taking a toll on the neck of Xero. He may not be able to hack it in there much longer tonight...if he’s go have any chance of winning, he’s gotta end it quick.”

“For once, you’re right. Xero’s holding onto that neck like it might be stolen by illegal immigrants...”

“Riley, what the f*** are you talking about?!”

“Heh...works like a charm. Put a dollar in the jar, Mark.”

“Damnit....you tricked me, that doesn’t count.”

“Oh, it soo does count.”

“Pfft. Whatever.”

As Mark reaches into his pocket for his wallet, Merc keeps the hold on and the ref counts...one...two...thre-no! Just in the nick of time, Xero manages to weasel his way out of a loss. Merc rolls aside and gets back to his feet, beckoning Xero to do the same, and as he motions for him to get up, the crowd starts to cheer for him. He takes his eyes off of Xero for a second to flash the X at the crowd to a huge ovation, and upon turning around he is unable to stop a charging Xero from spearing him and taking them both out of the ring through the ropes. They tumble to the floor, landing on the mats simultaneously. They lie there still, for a moment. But soon they must return to the fight, and so they reach down for the strength inside, and get back to their feet. Merc whips Xero into the crowd barrier, and he hits it back-first, although the impact and momentum is enough to send him over the barrier and vanishing into the sea of fans behind it. As he struggles to his feet once more, Mercury runs at the crowd barrier and leaps up onto it, diving at Xero with a corkscrew body press suicida! They both tumble to the ground, as to several of the fans caught in the crossfire.

“You see, that’s why the fans love to come see our shows...you never know when you might get taken out by an SWF superstar.”

“Oh yeah, Mark, there’s nothing like catching an accidental heel kick from Chris Wilson to brighten any fan’s day.”

“Riley, shut up before I shut you up.”

“Grr...”

Again, they lie on the ground for a moment without moving, but soon they are up and moving again. Mercury is the first on his feet, stumbling over to the crowd barrier and falling over it, with Xero close behind. They get back into the ring, and stagger toward each other with intentions of spoil. Xero backs up into the ropes and then runs toward Mercury with what might be his last burst of energy, catching him off guard and into a tailspin.

“Xero’s going for the Xero Gravity! If he hits it, it’s over!”

“Yeah, but can he hit it? That remains to be seen. Hell, they’re having trouble staying on their feet for more than fifteen seconds at a time, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“Xero’s got him spinning...”

Mercury pulls back and sends Xero flying off into a release Northern lights suplex!

“My God, what a counter! What a counter!”

“Yeah. Mark, you get excited too easily.”

“You make things too easy for me, Bobbi.”

“SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Xero hits the mat, connecting and flying up an inch or two off of it before settling. Mercury gets back to his feet as quickly as he can, and lifts Xero up to his own. He kicks him in the stomach, and pulls him into a standing head scissors...he lifts him up and over his head, onto his back...hooks the arms...SPELLBOUND!

“Oh my GOD! Mercury just decimated Xero with a Crucifix powerbomb slash ddt combination, there’s no way in hell that he’ll kick out of this one.”

“Whoa...that’s gotta hurt, Mark.”

The ref dives down to make the count as Mercury hooks the leg for the cover....one....two....three!

“Ladies and Gentlemen, here is your winner...Merrrrrcuryyyyyy!!!!!!!”

Mercury gets to his feet and ascends the turnbuckles, posing for the appreciative crowd as they go nuts after having seen the just finished match.

“Mercury enjoys a well deserved victory here, Riley, but you can’t take any credit away from Xero. A few minor changes in the complexion of the match, and it could have gone the other way.”

“Give it up, Stevens, the guy sucks.”

Mercury drops off of the turnbuckle and rolls out of the ring as we fade out to commercial...

June 22, 2002

Storm returns, to the camera panning briefly around the arena. Suddenly, multiple fireworks explode around the arena, rafters and entrance ramp. The lights go out...

Stevens: “We are back at Storm folks! And I gather someone is about to come out!”

Riley: “Well aren’t you Captain Obvious! The real question is, who is coming out!”

Stevens: “That’s what I was getting at…

Seconds pass…

…

"THIS IS MAH HOUSE!!"

The voice, obviously pre-recorded, echoes throughout the arena. Rammstein's "Du Haste" plays over the speakers without the lyrics... The heavy beats thunder 360 degrees all over the arena...

Stevens: “Oh my god. I think I know who about to emerge!”

Riley: “So do I… and I don’t like it one bit!”

JD steps through the curtains, his head down. The arena suddenly stands up, applause from the audience fills the arena as he walks to the top of the ramp, slowly raising his head. He scans the arena, looking at each audience member, then lowers his head again, although a smile without good intentions is now plastered on his face.

Riley: “What is this idiot doing out here!? I thought he was fired!”

Stevens: “I heard the same thing! But he obviously has something to say!”

Slowly descending down the ramp. He enters the ring, placing his hands on his thighs, and slowly cricks his neck. He walks to the corner, and rests his arms on the turnbuckles for a second, glancing around the arena once more. Finally he walks toward the announce table, asking for a microphone. A ringcrew assistant passes him the talking tool, and exits backward, never to be seen again. JD steps in the center of the ring, taps the mic gently, then waits for the applause to die down.

Jamie: “Alright y’all, shut up! I have something to say!”

The cheering dies down, as it is aware that JD means it.

Jamie: “Now for those of you who don’t know! I was fired from the SWF! But I am not getting into that. There are legal situations for this. But what I have to show you is… while I was gone for the last couple of weeks… I paid a visit to an old friend of mine. One of my Dawg’s so to speak… of larger proportions.”

The last few comments get a loud pop from the sold out crowd, as JD points to the SmarkTron. On the big screen, JD is shown walking down a white hallway. The camera, a fair distance behind him, picks up shots of people in wheelchairs, stretchers, and rooms of many styles. Doctors walking out in surgical uniforms, nurses with their blouses undone. It is quite clear that the place is a hospital. “Uh let’s see. Room 336. Now how the fuck can a giant black man hide in a white hospital? BLARG!!” JD turns the corner to his right, noticing a room with smoke and ho’s coming out. “That’s gotta be it.” He mutters to himself, and walks forward. Shakes his head upon walking into the smoke, and shoves some of the strippers out of the way.

Jamie: “They let you smoke up in here now?”

The camera enters the ring, to see HVille Thugg for you slow ones. A giant white neckbrace is strapped around him, he rests in his bed, a giant blunt hanging off of his lips.

HVT: “I’d like to fucking see them stop me! Actually, I like to think of it as my fucking painkillers, yo.” He turns his head to the only stripper inside. “Yo bitch, you gotta leave now. I got business here.”

JD watches the young lady leave then grabs himself a seat.

Jamie: “So how you doing big guy?”

HVT: “It sucks. But you know son, you got alotta guts coming here.”

Jamie: “Oh fuck you. I’ve never been scared of you. And I assure you SON, that I wasn’t aware of that shit going on. Hell, I just told King to go fuck himself. I got myself fired for a crippled fatass like yourself. So don’t be telling me I got guts coming here.”

HVT stares straight into Jay Dawg, an angered glare grows… only to switch into a smile. Thugg chuckles to himself.

HVT: “Good to hear you have that fire in you. It was brought out when you were with me. Fuck, you still held me down. You assisted with this neck being broken.”

Jamie: “Heh. I panicked, yo. I regret it everyday. I’ve been having problems myself. Good to see you again, Damien. However, that is not the case. You the fucking Thugg, you a fucking fighter. I dunno what is going on with X. Your newfound buddy Edwin is dealing with your former leader, Wilson… and who does that leave you with? Sarah? She quit long ago. You are going to need someone to get back now. I know Sacred, King, and Stubby just as well as you do. Bo is long gone.”

HVT: “Yo Dawg. I feel like shit. I know you are good with your words. However, I don’t need you fighting my battles. I may have a broken goddamn neck, and I won’t return to the ring period! Hell, my chances of walking are fucking thin, but I will get them back.”

Jamie: “Your insane amounts of brawn have left you with little brains… haven’t they? Fuck, I’m going after King and Sacred anyway, yo. I don’t care what you say.”

HVT: “Not much I can do, cuz. But stay the fuck out of my business.”

Jamie: “FUCK!! Are you fucking clueless! You know what. Fuck it. You are my dawg, and I will back you up. Hell, on Storm I will show you some deadly shit!”

HVT: “Hey Dawg… you really tell King to go fuck himself?”

Jamie: “Yeah.”

HVT: “That’s my Dawg… You know something… this fucking sucks. My neck is fucking broken! I can barely move! This blunt is hanging off my lips! I can barely lift my arms to move it! I just finished the goddamn surgery! You know what it’s like!? Knowing I can’t get into the ring again, ever!? Knowing I can’t do what I did best. I’m the HVille fucking Thugg! I was the top, the longest title reign… twice! I destroyed all in my path! I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming.”

Jamie: “You know they say, that once thinking there is nothing left to achieve, the one who is your true challenge will arrive. Maybe your challenge isn’t Bo and Stubby… but something else. This can be a gem in disguise big guy.”

HVT: “I have no idea what the fuck you just said.”

Jamie: “Think about it son.”

HVT: “You know Dawg… I will have my revenge.”

Jamie: “I know… but take your time.”

The door closes as the camera fades out. The SmarkTron fades away as life is once again restored in the arena, the crowd cheering loudly. JD looks up in the center of the ring. He allows the crowd to quiet down, but ends up waiting a while.

Stevens: “An emotional interview with the HVille Thugg!”

Riley: “You know! I don’t get you Stevens! This man stole the title away from you, used help to make you not win it back! And was instrumental in forcing you to retire! Yet you cheer for him! I mean, what the fuck!?”

Stevens: “Heh heh heh. You might understand someday, Riley… you just might.”

The crowd finally dies down, and Jay Dawg slowly paces around the ring.

Jamie: “Now! Last week… The Suicide King, has stripped me of my title, and fired me! HOWEVER!! Under direct orders of Stubby McWeed… Due to a shortage of competitors! I can not be fired! I have many more loopholes King, so don’t tempt me! In fact son! Watch your back! I can punch your goddamn teeth in, and you can’t do shit! You stripped me of my title! That title meant the world to me! I was a fucking double champ, and your cocky ass ruined it! Are you mad at me King… in fact… hey King, remember that time I smashed your face in with a cinderblock! Too bad it didn’t leave any scars that would damage your pretty self!”

Stevens: “Jay Dawg can’t be fired and he is taking advantage of it!”

Jamie: “In fact King… due to my loyalty to this company, being here longer then anyone with the exception of Fallout! I am allowed to do whatever I damn well please! Cause hell son, you can’t fire Creative Control! If you were to fire me, the severance packages would be so large… fuck… with the lawyers I’ve found… this league could be bankrupt! But enough of that… what I am getting at is…”

“ALL ABOARD!!! HAH HAH HAH HAH!!!”

Ozzy Ozbourne’s “Crazy Train” cuts JD off, as the Suicide King’s theme hits the speakers, inciting massive amounts of boos from the sold out crowd. The Suicide King emerges through the curtains, his trademark cocky grin is spread full width tonight.

Stevens: “Ah jeez! I can’t stand seeing him anymore!”

Riley: “Heh heh! This guy kicked yours and many asses in the SWF!”

Stevens: “I won the title off his bitch ass!”

The self proclaimed Carnie Killer brings the mic to his mouth. But the loud crowd’s rudeness becomes increasingly evident, as their loudness of boos prevent him from speaking. Insults shouted in chants, like “You’re and Asshole” begin to rise. King smiles, absorbing the shouts like a million compliments.

King: “Congratulations Jay Dawg! You have proven you can stay in the week! Whoopidee doo! However… telling me to watch my back! Excuse me while I say this son! But ARE YOU NUTS!!? Do you have any idea what I can do to you? And that cinderblock comment… son, that’s a low blow. We both know you did that cause you can’t beat me.”

The crowd begins to hand King the crowd boos like giving pennies to a bum, as Jay Dawg chuckles to himself in the ring. He finally responds.

Jamie: “You know King. We had some good matches back in the day. But that’s not what I am getting at. You see, we could have a match tonight! But honestly, I’m not really up for it. Now what else is there… oohh… you know what comes to mind… that main event. I’m sure Edwin might want back up for that match.”

King starts to strut down the ramp, as he cuts JD off.

King: “Wait just a god damn minute son! I may not be able to fire you! But believe me, you are not Main Event material in this company! So before you go on any further… let me end it right there…”

“Oh no King! You’re right, he’s not main event material! BUT… that’s not what he’s getting at!” The anonymous voice causes the crowd to go insane once again. As a man steps through the curtains, carrying the world title over his shoulder.

Stevens: “I’d know that voice anywhere! Edwin MacPhisto is in the hizzouse!”

The World Champ simply smiles at the now slightly worried, Suicide King.

Edwin: “You see King. Jay Dawg and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. But when it comes to him hating you, it’s part of a general rule for myself, any Carnie member, and the majority of human beings to agree.”

Stevens: “You got that right!”

Edwin: “Heck! I bet my boy Stevens over there is nodding his head in agreement!”

The former two-time champ shoots his arm up in the air, letting out a Thumbs Up.

Jamie: “Heh heh. Now King. Part of your job in this company, is too make it some money. Therefore, you have to give the people what they want. And tonight, I think I know something they want, and Edwin might agree with me on this one. I think it would be great, if I was the Special Guest Commentator for tonight’s main event!”

Edwin: “What do you say, folks!? If you want Jay Dawg as commentator tonight, shout ‘King is Scooby Dooby Fruitcake!”

“KING IS A SCOOBY DOOBY FRUITCAKE!!!” so loud, that King is forced to cover his ears. He starts to head up the ramp, only to see Edwin stand in his way, smiling with his horrid British teeth.

Edwin: “Come on King… what do you say?”

Stevens: “I for one will enjoy Jay Dawg joining us tonight! What about you Bobby?”

Riley: “Bah!”

Edwin: “Crowd… I think King needs some more motivation…”

“SCOOBY DOOBY FRUITCAKE!!! SCOOBY DOOBY FRUITCAKE!!! SCOOBY DOOBY FRUITCAKE!!!”

King: “Alright! Fine! Jay Dawg, you can announce the damn match tonight! But Edwin, whatever happens tonight, it better be worth it! Cause your life will be hell. As for Jay Dawg… your time will be soon!”

King storms past Edwin, who is smiling along with JD inside the ring.

Stevens: “Well there you have it folks! Jay Dawg is announcing tonight’s Main Event! He’ll be joining us shortly, but next up, we have a tag title match between the new tag team champions, Chris Wilson and Stryke… they are up against members of the old JL stable… X-Force-9… You’re favourite Pokefreak and mine, Ash Ketchum, and the Longdaggah… Peter MacDougal!”

Riley: “Good. We need to see some evil annihilations after that pukefest!”

Stevens: “I found it quite humorous myself!”

Minor bickering ensues, as JD steps out of the ring and heads up the ramp. The commercial fades through this sequence.

June 22, 2002

SWF Storm returns from commercial with “Summer in the City” blasting through the sound system and the tag champs already in the ring. Stryke is up on the second turnbuckle, holding both of his belts out to a antagonistic crowd as his face is lit up in a huge grin of pride and cockiness. Wilson calmly slips off his tag strap and hands it to the referee before disrobing, also giving that to the official as Funyon steps up to the plate.

“The following tag-team contest is scheduled for one-fall and is for the S-W-F Tag Team CHAMP-ioooooonship! First, your champions, at a combined weight of four hundred and ninety-two pounds, your SWF Hardcore Champion, Stryke, and Chris Wil-SOOOOOOOOON!”

The crowd boos even louder as Stevens takes over from his ringside seat. “Welcome back to Storm, folks. We’re getting all set for our second title match of the evening as our new tag champs defend their gold for the first time against the team of young superstars Ash Ketchum and the returning Longdogger Pete. These two suffered a tough loss to Edwin, with some help from Thoth, in a handicap match last week, so lets see how they bounce back.”

“You know Wilson is just jacked to all hell about losing his chance to beat Edwin,” cites Riley. “He wants a title shot and a pin over our champion would do that. He can make more progress in the commish’s eyes with a defense here, though you know the undertones between Ash and Stryke, who have been going at it with teeth and sharp, dirty fingernails for that Hardcore championship could have a large baring on this match.”

The lights cut out and a piano number cuts over “Summer in the City” as golden pyro begins to rain down from over and shoot up on top of the stage. The crowd’s boos turn to loud cheers as a Poke Ball upon the SmarkTron. It begins to spin as the crowd pops, spinning faster and faster and faster until it stops, and the dripping pyro blasts up from the front of the stage as Billy Crawford’s “Pokemon Theme” blares through the speakers. The pyro stops to reveal Ash in a crucifix position, facing the back as Misty stands beside him, waving to the crowd with a sexy smile.

“And their opponents…first, being accompanied by Misty, hailing from Tampa, Florida and weighing in at two hundred and fifty-eight pounds…..ASH KETCHUUUUUUUM!”

Ash makes his way down to the ring and climbs up onto the apron and opens the ropes to let Misty in, then climbs in himself. Ash eyes his opponents warily as he stands between them and Misty, before peeling off his shirt and whipping it into the crowd, as teenage girls and somewhere, NTD, scream with glee. The cheery Pokemon music quickly slices into Bush as the crowd roars even louder…

You will get yours...

you will get yours...

YOU WILL GET YOURS!"

After the fifth repetition of the opening line, an explosion of white pyro goes off on the stage, and then the entrance fills with smoke. Longdogger Pete steps out and the crowd gives him a rousing ovation for his return, he points at Wilson and Stryke before walking briskly down the ramp, one arm in the air.

“And his partner…hailing from Miami, Florida and weighing in at two hundred and seventy-two pounds….LONG – DOGGER - PEEEEEEEEEEEEEETE!”

LDP slides into the ring and stands beside Ash as Misty steps through the ropes and to the floor. Ash steps to the corner as Stryke does the same and Wilson and LDP begin to circle each other as the referee calls for the bell…

DING DING DING

..and the start of the match! “Wilson and LDP are both the big men on their teams and residents of Miami,” points out Stevens, “and I believe these two have never faced each other before, in any type of contest. This should be interesting. Wilson and LDP both are looking for an opening, and LDP finds one, coming at Wilson with a barrage of overhand rights. Wilson manages to block a couple, but a few make contact…but Wilson manages to catch LDP’s arm and force him over with a hip toss and a loud grunt. He swings a knee to the side of LDP’s face that sends him rolling. LDP bounces back up to his feet and turns to face a grinning Wilson, slowly wiggling his neck to and fro as if stretching it out.”

“Pete sure got a warm welcoming on his return,” chuckles Riley. “LDP’s no slouch on technical wrestling, but he’s going to have to be careful here against Wilson. It just shows you these young’ns do no scouting whatsoever.”

Wilson and LDP begin to circle again before locking up in the center of the ring in a test of strength. Wilson gets leverage and forces the former JL champion back, but once LDP can regain his stance he easily surges back, bending Wilson back and driving a knee into his stomach. Wilson’s stunned and LDP takes the chance to snap him down to the mat with an arm bar. He pulls Wilson up to his feet by the scruff of his neck and slaps on a rear waist lock. Wilson tries his usual very technical way of escaping this: Hard elbows to his opponent’s head. LDP absorbs one before ducking down and letting Wilson spin wildly around to face him. Still in a crouch and with a lose grip around the tag champ, tightens it and lifts Wilson in the air and dropping him down in a Manhattan Drop as the crowd pops loudly. LDP steps back as Wilson moans in pain and nods at the evil genius, a taunt of his own as Wilson rises to his feet, trying to intimidate his adversary with a cold stare. LDP twists his lip up in a half smile before charging right at Wilson and nearly beheading him with a clothesline.

“Yeah, you’re right, Robert,” chides Stevens. “Pete had no idea what he was doing out there with Wilson. He’s on the advantage now, taking it to the co-holder of those tag titles that LDP and his ex-XF9 mate Ash are trying to win. He completes a quartet of clothesline and finally grabs Wilson and whips him against the ropes. He bounces back and Pete tries for a fifth lariat, but Wilson manages to duck it, spin around and catch LDP just as he turns with a Miami sidekick that flattens him to the canvas.”

“A taste of home for good ol’ Pete,” snickers Riley as Wilson struts over to the corner and tags in Stryke, who flips over the top rope and catches LDP with some forearm shivers as he rises to one knee. “Stryke, our loved double champion, begins to work over the larger LDP, jamming him into the corner and pounding on him with some right hands. He whips him across the ring to the other corner and follows closely, squashing LDP into the corner with a hard clothesline. As LDP stumbles out, Stryke takes him down with a drop toehold and stands up quickly, stomping away. That’s the work ethic of a double champion.”

“Kick em’ while they’re down?”

“Keeping the pressure on. You’re so negative.”

The referee separates the two men and gives LDP some time to get to his feet. Stryke continues his flurry of offense, lacing some quick kicks across the legs of LDP, who manages to grab one of them. Stryke remains confident, spinning up with an enziguri, but LDP manages to catch that leg too and as Stryke’s eyes get big in fearful anticipation, LDP slams him hard to the mat with the Longdogger Denial. The crowd pops loudly for that, but even louder as he heads over to his corner and tags in the Pokemaster himself steps into the ring as the crowd woops it up as the two men they’ve been waiting to see go at it get in the ring at the same time.

Stryke gets back up to his feet as Ash comes rushing at him, slapping on a side headlock. He whips Stryke against the ropes and wraps him up with a big powerslam, crushing Stryke into the mat. Ash immediately yanks Stryke back up to his feet and into another Irish whip to the corner. He follows up with an avalanche splash. Stryke takes a wobbly step out and is whipped to the opposite corner. Ash comes charging over, looking for a Sonic Boom, but Stryke kicks his legs up and pushes up on the ropes so Ketchum catches only metal post with his spear. Ash lets out a little whimper as he spins out of the corner, holding his shoulder, and Stryke takes advantage of the opening by lifting himself all of the way up to the top and then pouncing off and piercing Ash square in the back with a missile dropkick. He covers quickly and the ref drops down…ONE…

TWO and barely even that as Ash kicks out and elicits another roar from the crowd. Stryke stands up his hardcore adversary and whips him against the ropes. As Ash rebounds, Stryke doesn’t even have a chance to perform a move of his own as a fiery Ash takes him down with a Lou Thesz press and begins to pummel him with rights, not planning on letting up until the official finally forces him too. Ash steps back and allows Stryke to get to his feet before going back on a immediate offensive, he picks Stryke up and plants him back down to the mat, parallel to the ropes with a hard scoop slam before sprinting to the opposite side and getting more momentum as he starts through a Rolling Thunder, untucking right above Stryke and coming down on him with a Five-Star Frog Splash. He covers again and the official drops again. ONE…

TWO and still only two as Stryke gets a shoulder up. “I haven’t seen Ash this determined in a long time,” utters Stevens as Ash slowly stands. “You can tell he’d like to be in Stryke’s position: Not only tag team champion, but Hardcore champion. Ash has tasted that bloody gold and he’s beaten Stryke, so this is all within the realm of possibility.”

“You know what else is in the realm of possibility?” questions Riley. “Me in a threesome with Britney Spears and J Lo. Oh, its possible, but that doesn’t mean its going to happen, you face-loving freak.”

“Your time of the month?”

“Shut up. You know I don’t want to be here!”

“Oh sure you do, you’re just hiding it,” gushes Stevens. “Ash is continuing this one-man war on Stryke, locking him in a double underhook and cracking him down over his knee in a stiff backbreaker that would make any chiropractor jealous. Ash pauses for a moment as the crowd, and Misty, show their support in loud applause and shouting. Ash starts to make his way up to the top, the crowd still on their feet…but Wilson jostles the top rope and Ash loses his balance, crotching himself on the top turnbuckle! That dirty cheater just stopped Ash’s momentum dead in its tracks.”

Ash winces in pain as Stryke forces himself up to his feet after taking a load of abuse from his Pokemon-loving rival. He makes it over to his corner and tags in Wilson to round of boos. Wilson slowly begins walking over towards where Ash is hung up and starts to climb up, apparently looking for a superplex as he cinches up his opponent. Ash doesn’t just sit there, fighting back with some hard jabs to the body that knock Wilson back down to the mat. Before he can mount another attempt at climbing up, Ash comes off of his perch with the Rocket Launch, a hard missile dropkick that catches Wilson in the chest. Ash stands up Wilson and pops him in the jaw with a European uppercut and whips him into the corner. He follows up with a hard clothesline and attempts to send Wilson to the opposite corner like he did with Stryke, but this time Wilson shifts his weight and reverses it, sending Ash hurtling the other way. Wilson charges in and follows with a Stinger Splash that crushes Ash between the proverbial rock and hard place. As Ash blindly staggers out, Wilson slaps him in a front facelock and lifts him high into the air, holds him for a moment and drops straight back, spiking Ash to the mat with a brainbuster.

The crowd boos loudly as Wilson begins to work over Ash, pounding on the back of his neck with some hard forearms before standing him up and whipping him into the ropes. Ash comes back towards him and Wilson lifts him up for a moment before sending him crashing back down to the mat with a wicked spinebuster. Wilson covers, the referee dropping down. ONE…

TWO and Ash gets a shoulder up. Wilson doesn’t hesitate to force Ash into the corner. He cocks back and sends a lethal knife-edge chop across Ash’s bare chest, the crowd “Woooing” as the sound echoes through the arena and Ash cries out in pain. He reloads and laces a second, getting the same reaction from both parties. He pulls back for a third, but Ash grabs and spins, forcing Wilson into the corner and pounding on him with some hard right hands before Wilson kicks out and catches Ash in the groin, a vile low blow that slows Ash down again and allows Wilson to lock on a rear waistlock and snap Ash back with a hard German suplex. He bridges it, body in perfect position as the referee drops to make sure Ash’s shoulders are indeed touching the mat..ONE..

TWO..

T..and Ash rolls off of his right shoulder and onto his stomach. “Wilson has managed to stunt Ash’s flashy offense here,” states Stevens, “and its really helping to give Stryke a break. The Aussie is ready to go again and Wilson heads over to corner, dragging Ash in a side headlock with him, and tags in his partner. The crowd lets Stryke here it as he enters by hopping on the top rope, and as Wilson wrenches Ash’s arm to expose his back, Stryke comes off the top with a hard knee that drives the tip right into Ash’s spine. Ash falls once more and our champs are doing some nice work of isolation, as Pete hasn’t seen ring action in sometime.”

“And people doubted the cohesion here,” snorts Riley. “These two are a well-oiled machine. Stryke bends down and locks Ash in a grinding headlock, trying to wear down the high-spirited fan favorite. Ash tries to rise up to his feet, but Stryke has good leverage and manages to keep him down. He tightens his vise-like grip on Ash’s head…but Ketchum fights back with a flurry of hard elbows to the stomach, each one moving Stryke back some. Eventually the grip is broken and Ash uses a burst of strength to whip Stryke against the ropes. As he rebounds, Ash charges and manages to land the Sonic Boom on the second, dropping both men to the mat as the spear nearly cuts through Stryke.”

“Ash needs to get out of the ring now,” advises Stevens, “and that’s just what he’s trying to do as he begins to crawl towards the ropes. Pete is leaning as far over the ropes as he can, stretching out for Ash’s hand and the tag. Ash is getting closer, gaining speed. He reaches out to tag Pete…but is drug back by Stryke as the crowd boos. Ash spins over on his back and starts to kick at Stryke, with one particular shot catching him right under the jaw and snapping his neck back. That’s enough to release the grip and Ash lunges out and tags in the beach-blonde gladiator in his corner as the crowd explodes!”

LDP storms into the ring and drops a leg across the back of Stryke’s head before he even has a chance to react and then heads to Wilson and firmly plants his fist to Wilson’s face, knocking the tag champ off of his corner and to the floor. Stryke’s managed to get to at least one knee by the time LDP is back around to him, and that’s bad positioning as LDP easily grabs one of Stryke’s arms and pulls back through, easily lifting him up to the air before sending him back down to the mat with a pump handle slam. He covers and the crowd urges on the ref…ONE…

TWO..

TH..and Stryke kicks out, the crowd disappointed, but not LDP. He drags a bewildered and very sore Stryke up to his feet and whips him against the ropes. As he bounces back, LDP picks him up onto his shoulders and drops him back down with a hard Samoan drop. He doesn’t cover, but instead pulls himself up on the top rope and makes an “L” with his pointer finger and thumb. He feeds off the energy of the crowd and leaps from the top, crashing down on Stryke with the Longdogger Legdrop. He covers again, the crowd still in a frenzy. ONE…

TWO…

TH…and Stryke barely manages to get a shoulder up as LDP flattens him from the top rope. LDP still doesn’t slow down, picking Stryke up and throwing him into the corner, pounding on him with rights that would make Lennox Lewis jealous.

“Pete is sure glad to be back, and in great shape as well, apparently,” announces Stevens. “He stops pounding on Stryke, but only long to drag him to the center of the ring and lift him high up for a military press…Musclehead Slam! LDP’s showing off his catch to an approving crowd, slowly spinning. But he’s showboating too much and Wilson slips into the ring and springs forward just as LDP turns, flaring out a superkick that catches the Longdogger right in the face. He falls flat to the mat and Stryke falls on top of him..PINNING LDP TO THE MAT! No, this can’t end like this..ONE…

TWO..

TH…and a surprised Pete has enough sense to get a shoulder up and save his chance at getting those tag titles. That was close.”

“Sure was,” agrees Riley, “but you got to give Wilson props for a smart move like that. He retreats back to his corner and a stunned Stryke realizes he now needs to get out of the ring, and he tags in Wilson before collapsing to the mat in exhaustion and rolling under the bottom rope. Wilson comes in and tries to get a kick in on LDP while he’s down, but the One Man Wrecking Crew is more than ready and he catches Wilson’s foot and slowly stands up, wagging his finger at the evil genius, who’s pleading for Pete to just let him go. Pete doesn’t oblige, and instead pulls Wilson into a tight embrace and throws him back with a hard suplex that sends Wilson spilling across the mat. Wilson immediately gets up to his feet, but stumbles right into a hard big boot from Pete that flattens him to the mat. Ouch.”

The crowd is still blazing, even after the close call on the fudged Musclehead Slam, and they get even louder as a reinvigorated Ash climbs up onto the top rope. “This isn’t looking good for our champs,” predicts Stevens as Pete tags in Ash. “Ash, with full approval by the crowd, leaps off the top getting some huge air, completing a frog splash…AND COMING CRASHING DOWN ON WILSON WITH THE SNORLAX SPLASH! New champs?! ONE…

TWO…

THRE….and Wilson barely, and by God I mean barely, kicked out of that thing. Ash stands Wilson up and whips him against the ropes yet again, but he telegraphs a back body drop and Wilson pounds a hammer across the back of Ash’s neck, dropping him to the mat. Wilson hurriedly goes over to his corner and tags in an under eager Stryke.”

A winded Stryke steps through the ropes to face Ash as Wilson slips around the other side of the ring. Ash and Stryke trade hard shots in the center of the ring, with Stryke getting the better of the deal and winning with a big haymaker that sends Ash reeling. As he does so, Stryke slips under Ash’s arm, slaps his arm over Ash’s chest and pushes up, lifting Ash in the air before driving him to the mat with the Breakdown. He covers, hooking the leg…ONE…

TWO…

T..and Ash kicks out of the Rock Bottom-esque maneuver, but just as Wilson rounds the corner beside LDP and tries to ambush him, but Pete leaps off the top rope and drops a double axe handle across his foe that hammers him to the mat. The crowd pops loudly as Pete throws Wilson into the stairs, but he gets too confident lifting Wilson up, preparing to hang him up over the barricade, and Wilson slips off of his back and drops down, connecting with a low blow from behind that doubles Pete over and gives Wilson a chance to recover. He begins to pound on LDP with some right hands as Ash and Stryke both reach their feet in the ring, both weary and tired but both ready for another go around.

Wilson and LDP continue to trade blows out on the outside as the two rivals in the ring take center stage. Ash whips Stryke against the ropes, following him and giving a knee to the gut, which flips the smaller Australian over. Ash begins to lock on a dragon sleeper, much to the delight of the crowd and Misty, but Stryke fights it off and rolls up to his feet. Ash doesn’t stop there, slipping under Stryke’s arm and hooking him up for the PokeRap, but he can’t connect with it as Stryke powers his way out with some elbows and shoves Ash as hard as he can into the turnbuckle. Stryke coils up into a crouch and waits as Ash drunkenly spins around out of the corner, and as the Pokemon lover does so, Stryke explodes from his crouch and catches Ash square in the chin with the Heatseeker, the double champion’s superkick. With that, he manages to knock the collective wind out of Ash’s and the crowd’s sails.

On the outside, Wilson blocks one of LDP’s right and whips him hard into the ringpost, the returning superstar’s head bouncing off of the cold steel. As the referee is distracted with actual wrestling and the legal men in the ring, Wilson grabs one of the title belts from the timekeeper’s table and charges at LDP and even as the crowd around him yells with warning, LDP can do nothing as he staggers up to his feet and turns around into a belt shot from Wilson that leaves him sprawled out on the cement. Wilson innocently slides the belt, the Hardcore championship, under the bottom rope and gives a few hard stomps to LDP as he lies defenseless on the outside.

“This isn’t fair at all!” complains Stevens as Stryke picks up the title belt and awaits Ash’s return to his feet. “The referee is telling Stryke to put the belt down, but what care does Stryke have? If he and Wilson get DQed, then they keep their championships. Ash recovers from Stryke’s hard superkick, but he has no idea what is waiting behind him, but Misty cries out in warning and as Ash turns around and Stryke swings wildly at him with that golden strap o’ death, Ash sidesteps and ducks it in one fluid motion spinning around and catching Stryke in a Tazzmission. Stryke drops the belt in surprise as he is lifted high into the air and brought down in an atomic drop…THE LULLABY OF JIGGLYPUFF! This is over! NEW CHAMPS! Ash drops down to cover...”

“Ketchum!”

Misty’s cries out and Ash’s head shoots around to see his beautiful girlfriend locked in a full nelson by Wilson on the outside, obviously pissed about her forewarning her man about Stryke’s cheap shot. Ash slowly stands up, and yells at Wilson. “Let her go, Chris. Don’t do this.”

“Oh, well I don’t have too, really. You just have to make a choice, real quick like, because I’m not a patient man. Your girl here or our tag straps. Love or gold, Ash? I know this is going to be tough for you, but make it quick, or I’m going to have to break your lovely little ho’s neck in half.”

“This is great!” laughs Riley as Ash’s heart twists into a knot.

Wilson lets out a sigh. “Tap out and I let her go or pin Stryke there and I Nightmare your girl into the floor. It’s not a difficult concept.”

Ash, inner turmoil ripping him apart makes the right choice and goes with his heart, drops to one knee and slowly taps the ground and says “I quit” to the official, who knows what’s going on isn’t right, yet has no choice but to call for the belt. Ash stands up and glowers at Wilson. “Now let her go!”

DING DING DING

“Your winners of this bout as a result of…umm…a submission…and still S-W-F Tag Team Champions”…loud booing from the crowd in the customary pause…”Stryke and Chris Wil-SOOON!”

Wilson listens to Funyon finish up, then smirks. “No, that’s all right. I’m kinda getting attached to her. Let’s trade!” Wilson nods to an area directly behind Ash.

Out of curiosity and instinct, Ash wheels around and has his clock cleaned with the Hardcore title by Stryke. The crowd rises to its feet, screaming for blood after the cheap way their boys just lost their chance at gold and now at the assault being . Wilson lets out a cackle and hooks his leg around a crying Misty’s and prepares to send her plummeting to cement when-

CRACK!

Erek Taylor hops out of the crowd and blasts the maniacal genius with a chairshot that frees Misty and drops Wilson to his knees, face twisted into a mask of great pain! Taylor rears back and lets another shot sear across the back of Wilson before dropping the chair and beginning to check on Misty, leading her away from her fallen assailant.

“Erek Taylor!?” shout both announcers simultaneously.

“What in the hell is he doing back?” questions Riley.

“And attacking Wilson?” wonders Stevens as LDP grabs a chair and slides into the ring

“Or making the save for Misty, Ash and Pete. Either way, this is craziness.”

“After that great match, we get a crooked ending like that, and Pete’s looking for some vengeance,” declares Stevens, “and he has some as he slides into the ring and dents that steel chair over Stryke’s back. He drops Ash as he cringes in pain and turns around…kick to the stomach…double underhook…LONGDOGGER CLOGGER! Stryke is out and now Ash has recovered, blood slowly starting to trickle down his face from that sneak attack by Stryke. Ash stands for a moment before turning and seeing Misty…and this doesn’t look good Wilson at all!”

“Hey, this match is over!” cries Riley. “And Erek came out through the crowd and attacked Wilson for no good reason. He isn’t even involved in this match!”

“You didn’t say anything when Stryke was going to roll the dice on Ash.”

“I was getting there. Anyway, Ash grabs Pete’s dented chair and rolls out of the ring and takes a swipe at Wilson, who just in the nick of time rolls out of the way and awkwardly sprints from a half-crouch towards the edge of the stage. Ash turns to pursue, but instead exchanges a few choice words with the madman before helping Misty up to her feet. Awww. What a sweetheart. Misty clutches Ash’s arm as she begins to cry, but he holds he tightly. I’m getting Misty, Mark…will you hold me?”

“Maybe later,” responds a disturbed Stevens as Bush’s “Cold Contagious” kicks up and the faces in the ring get a loud ovation from the crowd. “Wilson looks up in the ring to see LDP standing over his fallen partner and decides not to chance a rescue mission. LDP beckons for Wilson to come back down, but without Barker Beauties or shiny new grills, the offer just isn’t good enough. Wilson just gives Pete a forced smile as he continues to back up the rampway. Ash and Misty both re-enter the ring, followed by Erek Taylor, and Ash immediately begins to apologize to Pete for losing the match, but the Longdogger will have none of it as he too begins to make sure Misty is all right.”

Erek turns and shakes hands with both Ash and Pete as the crowd gives the quartet in the ring a standing ovation, a defeated Wilson standing silently at the top of the ramp.

“That sure was an interesting match,” states Riley. “I don’t think things are going to cool down anytime soon between Ash and Stryke, but Wilson, Erek and LDP have just been added to this thing.”

“I’ll agree with you there, partner. Ash still has his championship rematch, and you can bet he isn’t going to wait too long to cash it in to get a bit of revenge. Well, this has been a great show so far and to cap it off we’re going to see Edwin MacPhisto take on two of our brightest and most entertaining stars as Fallout and Sacred try to knock the man himself from the top in a non-title, triple threat match. And it’s next.”

Storm slowly fades to commercial with a steady rear shot of LDP, Erek Taylor, Ash and Misty standing over a fallen Stryke, with Wilson still standing on the stage in the background…

June 22, 2002

Outside the Atlantic City Boardwalk Hall sparkles the ocean, headlined by the many casinos. Surely, this is the Las Vegas of the East Coast. The scene swaps views, back into the squared circle where the thousands of Jersey fans rise in anticipation of more action.

"(Stevens) Well we're back to Storm, awaiting the Triple Threat main event destined for greatness!"

"(Riley) Oh puh-leeze, this is hardly a match. Sacred will have this one won in no time."

"(Stevens) Sure, but we must not count out the Champion nor Fallout, who, as many know, can fight with the best of them."

"(Riley) I can count out whoever I want and you can't stop me. They didn't stop me when I counted *you* out of winning the SWF Title at that PPV you were in."

"(Stevens) Which one? I was in alot of SWF Title matches!"

"(Riley) Well if you don't know, then I can't tell you."

"(Stevens) Forget thi-"

"Grand Slam" stops his comments to look up at the now buzzing Smarkstron. The fans erupt instantaneously at the sight of Erek Taylor, who heads towards the exit of the arena.

"(Stevens) Well I guess Erek's leaving!"

"(Riley) He better! After getting in Wilson's business, even I would run!"

Erek kicks open the door, letting the summer breeze of the Jersey night flow in. The former SWF Light Heavyweight Champion reaches into his pocket and brings out his car keys. With the touch of a button, the metallic Corvette at the far end lights up and Erek heads towards his car. The fans let out a disappointing sigh but before Erek steps into the car....

"TAYLOR!!!"

Erek jolts his head around, and finds Longdogger Pete and Ash Ketchum running towards him. Instinctively, Erek drops into a defensive stance but as soon as LDP and Ash slow down, the High Flyin' Prince relaxes himself and stands back up straight.

"(LDP) Hey... [pants heavily] What.... [pants] the... [pants] FUCK... was that?!"

"(Erek) Excuse me?"

"(LDP) You heard me! What the flyin' fuck was that? I don't know what you were doing down there but I want a reason..."

"(Erek) Late-"

"(LDP) NOW!"

"(Ash) C'mon Pete, cool down...."

"(LDP) Don't tell me to cool down. Tell this egomaniac to mind his own business!"

"(Erek) Egomaniac? Sentiments from the Miami posin' redneck? I came down there to help you guys-"

"(LDP) -I don't remember asking you for help Erek."

"(Erek) What the fuck? You're getting your ass kicked down there, and you were about to be humiliated and I come down to save your rep and this is how you're thanking me? By giving me heat?"

"(LDP) We were about to make a comeba-"

"(Erek) God damn... you were bent over and those guys were about to shove their foot up your asses. Comeback? You're making no comeback from that position, let alone from age.."

"(LDP) You callin me old, son?"

"(Erek) Yes, yes I am. And what are you going to do about it? How about dropping down and blowing your toes and then making a comeback?"

"(LDP) Why yo-"

"(Ash) C'mon guys!"

Ash steps in between and begins pushing the 270 pound form of LDP back.

"(LDP) Let... me.... go....!"

"(Erek) I'll see you around Ash. Later pops."

"(LDP) POPS?! Did you just hear him?! HE CALLED ME POPS!"

"(Ash) I heard him but you gotta calm down!"

Erek ignores the Longdogger and enters his Corvette. A twist into the ignition and the car is rumbling about. Taylor backs it out and rolls down the driver seat window.

"(Erek) Pete, I don't know what you've been doing the past three months, whether it's crashing your Pinto into a tree or not knowing that you knocked up your ex, but there's something called gratitude. Get a Webster's and find out what that is. Show some of it."

"(LDP) You miserable li-"

"(Ash) HEY! A DOLLAR! Let's go pick it up, Pete."

Ash restrains Pete and drags him away from the Corvette, which explodes into the streets, leaving nothing behind except the dust from the speed.

"(LDP) Grrr..... Little punk...."

"(Ash) Let's go Pete...."

The two turn around to head back towards the arena, with nothing but a sense of unity they feel towards each other.

June 22, 2002

*Stevens: It’s time for the main event. Let’s get ready to rumble!

*Riley: Sorry Mark, but Michael Buffer you ain’t.

*Stevens: Just let me have my fun, dammit.

The screen goes fuzzy, as black and white pictures of Sacred’s face flash on the screen, if only for a second. And then the camera returns to the arena. Everything is black and white, as “Seasons in the Abyss” by Slayer kicks up. Scared walks out, a sly grin on his face. He stands there in the center of the entranceway, as his arms slowly come up from his sides until they are outstretched, holding the ICTV Title in his right hand. He then walks down the ramp and enters the ring.

*Funyon: The following triple threat match is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, from Adelaide, Australia, weighing 213 lbs., representing Da Pound, he is the SWF ICTV Champion…Sacred!

*Stevens: This is a match that could determine the next person to challenge Edwin MacPhisto for the SWF Heavyweight Championship. The rules are simple.

*Riley: So simple even former Carnies can understand it.

*Stevens: It’s your standard three-way match. First person to score a pin or submission wins. If Fallout wins, he becomes the #1 contender for the SWF Title. If Sacred wins, he becomes the #1 contender for the SWF Title. If Eddy Mac wins, then neither Fallout nor Sacred will become the #1 contender.

*Riley: Two out of three participants in this match could earn a shot at that title. Based on the law of probability, and the fact that Edwin MacPhisto is a total schmuck, I’d say that we will have a new #1 contender tonight.

*Stevens: Who are you picking?

*Riley: It’s tough to say. Fallout and Sacred have had a long war. They’ve traded the ICTV Title back and forth. For once, I don’t know who to pick. It’s a tossup.

*Stevens: But you’re not picking MacPhisto.

*Riley: Of course not.

*Stevens: Just checking.

The lights go out. “Scum of the Earth” by Rob Zombie begins to play. As soon as the heavy guitar part hits, an explosion hits the entrance area, a faint green glow lights up the arena, and Fallout comes through the curtain. He heads straight for the ring, looking at Sacred. Sacred stares right back.

*Funyon: His opponent, from Phoenix, Arizona, weighing 185 lbs., representing The Clan…Fallout!

Fallout tries to enter the ring, but Sacred comes running up at him and Fallout jumps down to the floor. They yell several obscenities at each other while the referee tries to hold Sacred back. Finally the referee convinces Sacred to back away, and Fallout slides into the ring.

*Stevens: These two want each other bad.

*Riley: Hey, stop spreading rumors, “Grand Slam”. They’re not like that.

*Stevens: What? For your information I was talking about their rivalry.

*Riley: Oh, that. Okay. Sorry, but for a second I thought you…well, nevermind. Yeah, they can’t wait to tear each other’s throats out. That’s what I like about them.

*Stevens: Well, they will certainly have another opportunity to do that. But they also have to watch out for the SWF Champion, who should be coming out here right…about…now!

A familiar voice echoes throughout the arena, saying, “This is mah house!”

*Stevens: What the hell?

D12’s “Fight Music” begins to play, and out comes Jay Dawg!

*Stevens: What is this?

*Riley: That’s Jay Dawg.

*Stevens: Thank you, Captain Obvious. But why is he out here?

*Riley: I don’t know, but Sacred doesn’t look too happy about it.

Indeed, Sacred does not look happy about it. He casts an evil stare upon Jay Dawg as he walks down the ramp, around the ring, and over to the announce table. Jay Dawg looks back at Sacred, but his stare is more indifferent. Fallout quizzically looks back and forth between the two, not knowing what to make of this situation. Jay Dawg takes a seat next to Riley and puts on a headset.

*JD: Hello boys. How ya doin’?

*Stevens: Just fine. And what’re you doing out here?

*JD: I came to get myself a front row seat for this great main event we have lined up for tonight. If that’s all right with you. Is it all right with you?

*Stevens: It’s all right with me.

*JD: How about you, Riley?

*Riley: It’s all good, Dawg.

*JD: Fine.

*Stevens: Fine.

*Riley: Fine.

*JD: …

*Stevens: …

*Riley: …

*Stevens: Well, that was weird. You know, Sacred doesn’t look too happy that you’re out here right now.

*JD: Well, that’s too bad. I ain’t leaving any time soon.

*Riley: Yeah, fight for your right, brother.

*JD: Don’t call me “brother”.

*Riley: Sorry. There’s still a little Hogan in me.

*JD: (waves) Hi, Sacred!

Sacred doesn’t look at all happy about Jay Dawg’s presence. Fallout takes notice of this, and being the opportunist that he is, he runs up and attacks Sacred from behind!

DING DING DING

Sacred staggers forward after Fallout’s forearm shot to the back of his head and ends up in the corner. He turns around, and Fallout hits him with several right hands. He follows it up by sticking his foot in Sacred’s neck. Sacred gasps for air as the referee starts a five-count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

Fallout releases the choke.

*Stevens: Fallout is taking it right to Sacred in the early going, but we still haven’t seen the third man in this match!

*Riley: You’d think he’d be here on time. He has an opportunity to avoid having a challenger for his title. There’s no way he’d miss that.

Fallout pulls Sacred out of the corner. Irish whip, Sacred reverses, and he leaps into the air and takes Fallout down with a flying forearm! Fallout rolls to the side of the ring and under the ropes. He starts to get up on the apron. Sacred runs over to the corner, springboards off the middle rope, and nails Fallout with a dropkick, sending him to the floor! Suddenly, the lights go out. “Battleflag” by the Lo-Fidelity All-Stars begins to play. The camera switches to the SmarkTron, which provides the only source of illumination in the form of grey silhouettes fading in and out, silhouettes of a man with his arms outstretched, a man holding up a microphone, and a man leaning on a lamppost. A light beat drops in, and a familiar voice rises up from the back…

“Come on down, the devil’s in town!”

The music swells to a thick, bumping human beatbox beneath Edwin’s words, and a pair of blue spotlights swing back and forth across the entranceway. Soon, they spiral out into the arena. The camera briefly cuts to ringside. In the darkness, we can see Sacred standing outside the ring, waiting for the World Champion to make his entrance. Fallout is nowhere to be found, at least not from this camera angle.

*Stevens: The SWF Heavyweight Champion is about to arrive!

*Riley: Why must he always take so much time with these elaborate entrances? Does he not realize that the match has already started without him? Why do they let him get away with this crap?

*Stevens: He’s the Crowned Prince of Flash and Panache. He can do whatever he wants.

*Riley: Flash and Panache my ass!

A wall of purple strobe lights is sent forth. Streaks of red and gold pyro erupt from the entrance ramp, and red and gold disco lights whirl around the arena. Finally, Edwin MacPhisto appears on the stage, World Heavyweight Title belt around his waist. He pauses for a second or two to absorb the applause, and then he starts walking down the ramp. Sacred starts walking up the ramp. The closer they get, the faster they walk. Once they get close enough, they start trading blows. Edwin gets a shot in! Sacred gets a shot in! Edwin! Sacred! Edwin! Sacred! Edwin! Edwin! Edwin! But Sacred knees him in the gut and slows him down for a minute. Sacred grabs Edwin’s head, pulls him down the ramp, and then attempts to ram his head into the guardrail, but Edwin blocks it! He elbows Sacred in the ribs, grabs his head, and attempts to ram his head into the guardrail, and he succeeds! Sacred staggers back as his head bounces off the steel. Edwin kicks him in the midsection, and then turns so his back is to the ramp, turning Sacred with him. Edwin sets Sacred up…and delivers a suplex at the bottom of the steel ramp! Sacred lets out a cry of pain and grabs at his back! Edwin stands up and poses for the crowd for a moment, soaking up their applause.

*Stevens: Ooh, that’s gotta hurt!

*Riley: But MacPhisto has to be careful. The bell has already rung. The match has started. Disqualification rules are in effect.

*Stevens: But disqualifications are tricky in three-way matches. If Sacred is DQ’ed, which of the other two wins the match?

*Riley: Fallout. Definitely Fallout.

*Stevens: Why Fallout? Why not Eddy Mac?

*Riley: That’s just like you to pick your friend as the winner. Stop being so biased!

Edwin takes off his title belt and hands it to the referee, who quickly runs around the ring to give it to the timekeeper. The camera zooms out, and we see Fallout crouched behind the guardrail. Apparently Edwin doesn’t see him. Edwin turns to head toward the ring, but as he does, Fallout leaps up onto the guardrail, flies off, and takes Edwin down with a cross-body attack! Fallout grabs Edwin, drags him toward the ring, and throws him in. Edwin gets up. Fallout jumps onto the apron, moves to the corner, and quickly climbs to the top rope. He leaps into the air, and nails Edwin with a dropkick to the back of the head! Fallout makes the quick cover…

ONE!

…but Edwin quickly kicks out.

*Riley: That was an outstanding move by Fallout. (replay) MacPhisto was standing there, letting his ego get the better of him, as usual.

*Stevens: Please.

*Riley: And then…surprise! Down goes the World Champion!

Edwin quickly gets up, but Fallout knocks him into the ropes with a knife-edge chop! (WHOO!) Make it two! (WHOO!) Irish whip, Edwin reverses and lifts Fallout into a tilt-o-whirl, but Fallout slips out of his grasp and lands on his feet. He charges at Edwin with a clothesline, but Edwin ducks. Both men run off opposite ropes, Edwin goes for a clothesline but Fallout ducks, they bounce off the ropes again, Fallout goes for a spinning heel kick and connects! Edwin goes down, but gets back up fairly quickly. Sacred is back up and now stands on the apron. Fallout catches him out of the corner of his eye and turns to face him, but Sacred pulls himself onto the top rope, springboards into the ring, and takes Fallout down with a dropkick! Edwin walks up to Sacred. Sacred tries to kick him, but Edwin blocks the kick and counters with a Dragon Screw leg whip! He follows it up with an elbow drop to the same leg, and rather than stand back up, he pulls up on the leg, trying to bend the knee in a direction that it’s not supposed to go. This doesn’t last for long, however, as Fallout comes over and boots him in the head. Edwin starts to get up. Fallout locks in a waistlock from behind. Edwin reverses into a waistlock of his own. Fallout elbows him in the head, breaking the hold. Then Sacred, who is back on his feet, applies a waistlock of his own on Edwin, and he takes him down with a release German suplex! Sacred stands up and charges at Fallout with one of his patented forearm shots, but Fallout ducks, applies a waistlock, and takes Sacred down with a German suplex! Fallout holds on and bridges…

ONE!

TWO!

…but Sacred kicks out.

*Stevens: First Sacred hits a German suplex on MacPhisto, and then Fallout, not wanting to be outdone, hits Sacred with a German.

*Riley: What’s this “not wanting to be outdone” garbage?

*Stevens: It’s an expression.

*Riley: First of all, it’s not a very good one. Second, I think you’re implying that Fallout is jealous of Sacred. And I will have none of that. Sacred is a great athlete, but Fallout is definitely not jealous of anyone.

*Stevens: You said it, not me.

*Riley: You implied it. Didn’t he, Jay Dawg?

*JD: …

*Riley: Dawg?

*JD: …

*Riley: Is he awake?

Camera gets a quick shot of Jay Dawg. He appears to be awake, but he’s deeply concentrating on the match.

*Stevens: Should we poke him with a stick?

*Riley: Yo! Dawg!

*JD: Huh? Sorry, were you talking to me?

*Stevens: What exactly is your business with this match?

*JD: It’s exactly that: my business.

*Stevens: Well…fair enough.

Fallout stands up. Edwin is also back on his feet. Fallout takes a swing at him, but Edwin blocks and counters with a Shotei right across Fallout’s chest! (WHOO!) Sacred is back up as well, and Edwin nails him with a Shotei! (WHOO!) Another Shotei for Fallout, slightly harder this time! (WHOO!) Another harder one for Sacred as well! (WHOO!) Edwin grabs Fallout’s head with one hand and Sacred’s head with another, and smashes them together! Fallout and Sacred stagger a bit. They end up facing away from Edwin, who suddenly finds himself in a situation with limitless potential. He winds up with both hands, and delivers a pair of Shoteis to the pelvic regions of his opponents!

*Riley: Now that was just sick!

*Stevens: First a double noggin knocker, and then a…double pelvic thruster!

*Riley: Call it whatever you want. It was downright disgraceful.

Edwin backs up, bounces off the ropes, and charges at his two opponents with his arms outstretched, but Sacred and Fallout duck the clotheslines. Edwin turns around and receives a pair of boots to the midsection. Fallout and Sacred set him up, and then take him down with a double suplex! The two men stomp on Edwin repeatedly before he can get up, obviously not happy with Edwin’s choice of wrestling moves.

*Stevens: You said it was uncalled for, and apparently Fallout and Sacred agreed.

*Riley: How long do you think this alliance will last? I’m thinking 18 seconds.

*Stevens: I’ll go with 22.

Fallout and Sacred continue to stomp on the SWF Champion. Finally, they cease their attack and allow him to stand. Edwin rolls to the ropes and uses them to pull himself up. Fallout says something to Sacred, who nods. They both bounce off the opposite ropes, charge at Edwin, and nail him with stereo dropkicks, sending him over the top rope and out of the ring! Fallout yells something rather unkind to Edwin as he lies on the floor. But his taunt is cut off by Sacred who boots him in the gut, sets him up, and takes him down with a snap suplex! He floats into the cover…

ONE!

TWO!

…but Fallout kicks out.

*Riley: Time! 21 seconds.

*Stevens: Only off by one second. Not bad.

*Riley: I still win. You went over.

*Stevens: What? This isn’t the freakin’ Price Is Right!

Rather than stand back up, Sacred decides to plant his forearm across Fallout’s neck, choking him. The referee warns him about the choke and administers a five-count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

Sacred lifts his arm, releasing the choke. He helps Fallout up. Fallout tries to fight back, but he only succeeds in landing two punches before Sacred rakes the eyes. Sacred takes Fallout by the arm and gives it a good twist. Irish whip by the wrenched arm, Fallout bounces off the ropes, and Sacred takes him down with a Harlem Side Kick! Fallout starts to get up. Edwin is also starting to get up on the outside. Sacred backs up and bounces off the ropes, Fallout tries to slide underneath him, but Sacred stops himself and drops an elbow on Fallout’s back. He gets up, and then drops another elbow. He gets up again, pulling Fallout up with him this time. Sacred holds him from behind, and then lifts him into a belly-to-back suplex…but Fallout lands on his feet! He then grabs Sacred from behind and lifts him into a belly-to-back suplex, and Sacred goes over the top rope and out of the ring! Fortunately for Sacred, Edwin breaks his fall. Unfortunately for Edwin, he’s down again.

*Stevens: Fallout just tossed Sacred out of the ring and right into MacPhisto!

*Riley: MacPhisto is hurting bad, but Sacred’s fall was partially broken by MacPhisto’s soft head.

*Stevens: Enough already. Speaking of Sacred, he and Fallout seem to be getting their fair share of counters in.

*Riley: Indeed they are. They know each other very well. They’ve fought each other in singles competition several times.

Fallout takes a moment to catch his breath. Sacred and Edwin start getting up. Fallout steps through the ropes to the apron, and then turns away from Sacred and Edwin. He then springboards off the middle rope into an Asai Moonsault that takes down…himself! Edwin and Sacred both move out of the way, and Fallout hits the floor! While he’s writhing in pain, Sacred runs up to Edwin and sets him up for the Spanish Inquisition…but Edwin elbows him in the head and breaks it up. He then delivers two bitch-slaps, one with the palm and one with the back of the hand. Then he spins around for no apparent reason other than to look flashy, kicks Sacred in the midsection, applies a front facelock…and DDT’s him on the floor!

*Stevens: Oh my god! Sacred’s head just hit the floor!

*Riley: And now, as much as I hate to say it, the World Champion is in a very good place right now. Both of his opponents are down and hurting.

*Stevens: You’re right. Fallout is down due to his bad aim, and Sacred got hit with a Cocktail O’ Shame into a DDT.

*Riley: I really hate that move.

*Stevens: The DDT?

*Riley: Shut up.

Edwin grabs Sacred and throws him back into the ring. Sacred slowly gets up as Edwin rolls into the ring after him. He winds up and delivers a very audible Shotei to Sacred’s chest (WHOO!), backing him down. Another Shotei (WHOO!) sends Sacred into the corner. Edwin boots him in the gut a few times to wear him down some more. The referee starts another count, as Sacred is in the corner.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Edwin stops the assault. He then wraps his arm around Sacred’s head and turns to face the opposite corner. Edwin runs out of the corner, pulling Sacred with him, jumps, spins, and delivers the Midnight Special! The World Champion hooks the leg…

ONE!

TWO!

T-but Fallout slides back into the ring and breaks up the count.

*Stevens: That was very close. MacPhisto may have had the match won with the Midnight Special.

*Riley: If he had it won, it was because of that attack on the outside of the ring. The referee is being very lenient so far.

*Stevens: Well like I said, to disqualify someone in a three-way, non-elimination match, you really need two guilty parties. And if one person continues to bend the rules, the referee could just refuse to count the pin.

*Riley: If he did that with any of these guys, he’d really be asking for a beat-down.

*Stevens: Probably.

Edwin gets up. Fallout hits him with a knife-edge chop across the chest! (WHOO!) Edwin reels back, but then turns back toward Fallout and retaliates with a Shotei! (WHOO!) Fallout reels back, slightly more than Edwin did. He recovers and delivers another chop, harder this time! (WHOO!) Edwin recovers, slower than he did the last time, and delivers another Shotei! (WHOO!) Fallout lets out a small cry of pain from this one and grabs at his chest. Nevertheless, he manages to retaliate with another chop! (WHOO!) Edwin grabs at his chest and winces. He shrugs it off, and hits Fallout with the most powerful Shotei he’s got! (WHOO!) Fallout screams again. But he’s still not ready to back down. He turns back toward Edwin and…pokes him in the eye.

*Stevens: Well, that was anticlimactic.

*Riley: Hey, if it gets the job done…

Fallout grabs Edwin by the arm. Irish whip, and he leaps up and takes Edwin down with a Hurricanrana into a pin…

ONE!

TWO!

…but a recovering Sacred runs up and dropkicks Fallout in the head. Unfortunately, this causes Fallout to roll back, and Edwin rolls with him into a pin…

ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO! Fallout kicks out just in time.

*Stevens: Whoa! That was too close.

*Riley: Sacred thought he was doing the right thing by breaking up the pin, but he nearly screwed himself good, because he gave MacPhisto a chance to pin Fallout! Thankfully, Fallout kicked out.

*Stevens: How about that one, Dawg?

*JD: …

*Riley: Refresh my memory. Was he always this quiet?

*Stevens: Not even close.

*Riley: That’s what I thought.

*JD: What were you saying?

*Riley: Nothing man. Go back to sleep.

*JD: I’m just watching the match. Shouldn’t you be doing that? Isn’t that your job?

*Riley: Hey, there’ll be none of that, mister! Cheap shots are my job!

Fallout rolls to the side of the ring, holding his head. Edwin stands up. Sacred runs away from him and bounces off the ropes, and as Edwin turns around, Sacred nails him with the Kamikaze! Sacred hooks the leg…

ONE!

TWO!

TH-but Edwin gets the shoulder up! Sacred yells at the referee, complaining about a slow count. Sacred continues to argue, but as he does, Edwin comes up behind him and pulls him down into a School Boy…

ONE!

TWO!

…but Sacred escapes. Both men get up. Sacred goes for a Harlem Side Kick, but Edwin ducks. He kicks Sacred in the gut, hooks both arms, spins around…but Sacred manages to pull him into the backslide, avoiding the Encore Cross and pinning Edwin…

ONE!

TWO!

T-but Edwin kicks out. Both men get up. Sacred rakes the eyes of Edwin and backs him into the ropes. Irish whip, Sacred lowers his head, but Edwin nails him in the head with a running dropkick, countering the back drop! Sacred rolls back and out of the ring. Suddenly, a recovering Fallout runs up behind Edwin, intending to clothesline him from behind, but Edwin turns around just in time to see him and ducks. Fallout keeps running and bounces off the ropes, Edwin runs away and bounces off the opposite ropes…and they end up clotheslining each other! Both men are down!

*Stevens: Eddy Mac and Fallout both had the same idea…and what the hell is Sacred doing?

Sacred walks over to the timekeeper’s table, still holding his head. The timekeeper gets out of his chair. Sacred takes the chair, folds it up, and takes it into the ring. The referee tries to take the chair away from him, but Sacred pushes him down!

*Riley: Big mistake ref.

*JD: Excuse me, boys.

*Stevens: What? Where are you going?

Jay Dawg takes off his headset and stands up. He walks up to the ring and slides in, standing behind Sacred, who apparently doesn’t see him. Edwin slowly gets up. Fallout is getting up as well, but appears to be having more trouble than Edwin. Once Edwin is almost on his feet, Sacred winds up with the chair…but Jay Dawg takes it out of his hands! Sacred turns around, and when he finds out who it is, he doesn’t look happy at all. He sends an evil stare in Jay Dawg’s direction. Jay Dawg returns the favor.

*Riley: Uh oh. This doesn’t look good.

*Stevens: Not at all. Jay Dawg could take Sacred’s head off right now!

The stare continues. Edwin is now on his feet, looking at the two men, wondering what will happen next. His question is soon answered, as Jay Dawg winds up with the chair…AND NAILS EDWIN IN THE HEAD WITH IT!!!

*Stevens: What the hell!?

*Riley: No way!

*Stevens: Jay Dawg just attacked MacPhisto! And there’s nothing the referee can do about it! Don’t tell me Jay Dawg and Sacred are working together!

*Riley: Well, I don’t need to tell you. See it for yourself!

Sacred and Jay Dawg smile at each other. Sacred gets on top of Edwin and hooks the leg, and the referee reluctantly gets in position and counts…

ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO! Fallout dives in and breaks it up!

*Stevens: Fallout broke up the count just in time!

*Riley: That was a mistake on Sacred’s part. He forgot that there are three men in this match. But taking Fallout out may not be a problem with Jay Dawg in there.

Jay Dawg kicks Fallout in the head a few times before he can get up. Sacred then grabs Fallout, lifts him up, and locks in a Full Nelson, holding him in position for Jay Dawg. The referee tries to stop the madness once again, but this time it’s Jay Dawg who pushes him away! But while the referee is down, Fallout kicks back and nails Sacred with a low blow! Sacred goes down to his knees, grabbing his crotch. Jay Dawg winds up with the chair and swings, but Fallout ducks. He then launches a superkick that sends the chair in Jay Dawg’s face! Sacred slowly stands up. Fallout pulls him in, applies a front facelock…AND HITS HIM WITH THE MELTDOWN!!!

*Stevens: Fallout just hit the Meltdown!

Fallout hooks the leg, and the recovering referee crawls over to make the count…

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!!

DING DING DING

Edwin makes a valiant effort to break up the pin, but he gets there a fraction of a second too late. Fallout rolls out of the ring and heads for the stage as “Scum of the Earth” plays. Edwin slowly gets up, looking very pissed off. Very pissed off indeed.

*Funyon: The winner of this match, and new #1 contender for the SWF World Heavyweight Championship…FALLOUT!!!

*Stevens: For a minute it looked like Sacred was going to steal the victory, thanks to his apparent alliance with Jay Dawg! But Fallout snuck in through the back door and picked up the win!

*Riley: And now he’s the #1 contender for MacPhisto’s title! Look at him. He doesn’t like this at all.

*Stevens: Fallout and Edwin are in for a war. Clan vs. Carnival returns.

*Riley: Was it ever really gone?

*Stevens: Good point. What will happen next? Tune into Smarkdown to find out! I’m Mark Stevens.

*Riley: And I’m Bobby Riley.

*Stevens: Thank you, and goodnight!

June 22, 2002

SINGLES MATCH

Thoth vs. Johnny Rotten

- Thoth wins...surprise, surprise.

US TITLE MATCH

- Your new champion...Chris Raynor!

SINGLES MATCH

Mercury vs. Xero

- Mercury with a win!

TAG TEAM TITLE MATCH

- Wilson and Stryke return. There's a wacky return in here too...read to find out who!

NON-TITLE TRIPLE THREAT MATCH

Edwin MacPhisto vs. Sacred vs. Fallout

- Fallout blows away the competition...

SWF Storm (June 21/2002)

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